#But it has to be done in a way that doesn't feel forced

[ariaste]

So I was nodding along almost the whole way through, I was saying "Yeah!" and "Oof, I feel that, I can relate," until I got to:

"be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial" and "you must insist upon her [...] because she may still not yet know how".

And... yeah, no, kinda lost me there. Now, don't get me wrong! It is perfectly valid if you're doing those things essentially as kink (or not-really-kink-but-kinda-uses-the-same-tools-and-skillset) -- that is, you and your beloved have sat down and talked about her discomfort and her difficulties, and the difference between actual discomfort and cognitive dissonance at the concept of having nice things for herself, and how SHE wants you to recognize the distinction (and what signals SHE can give to provide cues in cases of ambiguity), and she's given you express permission to do the Being Forceful thing in pursuit of doing nice things for her and insisting or persuading her into accepting them -- AND y'all have talked about how she can communicate effectively when your insistence and persuasion isn't just not landing right for some reason or when it's actually starting to cross a line. If you've done all that: great, godspeed, I love your love. Make her accept all the compliments and adoration and the nice things she deserves! Your crusade to love her properly is righteous and just!

However. The vast majority of us across the spectrum of transness have experienced people crossing our boundaries, infantilizing and condescending to us, assuming that they know better than us about what we want, and ignoring our quiet, hesitant attempts to push back in small ways as we try to establish a foothold and figure out how much space we're allowed to take up. So... idk, putting "be forceful" and "insist because she may not yet know how" right next to solid, sound advice for all situations like "be patient, be generous" as if they are equivalent in meaning and impact and importance just... rubs me the wrong way. I think OP is absolutely speaking coming from a place of love and positivity, but... this needs caveats.

Because man-oh-man I have personally experienced this kind of thing from both sides: Just because you know that something is going to be good for someone doesn't mean they're going to appreciate having it forced on them. Just because you're absolutely sure that someone will be delighted by something doesn't mean that you're always going to be right.

Suppose the nice thing that someone (let's call them Tye) is doing for their partner (let's call her Mia) is... taking her out to her favorite Italian restaurant. Suppose Tye does this every week without fail, and they feel great about it because Mia loves this restaurant and she deserves to be treated like a princess. But what happens if one week she's bored of it, or not in the mood for Italian food? What happens if she says, "Hey, maybe we don't have to go today... I don't really need all this, what if we just eat toast and eggs--" and Tye says, "NO NO. NO, I LOVE YOU AND WE'RE GOING! YOU DESERVE IT!!!" Y'know what I'm saying??? That's not actually about loving Mia anymore, that's more about Tye getting off on their own heroism. And Mia is once again having to shut up and make herself small.

If the goal is to love your person and give her space to grow confident enough to accept and embrace all the love and wonderful things she deserves, the strategy of forcefulness and insistence COULD actually end up being counter-intuitively DISempowering if it is not explicitly consensual: It is removing opportunities for her to practice communicating her own needs, choosing happiness, and valuing herself where other people can see. It is reinforcing the lesson she has already learned from the rest of society, which is that her self-knowledge and boundaries are inferior to the wants and goals of the people around her.

Having a partner who is so passionate about loving us that they INSIST on giving us the things we secretly long for even when we're scared and shy of accepting them ourselves (and that they always telepathically know exactly what is going to be the perfect thing even before we know it ourselves, and they never once make a mistake in reading our mood when we come home tired from work, and they're always able to seamlessly adjust their plans to accommodate our whim)... It is a lovely fantasy. I will not deny that it is a very lovely fantasy and that I too would like to go to there. That sounds FANTASTIC.

But at the end of the day you are loving an adult human being and "no means no" must remain true even if you think you perceive a glint of longing in her eye (unless modified rules of consent have been established and ratified between you prior to this). Absolutely be patient, be generous, be loving, be attentive and proactive. But also you also gotta be okay with backing the hell off sometimes. You gotta be humble enough to acknowledge that sometimes you might be projecting your own past self's longings, rather than looking at the person in front of you with clear eyes. Create a space where it's safe for her to come out of her protective shell instead of dragging her out of it before she's ready. Encourage her to set her own boundaries, and express appreciation when she does so, especially when the boundaries are ones you disagree with or are personally inconvenienced by.

You cannot force a person to move faster along their journey of loving themself. Having someone insist on giving you love (and I'm once again speaking from experience here, as someone who has been on both sides) can sometimes end up making the beloved feel more guilty, more self-conscious, and more aware of their own "failures" and "deficiencies". To the person trying to do that style of love, it probably IS purely in good faith, but to the person receiving it, it can sometimes come across as a constant implicit reminder of, "I'm not doing it right, I'm still not doing it right, and everyone can tell. No matter how hard I try I still can't do it right, I hate myself even more now."

OP absolutely hit the nail on the head with everything about, "I had to stop [negative self-thoughts], I had to start [taking care of myself], I had to learn [those skills], but more than that I had to learn to ask[...]. it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train." 100% cosigned. That is exactly it -- training muscles. You can be someone's spotter and cheerleader, but you can't lift the weights for them, and forcing them to lift more than they're ready for often hurts more than it helps. Communicate! Establish a culture of consent even outside the bedroom! And continue to be patient even when it turns out that progress is not a straight line without any stumbles!

so many of the transfems i know spent their time pre-transition performing a kind of lifelong exercise in self-deprivation, the goal of which was to find out exactly how little a person needed to live. they starved themselves, dressed carelessly, shunned friends, and hollowed themselves out so as not to be burdens on anyone but themselves.

i see it now, too, in the girls around me. i'll ask if they want care – a home-cooked meal, relaxed company, sex without the expectation of reciprocation – and they say no, no, thank you, i don't need it; what would you like, what do you want, because in their head they're still doing that awful calculus, still training themselves to disappear in the eyes of the people around them.

i don't think i'd have died without transition – not in the conventional sense, at least – but to take that leap, i had to stop thinking of myself as a human experiment in fuel-efficient living and start nurturing the anemic, atrophied flame of desire in my heart. i had to learn to eat well, to exercise, to style myself beautiful, but harder than that, i had to learn to ask the people around me to work on my behalf in order to enrich my life and give me the things i wanted.

and i did it; i learned. and it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train, and every day i get better at accepting gifts with the hungry gratitude i never learned in my years and years as a sad, scared, lonely boy.

so be patient with the trans girls in your life. better than that: be proactive, attentive, generous; be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial that so many of us once learned to rely on.

and if you are so lucky as to love a trans girl, you must insist upon her. you must insist upon her happiness, her comfort, her pleasure, and her rest, because she may still not yet know how to make those demands for herself. if you can devote any amount of energy to becoming an engine that nurtures the flame of even a single tgirl then there is a place for you in trans heaven, which as far as i'm concerned is the only one worth going to

[muchanmocha]

Do you think that Luka has a hard time understanding and/or feeling remorse for his actions if they don’t directly affect him, and do you think this is why he lacked a reaction at Hyun Woo’s death? Your post about him being horrified by killing his clones when he really wanted to set them free was great, and that, along with him also being horrified at Hyuna’s death, has me wondering this. But Luka seemed to genuinely see Hyun Woo as his friend even though they weren’t as close towards the end, but maybe they had drifted far enough apart in Luka's mind that he didn’t really associate himself with Hyun Woo at that point? What do you think?

[Referencing this post]

I actually have a longer post in the works about how the dead clones scene fits into the bigger picture and why I think it'd basically set everything else in motion, including what happened with Hyun Woo. But I can try to respond with some of the main points here!

-

Why did Luka lack a reaction to Hyun Woo's death, unlike with the clones and Hyuna?

But that's exactly it isn't it? Those two events bookend all of the times inbetween where Luka doesn't seem to care.

The scene with the clones is significant because it's the first time.

The scene with Hyuna is significant because it happened to Hyuna, and as I will get into further down, Hyuna fulfills a specific role for him.

What happened to the dead clones utterly broke his will and Luka chose to cope with that by completely withdrawing into himself, essentially committing to a form of escapism or dissociation.

In your dreams, you'll run and play

In paradise

— Wiege

I think after the clones incident, he basically just started blocking out everything that involves him processing death and loss.

That's where Hyuna comes in.

Hyuna is his escapism.

[Made a post breaking down the events with Hyun Woo here]

What changed with Luka and Hyun Woo wasn't that they drifted apart so Luka didn't care about him enough to be affected by his death.

What changed was that after the clones died, Luka threw away a reality he couldn't cope with to drown himself in Hyuna and only Hyuna.

In other words, he didn't react to Hyun Woo's death because it's part of the reality he's denying. He's (perhaps subconsciously) not allowing himself to acknowledge it or process it.

But he can't do that with Hyuna.

If Hyuna is his way of escaping from reality, where is he supposed to go, to escape to, when she's the one dying?

Despite the blood that follows him, Hyuna is the probably first time he's been forced to confront death since that very first scene with the clones.

Do you think Luka has a hard time understanding/or feeling remorse for his actions if they don't directly affect him?

There are strong implications that come with the fact that Hyuna told Luka to forgive himself.

It means he hasn't forgiven himself.

He keeps running away from what happened, and what's happening, because he isn't able to and won't be able to forgive himself for what he's done.

By not acknowledging the present and not processing the deaths that follow him, he essentially side-steps the problem.

He doesn't have to confront the guilt, shame, internal struggles, or the question of forgiveness... if it had never happened, right?

(To be clear he does know that people have died, whether that be Hyun Woo or the Alien Stage contestants he went up against.)

(However knowing something and processing something are two different things and I suspect he's mentally blocking himself from doing the latter.)

The dead clones incident can only affect him so deeply because he does have the inherent capacity for compassion.

But the world of Alien Stage is not kind to those with compassion. So he throws it away.

The post-Round 7 interview states that Luka looks down on Mizi and co for getting swept up in their emotions.

Luka likely dismisses this as foolishness by simply avoiding it.

— Post Round 7 Q&A, Patreon

Yeah, he does. I mean he basically dialed up that avoidance to 100.

Vivimeng describe Mizi and co as "strong individuals who, in a space that seems inhumane, seek to connect by loving others."

And that's absolutely true. They really are brave individuals for daring to care when it will only hurt more if they do.

At the same time it's understandable that Luka chose to turn away from that.

At a young age, he's already been shown, quite brutally, what happens if you care.

-

Thanks for the ask, anon! I ended up connecting even more dots while writing this up lol

[silkenwinger]

Soap's been having fun lately. Lots of gym, swimming. Eating his heart out. He misses the action, but his condition has finally improved enough that he can at least enjoy life's simplicities. He greets the old people in his complex, takes on small jobs to keep busy while he mostly lives off the pension until he finds something more meaty to get his hands on. He doesn't have a dryer back home, and he hates hanging clothes, so every Friday he gets to the laundromat, pays for his washing and sits there waiting for it to be done, sketchbook in hand. Every time he goes there, the same arrangement of people finds him: older ladies, some eternal bachelors, and the sweet younger thing that lives just upstairs from the laundry.

It's not his fault he tends to monopolise the attention, you hear him? Classmates would roll their eyes when teachers took him under their wing just because he was funny. Everyone there knows all of his business; his inside voice never really developed outside of life threatening situations. He announces he has an interview for some construction worksite ("they do interviews nowadays?") and that he's excited to have a full time job again. The pensioners wish him good luck. You, instead, invite him for a drink together back at your house.

You're lovely, really. Pretty, funny, the whole package. But, um. He's still not fully recovered from the incident. He's afraid he won't be able to perform at his best. He also thinks you deserve to be with someone a little less scarred, someone who can share a general life path with you. Not someone whose dream is already over. Not someone like him.

But he still has pride. A male part of him simply doesn't think he has any right to refuse your invitation. And it doesn't necessarily mean that you want him that way to begin with, he shakes his head. You have a generous nature, he can tell. Maybe you're a bit lonely in this big city and just need someone to talk to.

The two of you have a lovely dinner together, actually. You cooked the lamb meat tenderly, just as he likes it without even knowing it. He's just about to tell you that he's had a great time, but that he should really go back home, because the interview is tomorrow and he has to wake up early...

He starts feeling weird. Lead in his legs, his head throbbing where he was shot, blood pooling behind his eyes. He sees you get up from the chair before his vision goes dark.

He wakes up some time later, his head full of cotton. His back is on a soft surface and his limbs immobilized, still caged even as he shakes, full force not recovered yet. Hearing him struggle, you slither in the room, immediately coming to his bedside. Even as he yells and convulses, desperately trying to set himself free, you don't speak, just try to pet his hair through the shakes. He decides to shut up for a moment then, still not totally sure of what's going on, if this is a joke. You speak then.

"Oh Johnny," you sigh, looking at him with so much pity he's only getting more confused, your hand still in his hair, "you didn't think I would let you be in danger again, right?"

[winterlico]

SEVEN DAYS WITH A DEMON — SJY

⋆.˚ pairing : demon!Jake x fem!reader | status : on going

Summary : You thought summoning a demon for seven days would be temporary. You were wrong.

⋆.˚ word count : 6.3k

Genre : Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Light Angst, Fluff

⋆.˚ warnings : 18+ joke (implicitly), harsh words, making out, LOTS of teasing (buckle up)

⋆.˚ a/n : English is not my first language and this is the first time i uploaded a fanfic, i'm sorry if there is still a lot missing words. If you want to be tagged, comment here!

❛ feedback & reblogs appreciated! ❜

Night Seven: The Final Wish

The television hums quietly in the background, flickering between news channels, late-night talk shows, and commercials that neither of you are paying attention to. The apartment is dim, bathed in the glow of the screen, casting long shadows against the walls.

You are both sprawled on the couch, slumped against each other like it's the most natural thing in the world—Jake’s body warm against yours, his arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, his golden eyes fixed on the flickering images but his mind clearly elsewhere. And yours? Yours is nowhere near the television either.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting like this, tangled together, neither of you moving, neither of you speaking. It should be comfortable—it always is. But tonight, the air feels different. Heavy. Like something is about to happen. Like something is changing. Your fingers grip the edge of the blanket draped over your lap, your breath slow, measured, as if holding it steady will keep the thoughts from crashing into you all at once.

Because tonight is the last night.

Tonight, he’s supposed to leave.

Your throat tightens at the thought, your stomach twisting with something you refuse to name. Seven nights. That’s all you were given. Seven nights with a demon who has done nothing but infuriate you, tease you, unravel you. Seven nights where he has become more than just a summoned being bound by contract—more than just a temporary presence in your life.

And now?

Now, it's over.

Jake shifts beside you, and when you glance at him, your breath catches slightly. He isn't watching the TV anymore. He's watching you.

His golden eyes flick over your features, slow, careful, like he's committing every detail to memory—the way your lips part slightly as you take a shaky breath, the way your fingers curl into the fabric of your hoodie, the way your chest rises and falls just a little too unevenly. He doesn't say anything, but you can feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his jaw tightens slightly.

He's thinking it too.

He should be relieved. He should be eager—this is what every summoned demon waits for. The contract is nearly fulfilled, the bond will be severed, and he will be free. And yet—he hasn’t moved. He hasn’t said anything about it. And the weight of that realization settles deep into your bones.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, until finally, you break it.

"Jake." Your voice is quiet, hesitant, but it’s enough to make his golden eyes sharpen, locking onto yours with unnerving intensity.

He doesn’t speak.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to say the words that have been sitting heavy on your chest all night. "This is our last night."

Jake doesn’t react right away. He just watches you, unmoving, unreadable. But something flickers behind his eyes—something dark, something restless.

You inhale shakily, your next words barely above a whisper. "Will you forget me?"

Jake's expression shifts, just slightly, but enough for you to notice. His lips part, his breath hitches for the briefest second, and then—his voice drops lower, softer. "Demons don’t forget."

Your chest tightens. You exhale slowly, gripping the blanket between your fingers. "So… what happens now?"

Jake tilts his head slightly, golden eyes searching yours, and then—he smirks. But it’s different this time. It’s not teasing. It’s not arrogant. It’s something else. Something heavier. "That depends on you, angel."

Your heart stumbles. You know what he means.

This is it.

Your final wish.

Jake leans in slightly, his voice dipping lower, rougher, almost desperate. "Tell me what you want."

You want to be selfish. You want to keep him.

And so—you say it.

"I wish you could stay."

The words leave your lips in a whisper, barely audible, but they shatter the space between you.

Jake freezes.

His golden eyes widen, lips parting slightly as if he wasn’t expecting you to say it—like the very idea is unbelievable. Then—something breaks.

A deep, aching longing cracks through his expression, raw and unguarded, something desperate clawing its way to the surface. His fingers twitch against his knee, his breath hitches. And then—he moves.

Fast.

Before you can react, before you can say another word, his hands are on you. His fingers are warm, solid, desperate as they find your waist, pulling you in with a force that steals the air from your lungs. And then—his lips crash into yours.

It’s not soft.

It’s raw. Uncontrolled. Devouring.

Jake kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s drowning, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into this moment. His hands grip your body like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like he’s grounding himself in the reality of you. A soft gasp escapes you, and Jake groans in response, tightening his hold. One hand slides up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just right as he deepens the kiss.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, closer. But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

His tongue flicks against yours—teasing, testing, taking. A shiver runs down your spine as you arch into him, the heat in your stomach coiling tighter, spreading, consuming. His breathing is ragged, uneven, wrecked. His hands move lower, pressing, gripping, claiming.

He pulls back. Not far. Just enough to look at you.

His forehead presses against yours, his breath heavy, golden eyes dark and burning. His thumbs trace slow, lazy circles against your skin as if he needs to memorize every inch of you.

He whispers.

"Angel," his voice is hoarse, almost broken. "You have no idea what you’ve just done."

Because some contracts aren’t just words.

Some wishes are stronger than magic.

And some demons—no matter how many centuries they’ve lived—find themselves falling for the one thing they never thought they could have.

A home.

A love.

You.

And this time?

This time, neither of you are letting go.

The air is thick, too thick, suffocating in a way that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature and everything to do with what just happened.

Neither of you have moved.

Jake is still close—too close. His golden eyes burn into you, his breathing uneven, his hands lingering just a little too long on your waist, like he's forgotten how to let go. Like he doesn’t want to. And you? Your body is still buzzing, shaking, alive in a way that makes you feel too aware of everything—of his warmth, of his weight, of the fact that this isn’t a game anymore.

Something has changed. Neither of you know what to do about it.

Abruptly—Jake lets go.

Not smoothly. Not like the smug, arrogant demon you’ve gotten used to. Not like he meant to. He steps back too quickly, too suddenly, like something inside him just snapped, like he can’t trust himself to be this close to you any longer.

His hands twitch at his sides, his jaw clenched too tight, his chest rising and falling too fast. He drags a hand through his hair, exhales sharply, golden eyes flickering with something he doesn’t want to name.

You stare at him, your own breath still shaky, your lips still tingling from the way he had kissed you—the way he had taken, devoured, wrecked. And yet now, standing just a few feet away, he looks like he’s the one falling apart.

And you realize—he’s trying to run.

"Jake," you say, softly, carefully, like one wrong move will make him vanish completely.

His golden eyes snap back to yours immediately, and for just a second—just a fraction of a second—you swear he looks... uncertain. But then, the moment shatters. His expression shifts, a smirk tugging at his lips, the familiar arrogance slipping back into place like armor.

"Careful, angel," he murmurs, his voice dropping low, casual—too casual. "Say my name like that again, and I might start thinking you like me."

The whiplash is so strong, you almost choke.

"Are you serious right now?" you snap, still breathless, still shaken, and yet here he is—acting like he didn’t just kiss you like he was never going to get the chance again.

Jake grins, sharp and lazy, but his fingers are still twitching. "What, did you expect pillow talk?"

He tilts his head, golden eyes gleaming with mischief, but something else lingers underneath it—something real, something raw. "Maybe a confession? Should I tell you how I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the second you summoned me?"

Your breath catches.

Jake notices and suddenly, that lazy grin tightens. His fingers flex at his sides again, his body still tense, like he’s barely holding something back. Like he’s trying too hard to act unaffected.

So you do something reckless.

Something that makes his composure snap.

You step forward until the space between you disappears. Until you’re close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that he has to look down at you, close enough that there’s no way for him to ignore what’s happening between you.

Then, in the softest, most nonchalant voice you can manage, you murmur—

"Jake."

And just like that—he’s gone.

Not literally. Not yet.

But the mask? Destroyed.

He exhales sharply, his entire body tensing. His golden eyes darken, his smirk faltering for just a second before he grabs you again.

Not like before. Not in some rushed, desperate way.

This time, his fingers skim along your jaw, tilting your face up, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that feels different. More focused. More deliberate. More... dangerous.

"You," he murmurs, his voice rough, strained, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. "Are going to be the end of me."

The weight of those words settles into your chest, into your skin, into the space between you. Before you can respond—before you can even breathe—he leans in.

Not kissing you. Not yet.

But close enough that you feel everything.

His nose brushes against yours, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your jaw, like he’s savoring this moment—like he’s memorizing it.

Like he’s terrified of what it means. In a whisper—so soft, so unlike him, so wrecked—

"Say my name again."

Your stomach flips. The air burns.

Jake is still too close.

His nose brushes against yours, his breath warm, slow, deliberate, teasing. His golden eyes are locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, but there’s no more amusement there—only heat, only something heavy, something dangerous, something wrecked. His fingers stay on your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to keep your eyes on him, just enough to keep you trapped in this moment, just enough to make it impossible to look away.

And then—he says it.

Soft. Low. A command wrapped in velvet.

"Say my name again."

The words send a violent shiver down your spine, heat coiling in your stomach so tight, so unbearable, you forget how to breathe.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Not yet.

He notices. Of course, he does.

His smirk returns, but it’s different now—sharper, more dangerous, more certain. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, slow, lazy, taunting. His voice drops even lower, barely a whisper now, but still dripping with control.

"Come on, angel," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, golden eyes flickering with something wild. "I know you can do it."

You swallow hard, fingers curling into the fabric of the couch, nails pressing into the cushions to ground yourself, to keep yourself from completely falling into whatever this is. But Jake? Jake isn’t letting you go anywhere.

And that’s when you realize—he’s testing you.

He wants to see how far he can push you.

And you?

You don’t want to lose. So, you push back.

Your lips barely move, barely form the shape of his name, but it’s enough.

"Jake."

The second the word leaves your lips—he’s gone. Not literally. But the last bit of restraint?

Destroyed.

Jake moves fast. Too fast.

One second, you’re sitting there, taunting him, teasing him, testing him.

The next?

You’re on your back.

Jake is above you, over you, pinning you into the couch, his hands gripping your hips, his body pressing against yours so solidly, so completely, there is nothing else left but him.

His golden eyes are wild now, dark, dangerous, wrecked beyond belief. His smirk is gone—completely gone.

And his voice. Low. Rough. Desperate.

"You have no idea what you’ve just done."

The moment his lips crash into yours, you forget how to think.

Jake doesn’t kiss you like before. It's raw. Consuming. Overwhelming.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, holding, pressing. His body is solid, warm, heavy, unyielding. He kisses you like he’s never going to get another chance. Like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting for this longer than he wants to admit.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling him closer, as close as possible. But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

Jake groans against your lips, deep and wrecked, his fingers tightening against your waist, his breath shaky, uneven. His tongue flicks against yours—teasing, tasting, demanding. A soft sound escapes you, and the second it does—he growls, low and pleased, his grip tightening, his body pressing down harder.

"God, angel," he mutters against your lips, his voice so rough, so wrecked, so unlike the smooth, cocky demon who’s been teasing you all week. "You feel so damn good."

You barely have time to react before he kisses you again, hungrier this time, rougher, deeper. His weight pins you down, his hands tighten, his lips move against yours like he’s losing himself completely.

And you?

You let him.

You arch into him, fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper into this moment, into you. His lips trail away from yours, down to your jaw, down to your throat, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, hot breath leaving your skin tingling, burning.

And then—he stops.

Abruptly.

Jake’s breathing is heavy, uneven, completely wrecked. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his entire body tense, shaking, like he’s barely holding himself together.

And then—he laughs.

Low. Rough. Almost bitter.

"Shit."

You blink, trying to process anything at all.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his golden eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. He exhales sharply, his fingers tightening against your waist like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, like he’s trying to understand what the hell just happened.

And then, softly—almost like he hates himself for it—he whispers,

"This wasn’t supposed to happen."

You stare at him, breathless, heart pounding.

And you realize something. He’s not talking about the kiss.

He’s talking about you.

Jake hasn’t moved. Not in the way he should.

His forehead still rests against your shoulder, his breath heavy, his entire body shaking with the weight of what just happened. His hands are still gripping your waist, still pressing into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

His breath ghosts along your jaw, warm, slow, deliberate. His fingers slide higher, trailing up your sides in a way that makes you shudder beneath him.

He moves slowly. His lips find your jaw first, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the curve of it, his mouth warm, open, teasing. His fingers tighten just slightly, his body pressing down against you, making sure you feel all of him, every inch, every part of him that is holding back.

You suck in a sharp breath, your fingers tangling into his hair, your body arching just barely beneath him.

Jake notices and that’s exactly why he smirks against your skin.

"You like that?" he murmurs, his voice so low, so dark, it nearly wrecks you. His lips trace along your jawline, slow, lazy, dangerous. "You’re so quiet now, angel. Not gonna fight me this time?"

Your breath catches, you don’t answer. You can’t.

His lips are moving again. They trail lower.

Down the curve of your throat, down to that spot just beneath your ear, the one that makes your pulse hammer against your skin. He pauses there, pressing a kiss so slow, so deliberate, you swear you feel your entire body ignite.

You whimper before you can stop it.

Jake groans.

"God, angel," he mutters against your skin, his voice strained, wrecked, like he’s losing himself completely. "You’re killing me."

And then—he bites.

Not hard. Not enough to hurt.

But enough to make you gasp. Enough to make your back arch. Enough to make heat coil low in your stomach, burning, unbearable.

"Jake—"

You don’t know what you’re asking for.

But it doesn’t matter and he knows.

His lips part against your throat, his tongue flicking against the mark he’s just left, soothing, teasing. His hands slide lower, gripping your hips, pressing you deeper into the couch, making sure you feel him—every inch of him.

"Say my name again," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

You shudder. "Jake."

That’s all it takes.

He breaks.

He grips you tighter, his body pressing flush against yours, his mouth moving lower, tracing along your collarbone, down, down, down. His teeth graze your skin, his tongue flicks against every sensitive spot he can find, his hands sliding up beneath your shirt, warm, firm, desperate.

And then—he pauses.

Breathing heavy.

Shaking. Like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he knows if he takes this any further—there’s no going back. He curses, low and sharp.

Jake is still kissing you.

His lips trail lower, slower, hungrier, his hands tightening against your waist, pulling you closer, pressing into you like he wants to drown in the feeling of you. He’s groaning softly against your skin, his breath uneven, his body a furnace against yours. You don’t stop him.

You don’t want to stop him.

Because it’s too much, and yet, not enough.

Then—it happens. Suddenly. Abruptly.

Like a snap of magic in the air, like a thread yanked too tight before breaking completely.

Jake flinches.

His breath catches in his throat, his entire body going rigid above you, his grip on you suddenly unsteady. His golden eyes flicker, his smirk faltering, his lips parting as if he’s about to say something—but nothing comes out.

You blink, dazed, breathless, confused.

"Jake?"

Something shifts in the air. Something wrong. Something deep, heavy, old—something cold pressing in around the both of you.

Jake's entire body tenses. Then, suddenly—he’s not touching you anymore.

He yanks himself back, violently, like he’s been burned. Like the weight of what just happened between you has finally crashed down on him all at once. His hands tremble at his sides, his breathing is too rough, too uneven, too wrecked. His golden eyes flicker—not with heat, but with something else now.

Panic.

No.

Not just panic.

Fear.

That makes your stomach drop. Because Jake is never afraid.

Your chest tightens, your heart hammering for an entirely different reason now. "Jake, what—"

But he’s already shaking his head.

"No."

The word is sharp, rough, clipped, like he’s trying to shake something off. He moves fast. Too fast.

He’s off the couch, putting distance between you, between whatever just happened, between whatever he’s suddenly afraid of. His hands are in his hair, his jaw clenched too tight, his breathing too unsteady, his golden eyes flashing with something wild.

And for the first time since you met him, Jake looks truly, completely lost.

You push yourself up, your own breath still shaky, still uneven, still trying to make sense of what just happened. Your lips are still tingling from his kiss, your body still feels the weight of him, but now—now, there’s something else filling the space between you.

Something colder.

Something you don’t understand.

"Jake," you say, your voice softer now, careful.

He flinches.

Not visibly. But you feel it. Like a barely-there tremor in the air, like a ripple of tension across his shoulders, like something inside him is already pulling away.

And you hate it. You stand up, taking a step toward him, and that’s when he moves again.

He turns his back to you. Not lazily, not teasingly, not with the smug arrogance you’ve gotten used to.

But like he can’t let you see him like this. Like if he looks at you now, something will break. And you have no idea if it’s him or you.

"Jake, what’s wrong?"

Silence.

He inhales sharply, exhales even slower. his voice isn’t teasing. It isn’t playful. It’s wrecked.

"You don’t understand what you just did."

The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s no heat in them. No amusement. No arrogance.

Just—something else.

Something softer. Something terrified. And you realize—

Jake isn’t pulling away because he doesn’t want you. He’s pulling away because he does. Your heart pounds loudly, painfully, heavy against your ribs.

This is different. This isn’t just tension. This isn’t just desire.

This is Jake unraveling and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, your mind racing. But before you can overthink it, before you can let him slip through your fingers completely—

You move.

One step.

Another.

Until you’re right behind him. For a second—just a brief, fleeting second—he doesn’t move away. You reach out, your fingers hovering near his arm, hesitant. But before you can touch him—

Jake speaks again. His voice is quieter. Softer. And completely wrecked.

"If you don’t stop looking at me like that, angel…"

A pause.

His fingers twitch at his sides. Then—a whisper.

"…I won’t be able to stop myself."

The silence stretches.

Thick. Suffocating.

Jake still isn’t looking at you. His back is rigid, his fists clenched, his breath uneven, his entire body strung too tight, like he’s barely keeping himself together. The weight of his words still lingers in the air between you, heavy, impossible to ignore.

"If you don’t stop looking at me like that, angel… I won’t be able to stop myself."

You should step back. You should give him space.

But you choose not to. Because you know this isn’t what he really wants.

So, you do the opposite. You step closer.

Jake inhales sharply, his body tensing even more, but he still doesn’t move.

That’s all the confirmation you need. Your fingers brush against his arm—light, tentative, testing. A silent question. A plea.

And that’s when Jake finally—finally—snaps.

He turns so fast, you barely register what’s happening before you’re pinned against the nearest wall.

Not rough.

But not gentle, either.

Just desperate.

Jake’s hands frame your face, his golden eyes burning into yours, his breath uneven, wrecked, completely and utterly gone.

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is low, strained, full of something he doesn’t know how to say.

Your own breath catches, your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt, steadying yourself, steadying him.

"Then tell me," you whisper.

Jake exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers trembling slightly against your skin.

And then—he gives in.

His lips crash into yours with no hesitation this time, no teasing, no holding back. Just raw, consuming, unbearable need. The kiss is hotter than before.

It’s not slow, not careful.

It’s deep, hungry, desperate.

Jake’s hands tilt your chin up, angling your face just right, his body pressing into yours so completely, so solidly, there’s no space left between you. His tongue slides against yours, teasing, tasting, taking, and the second you whimper against his lips, he groans.

Low. Rough. Completely wrecked.

"God, angel," he mutters against your mouth, his hands dragging down your sides, gripping your hips, pressing you further into the wall. "You have no idea what you do to me."

You do.

You do feel it. Everywhere.

The heat of his body, the weight of him holding you there like he doesn’t want to let go, like he won’t let go.

His lips trail down your jaw, down your throat, hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your entire body ignite. His teeth graze sensitive skin, his tongue flicks against every mark he leaves, soothing, teasing, driving you insane.

And then—he goes lower.

Your breath hitches, your fingers tightening in his hair as his mouth moves down, down, leaving a slow, lingering kiss at the base of your throat.

You shudder.

"Jake—"

His name leaves your lips like a breathless plea, and that’s all it takes.

Jake growls, low and dangerous, his grip tightening, his body pressing even closer, his lips tracing lower, his hands moving higher.

His breath is still heavy, his body still tense, still wanting. But he stops. His hands still against your waist, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his body shaking slightly against yours.

He laughs. Not cocky. Not in a teasing tone.

Something else. Something bitter. Helpless.

"Shit," he mutters, his voice rough, his breath unsteady.

Your fingers twitch against his back, your mind still spinning, your body still burning from where his lips had been.

"Jake," you whisper, and this time, he flinches.

You feel it like a tremor beneath your fingertips. Like something about to break.

"Tell me what’s wrong," you murmur, your voice softer now, careful.

Jake exhales slowly. He lifts his head. His golden eyes meet yours, and this time?

There’s no arrogance. No teasing. No cocky, insufferable smirk.

Just something raw.

"You," he whispers.

A pause. A sharp inhale.

Then—his voice drops even lower.

"You’re what’s wrong, angel."

Jake swallows hard, his grip tightening just slightly against your waist. His eyes burn into yours, unblinking, like he’s struggling to say the words, like he’s fighting himself even now.

And then, softly—almost like he hates himself for it—he whispers, "You make me want things I shouldn’t want."

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

And you realize—this isn’t about just tonight.

This isn’t about the kiss or the tension. This is about everything. Everything that’s led up to this. Every moment. Every touch. Every glance.

Jake isn’t just afraid of what happened tonight. He’s afraid of what you’ve become to him.

You don’t let him run.

Your pulse pounds. Not just from the way he’s touching you. Not just from the heat still lingering between you. But from the way he’s looking at you now.

Like he’s afraid.

Like he’s losing himself completely.

That’s when you know—you have him.

So, you move. You reach up, your fingers brushing against his jaw, tilting his face slightly, forcing his golden eyes to stay locked onto yours. He tenses, his breath hitching, but he doesn’t move away.

He lets you.

And in the softest, most certain voice you’ve ever used with him, you say—

"Then take it, Jake."

His entire body goes still. The air between you ignites. Neither of you are stopping. Your words still hang heavy in the air between you, coiling around the both of you like something living, breathing, waiting.

Jake stares at you now, golden eyes dark, still burning, still wrecked. His grip on your waist tightens, just barely, like he’s still trying to ground himself, like he’s still fighting the urge to just—

Take.

He e exhales, slow, deep, controlled. His fingers twitch against your skin, his jaw clenched tight, his body so impossibly still. And then—he smirks.

Slow. Lazy. But different this time.

"Careful, angel," he murmurs, his voice low, wrecked, full of something he won’t name. "Say things like that, and I just might listen."

Your breath catches. You know he means it. And for a long, stretching moment, you both just stay there.

Close. Too close.

He’s still pressed against you, his hands still warm, still holding, still wanting. Your pulse still pounds in your ears, your skin still tingles where his lips had been, where his fingers had traced.

And he shifts. Just slightly.

Enough for his lips to ghost over your jaw one more time, soft, deliberate, slow. Enough for his nose to nudge against yours, a quiet, lingering touch that feels more like a promise than anything else.

He pulls back to look at you again, really look at you. Something flickers behind his golden eyes. Something deep. Something undeniable.

Then—he grins.

And just like that, the tension shifts. Still there. Still burning. But settled now.

Controlled.

Waiting.

Jake exhales, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps away, his smirk still playing at the corner of his lips. "Guess I should let you breathe now, huh?"

You glare.

"Shut up."

He laughs—warm, amused, easy, like he wasn’t just about to devour you whole. You fall back into rhythm.

The teasing. The banter.

But this time?

Something is different.

Jake doesn’t sit across from you anymore. He sits beside you.

His arm draped over the back of the couch, his knee brushing against yours. Casual. Effortless. Like he belongs there. And when he steals your blanket—just to mess with you, just to see you huff in frustration, just to make you shove him half-heartedly—

He doesn’t move away.

Not even a little.

The morning greets you slowly, stretching through the curtains in soft golden light, casting warmth against your sheets. The world outside stirs lazily, the faint hum of distant traffic, the occasional chirp of a bird somewhere beyond your window, the quiet rhythm of a day beginning.

But none of it matters. Because the only thing that does—the only thing that exists in your world right now—is him.

Jake is still here.

The realization settles into your bones before your mind is even fully awake, a quiet, steady truth that lingers in the air between breaths. He’s leaning against the doorway, arms folded, golden eyes already on you—watching, waiting, unmoving. His hair is a mess, strands falling into his face in a way that looks entirely effortless, and his shirt is still unbuttoned at the collar, hanging loose over his frame as if he hasn’t bothered to fix it. And the smirk? It’s already there, lazy and knowing, like he’s been waiting for you to notice him, like he’s been waiting for you.

"Morning, angel," his voice comes slow and warm, wrapping around you like something indulgent, something meant to stay beneath your skin long after it’s gone.

His smirk deepens just slightly as his gaze drags over you, taking in the way you blink at him, still caught between sleep and disbelief. "Sleep well?"

Your body still hums with the weight of the night before, your skin still tingling with the ghost of his hands, his mouth, his breath against your throat. It’s too much and not enough all at once, the memory of him pressing against you, pinning you down, whispering things he shouldn’t have said but couldn’t stop himself from saying. And yet, despite it all—despite everything—you find yourself staring at him now, lips parting slightly before your voice finally comes, softer than you expect.

"You're still here."

Jake tilts his head, golden eyes flickering with something unreadable before he lets out a slow exhale, feigning indifference, but there’s something beneath it, something too controlled. "Where else would I be?"

And that makes you pause. Because you don’t know. Because you don’t have an answer. Because he was supposed to leave. Because this—whatever this is—wasn’t supposed to last past last night. Because this was meant to be temporary, fleeting, a moment stolen between two people who were never meant to keep each other. And yet, here he is.

Before you can say anything else, before you can try to make sense of why he’s still standing there like he belongs, he moves. Casually, smoothly, without hesitation. Like this is natural. Like this is just what he does.

He steps toward the nightstand, fingers brushing against the glass sitting there before he lifts it, turning back toward you with a motion so effortless, so painfully normal, it makes your chest tighten in ways you don’t understand. And then—he hands it to you. A simple gesture. A cup of water. Nothing remarkable. Nothing grand. But everything.

You take it slowly, fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment, and you swear you feel the shift, the way something inside him stiffens, the way his breath almost catches before he schools himself back into ease. As you lift the glass to your lips, as the cool water runs down your throat, you realize he’s watching you again. Not in the way he usually does—not with amusement, not with smug victory, not with teasing intent—but with something else. Something quieter. Something dangerous in an entirely different way.

The moment lingers, stretching between you like an unspoken question. And then, just like that, it’s gone.

Jake exhales through his nose, the smirk slipping back into place, easy and sharp. "Disappointed?"

His voice dips into something playful, something meant to pull you back into familiar ground. "Were you hoping I'd disappear before you woke up?"

You scoff, shaking your head, trying to ground yourself, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling into places you aren’t ready to confront. "I don't know what I expected."

He hums, stepping closer, resting a hand against the frame of your bed, his gaze flickering with something that shouldn’t be there. "Liar."

And you don’t deny it. Because you don’t know if you wanted him to stay or not. Because this is dangerous. Because this is so much more than it was supposed to be.

The morning drifts forward, slow and seamless, stretching into something neither of you try to define. Jake doesn’t leave. He doesn’t act like he has somewhere else to be, doesn’t make excuses, doesn’t vanish the way a demon should once their contract is fulfilled. Instead—he stays.

And you let him.

You don’t ask why. You don’t press, don’t demand an explanation. Because you know, somehow, he wouldn’t give you one. Because whatever this is, whatever is keeping him here, he’s not ready to name it either.

So, you fall into something that feels easy.

He steals your coffee. He complains about your choice in breakfast. He stretches out on the couch, arms behind his head, golden eyes watching you move around the apartment with something unreadable but steady, something lingering.

And when you sit beside him, when his arm casually drapes over the back of the couch, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, close enough that it would be so easy to lean in—

You don’t move away and so he is.

The morning fades into afternoon. The afternoon drifts into evening. And Jake? Jake never leaves. Not that day. Not the next. Not the one after that.

Days pass. Then weeks.

And somehow, without either of you acknowledging it, without either of you saying the words out loud—Jake just becomes part of your life.

He doesn’t sleep in another realm anymore. He sleeps on your bed. He doesn’t linger in the shadows, waiting to be called. He just exists here now. In your space. In your home. In your world.

Like he was always meant to. Like he was never meant to leave.

THE END.

back to the list ⋆˚࿔

taglist : @firstclassjaylee @tya0 @limerenceisserenity @lavendersloane @nodoubtily @rairaiblog

If you want to be tagged, comment here!

⋆.˚ a/n : tmi, i'm tweaking SOO BADD when i write this chapter, ik i'm so so down bad for him ugh i can't help it

[pain-is-forever]

Theo's known something is wrong for quite some time now. He could almost feel it, the despair, the helplessness, the resignation and pitiful — unwilling, uncomfortable and miserable — acceptance, in the air. He could sense it somewhere, he just had no clue where. That's when he heard a scream in his head.

A scream, Argo's scream. In his head, a terrifying, painful, horrible scream. And it was Argo's voice. Of course it was. Why wouldn't it be? Why would he ever want to receive help from someone in a situation like that? He's so fucking stupid, he should've just let Theo help figure it out- whatever it would take.

No, don't think about Argo like that. He had reasons, you're sure he did. Right, Theo? You know he only wanted to keep you safe. But the method he chose for that is so fucking dumb- stop it. Stop thinking like that. You can scold him for not seeking help after you save him, alright?

He runs through whatever he has to to reach Argo. He can finally pinpoint a location, a glowing red dot in his vision. He's going to do this, and no one will stop him. Nobody, not even Zeus himself can stop Theo from getting to Argo right now. Not Eris, either. There is not a force in the world that can keep him from his brother.

He arrives at the cell, and stops. Horrified. Utterly horrified about Argo's state. His face softens from rage and panic to pure worry. Why didn't Argo want help? He could've helped. Why is Theo always so helpless? He hates it. He hates himself for it.

He wants to speak, to say something. Ask something. Do anything. But his body is frozen in shock and fear. Fear for his brother. What if he loses him? What if this really is the end? Why him? Why does it always have to be him?

Theo starts hitting his leg repeatedly, as if out of instinct. He's not thinking right at the moment, his mind can't formulate a sentence, a word even. The ghosts are silent as well, something that doesn't happen often if at all. He doesn't remember the last time his mind was quiet. It feels... strange. Like he's been floating in an ocean of worries and the voices being absent made him fall off his raft and lose it, so now he's drowning in everything.

The voices were the one constant thing in his life. They helped him cope, even if they weren't very nice... well, aside from Andrea. Obviously they had to leave him to fend for himself in the worst possible moment. In the one instance he needs them the most. He doesn't stop hitting his leg the entire time, it's definitely going to bruise.

He starts sweating, a green tint appearing on his body, eating through his pants where he hits himself. This isn't happening. It can't be. Why is he always the guy who can't keep any relationship stable? Why is he always the one who can't help his friends, who can't keep them safe and happy? Why is the the one to stand idly even when he doesn't want to, why can't he move?

Finally, something snaps within him. Looking at Argo like that, it... makes him furious. Pure unfiltered rage fills his entire being, his face hardening once more. He stops hitting himself, Death Mist already gathering around him. He does nothing to stop it or get it away from him.

He's not angry at Argo, he could never. He's angry at the thing that DARES do this to his brother. And he knows damn well who it is. He's well aware of it, actually. And he's made up his mind about hurting her a long, long time ago. But now? Now he's decided he's going to slaughter her like a pig. Treat her the exact same way she's treated Argo. Give her a taste of her own medicine.

Call it his weird, fucked up definition of justice, he doesn't care. All he knows is that he's going to torture and momentarily kill a goddess. And then he's going to do it again. And again. Until his gods damned death, hell, he's going to haunt her from beyond the grave. He's going to find her in the underworld and find a way to torture her for the rest of eternity for what she's done.

For the first time since they became friends, Argo's safety isn't Theo's main priority. What is it, then? Simple. Hurting the people who hurt his brother. Killing them slowly, making them feel every second of the pain they've caused Argo to feel. See how they like it. He doesn't care if it fucking kills him, he will do it.

He truly is his father's son. Whether it be Commodus or Mr. Kyler Hopens, he doesn't care. All he knows right now is rage. His mortal father was a man quick to anger, and the way he behaved was similar to how Theo feels right now, though he was much quicker to act than Theo is. Commodus on the other hand is... well, not much different, actually. He just doesn't take it out on children.

Theo slowly walks up to the cell's bars, all that's lett of him is a tiny glint of recognition behind his eyes. He won't hurt Argo, no. At least, not on purpose. He feels like he could murder someone right now. He would, if it were anyone other than Argo.

He puts his hands on one of the bars, letting the poison spread across is and eat away at it. He'll melt it and go through there, thanks to his slim build. He'll get in there and end this once and for all. Like he should've long ago.

Once the bar is melted enough for him to just grab at it and toss it to the side, he does exactly that. And he walks into the cell. He doesn't even spare Argo a glance, his eyes fixed on the strings — and the control panel above. That's his main focus. He won't rest until he fixes this situation.

He looks at the wires, and knows what he has to do. He knows exactly what he has to do. He unsheathes his sword and, in swift movements, cuts the strings, as many as he can get with one swing. He manages to get them all with three. Then, he looks up at the ends of them connecting with the control panel.

He puts his sword back into its sheath and grabs the wires, like a rope. He pulls himself up, climbing it, not caring if they'd hurt him or not. If he can't touch them because of them being made out of shadows, he surrounds his body in the Death Mist to help himself interact with them.

°•□Open Starter □•°

I Live Inside You Forever, With Satan Himself By My Side

ANYONE CAN INTERACT

>TW: Unwilling transformation, derealization, loss of bodily autonomy, body mutilization (possibly other things) <

Argo had locked himself in one of the prison cells the moment he felt it start. His wings had somehow.. absorbed back into his body? Making it all the more painful when they burst out again.

Argo lets out a bloodcurdling scream- like millions of souls worth of agony are being channeled through Argo right now.

Argo is wearing a weird outfit; like something an old puppet would wear. Bows. Everywhere. A bow tie, bows on their gloves, and bows on their little socks- and on every individual set of wings.

It would be cute, but the bows sprout into string; tying tightly around their respective areas. Wrists, wings, ankles, neck- and they lead back to an invisible control panel.. somewhere above Argo.

His wings are pure white- but tied back by razored, barbed, wire. So are his facial wings- and the smaller pair of facial wings that sprouted out with the large; actually functional wings.

They make Argo look almost.. angelic- in a biblical way.

Argo looks up, repressing another scream. Their voice already hurts.

They see a person and their face goes deadly pale.

You notice they're missing all their facial scars; like they're wearing a perfect porcelain mask.

The 'mask' which seems to now just be Argo's skin cracks; right where their jawline scar used to be.

Argo tries to move back- but their razor wire restraints prevent that. He almost objects; almost vocalizes- but a stitch comes undone from their neck and that shuts him up really damn quick.

Argo looks like a perfect little angel puppet.

So, what do you do?

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun @sophia-hunter-of-artemis @daughter-of-thanatoss

[ro-ren31]

SVSSS AU

Shen Yuan as Shen Jiu

What if SY was like SQH and was reborn into PIDW as Shen Jiu but with a system. The system has no power since the protagonist has not been born, and so only uses its abilities for major relevant points like meeting Yue Qi and attaching himself(SY) to him(YQ). Shen Yuan, throughout all of this, has absolutely no idea what story he is in. He just knows he was reborn in a novel and has a system he needs to follow plot points for.

So, Shen Yuan/Shen Jiu would still be with his Qi-ge and even is really protective of him because he thinks of Yue Qi as this poor child who's is going through absolutely horrible things and yet still giving up his things for others. This caused him to be very prickly to anyone who wasn't Qi-ge because he didn't want anyone to take advantage of his kindness.

When it came time to join the Qiu household, Shen Yuan didn't want to. He had been a street kid for over a decade, and before that, he was an avid reader of novels.(which, considering he is in one, is very important info), so he realized fairly quickly that this was tragic character past level stuff and then Qi-ge asked Shen Jiu to escape with him.

Shen Yuan immediately had a suspicion that this story was going to end with one of them dead, and the other becoming either a hero or a villain for their childhood friend, and wanted to leave with his Qi-ge so that if they die they die together but the system didn't let him. It was the first time Shen Jiu had tried to actively go against the system, and the system punished him for it by making him feel like his legs were broken and threatening him worse if he didn't tell Yue Qi to leave ahead.

Then, it follows Canon, where Yue Qi promises to come back but doesn't return for years. (Shen Jiu is obviously heartbroken. His dearest person is most likely dead in a ditch somewhere, and Shen Jiu may never even find his remains)

Shen Jiu decides that even if he can't go against the system, he'll figure out a way to break its power over him. And so he studies and observes, he makes sure to learn all he can at the Qius and then even more with when he was forced to follow Wu Yanzi (even if what he learned there might have done more harm than good).

Eventually, Shen Jiu reunites with Yue Qi and is so filled with relief he wants to just collapse into his Qi-ge's arms and cry like a child. But like time and time again before the system didn't let him. This time, the system even forced him to constantly act like he hated Yue Qi. Shen Jiu tried to loophole the system by showing Yue Qi how much he paid attention to him with purposefully horrible gifts, food and tea he doesn't like, etc.

Life continues like this for a few more years, the now, Shen Qingqiu still trying hard to break the system control on him while also juggling the few interpersonal relationships he has. 'Hating' YQY, fighting Liu Qingge, avoiding Mu Qingfang the suspicion from the rest of his martial siblings, having to ignore most of his disciples. And then Luo Binghe showed up.

SQQ had figured out what novel he was in when he got his courtesy name and was expecting Luo Binghe to show up, what he wasn't expecting was for the system to power up when he did.

SQQ was forced by the system to throw tea on Binghe's face, but surprisingly that was all he was forced to do. Sure there were prompts and small optional missions that would have made SQQ come across LBH but there was never any force. SQQ was obviously suspicious of this but took full advantage of the fact that he could avoid LBH, after all it gives the benefit of Binghe not growing a grudge plus not allowing the system to be around it's batteries.What SQQ didn't know was that the LBH was still going through many of the things that originally happened to him, just from the other disciples.

When LBH was 14 Shen Jiu finally figured out a way to remove the system's control and while trying it, the system used a lot of its power and energy to take back control and managed to lock all of Shen Yuan's memories from after his Rebirth, leaving him to wake up just like he did in canon.

//-//

Things could go pretty canon-compliant after that except for maybe a few small things plus maybe a different ship to SY/LBH. And then after canon, something happens to regain those memories, or what if he never does and Shen JiuYuan's story ends in the tragedy of never knowing he was free from the system.

Or maybe at some point Shen Yuan discovers all of Shen Jiu's research on the system and puts the pieces together.

If anyone happens to be inspired and wants to write something about this au, please let me know i would love to see others takes on this.

I've had this AU in my head for a while but never wrote anything down before, the only reason I did this time was because I kept imagining this au to the song 'Mr.Author by Dina Rebekka' (100% recommend listening to it)

[concretejunglefm]

I've been having virgin!Noah thots all week 😩

please please give me your virgin!noah thots. I go between soft and sweet ones but then more perverted, because he can't help himself okay 🫣

He's definitely big on making out when he's with someone, he just loves kissing okay? He loves the way your mouth feels, even if he's a little shy and awkward at first. After you've taught him how to kiss, especially, then he's practically insatiable, he just wants to do it all the time. Is it you? Or is it just how it feels to kiss you? Honestly probably both, because when he's made out with someone before, it's never been like this. As we know from him mentioning the many failed attempts and 'relationships'.

Dry humping too, but without the intention of fucking you. Like he loves how it feels to just rut against you, your pillow, the mattress, whatever you're letting him do it against, even if he's clothed and when it's the opposite of you grinding yourself on him? God he looses it within seconds.

He's such a sucker for the soft intimacy, holding your hair, playing with your hair, the way you lay your head in his lap. He loves to just have you close to him without the pressure that you're going to try and push for more, because maybe he's a little nervous, maybe he's someone who's trying to 'find the right person' or is honestly a little fearful when it comes to the actual act of sex.

NSFW'ish below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Just because it's a virgin who may be a little intimidated about actual sex doesn't make him any less of a horn dog. He has his own sexually explicit fantasies and maybe one day he confesses them to you while you're making out; you straddling his lap, your fingers in his hair and pulling his head back, forcing him to look at you as he confesses he's always been a secret peeping Tom. There was a neighbor across the street from him who would always keep her curtains open and he knew he shouldn't have been looking, but sometimes she would so obviously undress or strut around naked how was he supposed to ignore that?

It doesn't stop there because he confesses that he has these tendencies with you. He tried not to, tried to be respectful of you. It started out innocently at first, just catching glimpse of you every time you would change in front of him, or maybe bend over in a dress which rose a little too high, but soon it found himself actively secretly watching you when you showered. You always leave the door open a crack, what's the harm? And maybe you always knew, always sensed that you were being watched, it's why you would always use your shower time as your 'unwinding' time. When you ask him if he ever saw you do that, he'll just go all shy and red in the face, and nod. It makes you wonder what else he's done.

It takes a little pressing but you find out he's stolen some of your used underwear, too. It shouldn't surprise you really, but you like that he's been that horned up over you that he'll go to desperate lengths just to have a piece of you.

Just because he hasn't had sex, nor is considering it just yet doesn't mean he isn't willing to try and please you. His fingers certainly have a skill of their own you can utilize, but with how desperate he sounds in his confession regarding your panties (and the numerous depraved things he's done with them after), maybe munch!noah is on the cards first? This is where he confesses to watching porn (a lot and expect him to mention hentai, the little freak I love him), as well as 'practicing' techniques on fruit, because he heard that's how you should do it. Either way, don't expect him to have any skill beyond almost biting you and being a little too hesitant at first until you take control. He likes when you have a hand on the back of his head and start to guide him into it, when you're instructing him where to go and what to do with his mouth and tongue. By the time you actually cum, you're just bucking your hips and grinding against his face but the boy is in heaven. Is this what he's been missing? Now you're never going to get him from between your thighs, because it's all that he's going to be dreaming about.

Speaking of, sometimes he likes to be the one with his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair as he kisses your thigh, sometimes sneaking a kiss against the front of your panties too, because he can, but he does it so shyly, as if he thinks you're going to stop him or tell him off (maybe part of him wants to you).

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Could you write something about yandere Charlie but yn is an inspector trying to get rid of the mafias families ? 🥺

Sure thing! Gonna be honest, I wasn't really sure which direction to take this in, but I hope you still enjoy!

Yandere! Mafia Boss With An Inspector Darling

Gn! Reader

Warnings: Stalking, mentions of prison, mentions of being hit in the head with a baseball bat, mentions of guns, breaking in, kidnapping, yandere character, mafia stuff, snake gif at the end

Divider credit goes to @strangergraphics

Yandere! Charlie who knows who you are, and has for a while. It’s kind of hard not to, when your entire existence seems to revolve around taking him and anyone else associated with the mafia out. You’ve been on his radar for a while, really ever since you began busting mafia operations around your city in the first place.

Yandere! Charlie who does his best to stay off your radar, despite all his cockiness. He’s not afraid of you per se, he’s just a very cautious man. He cannot afford to lose any of his right hand men, nor does he want to get arrested, however strong his organization may be. If he’s ever gonna be taken out, it won’t be by some insignificant detective.

Yandere! Charlie who doesn’t really worry about whole ton about your work, not until you bust one of his major rivals, at least. This guy wasn’t a small fry in a larger organization like most of your previous arrests, he was the leader of his respective mafia, an incredibly hard person to contact let alone catch, even by Charlie’s standards. You’ve now suddenly become a much bigger threat to Charlie’s way of life, a threat that he can’t let stand. He’s risked a lot for the power he has, and he won’t let some insignificant detective get in the way of all his hard work.

Yandere! Charlie who’s now on high alert, designating time, resources, and energy just to keep tabs on you. It’s not too hard, it’s not like your profession is that much of a secret, but he can’t help but feel like there’s something more to you, something his surveillance won’t be able to catch. What if there's more than meets the eye, something even his informants won't be able to catch? Surely there must be, if you were able to bust one of his biggest opponents. Are maybe it was just a stroke of luck?

Charlie doesn't know, and he doesn't particularly care. Luck or not, he can't risk letting up on precautions, not for a second. His career depends on it.

Yandere! Charlie who quickly discovers that despite your skill, you aren't the most...protected. Sure you're a valued detective in the public eye, now revered by any sort of law enforcement within the city, but you don't actually have much in the way of keeping yourself safe, despite the high profile. In fact, your newfound fame has made your information far easier to find, more eyes on you than ever before. Your address is public information, so is your phone number, so getting everything else is basically childsplay to Charlie. For someone so skilled, the police force really weren't treating you like the commodity you are, were they?

Still, Charlie can't complain. The lack of security makes it so much easier to take you out, not that bodyguards would have done much anyway. Not in the face of Charlie's power.

Yandere! Charlie who wants to take you out, but doesn't. Not yet. Leaving you alone is a risk, but you could also be a massive help, if he plays his cards right. You could get rid of so many rivals for him, allowing him to completely dominate the most industries he's involved in without even realizing it. It's a risky move, but he's willing to gamble if it means he'll come out on top.

Yandere! Charlie who sits back and waits, eager to see what you'll do.

Yandere! Charlie who can't help but be impressed by your abilities as he continues to keep tabs on you, month after month. You've busted a couple more people since he started watching you, mostly lowly subordinates, but one or two bigger threats managed to cross your radar too, spelling out their own untimely demise. It takes you a surprisingly short amount of time to find the information you need to bust them, it's truly spectacular. You know exactly where to look, what to ask, and how to keep yourself safe while you sniff out more information. It leaves Charlie where you learned how to do everything you've been doing.

You're no ordinary person like he originally thought. No, you're something new. Something special. He could certainly use your kind of talent in his organization.

It doesn't help that you're utterly stunning either, at least in Charlie's opinion. Maybe it's just because you've impressed him, but he can't help but be drawn in by your beauty, your intelligence, and most importantly, your humanity. Despite your job, you truly love and care for the people around you, a virtue lacked by most of his own subordinates. Maybe it's just something he's not used to but...he can't help but need more. More of you.

...Is it bad that he wants your attention?

Yandere! Charlie who finds out the answer to that question when you suddenly set your sights on him, determined to take him down.

Yandere! Charlie who knows the game is up. He's surveilling you at all times so it's not like he should be worried, but he knows he can't risk leaving you to your devices any longer, not when his whole career is at stake. He could taunt you for the fun of it, but...

If he's learned anything, it's not to underestimate you. He won't make that mistake, not like his rivals did.

Yandere! Charlie who doesn't want to kill you, so he settles for kidnapping. It won't be too hard, he knows where you live, how secure your house is, and what weapons you have laying around, but still, he plans extensively, too paranoid to leave anything up to chance. He won't go in himself, he knows he can't risk it, but he also knows you can't do much against a large group of people while on your own. So, he forms a team of people, sends them to your house in the middle of the night, and waits.

Yandere! Charlie who can't help but smile when his team drags you back to his home, completely conked out. You certainly did put up a fight, the bodycam footage his underlings gathered made for great entertainment, but you were no match for a baseball bat that collided with the back of your skull. Charlie hated to see you get hurt, and he certainly would have tried other methods of bringing you home if he had been there, but...you were trying to shoot some of his team, so hey, they did what they had to!

Yandere! Charlie who doesn't even try to pretend he's someone else when you come to, in a fully furnished room you don't recognize. He'll get your personal belongings later, but he wanted to make sure you knew where you were when you woke up, who he was, what situation you're in. He'll make sure to commend you for your work, but he can't keep the smugness out of his voice as he gloats his victory, making sure you know there's no chance of help coming for you now.

Yandere! Charlie who expects the hatred on your face. The only surprising thing about the whole situation is how naive you seemed to be. Did you really think nobody was going to try and come for you? Did you really think you were safe, after all you've done? You should be happy that he's the one who got to you first, anyone else and you would have suffered a much worse fate.

Yandere! Charlie who revels in the attention you're giving him, even if it's negative. He knows your hatred is only temporary, he can offer you so much more than your previous job paid, and you'd have so much more power too! All you'd have to do is agree to work with him, staying by his side as you dominate the crime world.

Yandere! Charlie who leaves you to your own devices, shutting you inside your room with a smirk on his face. He'd hate to wait your talent, but he knows now is not exactly the time for a business proposal, especially since you've dedicated your whole career to taking people like him down. Still, he hopes you'll rest easy knowing your talent won't be wasted, not if you let it be.

You'll warm up to him, he's sure of it. After all, what other choice do you have?

I hope you enjoyed!

[mantizimus]

Can I have the vice dorm leaders version of Shinji Kido! Reader, please, but can you replace Othro with Floyd, please? I know Ortho is 16 years old, but his body looks like a 10 year old, so he's just a baby.

Here you go, Sakura. Also I'm really sorry for keeping it in my drafts for so fucking long.

Shinji Kido!S/O

Trey Clover

Acts as your babysitter.

At the same time, he wouldn't be lying if he said he appreciates your optimism.

Enjoys playing pranks on you, taking advantage of your naivety.

The two of you often cook together.

Trey is sometimes amazed by your enthusiasm when it comes to battling, but he doesn't complain.

He's not entirely sure, but he swears he's seen something that looks like your Kamen Rider form in one of the books.

Often cooks extra dishes for Dragreder.

Ruggie Bucchi

Often gets you into mischief.

Finds your optimism amusing, and wonders if there's anything that will make it disappear.

Loves your cooking so much that he sometimes has a hard time holding back a squeal of joy when he sees the food you've made.

Was a bit taken aback by how enthusiastic you were about fighting the Overblots.

Ruggie respects your out-of-the-box thinking.

He's extremely interested in your Kamen Rider form.

Often privatizes Dragreder for his pranks.

Jade Leech

Doesn't quite understand how you're still alive after all the stupid things you've done.

Makes sure you don't do anything that could cost you your life.

Definitely offers you a job as a chef at Monstro.

Jade is rather indifferent to your fighting enthusiasm, just putting it aside for later.

Appreciates your ability to come up with unconventional strategies, and has asked you for advice if the situation calls for it.

He's interested in the potential use of your Kamen Rider form's abilities, but won't force you into anything.

At least once suggests using Dragreder to gather information.

Floyd Leech

Regularly takes advantage of your naivety to pull pranks on you.

You often have to control his mood swings so he doesn't hurt anyone.

Calls you "Leviathan".

Your cooking is often the only way to calm him down.

One of the things that interested him about you was your ability to come up with unusual strategies.

Floyd sometimes wonders if he can use your Kamen Rider form for various pranks.

Occasionally compares Dragreder to sea snakes.

Jamil Viper

Often has to restrain you so you don't do anything stupid.

Your optimism constantly makes him roll his eyes.

Jamil often asks for your help when it comes to preparing for parties.

Will definitely ask you for a recipe or two.

When you first showed your fighting spirit, he was puzzled, but decided not to pay attention to it.

He really appreciates your ability to think outside the box.

Sometimes asks you about your Kamen Rider guise.

He occasionally talks to Dragreder about various topics. More precisely, he talks, and Dragreder listens and occasionally growls.

Rook Hunt

Be prepared for him to call you "Monsieur Dragon" or something like that.

At first, he assumed that your behavior was nothing more than a mask, but after observing you for a long time, he realized that he was wrong.

He often offers to cook you French dishes. Don't ask how he knows about them.

For a while, he suspected that you had a fighting spirit, but he rejected this guess. So when it turned out that he was right, he had mixed feelings.

Rook admires your rather original approach to various situations.

Expect hundreds of questions about your Kamen Rider form.

Sometimes asks Dragreder to help him get information about other students.

Lilia Vanrouge

Another one who likes to use your naivety to make fun of you.

Treats your optimistic and friendly nature as a breath of fresh air.

If you need advice, he will give it without hesitation.

He first learned about your culinary skills from Malleus. And when he tasted the dishes you prepared, he was not disappointed.

Need help in battle? He is always ready to support or give a hint.

He often compares Kamen Rider's appearance to knight's armor.

Lilia communicates with Dragreder from time to time and even pats his head.

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 86

The final battle is upon us. Who will decide what's for dinner tonight?

As with all moments like this, Izutsumi is part of these group therapy sessions against her will.

Amazing transition back to reality. It's the exact same image with a different background.

I still feel like the lion is lying about who it can or must serve. Marcille currently desires to fix her mistakes and stop the monsters she summoned, but that goes against what the lion wants from her. So it's instead choosing to ignore that in favor of fulfilling a more base desire for safety from a presumed threat.

This fakeout really got me.

Laios's arm seems to be in a bit of pain after that. Since his hand had to get put into the seal as well, its effects are probably creeping up his arm.

Again, I think the lion lies when it talks about how it serves its master. It's been manipulating Marcille to make her desire what will make her use the lion's power for the lion's aims. Looks like sealing the demon gives the dungeon lord a way to channel the lion's power exactly the way you want without it being able to manipulate anything.

On a side note, when Thistle and Mithrun became dungeon lords, their demons were small and grew larger over time. The lion was already big when Marcille became a lord. I'm curious if part of what caused Marcille to immediately spiral was because the lion was already strong. Maybe it took Mithrun and Thistle a few years to get to Marcille's point because their demons had to build up strength.

Laios and Marcille are two halves of the same person. They share 20 brain cells collectively, but the actual range of braincells either of them has at a given moment ranges from 15 to -5. And when one of them becomes a super genius, the other becomes muppet-brained. The only difference between them is Laios loves acting like a muppet while Marcille doesn't.

I've missed Marcille's muppet-brained moments so much. For all her intelligence, she's also the last one to realize things.

Namari had complete faith in Laios.

Last we saw of Fleki, her familiar was being torn apart by wyverns so she probably had to be killed and resurrected again.

I saw this panel of Flamela stepping on a walking mushroom and tried to come up with a silly pun about her turning a toadstool into a footstool. But toadstools refer to inedible or poisonous mushrooms and this type is most likely edible so it isn't a toadstool. And footstools are foot supports to lift your feet while sitting and Flamela is not doing anything like that nor is she using it like that. Pretend that I made a funny mushroom pun that is lexiconically correct and laugh at this image of Flamela stepping on a walking mushroom while yelling into her fairy.

Flamela isn't even nice to her fairy.

The island is getting restructured into a dungeon's maze-like design.

The soldiers are fighting what I believe are small wyrms.

Laios's father is watching and waiting. Falin still writes to her parents so he knows his children are at ground zero of all this.

Flamela is not giving the party much reason to want to work with the Canaries here. And this is ignoring how the situation was heavily due to the Canaries withholding information and assaulting the party to begin.

If you spin a magnet fast enough, it's possible to make it levitate above another magnet. For years, it was believed impossible to actually make a magnet levitate over another and Earnshaw's theorem proved that it's not possible for a static magnet to float above another one without it either getting flipped or pushed away. But then someone decided to try spinning the magnet in place and it turns out that the rotation of the magnet counters the forces that would normally push or flip the magnet, causing it to float.

Anyway, that story popped into my head at this moment. Laios is suggesting they do something that no one has ever done and everyone knows cannot be done. But Laios is both ignorant of everything and he doesn't think in conventional ways. So he could achieve the impossible because he'll come up with ideas no one considered.

Everyone else thinks of the demons in terms of man-eating monsters or forces of nature. But Laios is thinking of the demon more like if it was a person with its own goals it wants to accomplish.

Finally. Someone is actually going to listen to Laios.

Based on the reactions of Flamela's teammates, it's not uncommon for Mithrun to teleport people away when he's annoyed with them.

Mithrun at least understands the situation. The world is doomed whether or not Laios actually has a way to beat the demon. So they might as well let him try. Mithrun's eye turned silver as he told Laios to do what he couldn't.

New idea to the lion and how it decides to grant wishes: When it's unsealed and has a lord, it binds itself to that lord. But when it gets sealed, it can more freely respond to anyone's desires.

The lion should be sealed in Thistle's book, but it appeared before everyone in response to Laios's desire to defeat it. And then it waited a moment so Laios could demand he share a meal with everyone if he wins.

Some walking mushrooms fell off the lion construct.

The tower wasn't attached to anything. It was just a tower floating over the water.

Well that was an anticlimactic end to this series. Oh well. It was an enjoyable read the whole way through. Thanks for following my readthrough everyone.

I'm with Kabru. There's something horrible about the end of the world feeling like a bad joke.

Wait, I got it!! Flamela turned the walking mushroom into a stepping stool!!

back

[yanderes-galore]

Attack On Titan Historia Reiss romantic concept perhaps?

I can try my best, sure. She isn't very intense though.

Yandere! Historia Reiss Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Soft yandere, Isolation, Fear of loss, Dubious relationship.

Historia, regardless of her name, has always shown kindness to those around her.

When she was Krista, it was more exaggerated.

Yet as Historia... She seems more hardened now after Ymir leaves.

Overall I don't imagine Historia is a very intense yandere.

If I'm correct she doesn't have a high Titan kill count and has never been all that violent.

She's only ever been kind or gentle to those in need.

Even as queen she wants to raise orphans on a farm, she wants people to remember her fondly.

She isn't a big one for conflict so I don't imagine you'll be given too much trouble.

You first meet Historia as Krista like the rest of the cadets.

Practically everyone adores her at this time for her kindness.

She's self-sacrificing, she only ever wants people to reassure her that she isn't a mistake after all.

Her personality no doubt draws you in.

You become friends with the girl, even if Ymir is glaring daggers at you at times.

Krista looks to get along with everyone.

She wants others to rely on her for help.

Although... She may grow close to an obsession who genuinely wants to help her.

She's always been one who would sacrifice her own life if it benefited others.

Although you're often one trying to discourage such thoughts along with a few others...

She's better help to everyone alive.

Krista used to think her closest friend was Ymir.

Yet when Ymir leaves her to go with Reiner and Bertolt...

She finds herself turning to you for more comfort than she thought.

When Ymir leaves, she's still kind... but not as cheery.

She's very vacant... admitting her real name is Historia and not Krista.

Even in her more serious persona, she isn't that intense, even when a queen.

She's not forceful with her obsession.

If anything, I see Historia as overprotective yet controlling at times.

She wants her obsession to genuinely love her.

After all, she doesn't want to be considered a mistake.

She's patient with you, just trying to grow a relationship with you over time.

She gives you gifts, she listens to your opinions...

Her darker behavior is rather tuned down.

She never wants to hurt you or other people unless she has too.

Even then, she was still very against The Rumbling plan Eren had.

Historia wants to help give her obsession a good life.

When she was Krista, you encouraged her in the Scouts...

Even when she feels she's better off dead, that she's useless to her comrades...

You helped her realize she actually mattered.

In a way... She feels indebted to you.

She's always wanted to make you happy ever since.

Even with Ymir gone... It just makes her cling to you more.

She was more affectionate when she was Krista, often greeting you with hugs and a smile.

Nowadays she's distant at times, yet pulls you aside to hug or kiss you.

She's gentle, never forcing her affection.

If you don't want affection right now, she'll give you time.

She can be isolating at times, especially as queen.

Maybe Historia insists on you staying with her on the farm with her, saying there's a ton of orphans to take care of.

You explain you want to help the Scouts with the current situation...

Yet Historia pleads with you... and you can't seem to say 'no'....

That's one of the things about her being a yandere.

It's hard to decline what she asks of you... after all... she's done so much for you and the rest.

So... why not?

Why not stay with her on the farm?

Before you know it, she's managed to have you all to herself...

After all, will you really decline when she confesses to you?

Don't you love her too?

Don't you?

In this case she does seem like she pressures her obsession into being involved with her.

Yet you're unaware of it.

It's hard to tell if she means to manipulate you or not.

Although that could just mean she's good at what she does.

It's good that she isn't that violent...

But she just happens to be good at controlling you.

She lets others visit you... yet you're staying on the farm.

Queen's orders, after all.

She wants you to be her partner....

This farm will be your own little family with her.

Even during The Rumbling, she refuses to have you participate.

You'll be staying with her... You wouldn't abandon her like Ymir, would you?

Part of her doesn't like manipulating her partner.

She wants you happy... yet while you stay with her willingly...

She still isolates you.

She tries to ignore that guilt, cuddling up to you in the same bed as she kisses you.

She tells you she loves you... you say it back...

Yet she still feels insecure...

Do you really love her?

You wouldn't dream of leaving her, would you?

While she isn't killing or 'kidnapping'...

Historia would still have an unhealthy dynamic with you.

It all seems normal....

She gives you gifts, affection, and treats you like her consort.

You love her back... and she promises to give you everything she has.

The one issue?

She doesn't plan to let you leave her now...

Even if it means locking you in the farm during The Rumbling, just so you won't leave her and get yourself killed like Ymir.

[snandle]

I have a feeling it would go like a patients family member is really laying into House because of something he did and Wilsons just watching at first because...yeah House kinda deserved this for what he said. Not only that but he's expecting a snarky comeback any moment now. But then in a heat of rage the family member says something that really hits a nerve with House and Wilson is mentally preparing himself for the world of trouble he's gonna have to get House out of only no harsh words come. Not snarky remarks, no insults not even a harsh joke.

And then he notices the bags under House's eyes, the tired expression he wears that Wilson quite literally never sees unless it's forced out of House. The way his shoulders slump and a tired breath leaves House's lips. Leaning against his cane extra hard today.

Oh

Oh

And he doesn't notice his hand clench or when he became so pissed. So unbridled with rage that he starts marching towards the patients family member that was still yelling at House mind you.

And then he punches them

Everything is silent except for the blood rushing through Wilson's head as he takes deep labored breaths. Watching as the family members hand goes to their bleeding lip. Looking at their fingers before looking back up at Wilson.

"You're crazy," they say befire getting up and storming out of the room.

And then it all comes crashing down on him what hes done. The fear doesn't immediately sink in that "oh shit, i might lose my job because of this". The first thing he feels is a disturbing sense of satisfaction. And then shock as he looks at House, who is equally as shocked as Wilson is. Eyes wide, jaw dropped. To shocked to make a comment, or maybe too tired.

Later after Wilson has been thoroughly chewed out by Cuddy, House stops by his office, leaning against his cane once more, looking Wilson up and down.

"I've been suspended for a month, without pay," Wilson informs him.

"I know,"

"Then why are you here,"

House pauses for a moment.

"You want Chinese? My treat,"

And Wilson knows thats as close to a thanks as he's ever going to get.

I need to see Wilson being aggressively protective over House, hackles up as he snarls and advances towards his target

[f-liner]

For as much as I love chocogummy, I feel like making Hanto die basically everytime the episode is ending is kind of becoming repetitive.

I like that they showcase how he is still a human, even with the Granute organ and kamen rider powers, he still is the weakest, which ends up making him the one who loses the most.

But at the same time he always faints in the same dramatic way, with Shouma screaming his name. It's kind of funny because of how often it happens.

Like, can you imagine the staff meeting with the actors? "So at the end you-" "I faint while Chinen screams my name? " "yeah, and then-" "and then next episode he cradles my dead body while I sleep on his lap? " "..."

Still I hope he realizes this and that it will be plot relevant in the future. Like whatever upgrade he will have will actually make him stronger.

[team5ds]

the worst part is i can't even say he's wrong. they certainly did figure out how to contribute the city by joining the wrgp. but like. this is one of those things where it literally does not make sense. this is insane levels of logic. "we're not sure how to contribute to the city. we think entering a magic the gathering tournament will help." like. imagine saying that fr when your parents ask what you're going to do after you graduate college. "idk. thought i'd play card games and figure it out, man"

[nottodayupstarts]

That's what I've been SAYING. the chozen-hawk duo could've been so good and yet. yet it remains so unexplored.

if their narrative parallels and mirrored character arcs don't convince you, then let me say that hawk would see chozen doing ONE (1) cool takedown and instantly start clinging to his arm like a puppy.

hawk asks him to demonstrate something he did earlier in class, and once chozen shows him he picks up on it in just a couple tries because hawk is hawk. and chozen's like "ah well, you are the champ for a reason." and hawk kinda shrugs it off, "oh I guess so. I don't really feel like it sometimes tho"

and they get to talking and chozen tells him about his past with Daniel. and hawk is blown away that this guy in front of him was ever anything like he himself was. and soon enough they start bonding and next thing you know hawk is staying after lessons each day to do one-on-one sparring with him. and chozen refines his offense and teaches him defense because god knows he internalizes "best defense is more offense." after all, he wins fights not by avoiding or blocking hits but by bulldozing past them, layering aggression on his opponent in the moment , willing himself not to feel the pain until the fight's over, and icing his wounds in the night.

hawk gets his ass kicked over and over again while he learns, but eventually he starts scoring more and more hits. until one day he and chozen are sparring, and he manages to deflect chozen's knife hand, grabbing his palm, and uses the opening to duck under his arm and twists behind his back, jabbing his ribs and pinning chozen in an s-arm, all in the matter of a couple seconds.

and it's just silent for a minute.

chozen's proud of his student, impressed by the way he used miyagi techniques in his own, hawk-like way he hadn't seen before. he knows how to get out of this hold but he doesn't see the need to, not when hawk has surprised him in a way he hasn't surprised like in a very long time.

but hawk?? he's internally freaking out, "I should not have done that." because his hands still hold the memory of just how much force it took to break Demetri's arm, just how much he twisted, hell the exact angle he had it at. and kreese? when he and kreese had sparred, kreese had been unforgiving. He never pulled his punches but he sure as hell had no trouble pulling out his knives. his words still echoed through his bones, "finish the fight"

and he knew chozen wasn't like that, that he's not going to put him in a situation like that, but for a minute he was back at the cobra kai dojo, staring at white words on a black wall.

and then reality comes back, he breathes and releases the arm he's been holding for too long. and he's shaky and upset, and he just sits down on the deck he engineered, lost and a little afraid chozen is going to be upset. but chozen just sits down next to him and has a deep heart to heart, assuring him.

"Healing is not linear. It takes time."

"But I don't need to heal! I was the one who hurt them."

"You hurt them because you were being hurt. You have redeemed yourself, Hawk. They have forgiven you."

Chozen lets the words hang in silence before continuing: "Now you must forgive yourself."

Hawk proceeds to have a complete mental breakdown, but chozen is there for him for all of it, and helps him stand back up almost an hour later. hawk thinks maybe he can forgive himself, and he begins healing.

those two form a bond just as close as Johnny and Miguel, and it's frankly both adorable and concerning to see (they'd prank everyone in the dojo to hell and back and get away with it each time). hawk talks about chozen to literally everyone. his friends. his parents. his neighbors. even counselor blatt gets some of it (he still hates her and he sure as hell doesn't trust her but at least she was kinda entertaining now that she wasn't a conduit for creating his hell anymore). and chozen talks about him to Daniel and Johnny too. "he mastered this kata yesterday!" or "look at this grappling hook he's picked up." they tease him for adopting his own karate kid but they're both happy for him.

and chozen openly admits it, hawk is is favorite and everyone knows it by now. he gifts him his personal sai blades he's had for almost 20 years for his birthday and everyone pretends not to see hawk shedding a couple tears. a few days later, when chozen finally gets his own apartment, hawk helps him move in and when they finish, he shyly hands him a framed photo of them sam had given him, taken weeks earlier unbeknownst to either of them, bowing to each other as they finished sparring for the day (nobody comments during the housewarming party when the picture was prominently displayed in the middle of his living room wall).

anyways, I really do love the chozen-hawk duo and I wish s5 had given us that (two or three scenes would've been enough to fulfill my desires but of course not). what a missed opportunity.

my biggest cobra kai regret is that they didn't roll with hawk and chozen as a sensei/student pairing. those two would have been incredible.

[natasha-in-space]

Why am I suddenly thinking about a butler!SE Saeran/princess Natasha au.......