#* AS ALWAYS!!!! Please correct me if there's a better way to phrase this!!!

[royalarchivist]

Ludwig: He can't keep doing this thing where he speaks with a cute French accent and you let him off with murder. 🙄

Etoiles: I'M NOT CUTE! I'm not cute! I'm just myself.

Everyone: ['Aww's over him] You are cute!

Cellbit: Yeah... Fofo. Fofo, fofo.

Etoiles: [Talking to his chat] He said "fofo" [Laughs] He said "cute" in Portuguese.*

[writella]

Reckless Romantics

Synopsis: Can be read as a stand alone or part two to getting ready for me; a return to innocent, inexperienced!reader and her relationship with Rick Grimes; two weeks after their first time together there has been some distance, but now Rick wants to make up for how hasty he was when he touched her last.

Details: Rick Grimes x fem!reader, smut: oral (f receiving) and teaching reader how to give a handjob, unspecified (of age) age gap, sweetness + kissing + a little mutual pining maybe, probably cliche, and leaning more into Rick as the dutiful leader and gentle lover (I feel this is just as in character as dom!Rick). Reader is a music lover— any kind of music you like— but she also likes a specific band only because I watched a documentary about them at the theater in July so it made its way into the story. Slightly proofread— will be corrected more later. wc: 5-7k (I lost track after finishing it on tumblr).

A/N: I wrote this message before I returned for the summer, but I still want you to read it: Been spending time outside this summer, trying to reach some goals— time got away from me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying I miss you, but please know it’s always true.

— with love from writella, my beautiful reader. ♡

Rick Grimes was not a man to give in to temptation.

My mercy prevails over my wrath, he’d say— his secret keepsake phrase. The one he whispers to himself in moments of hardship; the one he uses when he needs to make decisions only a leader would. Rick was a man of discipline; honor. He never boasted about how seriously he took these qualities, but when others did— admired, applauded, stuck by him for it— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t take note and use their pride to keep him going. This is how he knows he is strong-willed, why he wouldn’t fall for foolish, forbidden things. He was better than that. The safety and prosperity he brought to Alexandria proved it, reaffirmed it.

So why couldn’t someone remind him of that two weeks ago before he touched you?

As for you, you believed yourself to be a girl who wouldn’t fall so easily for the first man who showed you any kind of affection.

From an adolescence of peers who never seemed to take notice of you to one filled with walkers and adults who were either dead or seldom your age, you learned how hard love, let alone any connection, is to come by. It has made you quite the perpetual daydreamer because of it. One with a heart and mind filled with fantasy worlds, creating what you lacked externally. It often made you see yourself as much younger than you were despite all you’ve been through. No regular person your age in the old world has probably escaped as many deaths and wannabe cowboy dictators as you have. Still, they probably knew what it was like to have a high school romance, or at least go to the movies with friends, and have graduated from well, anything. You were simply born too late and shoved into this new world too early to experience even half of it.

This upbringing has brought you up to believe yourself precocious, although— maybe you were already too old for that word now. No, you were, so maybe– sensible, realistic despite the overactive imagination; you could decipher between right and wrong, real versus fake. This is why, for as long as you could, you did not entertain any thoughts of Rick Grimes.

Other people would though, women mostly. But you did have your suspicions of others who thought the same— they just weren't as shameless. Those who were, could be found during lunch breaks from work on house porches; or laughing and whispering at community gatherings and at the back of town hall meetings. Basically any time or place they could turn into a gossip session, which was often. And it didn’t always have to do with Rick. It could be about any one of the men in town; or retelling funny moments to their friends or complaining about their co-workers. But anything of true, great interest always had to do with the community leaders. You wish you could say you were the exception to this interest, but hypocritically, you loved a good inside scoop, and luckily for you, you had a trustworthy way about you. Almost everyone who spoke to you or allowed you to sit with them and their friends for meals agreed: you were a intent, quiet listener making you the best kind of person to say things to without judgment; and people assumed you as shy, yet you loved to laugh which was great for boosting egos. They often treated you as a little sister in that way, as if the pleasure was all yours to get to hear their ramblings because they were either older or perceived themselves to be more sociable and experienced than you. You tried not to care too much about what they took you for. It was nice to feel trusted, even if people could be a little too mean or weird for your liking because no matter who it was, they made you feel as if you were watching television, and you missed television. They told you things from period mishaps– (it’s the apocalypse, there are a lot of free bleeding queens okay)— to which people in their workstations annoyed them most with very detailed explanations as to why and, of course, rumors or general talk about the leaders: who they thought each of them has slept with, if there seemed to be any fighting between them and what side they were taking, and obviously, anything that had to do with one of the guys. Some were downright obvious that one or the other was their type, while others might try to be more sly about it, always bringing whichever man it was up more than the others. But unless they were diehard Daryl girls, wanted to dominate Glenn, or had some military man, hot priest, or doctor kink for Abraham, Gabriel, or Siddiq, most of them apparently felt that Rick was the love of their lives. He was like a local celebrity. A band’s frontman.

“So, what about you?” One of your scavenging partners asked on the ride home. “Which one do you like?”

“They’re all attractive guys,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road. “But I don’t really think about them like that.” You feel a flush coming on. Crushes, or anything romantic, is a part of your internal world, not something you discuss aloud.

“Come on,” she prods. “You never join in. You just laugh at us for being delusional.”

“Whose us?” Rosita asks, her voice sharp, humorous, and not without judgment. “I don’t talk about that shit.” But secretly, she loved the drama as much as you and would have many questions for you later tonight about why you have yet to tell her of the town obsession of treating her friends like the cast of a reality show.

“I don’t laugh at you! I like it when you guys talk about that stuff.”

“But what I’m saying is that I didn’t let you ride shotgun this time so you can hold out again,” the girl jokes half-heartedly.

“What do you mean this time? I get to ride shotgun because I’m the one with the CDs.”

And it’s true, the only thing that cancelled out the silence of drive in moments where conversation ceased was your Oasis album playing in the background. Learning about the band was your new obsession. Much like listening to the crazy imaginations of the girls in town, you found the Gallagher brother rivalry riveting even if you only knew pieces of the story from the music, scraps of magazine articles, and by asking whoever in town happened to be a teen in the 90s. Thankfully you had hit the jackpot today though. One of the houses you visited was once occupied by a dad and daughter with an insane music collection in the living room and a smaller, more curated one in the girl’s room. After gathering what new music you wanted to try from downstairs, you also found some old issues of QuizFest in the girl’s room, filled with activities that were themed with shows you remember from when you were a kid, but the most important discovery— the find of all finds— was one of those Ultimate Guide, Complete Life Story magazines of none other than the band Oasis.

You would now probably know all of the drama between the brothers to tell a coherent story about the band’s history to anyone who wanted an escape from walker related events and farming talk. When you weren’t listening, that’s what people would come to you for: to borrow music, get recommendations, or to tell them a story. In all, you were getting the reputation of being the town’s music historian, meaning you usually used your knowledge to avoid talking about yourself. And it mostly worked.

Except for now.

“Well, if I had to guess,” the girl persists despite your silence, “I think it would be Rick.”

“What?” Noticing the incredulity in your tone, you calm your voice. Shrugging you say, “Why Rick? Everyone likes him.”

Rosita sends a look your way. It’s innocent enough, probably just showing that she is still listening on as she drives but you were refusing to look at anyone now to know for sure.

“Exactly,” the girl says. “He’s a classic knight in shining armor type. I feel like he’d talk you through it, which I think would be good for— someone like you.”

Your face is on fire, you can’t even speak properly. “I- first of all, what do you know about my experience?” you ask, the incredulous tone returning. But all you get as an answer is knowing snorts and chortles from the two women. Ouch. Nonetheless, you continue, “Second, you think shooting a guy in the head in front of his wife and the whole town is chivalrous?”

Oh—

That makes car goes quiet.

You know you made a mistake.

You didn’t mean it as crassly as you said it, and you did feel bad for saying it knowing that the situation was more difficult than you summed it up to be, but you didn’t apologize. All this talk about crushes and especially Rick made you embarrassed. It’s not that you didn't see what others saw anyway. Of course you noticed how nice Rick’s curls are, how he doesn’t have to use any product for them to look as they do; or those blue eyes and how when you get closer, they become that much more stark and crisp; or how good he was at talking to people, convincing them of things or simply just reassuring them as a friend; and that southern drawl that still sometimes catches you by surprise by sounding so pronounced at the end of certain words, making his voice that much more intoxicating. Of course you saw the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had a crush on him.

Right?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. You just felt you knew better. He was like a president. You know of them, and you believe in them, but you don’t get close to them. And it didn’t matter that he told Carl to personally deliver you a stereo he and Daryl found while out once. How he remembered how you liked music. How he told Carl to tell you this one was probably better than the old one you had, that it was louder. You only showed him your old stereo that once when he was helping you move. He was just a perceptive guy with a good memory. All leaders are like that.

Right?

Anyway, let’s get back to your crass… joke.

“Hilarious.” Rosita says and you hear the low contempt in her voice at your insensitivity.

“That was ages ago though,” the girl chimes in, saving you just a little, “and he did it to help her. He didn’t care about the mess he made. He save her. I’d say that’s pretty romantic.”

“Let’s not call that romantic,” Rosita scoffs, and despite the slight frustration, there was a quiet sadness in her voice at the memory. “That wasn’t love.”

“That was reckless, not romantic.” You agree. Partly because you truly do, but also in attempt to win back favor from your friend. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But after that day, it was all you could think about.

The idea of a knight; a romantic; someone that would do anything for you, ruin his reputation for you; find gifts from the outside that he’d send is son to give to you. Maybe you did find it charming, idyllic.

These thoughts soared in your mind so much so that on one night when thinking about boys from books or your favorite artists wasn't enough during moments under your sheets when your back arched and your fingers trailed up your thighs, your mind switched from people you would never meet to him, to Rick. Your eyes scrunched tighter, and you tried to shake it away, telling yourself it was just the women in town and the talk in the car getting to you. But then you thought about how rich and hot pink his lips looked on a bright sun-burning day and how it would feel like flames firing inside of you if he kissed you with them.

Ideas like these went on for nearly a year now. You even started questioned if maybe you had always liked him, maybe you were always just like the other girls even though tried to not be. You had thought it made you respectful, realistic; after all, how could Rick be the love of your life if he was everyone’s? Wonderings like this became even worse and more confusing when Rosita had asked if you’d like to move in with her. Becoming closer with her meant being around the leaders more often, which meant coincidental encounters and conversations with Rick as well. Quickly, he wasn’t just that president or celebrity anymore who talked to you sometimes and got you that stereo that once. He was becoming a peer— at least in some ways. One who was curious about your interests as much as your opinions. But it’s not exactly like you were in the in-crowd now as some people assumed. You didn’t get to go to leader meetings, and as much as you knew Rosita must have been telling you more than others know, she couldn’t have been telling you everything. But you did see him more than other people now, when he and the leaders came over to the house or when Rosita was invited over to theirs and she’s tell you to come too. And now, with these thoughts spiraling, you can’t help but to look back at the at the times where Rick approached you, gave you all his attention no matter how small it was and asked you about what you were listening to or reading that week, letting you ramble. He was an older guy, yes, but he cared, he actually listened, and he didn’t make you feel like the childish little sister others do.

Sadly, you did become the fawn like you had told yourself you wouldn’t be. But you couldn’t stop picturing him when you closed your eyes, and in fact, it was nice to imagine someone to fall asleep with, to wake up to. It was just going be your secret. Part of your fantasy world. But then— it all caught up to you.

Through the sliver of the open door he saw you, fingers between folds, goading yourself on as you chanted his name in whispers.

And to your surprise, he encouraged it. No, he did so much more than that— he helped you, made you come; gave you your first orgasm and made you his like no one has before.

You loved it. You gave into it. Even if it was just one secret moment. It made you give into the idea that this would continue but of course, it didn’t. He hasn’t spoken to you in almost three weeks until—

“Woah-” you gasp, almost crashing into just the person as you exit your room.

“Sorry,” you both say in unison, holding onto each other's forearms before quickly letting go. Your arms cross over into your chest before dropping as you enter your room again, clearing the hallway, and his hands go behind his back. He’s still as unsteady as you are, his mouth is slightly open, thinking of what to say.

“Hi,” you whisper tentatively.

“Good morning,” he politely replies. His eyes now smile slightly as he nods to you. You don’t miss how the light emanating from your bright room makes them shine. And he doesn’t miss how the light shining behind your figure makes you, in your white cotton sundress, look like an absolute angel.

“Good morning,” you repeat, giggling slightly, not knowing what else to say.

“Good morning,” he says again, lost and as giddy as you are.

“Oh wait— is the leader’s meeting here today?” Rick starts to nod and answers yes as you continue to speak, “I totally forgot! I’m sorry. I know I should be gone by now.”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine. I was just going to the bathroom.”

“Here? Was someone in the one downstairs?”

“Just wanted to be away from everyone when they came. Daryl and I came early so we started talking and I just- we didn’t see eye to eye on something. I needed a minute.”

You nod. That seems to be your signature when to talk to him. You hated it honestly. Often over-analyzing your words, worrying you’ll sound immature or stutter in front of him. “I'm sorry,” you tell him sympathetically. For a moment there is only silence which makes you worry he will go away, so without thinking, you ask: “I know you’re busy but, if you need a moment, maybe you would like to come in here instead?”

Rick freezes but then, inevitably agrees. As he enters, you close the door and quickly go to shut off the low playing stereo and rehang some of the dresses on your chair in the closet— you had been getting ready for the day. Rick goes to sit on the chair after you empty it but you stop him. You sit on the vertical side of your bed and guesture Rick to sit in the spot next to you, closer to the headboard. You wanted to sit next to him.

Rick doesn’t question this, maybe he wanted to be as close to you as you had, so as he sits, your thighs touch. You try not to move too much at the first contact. Still, the heat that starts to burn inside you makes you realize how much you’ve craved this. Can two weeks feel like a lifetime? It’s like you haven’t felt him in ages.

“What were you playing today?” He asks and you realize you eyes went straight to the area where yours and Rick’s legs touched. You know he noticed but still you try to answer normally.

“Selena. Rosita loves her. It’s one of her most famous songs: Amor Prohibido.”

He nods. “I probably wouldn’t understand a bit of it,” he laughs.

He would probably remember the singer from the news if you gave more context but you don’t. There is a silence that follows until you ask, “So,” starting slowly, “what’s wrong? Is Daryl aright?”

He doesn’t answer. His mouth is open as if he’s deciding what to say, but nothing comes out, so you continue, “You know, nothing is ever right in the world when Rick and Daryl fight. It makes me sad.”

The joke makes those lines at the sides of his eyes appear— a quiet laugh. “Well you know I’d never want to make you sad. Especially not you.” You two exchange a light smile while that heat rises fast to your heart. “We’ll be fine,” he finally says, but then he goes quiet again. Rick seems unsure if he wants to continue. He even looks at the door, wonders if the others have shown up yet, but— he knows he doesn’t want to leave. And even more, he knows he shouldn’t after ignoring you like some teenage boy. He decides to tell you what’s happening: “Daryl wants us to bring new people in. You know how he’s always going out there. But I think it’s way too soon.”

You hum agreeingly, but at the same time, you understand Daryl. “I think he just likes to give people what he never used to have,” you suggest.

“I know,” he nods a bit annoyedly; “and that’s a nice way to put it, but you know him, when he has his mind set on somethin’ he can be so damn stubborn. It’s frustrating. He won’t compromise or listen to anything.”

Endearingly, you try to withhold a laugh, your lisp pursing. Not only because when he says anything, it actually sounds like anythang, but because Rick sounds like he’s describing himself and he doesn’t even realize it.

“And,” he adds, pausing for a moment before he continues, scratching his beard. It looks as if maybe he shouldn’t tell you what he’s about to. His head hangs low to say: This is not information for everyone to know, okay? But the last time he went out there with Glenn, the reason Glenn’s arm is in a sling right now, is because they met a group, tried to bring them back and before they could make it even close to home, the group fought ‘em, tried to steal what they scavenged, and almost kill Glenn.”

You widen your eyes at the statement. You actually already knew this from Rosita, but that will stay between you two. All you feel is humbled that he felt he share it with you, despite it being a dark thing. It was a close call. Rick was right for being very cautious right now. “Wow,” is all you can get in before he speaks again.

“Imagine if we lost him. Fought this war with his wife and unborn baby at the time for nothing? So he couldn’t even meet him?” Rick shakes his head, and you notice his foot tapping lightly, making his knee bounce. This had happened a month ago now but it was obviously affecting him. “It was reckless and I told him that. That right now we need to be focusing on what’s inside these walls. People have only just started getting back to being comfortable now; to feeling like this is a home.”

Your eyes remain wide, “We did so much rebuilding you.”

“We did complete rebuilding.” He corrects, though not rudely. Shaking his head, he goes back to talking about Daryl: “I think I made it seem like what happened to Glenn was his fault. So not only were we arguing but I must’ve hurt him,” Rick realizes, “and now he definitely won’t be back today— maybe not even until next week.”

A silence hangs in the air after this; it seems he finished. Now, you know you should speak, but as the silence continues, you grow more unsure of what to say. Issues like these are things you’ve never dealt with. You didn’t want to say something stereotypical.

“I’m sorry I’m putting all this on you.”

“No, no,” you quickly console, trying to think. “Um, well,” you say, starting unsteadily, “this is probably going to sound stupid and not helpful. I don’t even remember the exact context or what was truly said so it might not make any sense either but, do you remember when I had my Oasis obsession? Earlier this year?”

“I do,” he laughs, turning his head over to your music table. His eyes scan any of the visible album titles to see if he can find it, but the print on most of them are too small. He turns back to you as you continue:

“This is going to sound a little far off but I think you and Daryl are like Liam and Noel.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Didn’t those two hate each other?”

“I mean, yes— but it’s much more complicated than that to me— but no, I don’t mean in that way. It just that there is this quote Noel says that I don’t remember exactly, but I really liked: he said that even though he wrote the music and Liam did the singing that Liam meant the words just as much as Noel did because they’re brothers and he wrote them. I thought that was beautiful, but…” you trail off.

He stays silent, trying to give you space to find your words but you feel like you’ve gone too far. It’s all pretty convoluted and not a true comparison to what’s going on that you’re even confusing yourself a little. “I think what I mean is that even though they have their different roles, they still feel very similar things and believe in the same purpose. I think that’s like you and Daryl. You two are so similar yet so different. But there’s still a binding force that always brings the two of you together. So, like I’m sure you already know and I didn’t even need to tell you, but you two will be okay. You two have different ways of doing things, but the music or the life you’re trying to create in Alexandria still has the same meaning to the both of you.” You laugh small and breathily as you end. “That probably didn’t make sense.”

Rick smiles to himself. “I didn’t get that first bit, with the quote, but no… that made a lot of sense to me.” He nods toward you and you return his smile. “You’re so bright. You know that? Not everyone knows how to stitch things together like that the way you do.”

This makes you feel good. Rick thought you were smart. You know you should say thank you, but instead, something else comes out: “May I, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he answers, almost stuttering it out, a hint of hesitation before he did, but he nods so kindly, so reassuringly as he tells you again: “yes.”

Your fingers touch his lower cheeks lightly, feeling the bristles of his beard. You’re slow, and careful, and scared. Your fingers linger on his jaw for a moment until they completely caress his right cheek and then you move in, swiftly— worried you’ll lose your confidence, worried he’ll change his mind. You catch his lower lip and seal the kiss. Your lips are locked for a few seconds until you retreat. It was nice, and exciting, but short. You knew you could have put your tongue in his mouth. You believe he would have let you because you remember when he did it last time, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by doing it wrong and once again reminding him how much you don’t know. But you’re sure giving him a grade school kiss like this one was enough of a reminder.

Your eyes roll down, chin low. Your cheeks are on fire and your hands do not know where to go so you start fiddling with the hem of your dress and then you laugh. You were trying to be courageous this time, and you were, but you also weren’t.

Rick grabs your left hand, holding it at the end of your thigh, “I liked that,” he says softly.

“You did?” You ask as softly as he, eyes meeting his.

A short, airy snicker comes out, “Mhm,” he hums, giving you a closed-mouth smile. He found you simply adorable.

“Can I… try it again?”

Rick pulls on your forearm, attempting to bring you closer to him. “Yeah,” he nods, voice gentle. “Do you want me to help?”

You nod before you speak, happily accepting, “Yes.”

He puts your hands on his shoulders. One of his grabs onto your waist and the other holds you lightly under your chin, adjusting your head to meet his lips. The first kiss he places holds just for a couple of moments as the one you gave him did, gentle but packed with longing. The next two are slow, pretty pecks that already have you melting at his touch, lips agape waiting for the next one. The fourth is the one where he brings his tongue into your mouth, carefully bringing it in quarter by quarter. He tastes the top of your mouth and tongue and you feel him as he slowly starts to explore how far you may like to go, but truly you become stagnant other than your hands that press into his shoulder. Luckily, Rick either doesn’t notice your hesitation or is already silently helping you as he takes the lead, pulling you closer by the hips and slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth to kiss you more. It makes you smile— the excitement of your first make-out session. You giggle, and then it makes him smile too and your teeth slightly bump into each other. Accidently you nip his lip because of it, making you pull back.

Your fingers hover over your lips as you impart a quiet apology but Rick just shakes his head giving you another quick kiss instead. He starts to move back on your bed, back pressed again the headboard and he tells you quietly, “Come here.”

You get up and sit higher up on the bed as well, calves folded under your thighs. He takes one of your legs and starts to put it over his as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod, vigor growing as you do it now, thrilled to sit on his lap. Your dress bunches around your hips and the tops of your thighs. You move closer to press your chest into his and you kiss him first again, another small one but with intent as you look at him afterward, feeling the scratch of his beard on your fingertips as you smile at him, in awe that this is happening.

“You want to try this time?”

“Uh,” he means you put your tongue in his mouth this time, but you’re afraid to do it wrong but you know you want to say yes so you do, “Yes, okay.”

So he brings you in again and you kiss him. He mouth opens a little and you try to bring your tongue in slightly but you teeth clash. “Sorry,” and quickly he responds that it’s okay and rubs your cheek, telling you to just open your mouth a little wider, no teeth, let your tongue go on top of his.

You try it. Your tongues meet again, licking each other tips before you slowing press in more, your chest touching his as you try to close the gap.

Rick starts slowly rocking your hips against his and he takes control of the kiss again. It helps you not think, you like it. And you like the feeling of that incoming tight bulge starting to form under his jeans, but then you let go. “Wait,” you say, “I like this.” You pause for a moment, confusing him more as to why you stopped. “But… there is something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” his hand stay fixed on your hips and waist, rubbing soothily, “What it is?”

Another pause. “I feel nervous,” you whisper.

“You have no reason to be, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.”

You laugh, smiling as you look off to the side. Anythang.

He smiles too, although unknowingly to what you found funny. His head tilts as he tries to find your gaze and turn it towards him again.

“Well, the last time we were together here you taught me how to do something. You taught me how to pleasure myself better so,” you stutter, “I want to pleasure you. If that’s okay. And I was wondering if you’d teach me how- to touch you here.” You remove yourself from straddling him and point in the direction of his cock.

Instantly he feels a stir of his already hardening dick.

This is not how he expected things to go this time. Or truly, he didn’t expect any of this at all, but when you asked to kiss him he decided he would be gentle, more giving. It felt like you wanted him to take again, the exact thing he was trying not to do. “I feel like I took advantage of you last time.”

“Rick…” you shake your head. “I’m the one who didn’t close the door all the way. You asked if it was okay and then you asked if you could go faster. I said yes to everything…” You start to worry— is he second guessing everything now?—“I feel maybe we remember this differently.” You bow your head again now. Feeling ashamed, wondering if he did.

Rick places one hand on your knee to comfort you although he still says, “It’s just that I’ve never done something like this before.” His thumb sways on your skin. “I just don’t want you to end up feeling like you’re wasting your time. Your first times.”

You’re surprised, “It’s so funny how you can be so self-assured in front of a crowd and now you don’t think you’re good enough.” You take his hand and press it towards your chest. Your heart was racing. “I like you. So much.” You swallow as he says your name softly, realizing how fast your heart was going. “No one in town is truly ever mean to me or anything, and Rosita has been so kind with letting me move in with her and we talk and its nice but, you know— she has her flings and her friendships that are separate from mine and everyone just always seems like they have their person and I just don’t. I don’t have my person, or any person.” You remove your hands from your chest but Rick still holds onto it, squeezing your hand as you start speaking again. “You’re kind, Rick, and you make me excited, and you remember things about me… “ If your face could get any hotter, it does, “And, well, you’re very handsome. If you could teach me again, I would like that.”

God… Rick was trying to be a romantic yet you were so adamant on getting him off. He laughed inwardly, shaking his head, deciding that the best way to handle this situation— and make up for some of his guilt as he was trying to— would be to give you the thing you say you want and not what he thinks you want. Suppose that’s one for widower’s wisdom.

Decidedly, Rick gets up from the bed, giving you a once over, still admiring how adorable, and how sexy, you look to him with your feet under your lap, hands on your knees as you look up at him from the bed and your white dress. He starts undoing his shirt buttons. “Remember when I did this the first time?”

A smirk came on, there’s the Rick you remember. Blue eyes intense, and voice getting cocky as he gets ready to give you what you need, what he knows you only want from him.

“Yes,” you say quiet yet with budding excitement. You start going for the hem of your dress, “Should I start taking this off too?”

“Mm, stay like that.” He’s taking off his belt. “Thought you looked beautiful in it right when I saw you.”

Your thighs squeeze together slightly. Rick Grimes was undressing before you, for you, and calling you smart and beautiful all the while.

As Rick lowers his boxers, his cock springs up. He returns to his spot on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. All of a sudden he seems to truly recognize that he is the only one exposed. He would tell you what to do, guide you, but in a small way, in a way you probably didn’t realize, you were in control. It seems that each time this happens— although it’s only been twice— and each time he talks to you— which has been plenty— you steal a little more of Rick’s heart and he just can’t stop it.

“So,” he clears his throat, your eager eyes on his cock making him twitch, “you usually just wrap your hand around, start from the base and keep pumping up.” He shakes his head, “there’s not too much too it but it’s best to keep your hand light at the start, you—”

You nod quickly, “May I?”

As he nods back you, “Yes.” And as he says it you’re already licking your hand.

“Is it okay if I spit? That helps right? Or is that nasty to you?”

He’s caught off guard, “No, no, that helps.”

So you do and you place your hand lightly at the base as he said and you start to pump. Instantly, he lets out a gasp, and the next noises that follow are repressed grunts and groans. You want to ask him to stop doing that but you’re a little scared to speak up that way just yet and you’re too engrossed in how you can see the light veins of green and blue on him and how he’s so red at the tip. It was honestly exciting. Just this, touching him with your hand, staring at his member and watching him twitch as his mouth opens to pant lightly. It still felt unreal but you liked it and you were happy to learn. You start to pump him more towards the top, placing your thumb on his slit- pressing in. His abs clench at that. You push in a little harder and you squeeze your fist around him a little— testing it out to see what happens—and he groans, unadulterated this time, “oh, fuck.”

The heel of your foot that’s under your lap pushes into your center at that.

You start pumping faster. “Am I doing good, Rick?”

Hearing your voice sets him off, “Fuck, sweetheart. Yes.” He’s honestly choking out each of his words, he didn’t expect to get so turned on by all of this. He realizes the last time he had sex was with you that first time, and before that… he can’t even remember. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

As you pump, you start to slow down, only doing it shallowly towards his base. You’re feeling confident and you kiss the side of him, licking a fat stripe up to the top and then you pump him fully again.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he breathes out. He wants to tell you to slow down but it comes out of nowhere, he stutters before he can even speak. An unintelligible groan mixed with a moan comes out abrupt and louder than he intends and white spurts of liquid come out.

You go faster for a few moments, then start to slow down, a little unsure of what is best to do, but you notice when you start squeezing him a little more as you continue to pump up and more whiteness fall out from inside of him.

“Did I, make you come?”

“Yeah,” he says, huffing.

“I did?” your cheekbones rise as you ask with awe— it was another first for the books.

Rick’s tries to let his embarrassment fade, he can tell you were just excited about it, but still, he looks down and to the side, avoiding direct eye contact— almost like you typically would. You peer at him, almost nervously because of it. Rick is usually the confident one. “Doesn’t always happen that fast,” he explains.

“Well before a month ago I didn’t know how to make myself come so I wouldn’t know,” you say with self-deprecating assurance. You had heard from the girls in town that it was easier to make men orgasm. You already had it in your head as something not to judge. You wonder how hard he must have been restraining himself the first time he placed himself inside you, or if it just happened to be easier for him that time around. “I didn’t expect I could do it or anything really. I thought it was…” you smile while giggling, “interesting.”

“A good interesting I hope.”

“Very,” you assure. “I liked it.” You kiss his cheek as you take some wipes that are by your night stand and you start cleaning him up. He doesn’t tell you that you don’t have to; he helps along with you.

“You sure you’ve never done any of this before?”

You shake your head. “I just read fiction books.”

He smiles to himself, a quiet snort of laughter leaving his nose. You always surprise him.

When you two are done cleaning, he puts his boxers back on. Quickly, he is on the bed again and starts to kissing you. Rick holds your shoulder and pushes you down. Finally, it’s time for his redemption, he feels. It was your turn to be pleasured. Just like he wanted to do from the beginning.

Rick kisses down your neck to your collarbone, and the parts of your exposed chest and he pushes your dress up past your hips. His lips move back up to yours, kissing you more before saying, “I really wanna show you something sweetheart.” He presses his thumb into your clit over your underwear. “Can I kiss you down there? Have you ever had that before?”

You shake your head slowly, eyes wide. “I-” you start nodding your head, “-I would really like that.” And in such a small voice you add, “Please.”

Rick kisses your cheek. Deep and softly he breathlessly tells you, “I would love to.”

Rick moves his head lower and gives you slow kisses over your underwear from your mound to the end of your lips. He starts to drag your panties over your legs and once they’re gone he kisses up your thighs. Then his nose rubs and sways ever so lightly on your lips. He breathes in and it makes you shutter. Your heart is going crazy again. Finally, he licks upward. One long and languid stripe ending with a kiss to your clit and then he truly begins.

Tongues are wet and sticky and everything you ever dreamed of. Your eyes roll back instantly from that first lick and kiss. You remember a time when you started touching yourself that you used to never think of receiving oral. You thought it was scary, nasty, that you wouldn’t like it until the moment you thought about it as a million kisses on your most sensitive lips, or someone liking you so much that they’d get drenched by your wetness just to touch you, to taste you. After that, you thought about it all the time and now it was finally happening– someone needing you so much they just had to know what you taste like. Here he was: kissing, licking, sucking, not caring about how he looks but only how you feel— you now knew what it was like to be desired.

Rick presses his tongue flat on your clit, rubbing deep circles. His eyes are open, looking up at how your mouth opens wider and wider. You let out little whimpers, enamored by his tongue, still deciding if you like the scratch of his beard, but your eyes stay glued to the ceiling, scared to look at the scene below.

He gives you kitten licks in between speaking, “Look down. Don’t miss your first time.”

Your eyes go down slowly, watching as he gives open mouth kisses to your clit and right lip, tilting his head. He stays there for a moment, hearing your short and breathy pants, kissing and licking your clit and lower lips like they were the ones above your chin. His eye contact sends bursts of sticky wet fluid down your hole and you release a whimpered moan, they’re always sp short and soft and high pitched. He can tell you like it but he can also see you’re nervous. You don’t trust yourself, you know it, and he’s starting to realize it too. You’re scared of completely letting go.

He peppers kisses to your clit before moving upward, his tongue rolling and mouth kissing from your lower stomach to your breasts till his face reaches yours again. “No one’s here,” he tells you. He then kisses your lips allowing you to taste yourself for the first time. “Relax,” he whispers, rolling out each syllable. He holds your chin with one hand while he inserts a finger into your hole with the other, his pointer is instantly drenched and you shudder at the feeling. His single calloused finger reminds you of the time he was last inside you. He pumps slowly, looking into your eyes as he speaks, “Don’t think about who could come downstairs.”

“What if Rosita or Daryl come back?”

“What if?” He says it so simply as if he’s ready for everyone to know. Truly, that would be an issue, but right now it was not about him and it was completely about you; he wanted to give. It was short-sighted, reckless, yes, but… you were just so pretty, so bright, so insightful, and he felt like he needed to make up for all the taking he did last time, of your first time. Rosita had went to run after Daryl, hopefully no one was here anyway. But again, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. “Lay back,” he gently commands, “forget what I said before- close your eyes. Just give in to it. Like I’m the only one who's here.”

Rick licks zig zag stripes down your slit and then he decides to insert his tongue in your hole. He goes as deep as his tongue allows, collecting your wetness and trying to swallow it in moments when he turns back to kissing. He his nose is brushing and rubbing up against your clit as he sucks wetness from down below and you start letting out stringy moans you can’t control. Soft, pretty, and continuous, “uh, ah, uh, uh” that turn into “sorry, I’m sorry.” You’re still self-conscious about your own noises. This was still only the second time you’ve heard the sounds you make when someone else is fucking you.

But Rick shushes you. Giving small kisses to your clit as he looks up at you, seeing your scrunched eyes and open mouth. “I like knowing you like it, pretty girl. I like all those pretty sounds you’re making.”

Your pussy tightens around nothing at that phrase.

“Keep going. You don’t have to be shy.” He grabs your chin and you look down at him. His beard is wet. “We’ve already made a mess anyway.”

He starts kissing your labias, licking up wetness when you decide to ask, nervously, “Can you make sounds too?”

Instantly, Rick goes again to kiss your clit, humming into it as he sucks. Breathing against you he says, “Want me to tell you I like it, sweetheart?” His tongue slides down again, tongue reaching into your hole and he moans into your pussy.

Your back arches and you mewl, you could almost scream.

That’s it, he thinks. Rick keeps humming and groaning into you now. His voice is so seductive. “I love tasting your pussy, baby.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Rick starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and going fast with his tongue in your hole “My bright, pretty girl gonna come for me? Hm?”

“Oh, Rick, I want to. Please, Rick.”

Rick starts to go faster and your brain turns to mush. Only noises coming out and when he stops his tongue movements to say something more you push his head down. “Sorry,” you say. You’ve never been forceful before but he says nothing, just continues going down on you and taking his free hand to place it over his, gesturing that he wants your hands in his hair. You tug on his curls and he grunts into you. You start chanting his name and then he switches to placing his lips on your clit and putting two fingers in your pussy. It reminded you of the first time but instead of your three fingers they were two of his and it felt so much better than you ever knew before, better than you could ever do it yourself. It sets you off. Your eyes shut tighter if they could. “Rick! Oh my god,” you moan and then again and again and then you come.

Rick laps at your cunt, vigorously trying to wipe you clean. He makes it look like it will be the last and only time. It makes you worry but at the same time he looks so sexy like that; needy for you even after you finished.

He takes your wipes and cleans his lips before cleaning you up as you did for him. He kisses you thighs and your lips and your cheeks as he continues. “You did such a good job,” he says. “You always do.”

You’re filled with pride at that. “Thank you.” Then worry sets in. You realize how public you’ve made everything. “Did I just ruin your life?”

He laughs while caressing your thigh. That anxious expression of yours that he just got rid of returns after all the work he did.

“I’m gonna check downstairs. Okay? If they’re there, they’re there.” You nod. We already made a mess anyway, you remember him saying. “They might want to start the meeting when I go down so, whatever happens, happens alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your eyes are still nervous, but it’s all too late anyway. “Okay,” you respond.

“Okay,” he says back, kissing you once more. As he dresses himself again, he tells you, “I promise I won’t wait two weeks to see you again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he says as a send off and goes into the bathroom to clean his face.

When he reaches the living room, there is no one. Rick is thankful but confused.

As he nears the coffee table there is a sheet of yellow lined legal pad with a talkie next to it.

Call when you’re done, it reads.

“Rosita?” He questions into the device. Who else could it have been, right?

He can almost hear the grin on her face. “They should start calling you Reckless Rick for all the agony you put these Alexandria girls through.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “There’s just something about that stupid hair cowboy accent, I guess.”

Before he can respond, telling her that it’s absurd to think of him as a playboy, that he was far from it, she continues:

“So, fucking my roommate? You’re glad Glenn and Maggie called everyone over to theirs instead. Hershel took his first steps while you were teaching someone else how to take theirs.”

She unpressed the button to suppress her laughter. “Just get over here,” she concludes, putting down the walkie and going back to meet the rest of the group with a perfect poker face. She tells everyone Rick will be here shortly.

Oh, Alexandria’s leader and her new little best friend who has been hearing the townswomen’s fantasies of him for years: Reckless Rick and his reckless romantic girl.

Rosita would give you so much shit for this when she gets home.

[bakugosbratx]

ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ᴍᴇ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴ’ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ

— Yandere Alpha Katsuki Bakugo x Omega Fem! Reader

Trigger Warning: NSFW 18+. Omegaverse, abuse, corruption, cursing, deprivation, neglect, kidnapping, yandere, non-con, etc.

Words: 3,826

Tags: @peachyquing @milkthistletea @bakugous-trauma @gazelle-des-pres @miriobaby @sickchildren @bakugousbrat @vinny-likes-to-play21 @ssplague @ebiharachan @fransuki @angie-1306 @rainne-cloud @interstellar-inn @nymphoheretic

You were sick of hearing those wicked words from your captor. He could repeat that phrase as much as he wanted to, but no matter how much mental and physical abuse you endure from this man will never change your mindset. This cruel world is disgusting in many ways and one of those ways was something way beyond your control.

You have always wanted to be more than your mother has become. She was nurturing, soft, and a great woman overall, but you witnessed the way the world treated her kind.

“Move it, Omega!” Alpha’s, Gamma’s, Beta’s, and Sigma’s would growl whenever they deemed that she attempted to step out of line. Your mother’s words would soon be diminished anytime she spoke up. Even if it was for something as simple as correcting an error made on her coffee order.

“Shut it, Omega, and take what the barista gives ya!”

So, your mother did not say much at all anymore. Your father was usually busy making money for your family that he was not always around to help protect you two from these moments. Other Alpha’s knew better than to come to your father’s territory. His scent was all over it and his mark was always visible on your mother. Your father has fought off many Alpha’s and Sigma’s who dare challenge him. With stars in your eyes, you watched it all go down each time.

“I’ll be like him someday,” you would mutter to yourself in determination, “I will be the most feared Alpha there was!”

Your parents could not help but chuckle. You were a young pup; your determination was cute. Your small growls only received coos and headpats when you attempted to be tough like your father. Of course, many others feared your father. A powerful alpha like him out and about with his pup was not the time to challenge him.

This only fed your ego more.

When anyone approached you or your father, they would coo at your adorableness. “I am not cute!” You would exclaim in frustration. “I am going to be the most feared Alpha this world has ever seen, you hear me?!”

Bystanders would chuckle as you went along with your journeys. Though, you would be hit with the realization you are just a pup when it came time for your father to hunt for your guys next meal.

“C’mon, dad. Please let me go? Please?” You would plead as your father put on his gear. “No.” He would sternly reply, not providing any room for yes, no’s, or maybe’s. You did not even have a chance to protest as your father walked out the door, leaving you and your mother alone.

“It’s not fair.” You huffed with folded arms across your chest. “I’m going to be the most feared Alpha one day. I need to know how to hunt and dad isn’t even showing me how!”

“Now, now, dear. In due time. Maybe when you are a bit older you can join your father on his adventures.” Your mother soothed. She secretly hoped you would be an Alpha. She did not want you to face the same discrimination she does on a daily basis.

You never lost hope on becoming a strong Alpha. You trained yourself to become strong. You did all you could to build the muscle you truly desired to match an Alpha’s appearance and attempted to eat just like the Alpha’s did. You read all the magazines and even did your best to get an Alpha scent attached to your clothing.

“She’ll never become a true Alpha.” The kids in the school yard would whisper amongst each other. Some were already showing obvious signs of being an Alpha, Beta, or Omega, but you refused to accept your fate. You would ignore the negative glances and comments. You will be an Alpha.

Yet, that was not going to mask who you truly are.

The time was approaching. You were going to be eighteen soon and that meant you would finally know your status in the world. You could not wait to prove to everyone you will be an even greater Alpha than your father. Your body may struggle to build muscle and you could never eat like your father could, but you would get there. Your eighteenth birthday would prove that.

Awaking to the day you have waited so long for, you stretch in your nest you have built. Of course, you did not want to since that was such an Omega thing to do, but your mother insisted. So, not to disobey your mom, you did as she asked. It was comfortable and full of soft blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals you have received over the years. You would never admit it, but the stuffed animals made you feel safe.

Sniffing the air, your smile turned into a frown. A scream quickly followed which had your mother rushing into your room. “Darling, are you—“

“I’m just like you!” You sobbed, your scent being nothing like an Alpha. It was soft, sweet, and rosy. This was not how it was supposed to go. “This can’t be! I’m supposed to be a big strong Alpha!”

But this was obviously not the case. You would never be a big, strong Alpha. You were petite compared to them and you never cared for meat though you forced yourself to like it. Everything an Alpha was you were not. That was something you had to learn to accept.

Yet, here you are, Y/N. Chained up in a dark, cold basement all because you thought you could take on an Alpha. If only you could control your temper and alcohol consumption that night then maybe you would not be in this predicament.

“Are you insane?!” Your roommate gasped as she witnessed you put on a sexy outfit for the night on the town. “Y’know your heat is coming soon. Everyone will be able to smell it!”

“And?” You retorted as you spritz your favorite perfume. “You think an Alpha is going to come claim me or something?”

“Y’know how crazy Alpha’s can get, Y/N. They run this world. We are just victims of it.” She muttered, concerned clearly in her tone, but she knew there was no changing your stubborn mind. One of the many things people admired and hated about you. Once you have your mind set on something there is no stopping until your goal is completed.

“If an Alpha even tries to touch me, I’ll fight them.” You shrugged. Your friend could not hide the cackle. “You can’t be serious, Y/N. You could never compete with an Alpha.”

Rolling your eyes, you make sure you have everything you need. “Look, I got it handled. I’ll be home later.” Hugging your roommate goodbye, you leave your shared apartment and head out to the local bar.

The Den.

A bar that had music, a dance area, pool tables, and a lounge area. This was a frequent mingle spot for everyone in their twenties. It had a mixture of everyone and everything. Plus, it was close to your living space, you could just walk and not worry about getting behind the wheel intoxicated.

Strolling up to the bar, you ordered your favorite alcoholic beverage. You usually had a friend or friend group join you out on nights like these, but your roommate was close to being in heat also so she refused to leave the apartment. Meanwhile, you took your chances.

Something about a full moon and your heat on the rise was calling to you. Midnight was looking for trouble and though you were not on the hunt for a mate, you wouldn’t mind enjoying what the night had to bring.

Sipping on your beverage of choice, the music spoke to your body as the rhythm took over. You could not even blame the intoxication from your beverage as your hips swayed to the beat, capturing the attention of a certain Alpha who decided to step in for the night. He was not one for the bar life unless his friends provoked him.

“C’mon, man! It’s been so long since you’ve come out with us.” The red hair, Eijiro Kirishima, pleaded. “Yeah, bro. There’s goin’ to be so many hot omegas just waiting to be bred.” The blonde, Denki Kaminari, practically drooled. Katsuki, the only Alpha of the crew, just growled.

“Yeah, right, like an omega would want to mate with a dumbass like you.” Katsuki shamed the Delta, relaxing more on the sofa. His friends couldn’t help but frown.

“C’mon, man. You said you would go out with us next time. Remember?” Eijiro, the Beta of the group, reminded him. Katsuki was not one to lie or be untrue to his word. That’s one of his best qualities underneath his tough exterior and because of that trait, his hands ended up on your waist and gentle nipping at your neck. You were too intoxicated from even more beverages you consume and being that close to your heat, how could you make the correct decisions?

You should have listened to your roommate. You should have stayed home and prepared your nest yet here you are, lips locked with a strong, masculine Alpha that can smell your heat on the rise.

Katsuki sniffed you, the faint scent of your heat coming intrigued him, sending his Alpha senses into overdrive. He was not planning on finding a mate tonight. In fact, he did not plan to interact with anyone. Katsuki was just keeping his word to his pack, but the way you moved was captivating. Your sweet aura lured the male to you without even trying. With the mixture of alcohol in your veins and your heat, you were inviting trouble.

“You’re coming with me.” Katsuki growled, his possessiveness already starting to show. If you were not in the state you were in currently, you would challenge the Alpha, but your submissive ways were on full display as the stranger led you to his car. You ignored the appalled glances of your peers who have seen you challenge anyone who even gazed in your direction. Now, this man you have never seen before is guiding you to his vehicle.

Katsuki Bakugo is used to girls throwing themselves at him. He is quite handsome with blonde fluffy hair, crimson gaze, kissable lips, and of course, a muscular exterior. He towers over you so easily making you feel petite. You should take this as a challenge like you do with anyone else, but the way dominance expels from his strong frame, you know your place quickly.

So when Katsuki easily threw you onto his king size bed, your face deep into the silk sheets that his scent was all over. Your submissive side was on full display, not an ounce of attitude, dismay, or defiance leaving your lewd lips. It was hard to hear anything with your bare ass up in the air and Katsuki’s cock already sinking deep into your weeping depths.

“Already so fuckin’ wet and I haven’t done shit to you.” Katsuki smirked, his cock sliding in with ease. He could smell your heat on the way and his Alpha senses were on fire. This is such a dangerous game you two are playing and that was so accelerating for the both of you.

Each stroke, your toes curled and your nails dug into his sheets. “Don’t be going and fuckin’ up my sheets now. Shit is expensive.” Katsuki chastised with a harsh slap to your ass that followed. Katsuki made sure to pull on your hair so he could hear you yelp from the impact, your claws digging into the sheets once more.

When you did not acknowledge his statement, another harsh slap followed to your ass. “Oi, did you not hear what I just fuckin’ said or did I fuck you dumb already?”

“I-I heard you.” You mumbled, trying to come back to reality. Katsuki was hitting your cervix with each stroke that you couldn't see straight. All you could feel is the impending doom that was building in the pit of your stomach.

Katsuki chuckled harshly as he felt your desperate walls flutter around his shaft, signaling he was sending you over the edge in the matter of seconds. Just when you thought you could see the light at the end of the glorious tunnel, Katsuki yanked on your hair some more to where your spine was practically cracking.

“If you think you can just not answer me when I’m speaking to you, you’re mistaken, ya damn brat.” Katsuki growled as he tugged on your hair even more. You could feel some strands coming out of your tender scalp from the impact. “I also suggest you better watch how you fuckin’ talk to me.”

“I-I’m sorry.” You whimpered in desperation, tears brimming your pleading eyes. You were too far gone to argue with him. All you wanted was your ecstasy only he could provide at this exact moment.

“Fuckin’ better be.” Katsuki huffed before using his free hand to grab your face, your jaw immediately opening from his brute force as he spat into your mouth. “Now be a good little whore and learn to fuckin’ listen.”

The spit slid down your throat, his dominance now entering your bloodstream and removing any ounce of defiance left in you. All you know was his presence, his scent clogging your nostrils and going straight up to your brain. All those years of trying to prove something you are not are going down the drain. You are under his spell. And with each thrust, bringing you closer and closer to the beauty that will combine you two together, his canines brush over your veins that were prevalent in your neck.

You both are slipping. Falling into the internal darkness that is your nature and desires. There is nothing you can do as you become the truest form of yourself that is triggering Katsuki’s primal instincts.

With a low growl, Katsuki sinks his teeth into your neck. Marking you as his.

Forever.

If you knew what you know now, you would have never gone home with Katsuki that night. You would have ignored the intimidating yet interesting presence that entered the club. If anything, you would have stayed home like your friend suggested.

Now, here you are, chained up in the basement as you hear the heavy footsteps of your captors boots above. Dust falls with each large step and causes you to cough. You have been down here for a couple of days now for disobeying Katsuki. You thought the abuse was bad, but the endless darkness, unknown noises, and the draft that seems to seep from every nook and cranny seems far worse.

The metal shackles cling against the beam keeping you down in the hell that is now your home. Your body trembles from the unpleasant conditions. And just when you thought it could not get much worse, a blinding light comes through with a slam of a wooden door following it.

You covered your eyes from the illumination so the burning sensation will go away as you listened to the heavy footsteps jog down the stairs. You did not have to see who it was. As much as you dreamed and wished it would be anyone else, you knew better than to believe such fantasies. Even if they magically manifested into reality, the hard nudge of a thick leather boot is quick to snap you back to reality.

“You alive?” Katsuki’s gruff voice questioned. When you peak, your heart races. Your omega instincts are clawing within you to go be with your Alpha, but your stubbornness is still ingrained within you.

Something Katsuki just can’t seem to break.

“Still not talkin’, eh?” Katsuki observed you with an arched golden brow. You did not have the energy to reply. Two days without any food, water, light, warmth; it brings your energy down.

The shackles release from you as Katsuki lifts you up and throws you over his broad shoulder. You witness the darkness become further and further before the wooden door closes, engulfing you in brightness.

Katsuki sets you down on a pillow around the table. A decent portion of rice sits before you with a glass of water. Katsuki sits across from you, his own food awaiting him. You have learned in your short time here that Katsuki knows how to cook, but due to his job, he doesn’t have tons of time to do so. So, easy meals are his go-to at times.

Not that you complain. You are quick to eat up the food with Katsuki observing you, silently. His crimson gaze was burning into your sore flesh but you did not care at the moment. You are scarfing down your meal as if it would vanish at any given moment.

Because it can.

And Katsuki has shown that a handful of times.

Once you finish your warm cooked supper, you gulp down the cold beverage. Katsuki’s gaze never falters. Even when yours finally lands upon his. The intensity builds between you two. All the unspoken words, the degrading words and actions he does to you, the hatred that has built up inside of you. Everything was present in each other's gaze.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence. “Thank you.” You muttered out, your voice still hoarse from the horrors of the last forty-eight hours of deprivation. Katsuki just kept quiet. No remorse swam in his eyes.

Only need for control.

Katsuki eventually stood up and grabbed each of your empty dishes. You flinched on instinct as he approached you and you could see the smug smirk that wanted to appear on his lips. If you were not so exhausted, you’d slap it off of his face.

As you observe him go into the kitchen and hear the sound of the water running to wash the dishes, your eyes gravitate towards the front door.

“Freedom.” You whisper to yourself knowing that your freedom is right there; right in reach. Your abuser made the mistake of leaving you unattended. Maybe it was a test? A test you were willing to fail if it meant you met your ultimate goal.

A burst of energy electrifies through you as you find your way to your numb feet. Upon shaken legs, you take one last glance over your shoulder before bolting towards the door. Each step forwards was a step towards your victorious glory. There it was; just behind this door.

The need for freedom was blinding all of your senses. You did not even hear the sound of the water turning off in the kitchen, the harsh curses escaping Katsuki’s lips as his long purposeful strides ate up yours. Just as you felt the breeze from outside dance in your hair as you opened the exit door, it was quickly slammed shut.

Victory obliterated.

All the strength you once had danced away in the wind along with your dreams of the life that was almost yours. Now, you are back into the harsh grasp you have become numb to.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Katsuki exclaims in frustration, shaking you in anger. If you were not already crying in defeat, you could witness the pools of sadness swimming in Katsuki’s desperate eyes. “Why can’t you just love me, dammit?!”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the sting of Katsuki’s backhand met your cheek. “Shut up, Y/N! Just shut the fuck up!” He roared as tears finally fell down his face. You were taken back by his sudden display of emotion. He was no longer holding onto you, he was pacing as if he was attempting to regain sanity.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with you.” Katsuki admits aloud as he continues to pace. “I have my whole future ahead of me, but you came and wrecked that for me, Y/N. You ruined everything!”

“I’m sorry.” You mumer out on reflex. Katsuki has beaten you down enough so that you learn to apologize for any minor inconvenience in his life. You tend to pay the ultimate price for it regardless.

“What have I told you about sayin’ shit you don’t mean, Y/N?” Katsuki hisses through gritted teeth. His large shaky hands ball up into fist beside him, his whole demeanor cracking under the pressure of it all.

You stood there, frozen in fear. You are unsure of what to say or do. You are in the same room as a fierce predator who can demolish you in an instant, who has broken you down time and time again, and look at him; falling apart. What can you even say or do to fix this? He has acted out irrationally many times, but this was.. new.

A large thud startles you as you see Katsuki drop to his knees in defeat. His strong stature slumped over, his breathing rigid, and identity just shattered all over the hardwood floor. You are stunned into place, overwhelmed by the spectacle that is occurring in front of you.

“K-Katsuki..” You stammer as you place out a quivering hand. Katsuki has gone silent and you are afraid his heart might have gone out. Not that you should care, but he has beaten you into caring to some extent, unfortunately.

“Katsuki.. ?” You call out again and that’s when Katsuki looks up at you, his crimson gaze wicked and predatory.

On instinct, you rush out the door that is behind you and still unlocked from your earlier encounter. This time, you get out. The breeze that blew away your strength and dreams of victory was waiting for you and with each stride, you gained some of yourself back. The woman that has always been loud, strong, brave, and everything in between has returned.

As your bare feet touch the grass below, you could feel the warmth from the sun radiate against your skin. Something you have not felt since being in captivity. And even if this was all temporary, even a slither of the best dream of your entire life, it was worth it all.

Even when you go tumbling down to the ground from Katsuki catching up to you and pouncing on top of you. The Alpha always wins.

Especially one as great as Katsuki Bakugo.

You attempted to fight him off. “Get the hell off of me!” You demanded, but you are quickly silenced when Katsuki sinks his sharp fangs into the mark he left in you that night.

The night that changed everything.

Your body goes limp as you quit fighting. Your need for Katsuki increases with each passing second. His dominance drips into your bloodstream like a poison you cannot ever escape. And once Katsuki got you right where he wanted you, he met your gaze with a triumphant smirk.

“Don’t blame me, brat. Love made me fuckin’ crazy.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved — I don’t give anyone permission to repost, distribute, copy or re-use my works in any way. Especially not on other websites such as Tik Tok, Ao3, Wattpad, etc.

[writinginatree]

The Taste of Home

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran & Xaden Riorson & Garrick Tavis & Riorson!reader, background Xaden Riorson/Violet Sorrengail

Summary: When the first snow falls in Aretia, that means it's time for baking cookies, building a blanket fort, and lots of playfulness.

Warnings: Swearing, one tiny injury, the reader is implied to be on the smaller side physically and kind of a brat (sorry, I just got very self-indulgent with this 😅)

A/N: Since I mostly only bake recipes in my first language I'm not that familiar with English baking terminology, so please feel free to correct me if anything doesn't make sense the way I phrased it!

It's 4:32 in the morning when you burst into Bodhi's room — and that's entirely his own fault for not locking the door. He jolts awake, immediately reaching for a dagger as you jump onto his bed, excitedly whispering, "Wake up, it's snowing!"

With an exasperated groan, your cousin drops his weapon and sinks back into the pillows. "It's the middle of the fucking night, bubs."

"No, it's not," you insist, shaking him slightly. "You have to get up in an hour or two anyway. And it's snowing! You hear me? It's finally snowing enough to not immediately melt away again!"

Bodhi tugs on his covers, trying to pull them over his head, but he can't with you sitting on top of him. "Mhh, I heard you the first time," he grumbles. "Now can I please go back to sleep?"

"No."

"Don't be a fucking brat." He's trying to sound strict and commanding, but he's still sleepy and it sounds more like a whine than anything else. "Can't you go bother someone else with your snow?"

You know you kind of are being a brat, but that's never stopped you before, so why should it now? Fully yanking the covers from his grasp, you pout down at him. "Nope. No way am I entering Xaden's room uninvited. I really, really don't want to know what him and Violet are doing in there."

"Probably sleeping, like any sane person," Bodhi grumbles. "What about Garrick? I'm sure he'd love to be woken up just because it snowed."

"Better not..." Unlike Bodhi, Garrick would certainly win a tug of war for the covers. "You're awake anyway now, so you might as well do me the favor and get up," you reason. "Please!"

Bodhi makes another attempt to get his comforter back. "Why do you even want me to get up? It's still dark and it's cold. You can stay here if you just let me sleep some more, how about that?"

For a moment, you consider it, always tempted by the prospect of cuddles. But there's a fresh layer of snow waiting outside, glittering in the fading moonlight and just about begging you to be the first to leave your footprints in it.

"Nope. Get up, we're building a snowman."

Knowing when it's time to give up, Bodhi stops fighting and drops his hands. "Ugh, fine. Get off me, then."

"Can we bake cookies today?" you ask Xaden later that morning, coming up behind him in the line for breakfast and jumping onto his back.

"I have to—" he starts, shaking his head, but you interrupt him. Whatever oh so important stuff he thinks he has to get done today, it can't possibly be more important than cookies.

"Nuh-uh. Fuck that. You can take a break from all your big bad responsibilities."

"You do remember we're at war, right?" He shakes you off, turning to lift a brow at you.

"War can wait!"

"That's not how that works."

"You're not going to bring on the end of the world by taking a day off, Xaden. Give yourself a break. You deserve it."

"You know how useless it is to argue with her about when to bake," Bodhi comes to your aid. "If there's snow, there have to be cookies, too. And she's right, you really fucking deserve a day off."

Xaden scowls, but you can tell how much he wants to give in. "Teaming up on me now, are you?"

"We always baked cookies as soon as it properly snowed," you insist, barely stopping yourself from stomping your foot like an angry toddler. "It's bad enough that we couldn't do it the last six years, but now we're finally home, so we have to do it again! Please!"

Xaden looks between you and Bodhi, both giving him the same pleading look, sighs and raises his palms in defeat. "Fine. But only if Violet can join, too."

"Of course." You grin, throwing yourself at him in a hug. "Thank you! I'll tell Garrick."

Xaden grabs you by the back of your shirt before you can run off. "Breakfast first, though. Let's just meet in the kitchen in about an hour, okay?"

You agree, and leave them standing there when Xaden lets go of you.

"—dragged me out of bed to play in the snow at five this morning," Bodhi is complaining when he walks into the kitchen with Xaden, Garrick and Violet an hour later, but the smile he can't quite hide gives away that he didn't mind it nearly as much as he's pretending.

You've already prepared the dough for one of the recipes you plan on making while you waited for them. Wiping your hands on your apron, you turn to face them, hands on your hips. "You guys are late."

"Looks like you're doing just fine without us," Xaden remarks with a pointed look at the ball of dough before you.

"Yeah, well, as you should know, this has to be in the cold for at least an hour or two before we can roll it out and cut the cookies without it crumbling," you say and open the window, placing the dough outside on the snow-dusted windowsill. "Let's make the white almond ones in the meantime, yeah?"

Bodhi scrunches his face in thought. "Almond ones? What almond ones?"

"I think she means those ugly cloud looking blobs that fall apart when you bite into them," Garrick says.

"Ohh, fuck yeah! I love those," Bodhi agrees, reaching for one of the aprons hanging on hooks in the corner. "Let's go!"

You nod, but before you can get started, the others need aprons too. Garrick and Violet obediently put on the ones you hand them, but a certain someone decides to be difficult.

Folding his arms across his chest, your brother glares down at the brightly striped fabric you hold out to him. "I don't take orders from first-years. And I'm definitely not wearing a fucking apron."

"Yes, you are. If you don't, you can get right the fuck out, and if you don't help, you won't get any cookies, either."

Xaden might be in charge on the battlefield, but in the kitchen, you are the boss. He knows it, too, snatching the apron from your hand and tying it around his waist while grumbling something about you being a brat under his breath. Everyone seems to agree on that today, but as long as they do what you want, that's fine with you.

You grab a fresh bowl and instruct Bodhi to hand you four eggs while Garrick searches for the whisk.

"Did everyone wash their hands?" Violet makes sure, and you all nod.

"Okay, so what's first?" Bodhi asks, placing the eggs on the counter before you.

"First someone has to separate four eggs for me."

"Still haven't learned how to do it?" Xaden teases, cracking an egg as Garrick takes another to do the same.

"I have, actually," you inform him. "It's just that you're better at it."

"Are we? Or do you just not like having sticky hands from the eggs running over them?"

"Both." You shrug with an unapologetic grin. "You can put the yolks aside, we only need the whites for this."

"What do we do with them?"

"Beat until very stiff, and slowly add in the sugar," you reply, taking the whisk and getting started once all four egg whites are in the bowl. Needless to say, your enthusiasm doesn't last long. "My arm hurts."

"Seriously?" Xaden laughs. "You're a bonded rider, strongest of your year, yet you still can't whisk a bunch of eggwhites?"

"I didn't say I can't. I just said my arm is tired. If you don't want to help me, I'm perfectly capable of finishing this on my own."

"Just give it here," Xaden says, playfully rolling his eyes at you as he takes the bowl from you and continues whisking with an efficiency you can only envy. Soon the eggs turn into a fluffy foam, and you slowly add in the sugar while Xaden keeps mixing.

"Okay, now to carefully fold the almond slivers into the mass."

You take that task upon yourself, Violet slowly adding in the almonds for you while Xaden prepares the baking tray and grabs some teaspoons with which to transfer the mass.

The three of you scoop it onto the baking tray in small piles, while Bodhi goes poking at the dough on the windowsill. "Should we start rolling this out while you get those into the oven?"

"You can check if it's cold enough, but it's probably still too soft." Garrick opens his mouth, and you whirl around to point your spoon at him. "Don't you dare make a dick joke," you warn.

"I'd never!"

"Then what were you going to say, huh?"

Garrick clears his throat and looks away, damning himself with his lack of answer.

You nod. "That's what I thought. Close the window, Bodhi, there's no point cutting those yet if we have to wait until these are done to put them in the oven, anyway."

While you place the baking tray in the oven, Xaden offers the batter rests to Violet behind your back — predictable, but still disappointing.

You jump to their side. "Let me too!"

Xaden rolls his eyes, and Violet laughs. "Don't worry, there's enough for all of us. We could've probably gotten a couple more cookies out of this."

"Probably, but we've earned a treat."

"I thought the cookies are going to be our treat?"

"Well, yeah. But we also deserve a treat now."

"So, how long do these have to be in the oven?" Garrick asks.

"About an hour."

"Great, and what are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Wait for them to be done?"

"I'm not going to sit here doing nothing for an hour!"

"We could have a snowball fight," you suggest.

"Absolutely not," Xaden immediately shuts you down. "The cookies would be ashes by the time we make it back inside."

"Let's play memory," Bodhi suggests. "You still have one somewhere, don't you?"

"More like half a dozen of 'em," Xaden scoffs under his breath.

"Yeah, I think so," you reply.

Since Xaden isn't entirely wrong about a snowball fight taking too long, you go with Bodhi's idea. Five minutes of digging through a sideboard you haven't touched since your return to Aretia turns up a whole pile of old board and card games, Bodhi's favorite memory among them.

"Xaden, you keep an eye on the time," you order, laying out the cards under the boys' watchful gazes. It may have been years since you've played any games together, but apparently they remember all to well how much you used to cheat at most of them.

"Always me," your brother complains, but dutifully takes out his pocket watch.

It doesn't take long until you regret that you didn't even try to cheat. You'd never had to, always the champion when it came to memory. But then of course, you'd never played it with Violet before. She's crazy good at this. While you have a meager three pairs so far, she is collecting pair after pair, her stack of cards already bigger than all of your and the boys' put together.

Twice she wins, leaving you in second place. You're about to demand you play another round, but the time is up, and Xaden drags you to your feet.

"Stop sulking and come take the cookies from the oven."

"Fine, but I want a rematch later," you insist, still pouting a little as you follow him to the kitchen.

Violet offers you a smile. "Sure. We can play as many rounds as you want."

"Oh, you'll regret that," Xaden laughs. "She'll keep you up till morning, or until you let her win."

You gasp. "Let me win?! No, no, no. Don't you dare!"

Violet laughs, putting her hands up. "Don't worry, I'm not planning on it."

The almond meringues turn out perfect, and after everyone tries one and the rest are put away, you start on the butter cookies. By now, the dough is perfectly chilled, and Xaden easily rolls it out as thin as possible.

There's only one problem.

"Where the fuck are our cookie cutters?!"

"They're not in the drawer," Bodhi reports, shrugging apologetically when your glare darkens even more at his words.

You look from him to Xaden to Garrick, skipping over Violet, since she certainly had nothing to do with this. "Okay, which of you idiots—"

"Oh, no," Xaden interrupts you. "Don't blame this on us. As you said yourself, you're the one in charge of the kitchen, and you were the last one to put them away before the apostasy."

"Yeah, well, I definitely put them in the drawer where they belong, so—"

You stop short as Violet takes a small tin box from one of the cabinets, holding it out to you so you can see inside. "Are these the cookie cutters we're looking for?"

"Yes!" You beam at her, grateful she had the sense to just search while you others stood and argued. Then your face darkens again as you realize none of you would've put them into that particular cabinet, with the fancy tea service of all things. Which means— "Someone used our cookie cutters while we were gone."

"Apparently." Bodhi shrugs. "So what?"

"Those are ours!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know, baby. And they're all still here, so it's not a big deal. Now do you want to throw a tantrum or are we going to make cookies?"

Thus made aware of how childish you're being, you take a deep breath to calm yourself down and mutter, "Make cookies."

Bodhi nods. "Thought so. Come on then, you can cut the first one."

You don't have to be told twice, deciding on the star-shaped one. The others grab cutters too, and soon the first tray of cookies is in the oven.

"When we were kids we did this every winter," you tell Violet, grinning at the memory as you work side by side, filling a second tray. "It was a whole tradition, with Garrick coming over for the weekend and the four of us building a pillow fort in Xaden's room and sleeping there in a huge pile of fluffy blankets and cookie crumbs."

"Sounds fun."

"It was. Is. I think we're too big for the pillow fort part, though." When Bodhi gasps and stares at you as if you just declared the end of the world, you amend, "Well, at least Xaden and Garrick are. I guess we could make one without them and put a sign in the entrance that says 'no giants allowed' or something."

"Excuse you?!" Xaden crosses his arms, glaring down at you. "No way you're building a blanket fort without us."

"It's not my fault you'd bring the whole thing crashing down!"

"We wouldn't!"

"Sure you would!"

"We'll just have to make it a big pillow fort," Bodhi tries to dissolve the argument. "Then we can all fit inside."

"But a big pillow fort isn't as cozy as a small one!"

"If we use enough blankets and pillows it will be," Garrick insists, adding, "Now stop being a brat and take those cookies from the oven before they burn."

You pivot to look into the oven, and sure enough the first batch is already a little darker than the soft golden shade they're supposed to turn. Cursing Garrick for not taking them out himself upon seeing this, and muttering about how he isn't the boss of you, you hurriedly rescue the poor cookies.

The rest turn out better, and time seems to fly until all that's left to do is decorate them.

"Don't you think that's a bit too much chocolate?" Violet asks, looking over your shoulder as you melt it on the stove.

"Probably," you admit, "but better too much than too little."

"Especially since more of it will end up in two certain someones' stomachs instead of on the cookies," Garrick laughs.

Bodhi nods, adding, "Between Xaden and Y/N, getting rid of leftover chocolate definitely won't be an issue."

"Oh, shut up, Bodhi, you're no better!"

When your cousin tries to object to that accusation, you grab another cookie and shove it in his mouth. It earns you a kick against your shin, but at least you get the last word.

Not that him and Garrick were wrong, exactly, you silently admit as you catch yourself licking chocolate from your fingers for the umpteenth time a little later. But it's hardly your fault that decorating always makes such a mess, and covering everything in chocolate-fingerprints would be worse.

And there! A whole spoonful of chocolate glazing disappears into Bodhi's mouth, hypocrite that he is! Meeting his eyes, you raise a brow at him, but he just grins and shrugs.

You blow a raspberry at him, and focus back on the cookie you're decorating.

"We should have dinner and finish this later," Garrick suggests when about half the cookies are decorated.

You blink at him, taking another cookie and slowly shoving the whole thing into your mouth while staring him down from your seat on the counter.

He blows out an exasperated breath. "No, Y/N, we can't have only cookies for dinner."

You share a look with your brother.

"I mean, we could," he says slowly, like he's only just realizing it. "Who's going to stop us?"

"Common sense?" Violet suggests, but judging by the way she's eyeing the fresh cookies, you doubt it'd take much to convince her.

"We already had nothing but cookies for lunch," Garrick gripes. "I need some real food!"

"He's not wrong," Bodhi admits.

Violet also nods, giving Xaden an apologetic smile. "I could use a proper meal too."

Xaden looks at you. "Guess we're overruled."

"Fiiine," you sigh. "Let's eat some real food."

After your dinner break, it takes another hour to finish decorating the cookies, and by the time you've cleaned up, it's full night outside.

"Okay, so are we serious about doing the sleepover, too?" Garrick asks.

"Of course! Right, Xay?"

He shrugs, pretending nonchalance, but you know him too well to fall for that. He loves the blanket fort part of this tradition. "If you insist."

Damn right you do. Someone has to, after all, and if everyone else is too used to playing the responsible adult, well, you have no problem being the childish one and forcing happiness upon them.

The others agree too, and Bodhi slaps his hands. "Okay, let's go then."

"Wait, but we're not done," you hold them back. "I want to make those nougat thingies too!"

"Those aren't cookies," Bodhi says.

"I don't care what they are, I want them."

Xaden ruffles your hair. "We'll make them tomorrow, okay? It's late, and we still have to put up the pillow fort."

"And don't forget that you wanted to play another round of memory," Garrick reminds you, "though why you would want to torture yourself like that is beyond me."

You reluctantly give in, since you know Xaden likes the nougat treats just as much as you do, and will probably keep word about making them tomorrow. It really has gotten late, you realize, yawning wide around another cookie.

Bodhi is already piling more onto a plate to take up to Xaden's room for later, along with a teapot full of hot chocolate.

"Okay, everyone get all the blankets and pillows you have and bring them to Xaden's room." Pointing at Violet and Xaden you add, "You take the cookies and hot chocolate, but leave some for us!"

No sooner said than done, you're all gathered in Xaden's room a few minutes later, a huge pile of blankets and pillows dumped onto his bed. You stand around it in a rough circle, staring at your building material in thoughtful silence.

"Sooo... How did this work again?" Garrick finally says.

Xaden scratches his head, then slowly walks to his desk and takes the chair, moving it so it's a few steps away from the desk. "We definitely need this over here to hold up the blankets."

"I think we always used to tuck one side of the top blanket into the armoire," you say, "and then tie the other end to the chair, right?"

Bodhi nods. "And then we drape another one across from the desk and also tie it to the chair."

"Okay, let's try that and then go from there," Xaden decides. "Just keep in mind that it has to be bigger than it used to."

"Yeah, yeah. We know."

After forty minutes, two failed attempts and half a dozen arguments about the correct layout of a pillow fort, you're finally finished, and this time, it's sturdy and big enough that everyone is satisfied with the result.

"Perfect." You spread out on a pile of pillows, admiring your handiwork. "I think this might actually be the best blanket fort we've ever built."

Xaden nods, but then nudges you with his foot before you can get truly comfortable. "You have chocolate all over your sleeve, bug. Go get changed before you get everything dirty."

Since pajamas will be much more comfortable anyway, you all head back to your own rooms to get changed, before meeting back in Xaden's room.

"Not a fucking word," you growl after a single look at the barely suppressed grins on the boys' faces upon your entering the room.

"You've had those pajamas since you were, what, ten? And you still have to roll up the pants' legs?" Garrick laughs.

"It's not my fault they made these for fucking spiders or something!"

"Spiders?" Bodhi chokes out, laughing so hard you're sure he'll bring the whole pillow fort crashing down any moment.

Even Xaden is laughing, though he tries to hide his face against Violet's neck. She's chuckling too, but there's a look on her face that tells you that too long pants are an issue she, too, is familiar with.

"Yeah! No one who isn't a spider has legs so abnormally long!"

The boys only laugh harder, and yeah, okay, the spider comparison is ridiculous. Whatever.

Since you're not going to just stand there and let them laugh at you, you grab one of the pillows not yet inside the fort and hurl it straight at Garrick's face. He's the one who started making fun of you, and the only one standing far enough away from the pillow fort that you can be sure you won't accidentally tear it down.

Your aim is true, and Garrick takes a step back with an angry yelp, catching the pillow before it can hit the floor to fire it right back you. You duck beneath it, jumping behind the bed for cover and grabbing the last two pillows left on it.

Garrick ducks into the pillow fort for ammunition of his own — a perfect target. One pillow hits his behind just as intended, but the other flies past him, hitting Bodhi instead. Your cousin narrows his eyes at you, picking up the pillow and nodding at Garrick.

They're ganging up on you — and you're out of ammo.

Ducking behind the cover of the bed again proves useless, as they come rushing around it seconds later, both of their arms loaded with pillows they start firing at you as soon as they're in range.

"Xay, help!" you squeal, picking up one of the pillows they threw at you to defend yourself as you retreat toward the wall.

Your brother takes his time coming to your rescue, but his picking up a pillow and slowly walking over is enough to draw Garrick's attention away from you. Faced with only Bodhi now, you have room to go into the offense yourself.

"Every time," Xaden grumbles, his shadows saving you from getting hit on the head by a bunch of books a stray pillow knocks from the shelf above you. "They do this every fucking time."

You grin, jumping on top of Bodhi, who has fallen onto Xaden's bed, and think to yourself that that's exactly why you always have these sleepovers in Xaden's room and not yours. He doesn't have nearly as much fragile knickknacks on his shelves as you do.

Bodhi puts his years of sparring experience to use and easily breaks your hold on him, rolling both of you to the side — and right off the bed.

You slam into the floor with a loud thud, the carpet doing nothing to cushion your fall as Bodhi's weight on top of you crushes the air from your lungs. Tears spring to your eyes at the pain shooting through the back of your head.

"Ow," you whimper, the sound embarrassingly high pitched and whiny.

Shadows grab Bodhi by the back of his shirt and lift him off you before he can react as Xaden rushes to your side. You swat his hands away from your head, blink a few times to clear your vision, mumbling that you're fine.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three." You slowly sit up, slowly regaining your composure. "Now get out of my face, I'm fine."

"Let me see your head," Xaden insists. "The way it sounded, you hit it pretty hard."

Since you know the stubborn ass won't back off, you let him inspect the back of your head, waving Bodhi's apology aside. Gods know your roughhousing has lead to this kind of accident often enough over the years that it's no big deal.

"Doesn't look too bad," Xaden decrees. "But you'll probably get quite the bump."

"Told you I'm fine."

"Still, you should probably—"

Spotting a pillow on the floor just inside your reach, you grab it and hurl yourself at Bodhi, ignoring whatever your brother is trying to say.

"Haven't you had enough?" Bodhi asks, struggling to fend you off.

"No."

"—rest." Xaden sighs. "Right. Never mind, then."

You jump to your feet, bumping your brother's shoulder. "Come on, you, me, and Vi against Bodhi and Garrick!"

"Hold up, why should it be three against two in your favor?!" Garrick complains.

"Because Vi and me are small."

Bodhi rolls his eyes. "As if that makes any difference! Everyone against everyone would be fairer!"

"I don't care, I want teams!"

You don't give them the chance to argue any more, throwing one pillow at Garrick and hitting Bodhi over the head with another.

Violet shrugs and joins you, leaving your brother no choice but to go along too.

You're very glad Violet is on your team; her aim is immaculate, every pillow she throws landing right on target — unlike yours, which uselessly smack against the wall half of the time. But you do your part too, keeping hold of your favorite fuzzy pillow and hitting your opponents with it every time they come within your reach.

Finally, Bodhi and Garrick surrender. After moving all the pillows back into the blanket fort, you flop onto them, thoroughly exhausted. The memory rematch will have to wait until morning, you decide. Tired as you are, your chances of beating Violet at it are worse than ever.

"Good night guys," you mumble, feeling one of the others settle down at your side. You don't hear their reply anymore, already drifting off.

When you wake up, your arms have both fallen asleep, trapped underneath yourself and Bodhi respectively. You try to untangle yourself without waking anyone, but Bodhi stirs.

"Not this again, Y/N," he mumbles, clearly remembering your shenanigans from the morning before.

"No, we can sleep some more," you whisper back. "I just have to pee."

Bodhi grunts and rolls over to go back to sleep, leaving you to try and pick your way between the others without stepping on anyone in the dark somehow.

On the way back from the bathroom, you decide to grab a snack while you're up anyway. But as you approach the plate of cookies, a sound coming from its direction has you stopping in your tracks. It almost sounds like... chewing?

Yes, it's definitely chewing. A cookie thief, beating you to your midnight snack.

Tiptoing closer, you try to make out the person's silhouette, but it's too dark. Well, whoever it is, they're in for an unpleasant time if they took the last of the cookies. You're fully awake now and craving sugar, and you absolutely refuse to walk all the way to the kitchen for a cookie.

Your stretched out hand makes contact with someone's head, an annoyed huff their only reaction. Recognizing your brother when your fingers skim the line of his eyebrow-scar, you remove your hand from the proximity of accidentally poking him in the eye and instead feel around for the plate of cookies.

Of course it's Xaden. And of course your approach didn't startle him, what with his shadow powers. He's probably been silently laughing at you the whole time as you clumsily felt your way through the dark. Well, just wait until you get a signet, too. Then you'll show him.

But for now, cookies. You're convinced Xaden is deliberately moving the plate from your reach, otherwise you certainly would've touched it by now. Hearing him bite into another cookie as you still unsuccessfully feel around, you've had enough.

"Share!" you hiss, hand finding his arm and moving along it in hopes of finding the plate, but no luck. His hand is empty.

"The plate's right in front of you," he whispers back, and you swear you can hear him smirking. "Just take one."

"Asshole."

But this time you listen closely to his movements when he takes another cookie, and reaching into that spot, your hand closes around one too. And it's the last one, you realize, sliding your other hand over the plate as you bite into the cookie. It's Xaden's luck he let you have it, otherwise you might've had to draw a dick on his face as revenge while he slept.

Speaking of sleep, you really should go back to bed.

Xaden seems to have had the same thought. His hand brushes over the top of your head as he steps around you, then shadows wind around your arms and guide you back into the pillow fort after him, saving Bodhi from getting your foot in his face and tucking you in as you snuggle into your cousin's side.

[mockerycrow]

hii! i love the way you describe the 141 so far, and i would love to see how you would write an konig, ghost, soap, price and alejandro reaction and headcanons with a s/o who has an accent?

i taught myself english from a young age so i never really had someone to practice with, so my accent is very strong (im from south america, which also helps lol) and i would like to see how the cod boys can react to this in your style <33

Reader With An Accent - MWII

GIF BY: @collinnmckinley - masterlist

A/N: thank you so much for your patience and thank you for liking my writing!! please let me know if i executed this right!! i am american and i don’t want to misrepresent. also this is lowkey coded for people w/ accents from non-english speaking countries, so sorry everyone who is from a english speaking country and has an accent oops — i also kinda took your “i taught myself english from a young age” for alejandro’s chunk. hope that’s ok!

König

König wouldn’t react to your accent very much, unless it’s a very thick accent because then he would have trouble understanding you.

If your accent is thick, he probably asks you repeat yourself a couple of times; English isn’t his first language either, so I can imagine maybe a couple of times you both sit there in silence with each other because neither of you guys can understand each other. He has a semi-thick accent, too.

Sometimes, he does understand you but he just wants to hear you continue to talk.

Maybe König and you practice English together, while teaching each other your native languages on accident. You guys didn’t mean to, but you end up trying to explain what a word is in your different languages and by the end of it, you begin to understand full sentences in german; the same for him with your language.

He considers this a bonding experience :)

Ghost

Like König, he probably wouldn’t react to your accent too much unless it was incredibly thick. Ghost has met all different types of people and his native language is English, so he has a better understanding of what you’re trying to say, but he pokes fun at you like he pokes fun at Soap.

On the topic of Soap, you two together is his worst nightmare.

“Speak English.” Is his favorite phrase when you are speaking English, but your accent is just overpowering literally everything.

You like to throw his words back into his face when he says some sort of British slang—you get a surprisingly loud chuckle out of him when you pick up some of his slang. He thinks it’s funny whenever anyone who isn’t British begins to talk like him.

If Ghost isn’t already fluent in your language, he pretty much becomes damn near fluent by the time you’ve known him for a good couple of months. He picks this stuff up easily.

Soap

Oh, this would be actual hell on Earth. Not for you two, but for the others.

Soap doesn’t comment on your accent initially, but you two begin to share a brain cell and a half (on accident) when Ghost’s eyes show visible frustration.

“He can barely understand me, the two of’us will be a real party trick!”

You and Soap gang up on everyone else if your accent is thick. He understands the frustration of people not understanding you.

Sometimes it takes Soap a moment to process what you’re saying, but he only asks you to repeat yourself a couple of times. (He has a good method of deciphering words, even if he cannot understand through an accent).

Soap likes to teach you his Scot phrases and you teach him your own in return.

Price

He gives you an eyebrow raise as a reaction, but that’s about it. Price has worked with so many people all over the world, he doesn’t really care to comment on your accent.

Price has gotten pretty good at understanding thick accents through the years, so he probably only asks you to slow your speaking when giving him a verbal report about something.

Price 100% is the type to accidentally pronounce something wrong but say it with full confidence and you always correct him, leaving him dumbfounded.

“My lips just don’t move that way, love.”

It’s likely he’s fluent in your language so he doesn’t mind if you talk to him in it; just give him a few seconds to translate in his head, okay?

Alejandro

If you meet outside of a total progressional setting, he probably has the most reaction to your accent out of anyone.

Alejandro’s language is a very big part of him so he assumes it’s the same for anyone else.

Alejandro doesn’t have an incredibly thick accent, but he knows people who do and he’s known them for years, so it’s easier for him to understand than a lot of other people.

If you taught yourself English and you end up pronouncing something wrong, Alejandro casually corrects you to help you out. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it either, he knows sometimes people get embarrassed from it. His first language isn’t English either, so he understands the struggle.

He DOES start laughing if you try to pronounce something that you so clearly cannot, even after being corrected.

[vigilante-3073]

I LOVE YOUR HOUSE FICS

I really hope you’ll agree to write my request

Can you please write a Gregory house x reader in which they have a honeymoon or a just a romantic getaway to Paris that they have been planning for a while so reader tries to learn French between patients, (maybe reader is a department head as well?) and also practices at home; like during breakfast and in bed before they go to bed. Anyway, house being house makes fun of her and keeps telling reader to stop because he speaks multiple languages and reader gets annoyed at him and mad

Thanks in advance and have an awesome day ♥️

Est-ce Que Je Rougis?

Gregory House x Doctor Female Reader

Summary: In preparation for the trip of her dreams, Y/N decides to learn some French.

TW: Translations brought to you by Google Translate, House being House, playful arguing, annoyance.

Y/N and House had been married for three months and had finally gotten around to booking their honeymoon. Y/N had always wanted to go to Paris and House was happy to go along with her.

House already spoke the language and he could act as a translator for his wife. Y/N didn't like the idea and decided to start learning the language on her own.

Only problem, she sucked.

Y/N tried incredibly hard, but her pronunciations bordered on slander and House found it hilarious. Y/N got a few language apps on her phone and completed lessons daily both at work and home.

Whenever she had a break between patients, she would devote some time to learning the language. Y/N even watched videos online, desperately hoping to fix her pronunciations and better herself.

House couldn't contain himself when he heard her speaking French. He either laughed, made a joke or responded with the correct pronunciation, which was often met with a scowl.

House knew that the language apps were not setting her up to be able to hold a conversation, but he let her do whatever she wanted.

Y/N spent weeks working on her French, she sat with her back leaned against the headboard in their bed, mumbling along to her daily lesson. House could barely keep the smile off his face as she attempted multiple pronunciations, never voicing the correct one.

"Do you even know what you're saying right now?" He questioned.

"House, we've talked about this," She sighed.

"Est-ce que je rougis? Means 'am I blushing'? What good is that phrase gonna do you in a real conversation?" House asked.

"What about when someone asks if I'm enjoying life with my new husband? Oh, wait, he's already pissing me off," She said.

"If you want to learn a lanuage, you should take an actual class. The apps are just giving you random fluff," House said.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Well, you always know what's best, don't you?" She muttered.

"I speak roughly eleven languages, when it comes to this, I know what I'm talking about. But you, my dear, have absolutely no clue what you're saying," House said.

"Then help me. Teach me," Y/N said.

"You sure you're interested in that?" House asked.

"If it keeps you from screwing with me, then yes," Y/N said.

"What if I do it for the sole purpose of screwing with you?" House questioned.

"That wouldn't be very nice and I might just offer to take Wilson to Paris instead of you," Y/N said.

"Fine, you got a deal," House nodded.

....

Y/N made her way into the bedroom, she crossed her arms as she looked at her husband. House glanced over at her from the tv, "Need something, honey?" He questioned.

"You were supposed to teach me French tonight. Did you forget?" Y/N asked.

"No, I was waiting for you," House said, turning off the television and setting the remote aside.

"Step into my classroom," He said, gesturing to the bed.

Y/N made her way to her side of the bed and climbed in, settling with her back against the headboard.

House scooted back across the mattress, leaning against the headboard. He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to himself.

"What are you doing?" Y/N questioned.

"I have a theory and I'm testing it," He said.

"Does your theory have anything to do with teaching me French?" Y/N asked.

"It does, I assure you. How do you introduce yourself in French?" He questioned.

"Bonjour, je m'appelle Y/N," She answered, he nodded.

House brushed her hair off her neck, pressing a gentle kiss to her skin. He brushed the tip of his nose against the side of her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume. House pressed another couple kisses to her skin, his thumb slipping under the material of her top.

"W-what are you doing?" Y/N mumbled, suddenly feeling breathless.

"Teaching you. How do you ask where the restroom is?" House questioned.

Y/N huffed a laugh, "This is ridiculous," She muttered.

"Answer the question," House said.

"Où se trouvent les toilettes?" Y/N said.

He nodded, "Good," House mused, pressing another couple kisses to her skin. His hand slipped under her shirt, his palm feeling hot against her side.

"You're distracting me," Y/N stated.

"No, I'm rewarding you. Every right answer gets you some action, Missus House... Or we could skip the lesson and get right to what to really want," He offered.

"What do you think I really want?" Y/N questioned.

"You want to learn about another valued French art," He said.

"What would that be?" Y/N asked.

"Their kiss," House stated, turning her face towards his and connecting their lips.

...

Y/N had given up on her lessons after that night, instead choosing to let House do the translating when they went on their honeymoon. He liked the idea of being able to look out for his wife and it also helped that she loved to see him speak other languages.

Y/N sat across from him at their candlelit dinner in the heart of Paris. They had spent the day sightseeing, visiting well-known locations in the area. House struggled when it came to walking long distances or standing for any length of time, but he did what he could.

Y/N never pushed him, he wanted her to have every experience that she hoped to have and was willing to endure some discomfort for a few days. House asked Y/N what she wanted to eat, relaying it simply to the waiter in flawless French that had his wife swooning.

She stared at him from across the table, sipping on her glass of wine as she watched him speak. Languages came so easily to him that it was almost unfair.

House had always been good at sophisticated things, hunkering down and teaching himself whatever he could. House always had a thirst for knowledge and worked to master everything he didn't know. House looked up at his wife across the table, he smirked when he met her gaze.

"I like the look that you're giving me, Doctor House. But if you don't stop playing footsie with me, we're not going to make it through dinner," He said.

"Are you saying that you don't want dessert before dinner?" Y/N questioned.

"I would love nothing more, but I am pretty hungry. Athletes gotta fuel up," House said.

"Fine, I'll let you enjoy your dinner. Weather forecast calls for rain tomorrow anyway," Y/N said, taking a sip of her wine.

"Why would that matter?" House asked.

"I don't need my new husband slipping on wet concrete. I think it would be better to keep you safe in our bed instead," Y/N answered.

"That is the best idea you've ever had," House smiled, picking up his glass and lightly clinking it into his wife's.

The couple enjoyed their meal and shared a succulent dessert before returning to their room. They slept soundly throughout the night, waking up to the soft patter of raindrops on the windowpane.

As the weather forecast had predicted, rain poured down over Paris the next day. Y/N and House stayed in bed, tucked between the sheets together and ordering room service for every meal.

It was House's favorite day of the vacation, holding his wife close and kissing every inch of her body. He held her for hours, devoting an entire day to showing her how much he loved her. They hadn't had much time to themselves before their honeymoon and House had taken full advantage of that.

He was almost disappointed when their honeymoon finally came to an end, but he knew that he wouldn't forget their time together. He was pretty damn lucky to have the wife that he did, even if she was terrible at speaking French.

[cozycottagetarot]

What Do They Fantasize About You 18+

How To Pick A Pile:

Everyone has their own technique for choosing a 'pile'. My recommendation is to clear your mind and focus on each image for a few seconds. The image you find yourself coming back to even when you focus on the other images is the pile for you.

Quick notes on this reading:

I'm experimenting with a different style. -- I've been working on shorter, less structured, formal pacs (and some longer ones). I'm not sure how I feel about it but I'd like to hear your thoughts too! It's 18+ but not explicit. -- I've always shied away from these kinds of readings because I didn't know how to make them authentic and within my comfort zone but I figured it out. It does involve sexual themes but it's not explicit (as in graphic or using strong language.) However, it is not intended for minors, so if your are a minor check out this one here instead.

It's purely for entertainment purposes. -- Don't think I need to explain more. Take what resonates be it all of it, some of it or none at all.

PILE 1 

Your person fantasizes of just watching you. Admiring your body, naked or clothed. Watching you enjoy the little luxuries of life. They might fantasize about you being better than them in a way. I'm not sure what's the correct way to phrase it. More like you're of a higher status than they are, and you giving them your attention is enough. You letting them touch you, not even in an inherently sexual way, is a bonus. They might feel like their status is elevated when they get to be in or on your arm/s. They could fantasize about you turning them on or pleasuring them in a coy manner... You know you’ve got it (it being looks, charm, them wrapped around your finger) and you tease them about it-- but it’s so subtle, so gentle, it dances on the fine line of being oblivious versus intentional. Star/Starlet vibes. They love everything about you, all parts of your body gets attention. They could love your hair, especially if it's of lighter hues, or has red undertones (even for brown hair because some brown hair has hints of more yellow while others are more red).

For some of you it maybe that you’re mildly intimidated by them in some format. Shying away from them in some manner so they give off that let me worship you energy to get you more comfortable with them. Another vibe I pick up on is learning to love something about yourself and being more comfortable in who you are and they’re your cheerleader unconditionally cheering you on. 

PILE 2

I feel like this is someone you had to warm up to. Their energy is one of being very doting, but the energy I’m reading for you is like "ugh, really?" When it comes to this person initially. It feels like someone who wants to reassure you (or wants you to reassure them), wants to make sure they are pleasing you in every and any way they can properly. This extends to outside of the bedroom. If you’ve got a craving, they’re off to get it before you can even think to bat your eyes. They’ve got eyes for no one but you. Heavy on the princess treatment. They may fantasize about taking control, but still in a gentle or compassionate way. They’re in charge but you’re still royalty for the day. They'd want to make sure you're comfortable and enjoying yourself (more than 'normal'). They may fantasize about having sexual encounters with you in places surrounded by nature. Not anywhere where you could be easily caught though. Fantasies of stealing you away from your responsibilities to have a moment with you. They may favour your chest. I'm also getting soft brushes of the skin with the occasional more forceful touch— how do I describe it? I've talked about this gentleness, but this is more like pulling you closer because they need you in your arms but it's a tad rougher than you'd expect. They could fantasize about light bondage as well. Getting you all dressed up and wining and dining you all while anticipating to take it off. 

Pile 3 

The energy here feels a little bit magical or unreal, like you two mirror each other greatly, or complement one another well. It's as though you two operate as a unit and less so two individuals trying to make something work together. I feel like that makes no sense but whatever. I very much get a "let's stay in and roll around in the sheets all day and night" vibe with this one... although it's more like any surface or room is fair game. This person may favour your behind over anything else. But it's very much a balance of both of you being in control. Very much in sync. There could be lots of taking turns or incorporating different sensory elements as well. An exploration of one another truly. Fantasizing about aftercare is another prominent possibility as well. Cuddling and pillow talk. There's also being spent after you two are through with each other. Or maybe it's a sense of relief and release. They may fantasize about you the most when they need to blow off steam, (they) just get lost in the thought of being with you. I actually repulled the cards (because there's always one pile) but a few of the same cards kept coming out and it was packed with major arcana. Justice, The Wheel, The Emperor AND The Empress. There’s also the Magician and while I'm not exactly reading the cards how I normally do, it feels like this relationship/connection isn’t ready yet. It's a feeling of something momentous that when it happens, you'll know. That's all I really pick up on there. They could fantasize about just staying in. Maybe both of you are under some kind of scrutiny respective to your social circles or careers. Leaders or innovators of some kind. Or maybe on a more general level, you’ve grown the resolve to not only wear your 'crown', that thing that makes you special, but own it too. A lot of abundant energy and energy of growth. They could really fantasize about shutting out the rest of the world with you. 

Pile 4 

This person seems so much in their feelings I don't know if to laugh, cringe, or cry for them. So much is going on in the cars, like an internal storm wreaking havoc on someone's life. There are undercurrents of them feeling or being selfish too? This person could be a traditionalist of sorts. It comes across as very possessive like they’re off their rocker worrying about you being into other people. BUT HEAR ME OUT! With my post-reading clarity, I think this person is a catastrophiser. So instead of 'hot fantasies' being at the forefront of their mind when thinking of you, anxiety, limiting beliefs or something else may get the best of them. It sounds absurd but if you've been there you know and if not then tell me your secret! Anyway, it could be long-distance relationship and that's the reason why. They may fantasize about being able to touch your body. They may like to play footsies. You could be very attractive and so they’re worried about losing you to someone else and it’s literally making them crazy. A third-party situation seems likely as well, real but most likely imagined. 

Because this isn't a psych analysis, I pulled more cards. Quickies and stolen moments are the vibe for this pile. Initially, I wrote something about it that just seems so wrong but again I think it's more of not allowing oneself to fantasize about good things happening. I could only keep describing it as if being in the mind of someone tormented. Fantasies of finding home within you but something lingering in the distance, never really enjoying one to fully enjoy the moment unless their eyes are closed. They could have fantasies of having influence over you... being able to convince you to stay. (more so if you two are together physically instead of having to separate in distance again). Fantasies of holding you tight. Wishing they could give themselves to you fully.

While I was reading a song that came to me was 'Lose You' by Sam Smith — word for word that song embodied a lot of the emotions and energy I was picking up.

[charrfie]

i need to so badly know your opinions/thoughts on wilfre and sock

Unsure if this is the same dtl anon as before, but either way HELLO AND THANK YOU FOR BEING CURIOUS!!!!! I would be more than happy to share! Because the phrasing of this ask was pretty vague, I winded up writing a multiple page essay in an attempt to cover everything wilfre/sock related. So it's all under a read more. That being said, if I've not covered something you were specifically curious about, let me know. I have a million more thoughts on the two (or the whole game!) I'd be happy to share. Here's an additional drawing I made to accompany everything :^]

For those unfamiliar with the drawn to life series, please be warned MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW!!!!

So, to get into it! I figured I would start with the very basics: wilfre, sock, and the rest of his forms. A lot of folks have different interpretations on the intricacies between wilfre and his disguises! I'm a believer in the fact that they *are* all the same person (in contrast to how some people believe them to be disguises created from stolen appearances/stolen bodies)... but different facets of this same person. Essentially, normal raposa wilfre was a wholly fleshed out being, and every other form he takes exaggerates various traits of his. Flanderization, I guess, but only to a certain degree. Shadow wilfre is an elevation of his more sadistic tendencies, sock is an elevation of his cowardice, and salem is an elevation of his mystery/flair for the dramatic. Granted this is a fairly barebones description of the way his forms worm since I do believe there to be more to these characters and their behaviors, but what I've said already gets my point across well enough for a generalized "what are your thoughts" type of question. Though I will say, sock's spotlight on cowardice is especially interesting to me considering- at least from what I've seen- wilfre's character being largely dictated by his own fear is not something focused on often by fans; it's much more common for you to see him just being cool and evil. We'll come back to this.

Another thing that comes from my belief of them all being the same person is that wilfre absolutely *did* design his separate forms with conscious intent (with an exception of shadow wilfre, which was likely only natural corruption of his form following his exposure to shadow). It speaks so heavily for who he is as a creative!! He likes being a little edgy and snobby- hence salem's design- and he also doesn't think too far ahead sometimes- hence sock's name, which absolutely had to be something he thought of on the spot! So many hints at who he is as an individual outside of "the antagonist" are hidden away in small details like that.

Now, with that out of the way, back to the topic of wilfre's fear!

In the first game, his sights are not set nearly as high as they are in the sequel. He chooses to spread shadow over the whole world as an effort to fix what the creator ruined; he WILL take matters into his own hands and bend the world how he pleases if it means a reality "done better." While there may have originally been truth in such a goal, his reasoning is slightly disingenuous considering it's more of a rebellion than an instance of wanting to actually better the world (due to his inability to ACTUALLY fix things how he wishes he could). Wilfre has a habit of convincing himself he's correct though, so it makes sense why it pans out this way. The writing of the first game makes it out to be a lot more malicious and pointlessly evil than dtl:tnc. Sort of always seemed flat and boring to me in how it's presented so I tend to have to embellish it a bit in my fanworks lol. It's also at this point that the fear which drives him isn't as obvious... while there are suggestions of it in dtl, it's ramped up a whole new degree in dtl:tnc. For now, most of what the player sees sets the stage for this development with wilfre's struggle against power imbalance.

At the very beginning of dtl:tnc, this framework of a power imbalance comes into play almost immediately when wilfre is spoken to directly by the creator. It's almost insulting to him considering he prayed and begged for some kind of answer for so many years, and yet only when he is far past his worst- when he is no longer devoted- now he hears them. He's livid and extremely reactionary about it! In part, this is due to justifiable anger, but I've always been lead to believe fear plays a large part here as well. His manner of speaking shifts, he hesitates; he's unsure, only for a moment before breaking out into an extravagant display of his power. Almost as if to reaffirm his control of the situation. As the game progresses, these sorts of actions increase in frequency.

Alongside these sorts of direct fear reactions popping up much more often, wilfre's shifted goal also reflects the terror which motivates him. His sights have been set on bigger things by this point: saving the world by freezing it in time and space. It's destruction is imminent if he doesnt stop those who try to return color to it. It's an action SOLELY motivated by fear of death, something he develops an almost obsessive fixation with.

Wilfre's thought process during the execution of his plan tends to follow the idea of "you can't bake a cake without breaking a few eggs," which is essentially the equivalent to "you can't save the whole world without killing or harming a couple people along the way." Even if it requires him to create a sterile, barren, unmoving world, he will do anything to prevent the physical destruction of the world... to prevent death. This is something he considers noble and just; something which makes him a savior. Realistically, freezing everything EXACTLY how it is is not much better than the world and it's inhabitants fading out of existence; it's basically the same thing! But when fear dictates logic, it doesn't need to make any sort of sense. Self preservation is the most and ONLY important thing one accounts for.

Sock, specifically, embodies wilfre's myriad of fears to a whole new level. Rather than fear being combated with a reactionary display, he cowers, hides, and acts dismissively towards a various amount of situations. I'll delve into this a bit more later in a separate point, but while some of this may be to manipulate others in the situation, it's not uncommon for wilfre to do/say something that puts on a front while masking other meaning. It's just that his typically inward thoughts tend to project themselves outwardly in this form of his!

Keep in mind that while I do believe there to be reason behind wilfre's logic and actions, that does not necessarily excuse all or even most of them. Do not misconstrue me!!! He's killed people, he's trapped people both in physical cages and in time and space, he's psychologically tortured others, the list goes on. And that's what makes him so fascinating! He's not a good guy! If you erase or excuse all of his terrible actions he becomes so much less interesting as a character and antagonist. But its undeniably interesting to look into the psychology and motivations behind his actions.

Moving on from this, it is also worth noting that I am a HUGE proponent of jowfre and it's very much so interlaced with my reading of the story/characters. Let me explain:

Sock, as a character, stands out to me a lot in how he is a major turning point for wilfre. According to his plan, the "sock" disguise SHOULD be another approach to the same issue at hand: preventing any raposa from impeding on his end goal. Disguising himself as salem was his first attempt at this... but holes were quickly poked in it's execution, and he found that prevention by force would not be successful. Instead, he then goes the opposite route; by disguising himself as sock, he can befriend jowee (who at this point has assumed the role of leader), gain the trust of others, and destroy their group from the inside. Which works! ...A little too well, he finds, as he too starts to believe his own lie of being someone who cares about jowee and his fellow raposa. And in return, he is gifted something he thought impossible in his current state: jowee's genuine friendship.

Now obviously this is a BIG DEAL. For a lot of reasons. For one, it's a hell of a lot harder to endanger the life of someone you care about than it is a random stranger who hates you (worth noting that every time this happens in the game, it becomes increasingly passive to the point that any danger isn't even coming from wilfre himself, sock just suggests that everyone leave/give up). But even less than endangering someone's life is breaking someone's spirit. If he can break jowee's determination and make the village give up on their mission, he'll succeed. And yet this is STILL something wilfre can't find it in himself to do.

I have two personal favorite examples of this that stick out to me. The first is the infamous treehouse balcony conversation... where jowee is heartbroken about the disappearance of mari. Discouraged and lost, jowee confides in sock, airing out his grievances. It's an ideal moment for sock to reaffirm jowee's broken view of himself; jowee wouldn't argue with the state he's currently in. Instead though, sock listens to him, encourages him, and comforts him. One can argue that it's a simple manipulation tactic since it's the perfect moment for wilfre to gain jowee's trust, but it's always stood out to me as something very... vulnerable. Jowee *is* the first raposa wilfre has had casual conversation with in ages anyway...... it's as if he's relishing the feeling of being able to relate and be on equal ground. The shadow has influenced his entire being, yes, but there's an undeniable glimmer of humanity in him still that yearns to escape. It's also here that we get critical insight to wilfre's inner principles when he tells a (likely fictionalized) tale and ends it with "I made a decision that- regardless of consequence- I would succeed." It speaks so much for who he is at his core and how right he believes himself to be. He's sharing BIG things with jowee rather than breaking his spirit.

The second example of this is following the first hint of mari's betrayal: when she steals the book of life from jowee. Accusations are being thrown around, faith is dwindling, and the entire village is on the brink of collapse... but when jowee comes forward with the notion of wanting to try again, to not give up... out of everyone else there, sock is the first and only to speak up. Cheering for him and encouraging him forward. Without him doing so, the mission would have failed. WHICH IS CRAZY BECAUSE THIS IS LITERALLY WHAT HE'S BEEN ASKING FOR!!!!!! The entire time he's been accompanying the village he has again and again (and will continue to) try to get everyone to back out of what they're doing, to split apart. But when it's served to him on a silver platter, he can't. IT'S FASCINATING!!!!!!!!

As I said though, jowee's friendship doesn't just come with one issue for wilfre, but multiple. Arguably the most egregious is the fact that it makes wilfre question if his grand plan of draining the world of all color is really right. If it's something he should even bother to do. Which must be a realization so chilling considering *he is doing so to save the whole world.* How can such a pest of a single raposa make him- the great and infallible wilfre- waiver in his confidence? This particular issue is all implication rather than direct statement; I've mentioned previously how sock gets less and less pushy as time goes on, instead vouching for generally avoidant approaches, and this is what I'm referencing here. It's downright procrastination rather than prevention!

Wilfre drags the execution of his "destroy jowee's village from the inside out" plan out for so long that he only acts when he's desperate. When there's nothing else he can do, no further thing that might delay them. He's been backed into a corner and knows jowee is far too determined to quit. And so, he drops the act. He steals heather's pendant, reveals himself as wilfre, and escapes.

I highly doubt it's intentional (and I'll get into the details on why I find this legitimate reasoning regardless of intention later), but I do find it interesting that he waits until the moment in the map room to ask for the pendant because it directly follows jowee having an outburst about wilfre and how terrible he is. Realistically, it would have been even more in sock's favor to have stolen the pendant while jowee was alone with him on one of the islands they visited. At that point, the other villagers may even have turned on jowee- their leader- out of suspicion. Better yet, sock could have stolen the pendant away while jowee slept, eliminating the need to get caught entirely. But he doesn't. It's not until he's desperate AND is directly getting reminded that the person he most cares about hates him that he acts. It's a nice callback to the aforementioned treehouse conversation the two have: regardless of consequence, regardless of losing someone he had come to care about, he would succeed in carrying out what he meant to do. And so he does. He tries to, at least.

A brief interruption from this point to speak on the writing quality of the games themselves. The drawn to life series contains two separate writing approaches: multidimensional storytelling and face value storytelling. "Multidimensional" in the sense that the writing itself mirrors a character/dictates their identity (e.g. jowee's writing reaffirming his position as someone thought of as unworthy) and "face value" in the sense that the writing tells the story in a straightforward sense with no hidden meanings (e.g. most large plot developments). It's pretty fascinating! Now, do I think this approach of dual writing systems was intentional? Well... no. Truthfully it's my opinion that the writing in the game is fairly underwhelming and not very well thought out. It's not a masterpiece by any means. But despite intent, the dual writing system is very much so at play, and one needs to approach the game being ready to actively parse through which is which.

I bring all this up to say that occasionally, the blatant multidimensional storytelling embedded in the games' writing is really just meant to be normal, face-value storytelling. Certain interactions or events seem deeper than they really are, implications come to the surface due to it, etc. And because of this, the growth of certain characters is entirely stunted. Namely due to the fact that while the player expects said character(s) to act in a certain manner due to implications previously made, this character will instead act in a wildly unexpected way because it was what the writer initially intended. And as we've established, intent does not equal correct execution. By far the worst example of this is the latter half of dtl:tnc, where wilfre tears the appearance of "sock" away with no remorse and escapes to his wasteland. After all the build-up of his blossoming relationship with jowee, his dynamic character development, and overall stakes rising, the player is suddenly brought back to a very static, unsatisfying square one... a completely out of left field 180° with character direction. I've always suspected the reason for this was that midway through the project, the script writers realized the villian had become more sympathetic of a character than one of the main protagonists (mari) and out of nowhere switched it up, cut off character arcs, etc just to ensure their original intent was preserved.. even if that ultimately led to something that felt clunky and odd.

A bit of a longwinded side tangent, but it all prefaces my next point: if the games were written with more care and without the literary biases present, wilfre would have had a redemption arc. Or at least an arc where he sees his redemption as a choice, but turns against it.

I know, I know. You can't simply see a villian character you enjoy and go "well I think they should've had a happy ending so I'm going to let AU reflect my analysis of the canon media." That's not what I'm saying here! It's not just a simple wish for better circumstances influencing my thoughts. I would have been 100% okay with an unhappy ending for him either way, if only the writing didn't handle it in a way so jarring. Because it *is* jarring though, I try to work with it by incorporating it into my analysis rather than just discarding it as unusable, disingenuous storytelling. Case in point: what I did with my jowee pmv... you GOTTA boost the drama and stretch the truth a little bit...

To wrap this very long response up, I wanted to briefly mention very minor miscellaneous thoughts I have about wilfre that didn't fit in with any other main topic I touched on:

Based on my interactions with the fandom, I've come to notice there are a LOT of people who seem to think wilfre doesn't believe in the creator. In reality, he very much so does, he just thinks they suck lol.

I think it's very cute seeing how wildly out of practice wilfre is living as a normal raposa. He's spent so long as a shadow that things which used to come so easy to him are such a chore now (e.g. in lavasteam where he breathlessly chases after jowee trying to keep up with him.. he's so used to floating he's out of practice actually carrying his bodyweight around).

I have always read drawn to life as being a story relating heavily to forced role fulfillment; a character must fill the role they are given, or the world/their own self will fall apart. Assuming you're the same anonymous asker from before, you've seen my pmv, so you know how evident jowee's forced role fulfillment (or lack thereof) is throughout the games. But wilfre is also a shining example of this narrative theme! Many of the issues that the raposa world suffers from (be it relationship disputes, societal structures, general unhappiness, etc) are oftentimes tacked on as something wilfre is somehow at fault for, however loosely. The shadow's influence leads him to lose a lot of his humanity (raposity?) on its own, but his role as the scapegoat does as well, since it warps him into more of a concept than person. This is another reason his paralyzing fear of death is so critical to get across; it returns some of the humanity and dimension to him which make him more well-rounded.

I mentioned that sock becomes more avoidant as the story progresses, but what I've neglected to mention is the fact that wilfre is generally very avoidant by nature. Despite having more power than any other thing he commands, throughout both games he incessantly tries to have the hero and others dealt with through indirect means (other bosses/shadow creatures, influencing potential allies, robbing raposa of resources, etc). It's a pretty obvious behavior that dictates his character, but is further enabled in the circumstances I elaborated on outside of these notes.

Not very wilfre-specific but moreso just general info: I do not consider the newest entry in the series of drawn to life: two realms canon in the slightest so none of my interpretations of stories or characters will ever stem from two realms events. Sorry!

Wtf is up with him being weirdly flirty with mari at the end of tnc btw. I usually just excuse it as bad writing and that sudden shift in character I talked about. Which is funny because if that character shift is indeed the writers overcompensating then that means they were worried about too much gay tension between wilfre and jowee I guess LMAO there's literally zero reason for it otherwise.. it's so ooc and out of left field. Can I just write this dude myself please.

Thank you so much for asking in the first place... I love talking about these guys!!!!! <3 If you can't tell, lol. Hope you found it interesting, I'd be happy to elaborate further if anyone's curious. Just know it might take me a little while since it took me about a week to get to this ask haha

[ashley-foster-13]

Newt x Y/n Imagine

"Hold on, love," Newt cooed, bringing her closer. He was rubbing her shoulder soothingly - too bad it didn't help the pain. "Stay with me."

Y/n trembled in the boy's arms, occasionally whimpering.

They were in the Scorch. A few months ago WICKED had stolen Y/n right from the Maze, when she wad running. They kept running tests on her, one after the other, and still couldn't understand what wad do special about her, her blood in particular.

She wasn't immune to the Flare, yet it didn't destroy her mind nor her body. The veins slowly but firmly transformed into thick dark lines, like spider webs on her skin. She never felt hungry, not for food anyway. Whenever bloodlust would take hold of her, she'd find the nearset concrete wall and hit it until her knuckles bled. That way she was too exhausted to try and rip someone's throat out.

The worst part were her eyes. Pitch black on the outside, they painted the world in black-and-whites for Y/n. There were shadows. High pitched noises coming from nowhere in particular.

Y/n shrieked, causing Thomas and Minho besides her to jump. Newt didn't. He got used to it.

"Hold on, alright? You're gonna be okay," his British accent always calmed her down.

She hated when someone sugarcoated the truth, thought.

"Am I?" she chuckled. So much bitterness for such a short phrase in her voice.

Boys had managed to find and rescue her from WICKED's grip. They had been hoping she'd get better, or at least she'd know what to do.

She didn't, and, as days passed by, her state worsened rapidly.

"I mean, thanks for saving me and all, but you're wasting your time," she croaked through gritten teeth. "If you're smart enough, you'll continue tomorrow without me."

Everyone knew the illness still messed with her, whether she had some sort of immuntiy or not, so her sometimes not-so-gentle remarks didn't quite count as insults.

"Don't say that, Y/n," Thomas protested, "Whatever they've done to you, you're stronger."

Newt slightly nudged you, agreeing with him.

"Yeah, well, if you die here, I give you the permission to haunt every each of us in our sleep as a ghost," said Minho. "You'll sing us lullabies or whatever. But, please, no creepiness."

Y/n snorted, then coughed, almost spitting her insides out.

"First of all, when I die," she corrected, "And secondly, of course I'll do that. Of course I'll sing to you." She smiled at the last words, some cozy faraway memory trying to make its way to her mind but not succeeding. She closed her eyes.

Just for a second, she promised herself. Then, she'll continue suffering her way through the freaking Flare.

"Hey, love, wake up," Newt shook her. When she didn't, he raised his voice, "Wake up!"

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Newt?" she whispered, as if the conversation between them hadn't just happen mere seconds ago.

"You can't sleep, yeah? Stay here," he caressed her cheek with his thumb, noting how dry and cold her skin was.

He was scared.

"Stay here," she echoed, her mind slowly whirling, making lazy attempts to recall... recall what?

Call...She didn't call anyone? Did someone call her?

People called her by the name.

Don't call me, someone's voice murmured in the back of her head.

Call me all you want, but that doesn't change who I am, she once said to...

What did people call him? Ah, Ratman, right.

Left, right. Call. Call, collect, college. Budge, bridge, bomb. Call, cat, cold...

She was cold and going crazy and felt absolutely, utterly helpless.

She so hated WICKED for what they made her become.

She didn't notice how she gripped Newt's arms, how hard she squeezed, digging her nail into his pale skin, until she heard a hiss.

"Y/n?" Thomas creeped closer, in case anyone needed help.

She blinked a few times, returning her focus on the blond boy next to her. Shifting as far away as possible, she frantically spoke, "Sorry. I'm so sorry. Sorry, I didn't..."

"Hey, hey," Newt held up his hands in a calming gesture, "It's alright. C'mere," he wanted to embrace her again, but y/n crawled backwards.

She hurt Newt. She hurt Newt. She hurt...

Panic suddenly came in waves through her body, changing her voice. It didn't sound anyhow familiar to her, "Get away from me!" a desperate scream. She couldn't move much further due to the weakened limbs and horror that forced her to freeze. "I'll hurt you."

She didn't feel the tears running down her face. She felt barely anything these days. Well, apart from torturous pain.

"You won't hurt me," Newt reassured, hugging her still. She tried to break free, but miserably failed.

A few sobs escaped Y/n's lips as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Hey," he started softly, brushing away strands of her hair, "I'm here for you. Cry as much as you need, scream, hit every moving thing, but I'm staying. And I'm not letting go until you're okay. And even after that, I'm not leaving," he added, bringing her closer to his chest.

"Even then?" barely a whisper, but audible enough for Newt to hear.

"Even then." He kissed her temple.

It made Y/n's heart warm. Of course, she knew they'd never leave her to die in a middle of a desert. But hearing that still was important.

She felt safe in Newt's arms.

And since they were doing a great deal of keeping her alive, she had to repay the debt somehow.

Not dying would probably count. And maybe a little revenge on WICKED.

Something minor. Like snapping a head or two of the shoulders of some soldiers. Or better, Janson's and Ava's.

Yes, she definitely had to do that.

So she vowed to heal, to heal as fast as possible and kick some scientist asses...

"I love you," she breathed, looking up at Newt.

"Love you, too." He pressed a kiss on her brow.

...and marry Newt someday.

[sw-au-ocs]

Please forget me…pt.1

Sora…his dearest friend and beloved husband, has a been confirmed that he has a few months of life and if he didn’t come up with something soon…no, he didn’t wanted to think of that…he couldn’t.

They’ve tried EVERYTHING in hopes of Sora surviving this…but there was little to no information on his sickness, so no medications or operations can take place.

What’s worst…Sora already accepted his fate, calling it a “punishment” for his “sins”.

“There’s gotta be a way!”, Stone said through tears, “there’s always a fucking WAY-“

“Stone…listen cariño…”, Sora started as he cupped his tear-stained face when they were at the hospital, “You and everyone else have done the best you can! I’m very grateful to have spent time with all of you…am sorry for everything…am sorry for not being strong enough…promise me…you’ll be there for everyone…promise you’ll try to smile…promise me?”

Stone just screamed in frustration, ‘stupid fucking medical system! WHY?!! GODDAMN IT WHY!?!! WHY COULDN’T YOU LET HIM BE FUCKING HAPPY???!!!! WHY?!! WHYYYYYY?!!!?’, he mentally cursed as he slumped down to the ground into the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably.

He hated this…he hated this so fucking much…hadn’t they’ve suffered ENOUGH!!?! Hasn’t HE suffered enough…

He wished this was all a nightmare…but it wasn’t.

This was unfair…all of it…

He then wiped away his mascara tinted tears as he stood up to leave to join Vinnie and Skipp…until he noticed a weird book of some sorts on the floor…which was weird.

He walked over towards the book and picked it up from the ground…it was a spell book.

A spell book?!

Wait, Why would Natalia keep a book like this?

Unless…

Now, for as long as he could remember, Stone was a man of science. He didn’t really believe in all that spiritual shit, but Desperate times call desperate measures…especially when all options are running out.

This was stupid…but what other choice do they have???

———————————————————-

“Hold on, a spell book?!”, Vinnie yelped, “Why in the fuck would Sora’s Meemaw have that’s on her?”

“Does it matter?,” Stone asked annoyed, “correction! I don’t give a shit. All I know is that THIS has to work! If monsters exist, then so does magic!”

“Wait…you might be on to something, Stoner!”, Vinnie exclaimed, “so if we use this book…”

“Then Sora will be saved!”, Skipp exclaimed, “that’s good news!”

Stone then looked down at the book then nodded.

“You know I’m a man of science…”

“Yeah, it’s called a nerd!”

“….shut up. What am saying is this shit BETTER work! Because I don’t think I can live with myself if it doesn’t…”

———————————————————-

Later that night, at library of Natalia’s mansion.

“Ok, is that all the ingredients?”, Stone asked sternly.

“You betcha!”

“We’ve got a tea spoon of Cinnamon, orange flower petals, blood-stained glass shards from a door I punched , possum bones, and a piece of purple fabric!”

Stone nodded, “OK…now we just place them around in a circle while chanting the phrase 3x, got it?”

Skipp and Vinnie nodded as they did as they were told.

Once the circle was completed, they all stand in the middle of library.

Vinnie then turned to Stone, “I swear to god if you accidentally teleported to a random ass place, I have every right to knock you out!”

Stone rolled his eyes as he prepared to say the phrase.

A part of him wasn’t very hopeful that it will work, but the other half insisted that it can…the crazy shit people would do for one another…

Stone took a deep breath and started to recite the summoning phrase:

Spirit of life, spirit of death

I call on upon your presence tonight

Hear my woes, hear my prayers

I wish to save a soul so bright

Hear my call, answer my plea

Let your song feel through me

“Pfffft-so enchanting!“

“Vinnie! Hush!”

Stone felt his cheeks turn in an embarrassing shade of pink for saying that, Natalia owes him BIG TIME.

“Uh, Can I continue? Husband’s LIFE on the line!”

“Oh my bad! Continue!”

Stone groaned as he recited the poem two more times.

Once he finished, some things begin to happen around the room.

The temperature began to drop.

The lights flickered.

The offerings BURST into flames.

No one said anything until they heard a woman’s voice behind them.

“You called???”

Forced to swallow up their fear, the trio slowly turn towards the origin of the voice.

It was a woman, a very tall woman… She had onyx hair, red lips, a white dress, and a veil covering her upper face.

Holy heck! It worked…

To be continued…

[crowbasils]

What do you think about autistic Basil headcanon?

I made a post about this, I relate to him a lot and I see a lot of his behavioral patterns in me.

YES. i see it!! and i’ve been meaning to talk about the possibility of basil being autistic for quite a while, so, i’ll talk about it here. it’s harder to see it in comparison to sunny’s since he’s most likely masking (which sunny doesn’t really do), but it’s still there!!

(this tweet will kinda be a mess, since it’s not like an analysis analysis. if i’m wrong, please do correct me!)

according to the nhs (https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/autism/signs/children/) signs of autism in older children include:

- not seeming to understand what others are thinking or feeling

- unusual speech, such as repeating phrases and talking ‘at’ others

- liking a strict daily routine and getting very upset if it changes

- having a very keen interest in certain subjects or activities

- getting very upset if you ask them to do something

- finding it hard to make friends or preferring to be on their own

- taking things very literally – for example, they may not understand phrases like "break a leg"

- finding it hard to say how they feel

from what we know about him & from what the duet cutscene says, he was alone for most of his life before meeting the friend group. he also has a line (though said by headspace basil) about this! while that may not necessarily be a sign of autism, it’s what he says next that stands out to me.

“you’ve all taught me so much… how to care for others and how to care for myself too!”

that specific line stands out to me because of how it tells us that basil wasn’t always as caring and cheery as he was as a 12 year old. he learned from his friends—through experience with them, and through observation.

he’s also implied to have a hard time making friends. other than aubrey (who he likely met later in his life rather than in early childhood like sunny and kel), he had no friends before that. how awkward he is in the cutscene where aubrey introduces him to her new-found friend group also implies that he hasn’t had experience with friends. (he also looks like he’s somewhat ‘copying’ aubrey’s smile, just in a more awkward way)

basil most likely has difficulty when it comes to identifying feelings—specifically ones he hasn’t experienced himself. such as the fear of spiders. he doesn’t seem to get that others can fear spiders due to how he doesn’t fear spiders and sees them as a positive instead.

(icon can’t be seen due to my bad internet, but it’s headspace basil. a lot of the headspace basil lines in blackspace and omori route help when it comes to understanding his character better. stranger’s lines help as well :3)

(it should be noted, though, that otherwise, he’s good at reading sunny specifically. may not be a sign of it on itself, but taking into consideration that sunny is also likely autistic, it might be. both of them understand each other despite their childhood different experiences due to it.)

he’s also… pretty bad at articulating and identifying feelings.

“…but the words don’t come out.”

“i don’t know if i should apologize”

“but why does part of of me still cling on?”

the feeling of not knowing if you should apologize or not, the inability to form words and articulating yourself, the feeling of not knowing why you do something… that counts, right?

basil has a very keen interest in plants and flowers. he memorized the symbolism of the flowers that the he assigned to the friend group, and we see plants all over and even outside basil’s house.

he also insists on only taking photos of people when they’re not posing for him and genuinely expressing emotion (which does give the headcanon of him observing expressions and feelings through the photo album a little more merit :3)

from OMORI canon, we know how attached he is to the past and how he dislikes sudden changes. it’s why the photo album exists, it’s why he says “everything will be okay”, it’s why he did what he did. this is something that both sunny and basil have in common!

to me, basil is an autistic person who learned how to mask because he’s afraid to be seen as weird by his friends & others. his relationship with sunny is the only one where he’s able to drop that mask and be “free” in a sense. post-incident basil tries to mask too, but fails at it since he has… a lot more going on his mind.

[royalarchivist]

Roier: That fcking Pepito, I'm not attached to that guy because I know this is all just a distraction for my mind, because I still remember everything that happened in Purgatory. I remember what happened, I remember every fcking second, and I know that everything is just a fcking distraction. Those fcking Eggs are just a social experiment for me and everyone else, and right now what's happening is being revealed, because- I don't know, like, I don't know. They configured them wrong, they aren't acting right, that's how you know, these Eggs aren't like the old ones, they're all stupid assholes. That's what's happening in this fcking life.

No one notices, no one talks about it, and now three more fcking Eggs appear, and why doesn't anyone say anything? What's happening?! [Growls] No one says a thing, everyone stays silent and nods their head-

[Snaps his fingers at the camera] Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

Wake up.

[sgiandubh]

"He's actually paying those PR people? Whatever for? A drunk wombat would be better at the task." I LOL'd because my god have we been asking this very question of both Sam and Cait for years. They're PR is actually the worst. It's honestly hard to believe at times. Absolutely zero idea who either of them are trying to reach. The recalibrating after that VF disaster sent Cait into hiding, I'm not sure she's done another print interview since Belfast promo ended and if the Sam articles are going to continue on this way, he can quit too. Boring.

Dear Quit Anon,

I am flattered I managed to bring a smile or even a LOL, but I am not particularly glad about it. Unlike droves of people who think this PR shitshow is sad, I actually find it mystifying.

You are right. Goddess C went into occultation after that cursed VF interview. There are clear reasons, I think, for that. Also, please take into account the fact that, despite the illusions peddled by some fuckwits in this fandom, there are many things we simply do not know (nor should we, most probably).

As for S, I guess that ever since she went totally MIA (as I said, make-up and fash-un promo don't really compensate), he is overexposing himself. On purpose. Perhaps to protect her (I think so). Certainly to hide something. Since this is no way in hell about being gay (I will die on that hill and I know I am right), the only thing he could hide is well... I don't really need to draw it, do I?

Smoke and mirrors is always a risky strategy. S simply hasn't got what it takes to play that game long term, probably for the same reasons he was never a serious shortlist candidate for Bond. At this point in time, he'd mechanically go with whatever merde du jour is thrown by his imbecile PR on the table. Still, it's high time he'd seriously pull himself together. He can do better, as I wrote in a comment: he can do NYT and he did it very well, recently. And I was glad to see that. But Metro is just disappointing, clueless and tasteless. And it's padding up a press portfolio with amiable, meaningless bullshit that goes nowhere. Or at least nowhere near he wants to be or see himself in, let's say, five years from now.

OL is going to end. It has to. It's been both a blessing and a curse, I said that before. Then, it will be high time to end the fucking Truman Show. He (abstractly) knows that, he keeps hinting about it. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world” - for some reason, I found this phrase very telling. But I doubt he internalized what probably still feels like a safely remote occurrence, right now.

What are his real projects? For the moment, zero. Directing? I'd love to see it, but he's got no real credentials for that. Bond? I mean, publicly gushing and insisting is not going to manifest it. He needs a real movie, a good one to break that glass ceiling. Is he going to get it? I hope so. But his personal brand awareness is still low. The PR clowns should stop talking to us, in here: we are already here and not going anywhere. All of us: antis, mommies, shippers, fencers, haters, trolls. They should talk to the people who have no clue who S is, and do it differently. He should step out of his comfort zone, ditch the leeches and refuse to discuss his personal life, for a while. There, I said it.

What are her real projects? For the moment, not much. Sure, we have The Cut, where I gather her part is minimalistic, to be kind. We also have The Amateur, of which very little is known at the moment. However, if I am correct, she is not one of the leads. Enough said. And beyond that? Crickets.

Make no mistake. The real litmus test is not now. The real litmus test is 2025. And then we'll see. And I'll still be here, taking weeping Anons because I don't know who said I don't know what I don't know where. Mark me.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Hi!! This is my first time messaging a writer I really like but I’m high and have enjoyed your work for a while now and just wanted to share my appreciation especially after reading RAST. Sorry in advance for how unorganized this may look.

As a reader, I enjoy your story telling so much. You switch between past and present so fluidly and it makes the “world-building”feel natural while still keeping my interest and moving forward the plot.

I also wanted to compliment you on your ability to story tell so well while also staying true to the personality of the characters you write about. (I have specific examples I will detail later in this message from RAST because you did such a wonderful job of translating dynamics from the JJK universe into a Mafia AU)

I just wanted to share Little Details From RAST I enjoyed/made me really think

1.Grabbing Gojo’s wrist when he reaches for your skirt/panties happens both at the beginning and the end. I like how there’s a difference in Gojo’s reaction. The first time, he lightly dismissing your actions when he doesn’t have any genuine interest in you. The tension between Gojo in Ms. Gem later on is so telling because now Gojo knows all cards have been revealed and expects to be rewarded. It’s like when a dog finally gets their jaws on a toy and growls when you try to take it away.

2.(This detail I noted is an example of themes from the JJK universe translating well into your Mafia AU)In the JJK universe, there is definitely a patriarchal system in place which leads misogyny displayed in characters like Naoya. Your AU does a good job of portraying this culture as well from the start. It’s shared that the men of the organization don’t like women with “nasty attitude. It’s def implied that most men hold higher positions of power. It results in the events where we see other men laughing at Gem when she’s being groped by guards or being humiliated by Geto during his meeting.

3.(This goes for all your SatoSugu fics but especially in RAST) I love love love your characterization of Geto and Gojo. You’re very good at capturing personalities of characters but it’s especially clear in the SatoSugu fics you write because the dialogue is true to how they would speak to their darling AND eachother.

4.Through RAST, I was actually able to understand the personalities of Geto and Gojo in the manga better!It makes sense for Geto to be so controlled in personality because a controlled/calculating demeanor would only way for Geto to move up in ranks within the Yakuza and eventually meet and be on equal footing with Gojo. In the JJK world we see that Gojo really values Geto because Geto is on the same level as Gojo, but I forget that Geto must’ve clearly worked really hard to get to that level both in terms of skill and respect because he was born to a non-sorcerer family.With Gojo being apart of the sorcerer world/yakuza family by blood and always being reminded of how much power he has, it makes sense he would be so uncaring of social norms and so freely in Ms. Gem’s personal space.I can also see why, as you mentioned in another post, Geto doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, he’d be the type to see how to milk a situation for the most benefit rather than lashing out as Gojo would. (i.e. Gojo immediately throwing hands when the other yakuza family member touched Ms. Gem while Getou immediately seeing a chance to push Ms. Gem into their arms without a fit)

5. The car scene is actually lowkey funny bc they really do treat her like a pet on a road trip and ofc Gojo is the one watching cat videos lmaooo

7. You have this pattern in your writing (I like to think of it as a writer’s signature) of having questions by the reader go unanswered by the yandere while having phrases of affections by yanderes be barely acknowledged and I LOVE it. Every time I see it I eat it up because it’s so… akdjsjd

8. I love to see the SEM and EKM make an appearance in the last scene

Please correct me if any of my analysis in my thoughts are wrong and sorry in advance if that happens!! I truly enjoy the effort you put in as a writer

[kareofbears]

just one time (just one time) ch.2

“I heard you out and I’m still unsure why you’re even doing this.” Nanami pushes his shades up the bridge of his nose, peering down at the planner in his hand. “Or rather, why you insist on having me involved.”

A training camp for wayward children, Gojo had called it, gesticulating widely with his long arms, white hair bouncing with passion.

—

Or, Gojo and Nanami take it upon themselves to keep an eye on the first years during summer vacation without realizing that the first years are the ones keeping an eye on them.

read on ao3 or below the cut

It’s to be expected, but it still befuddles Nanami that a teacher doesn’t have any method of organization for his students.

“Where’s your desk?” Nanami asks him.

“Desk?” Gojo stares up at the ceiling, genuinely inquisitive. “I’m assuming in my office?”

“Okay.” There’s a pause where Nanami expects him to elaborate. When Gojo doesn’t, “Where’s your office?”

When Gojo stares up at the ceiling again, Nanami leaves, pulling up Principal Yaga’s phone number. A few hours later, Nanami gets the spare key to Gojo’s old office, every surface thick with layers upon layers of dust. Indeed, there's a large desk, clearly one that hasn't been used for much too long, but it's huge and recognizes a mug with a cheery new teacher! printed on the side, filled with various stationery items. He’ll ignore that—he's too picky to use giveaway pens.

Window thrown open, leaving him with a pleasantly bright view of the gardens, he gets to work. Throwing a pair of rubber gloves on, glasses neatly put aside, he spends the rest of the afternoon deep cleaning, phone blessedly turned on silent. One month or not, Nanami refuses to work in an unkempt environment.

With nothing but the sound of a hard brush scrubbing on wooden floors, he does what he always does when he has a fraction of free time. He thinks.

There’s logistics. A lot of it. All of which Gojo decidedly kept from him, stemming from thoughtlessness or simple apathy. Principal Yaga asked him if he’s decided on if he’s taking a room for the duration of the month, to which Nanami had politely and immediately declined. Teachers are offered room and board at Jujutsu Tech, but the school also doesn’t get a lot of teachers. He’s seen what the lodgings look like. There are only a handful of rooms available and given how his luck is going these days, he’ll have to share a wall with Gojo. At this moment, that does sound like his own personal version of hell.

And he’s not a teacher. When he firmly corrected Yaga of the fact, he was waved off.

“You deserve some slack too, Nanami. For old time’s sake.”

Old time’s sake.

The day is too bright and pleasant to go down that line of thinking

So he falls back to thinking about Yuji instead, as usual. He’s pleased to see how happy he is at school and with friends, learning in a safe, school environment. Thinks about how he can improve said school environment—already he has a notebook of ideas, from all the way back when he was the one attending Jujutsu Tech.

The overlap between his time in Jujutsu Tech as a student and as a camp counselor (for lack of a better phrase) is far and in-between. A lot has changed since then, but the one thing that undoubtedly stayed the same—

The wood of the brush creaks in his palm as he suppresses a sigh.

It was to be expected.

He’s known Gojo Satoru since they were teenagers. Gojo was born not with power, but as power. SIngle-handedly, he restructured the jujutsu world down to its atoms, smashed the pre-existing hierarchy and stitched together a new fabric of reality. It's the world's biggest blessing that despite it all, his heart remains undoubtedly good. If he became a curse user…the world would end. Simple as that. Undoubtedly and unquestionably.

But.

With that level of power, that level of confidence, it lets you cut a lot of corners to the point that the paper is a perfect circle. He's grown a little bit since their youth, but he still remains arrogant. Childish. Ultimately immature. And to think that he handles the future of Jujutsu sorcery with that same callous attitude is worrying. He trusts Gojo, has no choice but to trust Gojo like the rest of the society does. But it’s a little different now, trying to trust him as a teacher, when Itadori is on the line.

It feels like everything is different now that Itadori is on the line.

Mulling over it as he gets on his feet, wondering if he can find a duster anywhere on campusHe trusts Gojo. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he has any fondness for him.

It takes a few more hours. As the warm orange glow of the sunset begins to wash over the office, he lets himself collapse into the comfy chair in the corner of the office, freshly fluffed and feeling his joints ache slightly as he sinks into the plush of the seat. He really should get into the habit of stretching more. A cool breeze flows through the curtains as he lets himself relax and enjoy the scent of a clean room and the fruits of his labor.

Reluctantly, he picks up his phone once more. Brows pulling into a frown, he reads the subject of the email:

Mission! Announcement!! Meet tomorrow in class at 8am SHARP! swimsuit MANDATORY

When he clicks on the notification, he finds that the body of the email is completely empty. For a horrifying second, he wonders if Gojo has somehow reached the age of 28 without knowing how to properly send an email. Silently putting his phone down, he lets his eyes close and ponders over feeling regret for agreeing to this.

His phone chimes once, twice more. Picking it up, he sees enthusiastic replies from both Kugisaki and Itadori, with a lukewarm Read. from Fushiguro.

He can’t stop the fond smile that spreads as he settles in to read their responses. At least the chair is comfortable.

—

Nanami didn’t have any expectations, but he’s disappointed in himself for not realizing it sooner.

“Heads up!”

He tilts his head out of the way, feeling the smooth plastic of a beach volleyball graze his ear, grimacing as sand tickles his cheek.

“Sorry, Nanami-san,” Kugisaki calls out apologetically, tone sincere even though she’s grinning wide. She tilts the brim of her bright pink sun hat so that she can properly meet his eye. “My teammate sucks.”

Fushiguro only shrugs in response, expression exactly as stoic on a beach as it normally is in a classroom. “Yeah.”

“More passion!” Kugsaki yells.

“Yeah…?”

Nanami leans backwards and lights rolls the ball towards them as they continue to bicker, and he watches from underneath the shade of the big umbrella that Gojo had propped up for all of them. My kids are too young to have wrinkles.

He digs his heel into the soft sand, his beige slacks rolled up to his knees as he takes in his surroundings. Had he known where they were going, he probably would have opted out of office wear for once.

It turns out the reason why they had to meet up so early in the day was so they could secure a decent spot at the beach, which they got in flying colors. They’re close enough to the water without having to trek too far, but enough distance away from the crowds that it feels semi-private. Sitting on a wide blanket with his shoes neatly tucked away so it wouldn’t get sprayed in sand, Nanami watches Fushiguro, Kugisaki, and Gojo attempt an uncoordinated rally of skirmish volleyball, with Gojo using the slightest hint of cursed energy the ball strays too far from his students.

“Not joining?” he asks. Turning his head, he suppresses a sigh as Itadori idly plays with the sand from the other side of the beach towel, body faced away from Nanami, silent. “Itadori-kun, you know how I feel about the silent treatment.”

Itadori cranes his neck to face him with squinting eyes, body still turned away stubbornly. “No, I’m not joining.”

“And why aren’t you joining?” He has an inkling as to why, but he wants to hear it from him.

Curling tighter in on himself, Itadori’s chin juts out childishly. “You kept a secret from me.”

“It wasn’t a secret, it was a surprise,” he corrects him patiently. He pauses, before adding, “I’m sorry I kept it from you. Like Gojo-san said, I wanted you to be shocked. I didn’t realize you’d be upset by it.”

“And you won’t do it again?”

“If you don’t want me to, then no, I won’t do it again.”

Defrosting immediately, Itadori grins and rolls horizontally until he’s lying next to Nanami, all grumpiness gone, wrinkling the towel along the way. He props his chin up on his palm, feet kicking in the air. “Honestly, it was such a good surprise.”

Nanami gives him a look. “Then why were you in a bad mood?” he asks, reaching over to smooth out the towel. “You weren’t upset about this yesterday.”

“Of course I’d be happy at the moment. You’re in Jujutsu Tech as my teacher!” He almost corrects him before just letting Itadori speak. “But when I thought about it…I don’t know. I didn’t like that.”

“Me keeping secrets from you?”

He rubs the back of his neck, nodding. “Gah, I know I’m being kinda weird about it. it just felt weird not knowing you, Nanamin.”

“But there’s plenty of things you don’t know about me.” He keeps his voice steady, trying to understand where he’s coming from. Itadori gets like this sometimes. Sometimes the stone that is Itadori Yuji is less of a shining diamond and more of a sinking rock that Nanami has to dive for before it hits the ocean bed.

“Not when it’s me related,” Itadori scoffs, like it’s obvious. “You tell me everything, even when it’s kinda rude.”

He doesn’t deny it. “And you’re no longer upset, yes?”

Itadori thinks for a second. “Nah,” he relents, shoving his hand into the sand and Nanami watches the grain trickle from his fingertips. “How can I be mad? I mean—“ yanking his hand back from the sand to gesticulate, Nanami doesn’t find himself minding when grains get all over his dress shirt. He’ll just have to be thorough with laundry later today. “My friends are over there, my teacher is playing beach volleyball with them, of all things. It’s summer.” Elbowing Nanami’s calf, “You’re here. It’s like I’m a normal kid, having a normal summer.” He closes his eyes, and he looks much, much younger like this. “It’s nice.”

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore fills in the peaceful silence between them. “If you’re a normal child, you should consider focusing on your studies more. Go to cram school. Perhaps apply for a part-time job.”

Itadori groans. “Can’t you just let me have fun?”

“Gaining financial stability from a young age is fun. You’d have the option to do whatever you’d like.” The idea fills him with unexpected calm. Itadori, older, more settled in himself, pursuing a career in something he’s passionate about. Or maybe it’s just the idea that he’ll reach an age where he’s old enough to think about his future beyond the next mission.

“I’m a 15 year old who fights curses and only passes algebra if Gojo-sensei is feeling really nice during exam day,” he laughs. “There’s not much I could do.”

Nanami looks at him. “If you believe even for a second that your abilities are limited to punching and kicking, I may have to express my regrets for being an adult who’s failed you.”

Seeming to sense the change, Itadori sits up hurriedly. “That’s not what I’m saying,” he says.

“I know it’s not,” he agrees, still waiting for an explanation. “Because I didn’t teach you to think like that.”

Itadori shifts in his place, picking at the fabric of the towel. “It’s not anything deep,” he says, going for casual and overshooting. “I’m just saying that I’m not that academic or anything. I’m not good at this whole Jujutsu thing yet, but I’m okay when it comes to fighting.” Nanami wants to correct him—the idea that Itadori’s only talent is related to fighting and physical prowess, but he strongly disagrees. It may be part of his talents, but his real gift is his heart. The ability to stay so consistent to his truest self, despite it all. Perhaps, it’s the reason why he can host the King of Curses. “But yeah, I guess it’s hard to imagine what else I could do. I just don’t know how I can translate that into…an adult thing.”

“That is the beauty of youth, Itadori-kun,” he replies. “This is when you find out what else you can do.” At the look of fear and apprehension on Yuji’s face, Nanami almost cracks a smile. This boy fights curses and bleeds without flinching, yet considering his own possible growth is enough to still him. “No need to overcomplicate it. What do you like?”

“What do I like…” Voice trailing off, Yuji looks around, like he’ll find the answer in the ocean waves or the squawking bird that flies by them. Finally, his eyes settle in front of him, where Kugisaki faceplants and falls directly into Fushiguro, Gojo pointing and laughing like the bully that he is. “I like my friends. Can I make money with that?”

Suddenly, Itadori’s eyes widened, and he could almost see the light bulb blink above his head. “I can make money with that.”

Just as he was about to ask for clarification—asking friends for money isn’t a reliable source of income—Gojo’s voice rings out. “Yuji! Join my team or I’ll fail you.”

“Put him on my side!” Kugsaki argues.

“I’ll fail you, too.” Gojo catches Nanami’s eye and winks from above his sunglasses, foregoing the usual blindfold today. “Your Nanami-sensei can back me up on that.”

“No, I will not.” Not a sensei.

“Coming!” Itadori yells back, scrambling on his feet. “See you later, Nanamin. Hey, let me borrow a tie later, okay?”

Itadori joins them without waiting for his response. That’s fine. They both know the answer will always be yes.

—

Money’s never been high on his priority list, but he does like the idea of more than dust motes in his wallet.

Itadori takes a deep breath, trying to calm the jitters in his chest by focusing on the warmth of the morning sun caressing his cheek. He’s sitting in the courtyard in front of a table that he found in an unused classroom on a stool that he had accidentally kicked over on his way there. With a composing nod, he straightens his borrowed tie that he just knotted together clumsily, reaches towards the edge of the table, and flips the sign:

OPEN FOR BUSINESS.

“Wow,” a voice coos behind him immediately, and Itadori doesn’t jump anymore. Gojo’s habit of simply appearing has lost its shock value. “Are you an entrepreneur, Yuji-kun? Should I invest in your company? Where do I sign?”

“Sensei,” he turns his head, craning his neck up to look at Gojo, eyes squinting against the sun’s rays. “Do you want to be my first customer?”

“Of course.” Moving opposite to Itadori, Gojo folds his knees in tightly to sit on the short stool, long limbs neatly folding in on itself. “And what exactly am I purchasing?”

“My advice—” Itadori starts, but Gojo gestures for him to come closer. Obediently, he obliges, and Gojo reaches forward to redo his tie. “My advice. Nanamin said I should get a job that I like, and at first I thought ‘I don’t really like a whole lot of things,’ but then I realized I like talking!”

“That you do,” Gojo placates. “Nanami said that? He doesn’t even like his job. Or the concept of any job.” Smoothing down the expertly-knotted tie, he leans back. “If you need money, I can give you an allowance. Megumi gets one.”

“Yeah, but—” Itadori waves him off. “That’s different.”

My sponsor, Fushiguro tells him once, begrudgingly. It’s one of those topics that have always come up in odd moments but Itadori just found it’s not really his business to ask. Fushiguro is a private guy, and even though Gojo would probably be more than happy to go in-depth about the subject, all Itadori needs to know is that they’ve known each other much longer than an average first-year would know their teacher. If it’s anything like what Itadori has with Nanami, then he knows everything he needs to know.

“You want to make your own way? I support it! Kids these days are so inventive.” Gojo pokes at the empty glass jar on the table. “Give me advice then.”

“Uh,” Itadori stalls, a little flustered under Gojo’s undivided attention when it’s only his first day on the job. For a moment, he feels a little silly. What advice can he give Gojo-sensei? He probably already knows everything in the world. “Advice on what?”

“How about…” Gojo hums, long and inquisitive, and Itadori represses the urge to loosen his tie. “Where should I go for lunch today?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, relaxing. It’s an easy out, the sturdiest of olive branches. Aside from movies, this is probably what he can answer the best. “Do you want something quick, fancy? Nearby, or warpable, maybe? I guess they’re all warpable, but I still don’t really understand how you do that.”

“How about your favorite?”

“My favorite?” Itadori laughs. “I wouldn’t recommend that one to anyone, sensei. It’s sort of run down. But the owner likes me. She gives me toppings for free.”

“Toppings?” Gojo asks. “Ice cream?”

“He’s talking about the hot dog stall down four blocks from here,” a voice from behind Itadori replies, and he feels himself grin. “Unfortunately, Itadori-kun’s taste buds have yet to evolve from when he was seven years old.”

“Good morning,” he greets, craning his neck back.

“Good morning. Is this what you wanted my tie for?” The usual monotone is present, but Itadori catches the way Nanami glances downwards. “You tied it well.”

“Thank you,” Gojo drawls, kicking his feet up so it’s propped up on the table, hands behind his head and lazy grin spreading. “No good morning for me?”

The monotone is immediately replaced with a thin sheen of iciness. “Hello, Gojo-san.”

Itadori doesn’t bother watching his fascination, eyes bouncing back and forth like a tennis match. He looks up to both Gojo and Nanami almost religiously, and takes their words to heart every single time, but for very different reasons. Where he can rely on Gojo to push him to his limits and training, Nanami’s there to make sure he doesn’t get to the point of limping afterwards. Where Gojo can be hidden behind layers of riddles that leave him dizzy and scratching his head, Nanami is so straight-forward that he feels practically winded afterwards. They’re the only reason why he’s improved so much despite being new to the Jujutsu world, and for that, Itadori will be forever grateful.

But despite his reverence towards both of them, the animosity crackles so intensely that he almost has to shield his eyes from it.

He doesn’t let it get to him, though. “So, yeah, I like hot dogs,” he finishes.

“I’ll have to try it sometime,” Gojo says. Straightening up, he pulls out his wallet—bright yellow, decorated with cartoon characters and peeling stickers— and slides a thousand yen bill into the jar. “Thanks, Yuji-kun.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, you can’t give me that—”

“He’s right.” Nanami leans over Itadori’s shoulder. “That’s too low.”

“Nanamin,” he shakes his head. A couple of hundred coins yet. Pocket change. That’s all he was really expecting, if anything at all. “It’s—”

“He just started,” Gojo replies. “I won’t spoil him. When he continues, then it’ll go higher. Like a normal job.”

“He’d have time to have a normal job if he wasn’t stuck in Jujutsu Tech for the summer.”

There’s a sharpness there that Itadori wasn’t expecting, and for a moment, it catches him off guard. A sneaky glance at Gojo, however, doesn’t tell him a thing.

A beat passes.

“Class is starting soon.” Nanami takes out his own wallet—deep brown, worn leather— and slides a five thousand yen note into the jar before turning. “I’ll see you both there.”

When he leaves, Gojo gets up, stretching. “We should get going,” he says cheerfully. Lifting Itadori by the hoodie, he sets him on his feet. “Are we feeling hot dogs for lunch?”

“Sure,” he says belatedly, distracted. Before he follows Gojo up to the classroom, he quickly flips the sign and snags the jar, not quite sure how to interpret his first day at work.

CLOSED FOR BUSINESS.

[rdhadastroke]

So this straw-masked dumbass decided to do a thing and share some personal tips about writing fanfiction/writing someone else's character/writing in general!

Please keep in mind that I am a hobbyist writer, not a professional! These are just suggestions/things that help me that may or may not work for you, please feel free to correct me or add your own anecdotes :)

Tips for getting ready to write:

Make sure that you're in an environment where you can concentrate.

Whether that be in a quiet room, a chatty café, or blasting your eardrums out with music, whatever gets you in the groove is good. Not everybody can focus in the same environment, so your choice of surroundings for when you right aren't going to be the same as everyone else's. I (personally) listen to long video essays, my current favorite song on loop, or a playlist about the story/characters.

Clear a space for where you want to write.

Clear the space of excess clutter and keep only what you need. If what you need to write is a lot, that's fine! Having too much going on at once in your writing space can overwhelm and/or distract you. I know from personal experience.

Have all of your materials at hand.

Character sheets, previous stories, note paper to jot down ideas, rough environment & scene sketches... Whatever references and tools you need, keep them with you! Also, keep a glass of water or some other drink nearby. Hydrate or diedrate, my friends.

Make sure that you won't be interrupted while you're writing.

This may not be an option for those of you living with your parents or a roommate, but it's ideal for your creative flow to go undisturbed, uninterrupted, and unwatched. Is your father really watching you write your fanfic? No, probably not, considering that he's snoring. But it still feels weird to write when he's sitting in his armchair right behind you. No, I am not projecting my experience onto the reader under the cover of an absurd joke, why would you say that?

Now that setup is out of the way, let's go over some actual writing stuff:

Always, always, always block out what you want to write before you actually write it.

By "block out", I mean give a basic summary of the events you want to take place in that chapter or segment. I usually do this event-by-event because I struggle to carry on a story without an outline, but you can do it by chapter or by paragraph if you'd like. Make jokes in your mini-summaries, and phrase things in wacky ways (that convey things to you effectively)! You don't have to be too serious about it. After all, if you're in a lil silly goofy mood, you can get an epic sentence like this:

If you get stuck on a part of a story, move on and save it for later.

If you're anything like me, you understand the screaming, crying, pissing, pants-shittingly frustrating experience of not knowing how to describe something or figure out what should be said next. As angering as it is, it's okay. Just write a mini block-in for what you want to happen, want to describe, or the general tone of what you want to be said. Or use a keyword that you can Ctrl+F for to finish those pesky scenes when you're ready. If your writing software can do it (I have no clue if any one program does this, I only use Google Docs), mark the spot for review to return to it later. If you're one of those frighteningly powerful people who write stories by hand, highlight it and paste what you want to go there over it once you're ready. If you aren't familiar with this infuriating part of writing, you're a lucky bastard and I envy you immensely.

If you have writer's block, there are 8 potential strategies (that I can provide) you can use to alleviate it.

These are NOT surefire fixes for writer's block and are EXTREMELY subjective and results will vary from person to person, but they can potentially help you.

Read a book. Sometimes reading how another author writes (dialogue, scenery, figurative language, etc.) can help you get a better grasp of what you want to write, and how you want to write it. You might even get inspired to make a different story, which bleeds into the next point.

Work on/start a different story. (This isn't always the best way to get out of writer's block, so if you can't get a word down, this probably won't help.) Sometimes changing what you're working on can free up the ink clogged in your pen, for lack of a better phrase, and give you an, "aha!" moment.

Eat and drink something. Brains don't work when they don't have fuel, so feed your machine. Frequent maintenance keeps an engine running smooth, so occasionally get a snack and make sure to keep hydrated.

Take a walk and get some fresh air, and touch some grass for the love of god. Jokes aside, getting your body moving can excite your brain into working and clear some brain fog, since exercise gives your brain a dose of serotonin. As silly as it sounds, sitting in the sun and touching some grass can actually make you feel nice and rejuvenated, it helps me a lot. Even if you don't go outside, moving around is a good way to give your brain a break.

Talk to a friend and get their input. Their ideas can get you through a tough spot and inspire you to get writing again.

Look at pretty pictures and distract yourself from what you're doing. I have pictures of art pieces and doodles I like hanging in front of the desk where I write, and losing myself in pretty stuff helps me work through what I'm struggling with.

Jot down notes by hand on what you're trying to do. Planning things out on pen and paper, despite being tedious, imprints information in your mind and can be useful to your writing needs

If you're writing a fanfiction, look at the source material. Chances are, there's something there that could help you along.

If you don't have the motivation to write anything, don't.

This isn't the best advice for someone who's on a time limit, but works wonders for passion projects and fun stories. Very few do their best work when they force themselves to do it. Besides, there's no point in having a hobby if you don't get joy out of it and overly stress over it.

Writing someone else's character? No problemo, here's some fanfic help:

Always look at the source material, and don't be shy to explore new territory with the character.

It's important to stay true to the personality of a character when you're writing someone else's creation, but don't be afraid to throw in some headcanons and artistic flair. Remember, there's a difference between writing a character unrealistically (pertaining to personality, likes, interests, and universe/world/time period) and changing the circumstances of the original story. Characters are people too, and people react differently to the same thing depending on the world around them. A character may not have [x] trait if [y] event never happened, likewise [y] event never would have happened if this character didn't have [x] trait. Take into consideration the people around the character, as well, as they can also affect what the character does and how they develop. Change up small events in the original source material's story to get a different story and a different reaction out of the character. Experiment, and have fun! It's your story, write it your way!

That's all the advice I have for now, and I hope I was helpful! :)))