#I can see it working better in the fanfic aspect

[michaelnotwheeler]

So what do you fellas on tumblr think about rarry??

aka i binged a few potter movies (with this one I had gof in mind) and it’s on my mind, also I really like this fanart I think it’s rad and it’s my best one yet I think

Also please keep in mind I obviously do not condone or support anything jk Rowling has said or continues to say about trans people, I hope that’s apparent because I am a trans person

[zaczenemiji]

Curtain Calls and Curveballs I

Kenji Sato x Actress!Reader

Synopsis: In your high school years, you and Kenji Sato are fierce rivals, constantly competing for top academic honors and excelling in your respective extracurriculars. Little did you know, you rivalry would take an unexpected turn.

Word Count: 1,836

Genre/Warning: Coming of Age, Enemies to Lover, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn

Author’s Note: A lot of you have been requesting for an enemies to lover themed fanfic so here’s a two-part one made for y’all <3

MASTERLIST

“Anyone can pretend to be someone else.”

“Well, it doesn’t take much brainpower to throw a ball.”

How could you forget the feud that started it all? Your spot as a top-ranking student back in high school was suddenly disturbed by the arrival of a certain Japanese student.

You didn’t mind it at first, only perceiving it as a challenge that would lead to the betterment of yourself. You know, kinda like what they say—smooth seas never made a skilled sailor thing.

But little did the teen you know that Kenji Sato would become a force of a tsunami in your life.

The little frowns when one scored higher than the other on quizzes became a competition that was the backbone of your interactions—the core aspect of your enmity.

The two of you were naturally gifted students with too much competitive spirits. Your performances were closely monitored by peers and teachers who eagerly anticipated the next round of test scores to see who would come out on top.

Needless to say, your little rivalry became a show that everyone liked to watch—a TV drama that keeps them glued on the couch, and a baseball game that keeps them at the edge of their seats.

What started as frowns became bickers and a constant exchange of provocative teasing. A day at school wouldn’t be complete without exchanging sarcastic remarks with one another.

“Better not mess this up, (y/n). Wouldn’t want to lose those precious extra points,” Kenji said in one of your chemistry labs.

You rolled your eyes as you set up your titration apparatus. “Don’t worry about me, Kenji,” you replied. “Just make sure you know the difference between an acid and a base.”

Despite the academic rivalries, your favorite thing to one each other up on despite being on totally different sides of the scale, is your clubs.

With Kenji being the star of the baseball team and you the leading actress of the drama club, the two of you were set to speak at the pep rally to represent your respective team and club.

“And now, let's hear from our star pitcher, Kenji Sato!”

Kenji steps up to the microphone, flashing a confident smile. "Thanks, Mr. Principal,” he said. “Our team has been working hard, and we're ready to bring home another championship. Let's hear it for the baseball team!”

The crowd roared with approval. Sports enthusiasts loved Kenji and he is definitely the face of sports in your school. That’s one thing you couldn’t argue about. You’ve been trying to name a player better than him at school but unfortunately, there was none.

Kenji stepped back and the principal proceeded to introduce you, "Next, we have our leading actress, (y/n) (l/n), to tell us about the upcoming play."

You strode to the microphone, poised and charismatic. "Thank you, Mr. Principal,” you started. “This year's play, 'Romeo and Juliet, is a labor of love for the drama club. We've poured our hearts into it, and we hope you'll all come to see it.”

“Break a leg to the baseball team, and we hope to see some of you at the theater!" You added.

The crowd cheers again, though with less intensity than for Kenji. Kenji leaned over when you stepped back beside him.

“Break a leg, huh?” He whispered just loud enough for you to hear. “Isn’t that a bit risky for an actress?”

“It’s tradition,” you smirked. “Besides, I'd like to see you try and memorize Shakespeare."

Kenji laughed, "Maybe next time. For now, I'll stick to throwing strikes."

A week after the pep rally came Kenji’s game.

He winded up and delivered a fastball that struck out the batter, securing the win for his team. The crowd erupted in applause, chanting his name.

On his way to the locker room, he comes across you. He saw you in the bleachers earlier, watching with a critical eye.

“Enjoyed the show, (y/n)?” He asked, smirking.

“It was fine, I guess,” you said, rolling your eyes. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

Kenji chuckled, “Don't worry, I'll save a seat for you at the next game.”

"I'd rather spend my time watching paint dry,” you said, crossing your arms. “Good luck with that, though."

A few days after the game came the premiere of the school's production. Every time the curtains rose, you stopped out not as (y/n) but as the character whom you portrayed—Juliet.

After the final act, the audience gave a standing ovation. You took a bow, eyes scanning the crowd. At the back, you spotted Kenji clapping politely.

You basked in the praises of the director and your friends for the job you did well. As you exit the stage, you find Kenji waiting in the wings. “Not bad,” he said, raising his brows. “For a drama nerd.”

You smirked in return. “Glad you could tear yourself away from the baseball field to appreciate some real talent."

"I figured I'd see what all the fuss was about,” he chuckled. “You didn't disappoint."

"Is that a compliment, Sato?” You asked, eyes narrowing playfully. “From you?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Kenji shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”

At home, after the drama club’s play, Kenji told his mom about you. He told her about how good you actually were at acting. He planned on leaving mid-performance but you kept him glued to the spot he was watching from. He may or may not have ditched his baseball training that day.

“You seem to know her well,” Kenji’s mom commented to which he retaliated with “To defeat your enemy, you must know your enemy.”

On the other hand, Kenji’s compliment played rent-free in your head. It overshadowed the director’s and the others’ compliments like they didn’t matter.

This situation went on for years in the span of time you spent in high school. Classmates and friends became used to the everyday sarcastic remarks and insults you hurled at each other.

What they didn’t know were the subliminal messages in every interaction.

They didn’t know about how Kenji often finds himself trying to perform exceptionally well whenever he knows you are watching. He’d throw an extra-fast pitch or make a particularly insightful comment in class, hoping to catch your attention.

They didn’t know that his playful teasing was a way to keep the banter alive to be able to engage with you regularly. They didn’t know that in a crowd of people, Kenji would always look for you. He watches your reactions to see if you’re impressed.

They didn’t know that you genuinely attended Kenji’s baseball games to see him do well. You’ll clap and cheer, albeit more reservedly than the die-hard fans, keeping your enthusiasm in check.

They didn’t know how you defend him from others, from those who would speak badly of him regardless of what he did. They didn’t know how you took note of his class attendance and lent him notes from classes he missed due to training.

The two of you did all these while outwardly maintaining the rivalry. Then one day, before you two knew it, graduation season was right around the corner.

One bright and sunny afternoon in the school gym, a large banner hung above reading "Graduation Ball Partner Reveal." Students crowd around a bulletin board, excitedly searching for their assigned partners.

This was one of the school’s antics to add some excitement to the graduation ball by randomly pairing students as dance partners. You heard other girls overtly expressing their wishes to be paired with Kenji.

With a grin, your friend turned to you, “Who do you hope to get, (y/n)?”

"Anyone who can at least manage to keep up on the dance floor,” you shrugged.

"I heard they really mixed things up this year. Could be anyone!" Another friend said.

When the crowd began to disperse, you and your friends made your way to the bulletin board. Scanning the list, your eyes widened as you saw your name next to Kenji’s.

“No way,” you muttered. “This has to be a mistake.” Just as you were processing this revelation, you heard a familiar voice behind you, "Looks like we're stuck with each other, (y/n)."

You turned to see Kenji standing there, a mix of amusement and surprise on his face. “Of all people, it had to be you,” you said crossing your arms.

“It’s not like I rigged the draw,” Kenji chuckled. “Why would I wanna be paired with you?” He asked like he didn’t want it.

As the night of the graduation ball drew nearer, the two of you agreed to be truces for one night.

A week later, there in the same gym, stood you at the edge of the dance floor. That night, the gym was a glittering wonderland, with twinkling fairy lights and elegant decorations that turned the mundane space into a ballroom fit for a fairytale.

“You look amazing, (y/n),” your friend nudged you. “Kenji's going to be blown away."

Scoffing, you replied, “If he even shows up.”

Just as you finished speaking, Kenji appeared, looking dapper in a sharp suit. He spotted you and made his way over, a confident smile on his face.

“Hey, (y/n),” he said. “You look… wow.”

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks as your heart began beating faster. All the earlier pettiness gone the moment you saw him.

"You clean up pretty well yourself, Sato,” you replied, barely a whisper.

Kenji extended his hand, a playful glint in his eyes. "Shall we?" He asked.

Taking his hand, you let him lead you onto the dance floor where you two fell into step, finding a rhythm despite the initial awkwardness.

“So, truce for tonight, right?” Kenji asked. You nodded, smiling, “Only for tonight.”

You danced in silence for a few moments, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I never thought we’d end up here dancing,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Neither did I,” you replied. “But maybe it’s not so bad.”

“You mean you’re actually enjoying my company?” Kenji chucked.

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Don’t get used to it.”

As the dance continued, the tension between you two began to melt away. You two talked about your plans after graduation and for the first time, you saw each other as two people with dreams and aspirations; not as an obstacle in the way.

“I want to go pro. In baseball,” Kenji said. “I've got scouts interested, and I think I have a real shot."

Your eyes widened slightly. "A professional baseball player, huh?” You replied. “I can see that.”

“Thanks,” Kenji grinned. "It's been my dream since I was a kid. What about you? What's next for you after we toss the caps?”

"I want to be an actress,” you answered. “I've been accepted into a drama program, and I'm going to chase that dream as far as it takes me."

That being said, you two will most likely be going to separate schools in college. Or so you thought.

PART TWO

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@hismistresss @sweetangle8 @aerivina

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist

[absolutelynotsanebaby]

I was talking to my mutual about Cole when I had a surge of Thoughts so per usual you all have to hear them now. I was considering a couple things, namely his development and place as the "strong guy" on the team and his masculinity (and how it presents in the show vs in fanon).

Cole's pretty often typecast as the gruff strong guy in a lot of fan-media (from fanfics to fanart etc) which isn't wrong because he was like that, especially within the early seasons. The way he spoke, the way he acted, his place as a sort of leading force. In season three you even see him in that stupid lumberjack fit (said affectionately), it's all very traditionally masculine. Which fits his whole Strong and Big guy of the team role (the five man band archetypes etc etc). However, it's interesting to say because at his core, he's very emotional and very driven by a strong sense of internal compassion (with a canonical affinity to children). Which obviously none of that is opposed to masculinity but these traits begin to show more as the gruffness pulls back. The first real example of that I think is in ToE with his fight with Jay. I don't read him as being invested in their fighting the same way Jay was. Jay was fueled by insecurity and a very strong sense of jealousy and possessiveness. Cole? I think he was just reacting to Jay's aggression, which didn't put Nya in a better position but it is a difference. 

So when their match rolls around, he's the first one to realize what they're doing is stupid and give in. He reaches out emotionally to Jay. However, Jays still is a friend so that is easy to write off as a symptom of friendship. And then following ToE we have possession and DOTD which I think are where he really begins to develop, and have the strongest examples of what I'm getting at. I'm going out on a limb and saying that I really see his prior gruffness as a sort of armor, to be good enough for the team (insert that one Wu note of him staying up late before missions) and also there his whole rebellious streak against his father trying to force him to be someone he's not. (Note: I wouldn't be surprised if how Lou raised him really had a impact on all this) Then, we get to Possession and both his self worth and self image are shook badly by literally dying. He outright says he's not a ninja anymore, which I think he based a lot of who he was on (<- which is why struggling with it hit so hard).

Finally DOTD comes up and I think we see the strongest example of where his compassion really become a core trait. It's his fight with Yang. He had no reason to reach out to him, to be honest he had the right not to, but he did and it worked! He didn't get out of DOTD in the end with brute force, he got out of it with emotional support (his team showing up), a stubborn adherence to his moral code, and reaching out to Yang with empathy. From that point on, I think he's softer and more prone to being emotional, it's like there was a very real shift. To circle back to Jay, because I think he makes for a good comparison, he does not develop like that post ToE. Actually, the issues carying from s3 (though, they do exist prior just not as starkly) all the way to Skybound where it gets violently (literally) addressed. Jay fans can probably say it better than me but the season is about his insecurity and treatment of Nya and there's a reason both Nadakhan and Cliff are like that (read: they're parallels). It's just interesting because both Cole and Jay have issues with self worth and image but they present and develop very differently. 

There's also the fanon aspect with those two that's really funny. I think everyone's aware of the infamous fanon-bruise, the 2010s-yaoification. Uwu Jay, Big Strong Man Cole, and how weirdly racist it is. It's just funny to note because the issues projected onto Cole in fanon are ones Jay has, like, in the show. Cole's the more emotional and compassionate one of the two, but because of the strong guy role, it gets flipped around in fanon. Going by the 'traditional' (read: toxic) masculine standards, in terms of personality and character, I think Jay more closely aligns. It reminds me of this post I saw once, it was of Hunted where Jay was making the plane (?) and Cole was with baby Wu. It called Jay the 'mom' and Cole the 'dad' which I find kind of funny because if you look at it through that hetero-normative lense, it really should be the other way around. Cole's the one caring for the baby pretty consistently, Jay's the one making a machine and Working. Did Jay just get called the 'mom' there because people think of him as smaller and weaker and therefore more feminine? Did Cole get called the dad just because he's strong and considered bigger? It's interesting. Fanon does Cole really dirty sometimes.

To get back on topic of Cole's narrative development, then we get to MOTM (like a bajillion years later which no I'm not complaining except I am). Cole's characterization in MOTM is so fucking good. MOTM does a fantastic job at tying together several of his strings. It ties in Lilly, his self esteem, his staunch morality, affinity towards leadership, and compassion into one, pretty bow. MOTM puts Cole back into a leading role, and it gives him several groups to reach out to (Vania, the munce and geckle, the uppily). It draws back the insecurity present in him, letting it show again to be addressed. It even ties in his relationship to Wu in a really lovely way to me. MOTM is the season where Cole finds who he is, his identity and his place as his mothers son.

Speaking of that, I have a very strong love for male characters who exemplify who their mothers were and what they taught them. The scenes with Lilly really put his entire character into a different perspective. At the start he was this tough kid fresh off grief and pressurized so strongly by his dad and himself and he goes through loops and hurdles of strength and identity and by the end he finds himself exactly where he needs to be. Where he's the strongest and it's in his mothers footsteps, as someone both emotional and strong. It's a really lovely character arc to take him on, and though I haven't watched DR, I've heard they continue that on. 

Anyways, consider it positive masculinity, consider it anything else. I just had a lot of thoughts to share and hope I don't sound too 'reading-too-deep' about it. Bye bye Kar ramble over.

[zara-renata]

Sylus makes a deal | ao3 | part 10 of the Sylus series

Summary: Sylus answers some questions, receives dating advice from a dubious source, makes a deal you can't refuse, receives a birthday invitation, and plans to take you home for the night.

Notes:

Sylux x gn!reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV, 'wingman' is used as a gender neutral term in this story This story contains: increasing absurdity, an ongoing attempt by the author to fit every single trope into one fanfic series, an agreement to date where only one of the parties knows that it's not fake, an mc with self-esteem issues, mc in deep denial, a socially oblivious mc, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn, angst, banter, fluff, yet another oc (i'm sorry but i need plot vehicles, people), hyper protective!mc, soft!sylus, and a tank

“Who is Aidan?” you ask.

It takes a moment for you to realize that Sylus is staring down at the scarlet-gold wrist linkage tying his wrist to yours. His body, tense just a moment before as you were flipping the coin, seems to relax as you ask your question—he almost melts back into the couch, and as a result, into your side, his arm still slung over your shoulder, his thigh pressed against yours. You soak up his body warmth like a sponge.

You steel yourself for his answer. You can handle anything he says, because the coin and fate have decided that you will not ghost him forever but have dictated that you will be his friend, and you’re going to be the best friend anyone could ever ask for this morally grey hurricane of a human being.

“My legal counsel,” Sylus finally responds.

“Mister Toothpaste Commercial is your… legal counsel?” you ask, as if you hadn’t heard him perfectly fine the first time.

“Mister… Toothpaste Commercial?” Sylus repeats. He turns his head to look at you, and once again, your faces are so close you can feel his warm breath along your skin. It smells pleasantly of wine, and you would like to think your palate is sophisticated enough to recognize it as one of the wines you tried the other night with him. But maybe you’re mistaken.

You nod, a little embarrassed about blurting that just now.

“Care to share why you gave him that particular nickname?”

“You know… he’s generically beautiful. And his teeth…” You bare your teeth at him, as if he needs a reminder of what teeth are. “So unsettlingly white.”

“I see.” Sylus eyes your bared teeth, face impassive. “You think he’s beautiful?”

“Don’t you?”

Sylus tilts his head. “I think his face is useful for what I need him for.”

“Ah yes, Cryptic Crime Sylus only thinks in terms of cost-benefit and utility when evaluating other humans. Forgive me for asking.” You lean your head back, settling onto his pillowy bicep. If being friends with Sylus means you can still use him as a human pillow, you tell yourself that’s a pretty good deal.

“Yeah. Okay. So Aidan is your legal counsel… is that… all he is?” you ask, hoping Sylus will get the hint without you having to ask this embarrassing question out loud. You’re just curious, that’s all. Learning about your newest friend, and his friends—or lovers.

Sylus considers you for a moment, and then flexes his bicep so that your head is gently jostled toward his shoulder, and you slide even deeper into his side. “Well, he does wet work on occasion, but it’s not his primary function. Just don’t tell anybody I told you that. He would be… displeased.”

Your brain stalls out for a second. “You mean that guy kills for you?”

Sylus nods serenely. “When necessary. He doesn’t like getting his shoes dirty, though, so I rarely ask him. He thinks that because I can remove blood stains with a snap of my fingers, I should be the one to personally handle situations that require elimination, which is a fair point. He’s far better at drafting ironclad non-disclosure agreements and litigation than the other aspects of his position with me.”

You don’t even know why you’re surprised. Why would Sylus have anyone not homicidal in his inner circle?

“Okay… but is he.. anything else to you?” you look up at him expectantly. “Like, is he… your partner?”

Sylus tilts his head again. “Partner? No, he’s not a partner. I have him on exclusive retainer, so he might as well have shares in the business with how much he charges me, but it’s not technically a partnership.”

You grimace. Exclusive retainer? Is that some sort of euphemism? Like a professional, monogamous fuck buddy? Are you being insane by reading way too much into his answers? You can’t bring yourself to ask him outright yet. This line of questioning is getting you nowhere.

“And… the… woman… who was with Kieran and Luke? Who is she? For you?” You cringe internally, but do your very best to appear completely indifferent. You’re just chatting with a friend. Like at a sleepover. But you’re at your friend’s sexy exclusive nightclub and you’re so close to him that you can inhale the scent wafting from his neck and he smells like the safety and security of holding a loaded gun.

Sylus stares at you, and then a light bulb seems to go on in his head. “That’s Noah. She’s my newest hire,” he says slowly.

“Okay, and what does Noah… do for you?”

He narrows his eyes. “She’s a driver.”

“And is she… also on exclusive retainer for you?” You’re a bit squicked out. You don’t want to yuck anyone else’s yum but this is obviously a human resources disaster waiting to happen. And Noah looked so young .

“Kitten, if you have a question, ask.” You feel your leg bouncing up and down. Sometimes that happens when you’re wound up. Sylus lifts your linked wrists and puts his hand on your thigh. You stop jittering. “You can ask me anything.”

Fine. You take a breath. “That other guy kept asking about who your partner was… so I was just wondering. If your partner was in the room with us earlier,” you ask, the portrait of casual. Because that’s all this is. Casual interest in a friend’s romantic life. Tara bugs you enough about your own non-existent love life to the point of harassment, so you’re doing Sylus a favor by asking so discretely.

“So, the motivation behind this interrogation is your assumption that either Aidan or Noah is… my romantic partner.”  Sylus finishes your thought. The relief of him guessing what you were thinking courses through you. He’s such a good friend. You don’t even have to say everything out loud, and he just gets you.

“Yeah, since you said you were dreaming about someone the other morning, and then with the guy asking about your partner tonight, I just thought—”

Sylus interrupts you. “I actually didn’t say I was dreaming about—” but then, another thought occurs to you and you interrupt him in turn. “Or is this a polyamory thing? Sorry, I’ll try to be better about not making assumptions. Are you guys in a crime-lord, wet-work, getaway driver polycule?”

Sylus tries to rub his forehead, but his movement pulls your linked wrist up with his. He lets both of your hands drop, which come to rest on his big thigh, alarmingly close to his lap. His lap that contains certain appendages that you will immediately cleanse your memory of out of respect for your friendship . “Kitten?”

“Yes, Sylus?” You look up at him and smile reassuringly.  You’re his friend, and he can tell you anything . His secrets are safe with you.

“Let me clear up this unfortunate misunderstanding once and for all. I do not have a romantic partner right now,” he says with a gravity that’s endearing. “Do you understand?”

Your pleasure at hearing what he’s saying has nothing to do with the content of his words. You’re pleased simply because he’s fulfilling his end of the bargain and fully answering your questions and he doesn’t have a romantic partner in his life and he’s not taken and that makes you happy only because now you don’t have to feel guilty at all for the friendly position you find yourself in plastered against his big warm body and the nights he has spent with you away from, you now know, a non-existence partner whose feelings can’t be hurt by his strange fascination with interfering in your life.

That’s all. You breathe deeply in relief. Friendly relief.

But you don’t understand. Not yet. “Then why was that guy tonight asking about your partner?”

“I believe that Luke and Kieran may have given him the misinformation that he was to meet my romantic partner tonight to discuss an exclusive wine supplier deal he’s hoping to secure with us for the clubs. I then mentioned to him that you liked the bottle from his winery, and that you would be present during our discussion of the contract. He must have assumed that you were the romantic partner to whom my subordinates had alluded when you made your… dramatic entrance.”

You wince, but honestly? It felt so good to chuck the duffel bag full of feathers at Sylu. Like squeezing a cute little stress relief ball, or knocking some asshole out with just one punch.

“Maybe now you’ve learned your lesson about leaving me with feather messes to clean up,” you grumble.

Sylus plucks one such feather from his lap and lifts it with your linked hands, running it softly along your cheek. “There you go again—you assume I didn’t enjoy your little performance.” You shiver, turning your head to bite the feather. “Unfortunately for you, I’ll keep leaving them because it evokes reactions like the one from tonight.”

He smiles at you, and you jerk your head to pull the feather from his grasp with your teeth, and then puff an exhale through your lips, sending the feather into his face.

“Fine. Fill my place with feathers. See if I care.” You turn your head away from him, but don’t bother sitting up. He can talk to your hair.

“I intend to,” his voice, low and amused, sounds close to your ear.

You are so relaxed now, compared to earlier. You could almost fall asleep, right here and now. It’s late, and you’ve gone through so many emotions, just in the span of what? An hour? Hopefully with your newfound resolve, you can maintain this level of peace, even with Sylus in your life. The coin decided for you. You have nothing to worry about now, because fate has spoken. It’s out of your hands. You can do this job, the job of Sylus’s friend, as you do all the other jobs in your life so well.

Your thoughts drift over what happened earlier, and you suddenly recall  why you’re here in the first place, and wonder who he was talking about, when he was describing his type. Maybe it was just… a theoretical description of a person he’d be interested in? Maybe they don’t actually exist?

“I can tell from your body that your mind has begun to race again, sweetheart. Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

You realize that your muscles have become tense again after his comment, and force your body to relax. It works, sort of. You only feel a faint pinch in your shoulders.

You still refuse to look at him. You try really hard to think of a subtle way of asking what you want to know. You frown. Subtlety is not one of your talents. You’re more of a sledgehammer than a scalpel. Zayne can attest to that.

You know what? It’s fine. You don’t need to know this. You don’t have to know every single detail about the inner lives of your friends. Even best friends are entitled to privacy.

“Or are you too scared to ask?” Sylus sniffs derisively.

You whip your head back around.

“What?”

He slides his hand into yours, your linked wrists pressing together.

“I asked…” he enunciates. “If you are too much of a coward to ask your questions. Are you too afraid of the price for the ones you’ve already purchased?”

You scoff. “Do I strike you as someone who’s afraid of anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re not afraid of wanderers, or a fight, or getting injured. And you’re not afraid of me,” he offers you a pleased smile. “But I think that there are things that exist that scare you.”

You let a mask of indifference settle on your face. “Bullshit,” you say, lightly. You don’t have a care in the world.

“All right, then ask your questions, if you’re not afraid of the answers.” He runs his thumb down your linked wrist, and back up again.

“Were you talking about anyone in particular tonight, when the wine guy asked if Noah was your partner?”

Sylus brings your linked hands up, and rests his cheek along the back of yours. It’s so soft along your skin, with the faint burr of his stubble causing goosebumps to rise along your arms.

“Ah, is my kitten curious about who may be my type?”

You scowl at him. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be asking.” Your heart doesn’t ache. You’re just hoping that he can have a happy ending with whoever he has feelings for. That’s what friends do.

“Then I’ll answer. In fact, I’m glad you brought it up. It has to do with why I asked you to come tonight.” He lowers your linked hands again, but tightens his arm around your shoulder.

You look at him steadily in silence. You are prepared for whatever he has to say. You will listen, and keep his secrets, and help him in any way you can, because the coin decided that you will be his friend, and you will be the best friend he has ever had. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“I do have feelings for someone. I was describing that person when I was describing my type,” he says.

You remain very still. Your muscles remain relaxed, your breath steady. You will be his vault, for all the things he wants to tell you. Immovable, and safe. You nod, once.

His pretty, strange eyes drift from yours to your mouth and up again. “Ah,” you breathe. “I thought as much.”

“Of course. Because you’re clever, and observant, and highly attuned to the needs of other people, in most respects.” You can’t help it—you smile. That’s probably one of the nicest things he’s ever said to you. See? You can be of value to him as a friend. And in return, you get to enjoy his chaotic and weirdly comforting presence in your life.

“So what does that have to do with why you asked me here tonight?”

“I think this person may be able to reciprocate my feelings, but I’m worried that they won’t trust my sincerity if I simply tell them how I feel right now.”

You wince. You definitely know, from firsthand experience, that Sylus doesn’t always make the best first impressions. “Ah, I can see how that could be the case,” you say, diplomatically. Because you’re polite .

“I’ve spent most of my adult life singularly focused on my business goals. I haven’t had much time or interest in building personal relationships with anyone.”

“Mmm, yes, of course. Very busy with very serious murdery matters. Too busy for such weak nonsense as human connection,” you nod sagely. “As is normal.”

He lifts your linked hands and gently pokes you in the forehead. “You know, after just one week of rest, you’re a lot less nice to me than the last few times I visited you.”

“I think you mean the last few times you committed breaking and entering, and also less compliant, not less nice.” You poke his forehead in turn.  “Don’t mistake being too exhausted to engage with you as me being nice. I was too tired to really spear you with my wit, but just wait. The longer we’re friends, the more you’ll learn that you need to be on your toes to handle me.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetie.” He catches your finger in his palm, bringing your linked hands back to his thigh. “I guess I’ll just have to ensure that you continue to get enough sleep, then.” He slips his fingers through yours again.

“Okay. So you’ve been far too busy being his highness lord of all shady shit. What does that have to do with what you want from me?”

He sighs. “As a result, I don’t have much experience… pursuing someone. Romantically.” He looks at you expectantly.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, waiting for the request.

“I have to admit, I’ve found myself distracted recently trying to puzzle out how to move forward with this person.”

“Okay, so you’re nervous.” You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes. Is he ever going to get on with his request for you? He looks at you, frowning slightly.

You sigh. “How about you take your own advice and just ask me directly what you need from me? It’s not like you to beat around the bush.”

“I find that my preferred directness may not be the best strategy with this person--they consistently suspect that I have ulterior motives when I show them how much I care for them.”

“Okay," you draw out the word, but he just sits there, watching you carefully. For what, you have no idea. "Sylus, what do you want from me?” You finally lose your patience. “Out with it.”

“I think we can help each other out. I want you to teach me how to date someone properly, in a way that can convince them that I don't have any ulterior motives. That I mean what I say when I tell them directly that I care deeply for them, and don't intend to let them go.”

You stare at him. He stares back at you. You glance out of the corner of your eye to both sides, but the room is still empty. You’re the only one in it besides Sylus. The only one he could possibly be asking to teach him how to properly date someone.

You can’t help it. You howl. This is the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever heard. How is it that this big bad crime boss is asking you, you, who has spent most of your adult life either studying, training, or working so hard that every romantic partner that you ever went beyond a one night stand with fizzled out in either you being ghosted, you being cheated on, or you just being straight up dumped for not being around enough to conduct a proper relationship and meet their emotional needs. Especially because, you can admit, you have about the same emotional capacity for caring for a romantic partner as you do for caring for yourself: which is to say, hardly any at all. To steal Sylus’s comparison, you probably have the emotional capacity to satisfy someone in a relationship as a fucking cactus.

You wheeze, your linked hand clutching Sylus’s. You’re laughing so hard you’re going to throw up. This is the funniest shit Sylus has ever said to you. Sylus, who is asking you for help in wooing some god or goddess, someone amazing enough to attract the attention of such a ‘life is too short to settle for anything less than perfection’ snob as Sylus.

“Are you done?” he asks, sounding slightly indignant, after you manage not to throw up all over him—from the laughing, dammit, and not from the idea of helping this man have a happily-ever-after with someone who is not you. You’re his friend. You can be his wingman if that’s what he needs. You can.

Once you can breathe again, you lean back into the soft leather of the booth. “I am now,” you laugh softly, clearly lying. He glares at you. “I promise.”

“So, what will it be? If you help me with this matter, you can have that favor. No restrictions. No conditions. It might be very useful someday for you, as a Deepspace Hunter, to have the leader of Onychinus owing you an unconditional favor.”

You laugh. “Sylus, that’s very tempting, but I don’t think you understand that you’re asking the absolute worst person on earth for help in this department,” you begin, but Sylus squeezes your hand before you can go on to describe why your romantic history doesn’t inspire much confidence in the odds of success of his little proposal.

“Hmm, I guess you’re not up for the challenge.” He looks down at your clasped hands and fiddles with his thumb. “How boring. Guess I’ll just have to find someone else who can help.”

Okay, you’ve had enough sleep in the last week to realize that he’s baiting you. But you realize that you do want something from him. It's just that that what he is offering in exchange isn't what you actually want. You had already resolved to help him, as his friend. But you can leverage this situation to your advantage too. And if your ‘help’ turns out to be useless because you have no idea how to catch someone’s interest and actually keep it, well, that’s his fault for not thoroughly vetting his chosen consultant. You’ll still get the favor. And absolutely none of these considerations have anything to do with the fact that the thought of him seeking someone else to help him in this, of him replacing you for this job, makes your heart feel weird.

“All right. How do you think I can help you with this little… problem?” You snort. “And just remember, lots of men have problems just like yours, there’s no reason to feel ashamed.” You blink at him with wide eyes, the dictionary definition of sincere reassurance.

“Oh, I can assure you, like the rest of me, this problem is rather extraordinary. I doubt most men find themselves grappling with this level of… difficulty, in acquiring the confidence of their beloved.”

You don’t flinch at the word ‘beloved.’ So what if his crush is not actually a crush, but a soul-deep yearning? It doesn’t affect your role in this. Best, wingman, ever. You smile. You smile, because what else can you do?

"Ha, fine, fine. But I don't want an unconditional favor from the leader of Onychinus," you say. Surprise flickers across his face, but fades quickly into his usual mask of amused indifference.

"Speak."

"I want the slate to be clean between us, when this is over. I took your life. And then I did my best to help you win over your... your beloved. I can't guarantee results. But I promise to try. And afterwards, we'll be even, yeah?"

He watches you closely, as if trying to detect some trap in your condition, without resorting to his aether core. So you poke him in the cheek, but can’t help yourself—you then draw your fingertip down, along his stubbled jawline. It’s late enough now that you can see the slightly darker sheen of silver in his version of a five o’clock shadow, much like his eyebrows are darker than his hair. What a beautiful creature. You’re lucky that you even get to look at him, let alone call him a friend.

He turns his head and catches your finger between his teeth, but doesn’t bite down. You think you feel his tongue ghost longer your fingertip, but it’s probably just your wild imagination. He releases your finger and you drop your hand back to your side.

He slips the pinky finger of his linked hand around yours. Even his pinky is big, for fuck's sake. "I promise, we'll be even. You won't owe me anymore for my generosity in letting you exact your revenge, if you do you best to help me convince my beloved that I care for them."

“Okay then." You take a deep breath. After this is all over, the scales will finally be balanced, and you'll be free. "How can I help you?”

“Be my dating coach,” he finally says.

You have to think very hard to remember what you were just talking about. Oh. What?

“Wut?”

“Allow me to practice dating with you. You can give me constructive feedback regarding whether you think my strategy will be effective in persuading the object of my affection that I mean what I say.”

Your heart squeezes. Damn, is your protocore syndrome acting up again? Maybe you need to visit Akso Hospital before your next scheduled checkup.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the pain, and then force yourself to open them. “Whether or not your crush will like how you date them is dependent on that particular person’s wants and desires. Just because you manage to make me like dating you, doesn’t mean your beloved can be won over with the same strategy. Or vice versa.” You shake your head at him. He can’t be serious. This is why he demanded you meet him tonight? You dismantled, cleaned, reassembled and packed your favorite bazooka for nothing. And you don't even like using the bazooka these days. Still too loud. Still too much like an exploding bomb. But you were willing to bring it, if it meant protecting Sylus.

“I’m pretty sure that your tastes and interests are similar enough to this person that your feedback will be reliable," Sylus interrupts your drifting thoughts.

Huh? He’s interested in someone like you? Impossible. But then a thought occurs to you. Maybe another hunter? Maybe this whole time he’s been getting close to you in order to get close to his crush, who you know?

Fuck. You really do need to make an appointment with Zayne. No healthy heart should feel like this, even one as damaged as yours.

You can’t think about this. You will not consider the possibility that all of his harassment has just been an elaborate ruse to get access to someone close to you. You will not.

Your brain clearly doesn’t get the memo, because your next thought hits you like a train.

What if it’s Xavier!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You blink.

What if the hunter he wants to get close to is Xavier? What if he actually has had a crush on your partner this whole time? What the fuck will you do if they fall in love and you never see either of them again except Xavier at work and Sylus at their wedding? That twisting feeling in your guts and the sensation of your stomach dropping into your shoes is simply the result of imagining losing two of your friends at once to each other, and nothing else .

Wait, wait. It might not be Xavier. Maybe it’s Tara? Has he seen Tara? Maybe he saw Tara through Mephisto’s eyes while you went to lunch with her? She’s so cute, you often have to suppress the urge to squeeze her little chipper cheeks, because that’s an HR no-no.

Or Nero? Nero and Sylus probably share similar interests—Nero’s obsession with dangerous creatures would likely result in him being thrilled that a dangerous creature like Sylus would be interested in him. You can almost hear the wedding bells. You heard bells the first time you met Sylus, and now you’re going to lose him to Nero. You are fine .

Wait, wait, wait, what if it’s Jenna? What if this is a star-crossed lovers thing, and Jenna won’t believe him because they’re supposed to be mortal enemies? Jenna is hot as fuck. You can totally see—

Sylus’s voice interrupts the high speed crash in your head. “Oh no. I’ve learned what that look on your face means.”

You cover your mouth, because you’re clearly having a hard time controlling your face.

“What are you even talking about?” you mumble through your hand.

Sylus’s eyes bore into yours. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. Something is happening in your head, and instead of just asking me directly, you’re making wild assumptions and coming to ridiculous conclusions. If you’re curious, just ask. I thought we’ve been over this. Twice. Tonight, in fact.”

You let your hand drop with a wince. His beautiful eyes map your face. He’s right. You should just rip off the bandage. No use torturing yourself wondering which one of your friends he’s been using you to get to.

“Is your crush someone I know?”

Sylus’s face goes blank. He stares at you for a moment, and then casually reaches up to brush hair from your forehead, and your wrist is pulled up awkwardly with his.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks.

You just look at him. He fiddles with your lock of hair.

And here he had told you that you could ask him anything. But he never promised to quit his habit of answering your questions with more questions. Suddenly you realize that he’s buying time. He’s trying to think of how to answer you. That means you do know the person. Maybe it’s asking too much of him, to demand that he tell you who it is. You can survive not knowing. You can survive anything .

You plaster a smile on your face and lean away from his touch. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me.”

You gaze out the one-way mirror, sifting through possibilities. You can help him. You know your friends enough to know what they’d like, and can suggest dates that each one might like in turn. Going for a hotpot dinner, if Sylus likes Xavier. Going for cocktails, if it’s Tara. Taking Nero to the no-hunt zone for wanderer watching instead of bird watching. You wrack your brain for what Jenna might like. You have no fucking clue. You and your boss have a mutual respect for each other and maintain strict professionalism. You would probably be in danger of falling in love with her, if not. Maybe you’ll wing it: Jenna’s a warrior, and likely has similar interests as you. The shooting range? Oh, you totally want to go to the shooting range with Sylus. To be honest, all the dates you’ve just thought of are dates you’d also like, so you’re feeling even more confident that you can help him with this job. Who cares if you’ve been cheated on more than once? You’ll be judging his performance, not the other way around.

Sylus interrupts your thoughts. “Look at me,” he says softly. You obey. He covers your hand with his. “I can promise you that whomever you’re thinking my 'crush' is, it’s not the person you're thinking of.”

How could he possibly know who you think his crush might be? But he’s looking at you so earnestly, and Sylus doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He has told you that before, and for some strange reason, you believe him. Okay. Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe. Maybe he likes someone you don't know.

“Okay,” you breathe. He looks pleased. You try not to think too hard about how happy it makes you when he looks at you like you’ve pleased him. It’s only natural to want your friends to be happy with you, right?

But the thought occurs to you that Sylus might be approaching this whole dating thing the wrong way. What the other person wants is not the only thing that’s important in this equation.

“You know, it’s also not just all about what your crush likes.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“It also matters what you like, and what you like to do. You don’t have to just please them—the point of dating isn’t just to make the other person happy.” You turn your hand so his is no longer covering yours, but your palms are aligned. You entwine your fingers with his and squeeze softly. “Don’t you want your crush to know what you like, and what makes you happy? And then if they like that, you can be assured that you guys will be compatible in the long run. Your happiness is just as important as theirs. And it will be more convincing, if you invite them into your world, instead of just trying to accommodate theirs.”

He squeezes your hand in return, and then runs the back of his knuckles along your cheek, your hand still clasped in his. “Is that so?” he murmurs.

You will not turn your head and kiss his knuckles, rub your cheek along the back of it, unfold his fingers and kiss his palm. Friends don’t do that. You can’t make this weird for him. He’s asking you for help, and you’ll give it without any ulterior motives.

“So you’re suggesting that I take you on dates that I’d like, as well.”

You nod. “Just be yourself, and leave your scary Onychinus leader mask at home, because they probably already know that part of you. Just be the Sylus who brings his friends wine and fruit and carries around stomach medicine for them. I would be willing to bet you that just being able to spend enough time with you like that will be enough to convince them that you’re really great to be with, and since you’re clearly putting in the time and effort to show them who you are, that you’re sincere.”

He pulls his arm from around your shoulder, but turns his body toward you, crossing one leg over the other, resting his head on his hand, elbow on the booth behind you. He sets your linked hands on your leg, and rubs soft circles with his thumb on your thigh. “So, it’s a safe bet for you to assume that another person’s feelings are sincere if that person doggedly invests a lot of time and energy in you despite constant discouragement?”

“Well, yeah. I feel like even the most stubborn people give up after a while if they aren’t actually serious in the face of disbelief or a repeated rejection.”

He leans forward, so close that your noses are almost touching. “I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over." 

Your heart does that painful limping thing again, imagining this being over, before it’s even begun.

A thought occurs to you. Because he's right. This will be over, someday. With how clever he is, how handsome and persistent, probably sooner rather than later. You don't want to find out that he no longer has a use for you once you realize that you haven't heard from him for weeks. You don't want to find out if you're in the N109 zone on a mission, and see him arm in arm with someone else. "Can you just promise me one more thing?"

He lifts an eyebrow. "It depends on what you're asking for," he asks, ever the shrewd negotiator.

Good, he's taking you seriously. "Once you shoot your shot, and no longer need my help. Can you just send me a text or something? Let me know that it's over? That you don't need me anymore, and we're even?" It's just the protocore syndrome, you tell yourself. You've lived with it for as long as you can remember. You can endure the pain that it's causing you right now, as you always have, as you wait for him to answer, trying to remember to breathe. His face is blank, as blank as the slate you're hoping for when this is all over. He looks away, and you realize that you've gotten so used to his wine bright eyes on you that it feels weird to look as his profile. You follow the line of his long nose with your eyes. Finally, he turns to look at you again.

"I promise that I will tell you clearly when this deal is over," he says quietly. You exhale slowly.

"Thank you." You mean it. You're grateful, knowing that you don't have to be anxious about figuring out the end. You won't have to guess, like you've had to guess so many times before, when someone you care about has walked out of your life without bothering to let you know.

Another thought occurs to you. “But let’s talk about this constant discouragement you mentioned. Has this person clearly and firmly rejected you?”

Sylus laughs, and there’s something in it that sounds just a little self-deprecating. “Like I said before, I haven’t even found a good opportunity to tell them my feelings yet. All of my efforts to show them how I feel through my actions have so far been… unproductive.” He leans back. “So, sensei. Speak. Where would you want me to take you on a date if I were your type, and you deigned to go out with me?”

“Where would you want to take me ?” you counter. You’re starting to look forward to helping him. Allowing him to practice with you will likely be the closest you’ll ever get to experiencing what it’s like to be cared for by Sylus beyond simply being useful to him.

“How about a trade—you tell me what you’d want, and then I’ll spend some time planning what I want. And then you can walk me through each scenario and preference, one by one.”

“Uh, okay. That sounds like a plan.” You finally give into your fatigue and yawn, widely, not bothering to cover your mouth because it’s just Sylus, your friend. “I’m starting to get kind of tired though. And since you clearly are in no danger tonight, maybe we can do the walkthrough another time.”

“All right, kitten. I’ll give you a ride.”

“And just how are you going to give me a ride home with this little problem?” you shake your wrist a little, and the golden-red shackles shimmers in the dim room.

“Did I say I was giving you a ride home?” he asks, gracefully rising to his feet and somehow pulling you gently along with him. He clasps your hand in his, and leads you to the door.

The feathers tumble from his lap and from the back of your pants, wafting up into the air and drifting down again. You wince. “I feel bad now. Some poor employee of yours is going to have to clean this mess up,” you murmur regretfully.

Sylus looks down at you, one sardonic eyebrow lifted, and snaps the fingers on his other hand. The feathers dissolve into scarlet-black cinders and disappear.

You stop, digging in the heels of your boots. “You could have done that. This entire time.”

“I told you sweetheart, I liked your gift. Why would I make it disappear, especially when there were so many people in the room to admire your handiwork?”

You hang your head, the embarrassment of acting like a nutcase slamming into you full force again. What is it about this asshole that makes you lose your mind?

Sylus just laughs softly, runs his thumb along the back of your held hand, and pulls you out into the club again.

 As the two of you make your way down the packed, jet-black granite stairs, your gaze sweeps over the people along the way, cataloging facial expressions and body language, confirming locations of exits and potential obstacles to escape. You’re tired, but you’re still alert enough to be aware of your surroundings. Just because Sylus has a lot of security in this place doesn’t mean that all potential threats to the leader of Onychinus are one hundred percent under control. But you don’t detect anything out of the ordinary. Sylus leads you into the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, and even though you had been up in the VIP room with him for over an hour, dancers are still sensually spinning from hoops above the crowd. You pause, searching for the red-haired one who had smiled so kindly at you, but they seem to have disappeared. You can’t help but let your gaze drift amongst the others though, reminding yourself once again to research how one attains that level of strength and agility.

“As fascinating as the performance is tonight, you did say you were tired. Perhaps you’d be interested in returning on another night–I’ll buy you a drink and you can watch the dancers to your heart’s content,” Sylus’s voice in your ear, close to be heard over the deep bass, interrupts your trance. You realize that of course he had to stop when you did, and has been waiting for you patiently, holding your hand, while you were caught up watching the performances above you.

You turn your head slightly, and his nose brushes against your ear. You lean past him, so that your mouth is against his own ear. “That’s a kind offer, but this place isn’t really my vibe.”

He pulls away a little and seems to contemplate your face under the intermittent lights. Then he leans in again. “Kindred spirits, sweetheart. It’s not mine either. I’ll take you somewhere else instead.”

You’re about to ask him what he means, but you’re jostled from behind, and find yourself face to face with the leader of the club girls from your time waiting in line. Her face lights up.

“Hi again!” She bellows over the music, and sways a little on her feet.

You laugh. “Hi! Having fun?” You shout back.

“Totally! Your tips have already come in handy! It’s much easier to convince guys you’re just on a girls’ night out if they’re afraid of you!” She grins, and then she seems to notice Sylus, because her eyes widen briefly, and then she gives you a sly grin. “But you didn’t need those tips yourself tonight, did you? Nice.” She winks at you.

Sylus leans forward, a big hand sliding over your hip and pulling you close. He leans down and rests his chin on top of your head. “I see you made a friend.”

“That’s right,” the girl beams. She gives Sylus a once over. “We had a really enlightening conversation waiting in line for your club, Mr. Sylus Qin.” She says this like she knows him, and suddenly you stiffen. 

Why would she know who he is? What if she’s his... beloved? Blegh, you're going to have to get used to thinking that word. Out of respect for Sylus's sincere feelings. You shake your head. Again, she seems a bit young. Like. As young as Noah. You try not to grimace. But something about the way she’s looking at him assessingly strikes you as an interest that isn’t necessarily romantic. What if she’s a threat? It would be the perfect cover–who would suspect a silly club girl of being a deadly assassin?

Are you being paranoid? Maybe. You decide to see how Sylus reacts before drawing your knives from your sleeve straps. If she is his beloved, it wouldn’t be nice if you put her on the ground when he’s trying to woo her.

“Enlightening?” he rumbles, somewhere above your head. He’s still draped over you like you’re a human coat rack. “Do tell, kitten.”

You shake him off. She will totally get the wrong idea if he keeps standing like that, but you try to subtly put your body slightly in front of him. If she goes for a weapon, you can take the hit.

“I was just showing her and her friends some basic self-defense moves. They were really fast learners.” You smile, genuinely. Because they were, and it was fun. Even if you do have to take her out now.

“I should have known that you’d use the time you spent in line improving the lives of the good people of the N109 zone,” Sylus sighs, pressing his chest against your back so he’s pretty much leaning on you again. 

“Everyone should know basic self-defense,” you point out, because it’s true.

“Of course,” he says.

“I have to say, you’re not at all like how I pictured you,” the club girl says, giving Sylus a once over again. Oh, maybe she’s about to insult him? You perk up. You’ll throw your body in front of his if he’s in danger, but you’re more than happy to break out the popcorn if someone wants to throw verbal grenades at him.

“And how did you picture me, Miss Victoria Herrera?”

The girl’s eyes widen again, very briefly, before she smirks. “You’ve done your research. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected less, considering how doggedly you’ve been courting Mama. But to answer your question. To be blunt, I pictured you in far worse company.”

“Is that why I’m having such a hard time securing a spot in your mother’s agenda?”

Oh? You’re mentally furiously shoving popcorn in your mouth. Her mother? Maybe Sylus is into MILFs? Does he want to be Victoria’s new daddy? You wrinkle your nose. You will not think of Sylus and the word daddy in the same sentence ever again.

“Your reputation does precede you, after all,” she flicks her hair over her shoulder and scans the club with an alertness that belies how drunk you thought she was earlier.

“And something about meeting my date has you reassessing whether that reputation is reliable as an indicator of my character?” he asks, leaning further into you. He slips his shackled hand back into yours.

“I can’t imagine that your date would put up with you if all the rumors are true,” she returns her big, brown-eyed gaze to his. “I like your date. In fact, I like your date so much that I’d like to invite the both of you to the birthday party that Mama is throwing me this month. Perhaps you can find a quiet moment to discuss what you want with her before I blow out my candles.” She smiles, eyes narrowing, and you get the sense that this beautiful young woman is lethal in a way that has nothing to do with stomping feet with her stilettos or shiving someone in the carotid.

“We look forward to attending,” Sylus responds, and you jolt a little. He squeezes your hand again, as if to tell you to be still. You try to keep your face blank, but inwardly scowl. He has some explaining to do. You really, really want to know who mommy dearest is now.

“Excellent,” she grins. “Now, my friends are waiting for me on the dance floor. You guys have fun tonight! And I’ll be seeing you soon, badass.” She winks at you, wiggles her fingers, and melts into the crowd. Sylus straightens and looks down at you for a brief moment with a neutral look that you have no idea how to decipher. He then turns and leads you through the crowd to the back of the club and into a series of winding hallways. Finally, he opens a back exit that leads into the basement parking garage that is apparently underneath the club. As you approach the rows of vehicles, he reaches into his pocket. Flashing lights and chirruping sound draw your attention to... a tank. Taking up the equivalent of three parking spots at the front of the row of vehicles closest to you.

You stop. "What's with the tank?"

He pauses. Looks at the black monstrosity squatting before you. Looks back at you. "Do you need to get your eyes checked, sweetie?"

You scowl at him. "What else is it, if not a tank?" you demand.

"It's an armored vehicle."

"Planning on waging a single-man assault on the N109 zone tonight? That's a fucking tank. All you're missing is a roof-mounted anti-aerial assault cannon."

"Interesting, how you're assuming it doesn't have a retractable cannon. But how can it be a tank? It doesn't even have tracks. It has wheels and tires. Just because it's a well-fortified SUV, does not make it a tank."

You squint at him. "You realize that tanks can also have tires, right? Like, the difference between a tank and an armored vehicle is not if it has caterpillar tracks or wheels. You sell this shit, right? How do you not know the details of your own inventory?" Sylus just looks bored with this correction.

"It's an armored SUV, kitten. And it's your war chariot for this evening. Get in, General Nit-Picker." You roll your eyes at him. Amazing, you've just learned that he really doesn't like admitting when he's wrong.

Once you’re strapped into his tank—because that is the only term for this oversized monstrosity of a vehicle, no matter what he says—your wrists linked over the center console, Sylus starts the engine and soft classical music fills the space between you. Something soothing, with cellos. Or double bass? You have no idea. The sound is deep and beautiful. The car smells like him. You resist the urge to burrow your ass deeper into the plush black leather seat and to demand that he turn on the seat heating that you're sure this beast has.

He emerges from the subterranean parking garage underneath Amnesia and merges into the late night traffic of the N109 zone. The road is busy, in the middle of what you consider night. You are so curious about what the exchange between Sylus and Victoria was just about, and you’re curious about where he’s taking you with your wrists still cuffed together—you assume some hotel, to wait out the remaining time of the linkage, but you’re so tired, the music is so calming, and you’ve always had the tendency to fall asleep in the car. You’re out like a light in just a few minutes.

Sylus drives through the night, under the red N109 zone moon. His beloved sleeps in the seat next to him, head at an uncomfortable-looking angle against the glass. He reaches over, deeply grateful for the linkage chaining you to him, and gently moves your head from the window, settling it onto the headrest. You snuffle a little in your sleep and make a sleepy noise.

He hasn’t felt the level of fear he felt tonight in a long, long time, as you asked him for the coin, and the energy began to swirl around both of your wrists. He is infinitely relieved that his gamble paid off: you had asked which side of the coin comes up most often, and he knew you wouldn’t trust him, regardless of what answer he gave. So he told you the truth: tails. He had placed all his bets on the hunch that you’d hinge the choice you truly wanted to make, the fear-driven option of whatever you were debating in your head, on heads as a result of your lack of trust in him. And because he said tails, you were convinced that heads had better odds. And because you chose heads, the odds in his favor were slightly improved. He may not have any control over fate, but he will damn sure exploit every sliver of opportunity that appears in fate's facade to wrest a chance at happiness from it.

And the coin came up tails. You stayed, and you asked your questions. You agreed to ‘help’ him with his problem. It’s enough, for now. He feels satisfied, for now. He’s greedy, but he’s not stupid. He will have to maneuver his pieces carefully, much more carefully than he has up to this point. He has already made so  many mistakes when it comes to you, and he can’t afford to make many more. During the three days he spent holding you captive, trying to deal with both his despair at your failure to recognize him and failed resonance, and playing the villain that he thought you so desperately needed, he was also inadvertently driving deeper cracks into what little armor you had left in this world. Every other version of you who he has known would have taken being called a disappointment as a challenge, an ignition to light your spite—such an insult would have ruffled your pride and incited you to fight twice as hard to prove him wrong. Every other version of you would have spit in his face for even daring to imply that there was something wrong with you, when it was his failure that resulted in the terror and disgust rendering you incapable of resonating with him. As he watched your face through the screen while you lifelessly told him that you were surprised that he hadn't gotten used to being disappointed by you—as he listened to your sorrowful, resigned laugh, a pale mockery of the joy he wants to fill your laughter, he wanted to fucking murder someone. But the only person to blame can only look back at him in the review mirror, as it is Sylus himself who had told you that you were a disappointment as he held you captive, and you had absorbed such a lie like a desert absorbing rain. He tightens his knuckles on the steering will until they go white. He had known that he would have to suture the carnage of your first meeting almost from the very beginning. But he hadn't realized that his initial treatment of you would have such awful side effects for you, your ability to trust him, and the end, for his aching heart. Sylus loves you, but he is self aware enough to admit that he is a selfish man. He knew, when he saw you again, that his whole world would change. That his luck would depend on your happiness. Tonight just proved that, again. Just your presence at his side tonight would secure him a business deal that would expand his empire beyond the shadows, and maybe, just maybe, allow him to step into the light with you at the end of everything. Because in the end, he's selfish enough to want to keep you, despite the pain he has inflicted on you. And his empire is the only avenue to secure a future with you at his side: his deepest wish, a wish plain to see if he were to turn his aether core inward and examine his own rotten heart. He will do whatever it takes, even to the point of absurdity, to ensure that future becomes a reality, until he either succeeds or you tell him to walk away and mean it.

Until then, he will deal with the fallout of his mistakes. He knows now, that you are not the same as the versions of you he has known before. Your strength in this life is threaded through with fissures like the gold used to repair broken porcelain. You, his lethal, lovely glass cannon. He will continue to stride forward, knowing this about you now. He will re-calibrate and keep you secured in his life by any means necessary, while he puts in the work until the day you're ready to hear the truth in his words when he calls you his beloved. For now, though, he forces himself to be sated simply by having you in the seat next to him, like a starving man convinces himself that filling his belly with grass is the same as filling it with steak. He will be satisfied, for now, as he drives through the night, on the way to his home with you for the first time since he held you captive for those heartbreaking three days at the beginning of this, your newest life together.

It will have to be enough, for now.

[roosterforme]

Okay, but how about the first time Jake and Darling have a fight? How would that go?

I really like your stories bc while it is fiction, I feel like you show every aspect of a relationship, not only the good parts.

🩷

OMG, nonny. I'm swooning. I try to make my stories realistic (as much as they can be for fanfic). Nobody is happy and confident all the time. Everyone is stressed about something. Relationships are hard work, and dealing with someone else is sometimes weird and annoying. So thank you, I appreciate that so much.

Jake and Darlin' argue all the time about all the small things in life. They have different opinions on a lot of things, but it's never usually anything they remember by the next day. I think their first big fight would happen shortly after she moves in with him, just after she graduates from school and starts her new job. (angsty below).

"I had the longest day at work," you muttered, shoveling the last bite of the dinner Jake made into your mouth. You set your fork down and stretched as you stood. This whole week was dragging. You realized you were probably complaining more than usual, but you were just over it. "Let's go take a bath and just go to bed. I'll clean up tomorrow morning."

Jake looked at you, his lips pressed into a firm line. "Go ahead. I'll clean it up."

You reached for his hand, but he was already stacking the plates. "You cooked. I don't want you to clean up. I'll do it later," you reiterated.

"Just go get in the bath," he snapped, carrying everything back to the kitchen.

"I don't want to take a bath without you!"

Jake dumped everything into the sink and spun around. "You're not the only one who's working full-time, but you're certainly acting like it."

With narrowed eyes, you asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jake took a deep, practiced breath and let it out slowly. "I know you're tired, but it would be nice for you to acknowledge that I work longer hours than you do. So just go relax in the bath by yourself while I clean up."

"Well, now I don't want to!" You were suddenly so angry, you couldn't see straight, and you also wanted to cry. "You're treating me like a child!"

"You're acting like one."

His words hurt you more than a slap across your cheek would have, and your jaw dropped open. But then his next sentence made it even worse.

"In my house no less."

"Wow," you gasped, turning and running toward the bedroom as you started crying. It wasn't like you weren't paying to be here. You knew it wasn't much, but you had been insistant about giving Jake five hundred dollars per month. And for what? So he could act like you were an unwanted guest?

You ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you before you curled up on the tub mat on the floor and sobbed. Work wasn't like school. Trying to figure out how you fit in with your coworkers was exhausting, and you were still learning all the ropes. You drove back here every day mentally drained, and up until tonight, Jake was always the one who seemed willing to listen. You should have just cleaned up the kitchen, because now you felt like you didn't belong anywhere.

"Darlin'." Jake's voice was as sharp as his knock on the door. You tried to dry your tears, but it wasn't working, and maybe you really were a child compared to your boyfriend. "Darlin'!"

"It's not even locked!" you shouted, but it came out as weak as you felt. Jake opened the door, and in an instant, he was curled up on the floor with you, pulling you into his arms.

"Fuck. I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I acted like an asshole." You tried to wriggle away from him, but he wouldn't let you. "I think I'm more exhausted this week than I'd like to admit, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

In spite of the fact that you were on the floor crying, you mustered up the courage to whisper, "I'm not a child."

"You're an adult," he said firmly. "An adult who just started a very impressive job. You're holding it together better than I did when I was in flight school." He kissed your forehead. "And you're absolutely right. We should have just climbed in our bathtub and then gone right to our bed. The fucking dishes do not matter right now. They can sit in our kitchen sink until whenever the fuck we feel like cleaning up."

Jake rubbed slow, soothing circles against your lower back until you were all cried out. If you thought you were tired before, it was nothing compared to how wrung out you felt now. You wanted to put forth a peace offering and just get up and clean the kitchen, but his lips were on your damp cheek and his voice was in your ear. "I love you, Darlin'. It has been a long week for both of us. I would like nothing more than to climb in a hot bath with you, relax until the water gets cold, and then get in our bed and go to sleep."

You nodded and started the water while he got two towels ready, and then both of you undressed. Jake kissed your bare shoulder and held you while the tub filled. "You belong here," he whispered. "I don't want you anywhere other than our house."

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Covered in scars and left totally numb by your abusive previous owner, you’re considered an “unsellable doll”. That is, until the Doll House takes you in and Sukuna becomes your trainer.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

On the outskirts of town, there stands a particular shop called the “Doll House”. Inside its walls you can find a “doll” to match any taste you might have. All your desires will be fulfilled, no matter how depraved. Satisfaction is guaranteed! The dolls are exceptionally high quality, thanks to the skillful trainers who work with them twenty-four hours a day, molding them into perfect toys for your enjoyment.

Each trainer has a specialty that they focus on, and they all take great pride in their work. Their methods differ greatly, their approaches vary, but they all follow one rule: never get attached to a doll. After the training is complete, they hand the dolls over to their new owners, and never see them again. However, just once over the course of their careers, trainers are allowed to pick a doll they’ve personally trained and keep her as their own.

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Sukuna’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored! I’m not keeping the same tag list as before, since this part deals with darker themes. I will resume the tag list after Sukuna’s part is finished! So if you want to be tagged in this one, please specify!

Note: Consider these parts AU’s within an AU. So you might see Geto with a different doll from the reader in his part, but just consider this an alternate timeline lol.

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. BDSM. Erotic Torture. Needles. Reader is covered in scars. Everything that happens between Sukuna and Reader is consensual but there is mention of abuse by a previous owner. Divider by @benkeibear!

“That’s all you’ll give me for her?”

“I think this is a generous offer, all things considered.”

You’re sitting in a plush leather chair in the office of the owner of the Doll House while your father argues with her about pricing. It’s been going on for thirty minutes now, your father growing more agitated while the owner remains calm and firm. 

“Sir,” the owner begins, leaning forward slightly over her desk, “there are two major issues with your daughter. For one, she has a previous owner. Most of our clients consider that a deal breaker.”

“She was just with that guy a little over a year!” your father retorts, his face slightly red. 

“I’m aware of that. But that leads us to the other issue.”  The owner pauses and glances at you. “Your daughter’s scars are quite prominent. They’re very hard to ignore.”

There’s a hint of an apology in her eyes. It’s unnecessary. You know better than anyone that you’re disfigured. Scars of various types and sizes cover over half your body, including a sizable portion of your face. 

Your father is sweating. “I‘ve heard some clients have weird  tastes, that they actually want… people like her.”

The owner leans back in her chair. “It is true that we sometimes get unusual requests. But it doesn’t happen often. She would have to be given highly specialized training, to emphasize that unique aspect.”

Your father’s face lights up. “Then do that!”

The owner looks from him to you, then says, “I need to speak to her privately before finalizing the purchase.”

“What? Why?” your father asks. 

“It’s a routine part of the interview, I assure you,” the owner replies smoothly. 

Your father hesitates, but then stands up from his seat. He gives you a stern look, a warning look, and then he’s out the door. 

The owner’s face seems to soften slightly. “How do you feel about this?” 

You shrug. “I don’t feel anything. I haven’t in a long time.”

The owner looks at a laptop sitting open on her desk. “Let’s go over a few things in your file first. It says here you were sold on the direct market on your eighteenth birthday. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You were with your previous owner for sixteen months before being removed, during which time he breached the contract by doing permanent harm. Hence the scars.”

“Yes,” you answer again. 

“And I see that your father sued your previous owner, collecting quite the hefty sum for your suffering.”

You nod. 

The owner closes the laptop and looks at you again. “And I’m guessing your father already blew through that money, despite only two years passing. So he’s selling you again. How many other doll shops has he taken you to so far?”

“Three.”

“Any offers?”

“None,” you say, eyes lowering toward the floor. 

The owner sighs. “If I don’t take you, he’s going to sell you on the direct market again, isn’t he?”

“He already tried,” you tell her, “but he said the offers were too low. If no shop will take me, he’ll probably go back and take a low offer.”

The owner grimaces. “He’s a real sick fuck, your father.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to take you on?”

You think for a moment, then say, “It doesn’t matter. I can’t feel anything anyway.”

“When you say that,” the owner says, “do you mean physically or emotionally?”

“Both. I’ve been numb for nearly three years now.”

The owner picks up a silk fan from her desk and lightly taps her chin with it as she regards you. After a few moments, she says, “Alright. I’ll take you. I’ll make a slightly higher offer to your father, one he would be foolish to refuse. And in light of your unique circumstances, I’m going to add two extra clauses to your contract. The first is that you will have the option to change trainers if the one I assign to you is too much for you.”

You nod. “And the second?”

“All dolls sold through the Doll House are allowed to come back within one week of being purchased by a client, if they provide sufficient reasoning. In your case, I’m extending that to two weeks, and you don’t have to provide a reason. I’ll take you back, no questions asked, if you feel like your owner isn’t right for you. However, I would advise you not to abuse this privilege.”

“I understand.”

“Alright then. Let’s get your father back in here and finalize the sale.”

******************

Sukuna grins when he sees the message on his phone: “I have a new doll for you to train.”

He’s at home, in his swanky, upscale apartment in the city. Though he enjoys his alone time, he very much enjoys his work at the Doll House as well. Unlike the other trainers, Sukuna doesn’t keep a near constant flow of new dolls. He understands why of course. His training produces a very specific sort of doll that only a specific sort of client wants. But he trains enough dolls to keep himself well paid, and the work is incredibly satisfying. 

The standard training time is six weeks, which is exactly the right amount of time for Sukuna to thoroughly enjoy each doll without getting too bored with them before they’re handed over to their owners. He can’t imagine why anyone would want to keep the same doll for ten whole years. He knows he’s not alone in this thought, which is why doll rental services have been growing in popularity lately. 

He packs a few things into a small duffel bag. He keeps plenty of clothes and personal items in his room at the Doll House, so he only has to pack lightly for the six week stay. He’s in a good mood as he turns off the lights and locks the door. 

When  he arrives at the Doll House, he finds a rather interesting young woman sitting in the welcome room. Interesting because half her pretty face is covered in scars, as well as what’s visible of her left arm. Just how far do they extend? He’s looking forward to finding out. 

She glances up at him, but gives no reaction. Strange. Most new dolls look terrified, or at least nervous, when they see him for the first time. It’s probably the tattoos that frighten them. Sukuna is well aware that they make him look like a Yakuza member, or some criminal from a past era. But he so enjoys the way people instinctively shrink back away from them. 

The owner meets him in the welcome room and ushers him into her office. All trainers are briefed on their new dolls, except in unusual circumstances. But the owner looks troubled today, meaning this doll has a story. But he supposes the scars made that obvious already. 

Sitting in a chair across the desk from the owner, Sukuna places one elbow on the cushioned arm and props his face up with his hand. “So? What’s the deal with little Miss gloomy out there?”

The owner is tapping keys on her laptop, then he hears his phone chime from his pocket. “I’ve sent you her file. You really need to read over it. She has a complicated history.”

“Give me the short version,” he says, making a mental note to at least skim the file later. 

“Previous owner who abused and tortured her, shitty father who’s sold her twice now, and… she can’t feel anything.”

That last part captures Sukuna’s attention. “What does that mean?”

“She’s completely numb, both physically and emotionally. I’ve read over her medical reports, and they’ve concluded that there’s no significant nerve damage. The scar tissue dulls her senses in those areas somewhat, but they don’t leave her totally numb like this. And she can’t feel anything in the unscarred areas either.”

“Meaning it’s psychological,” Sukuna says. 

The owner nods. “It’s clearly a defense mechanism. Her body and mind simply shut off all sensation in order to cope. And that’s going to be her biggest issue as a doll. There are plenty of buyers who would find the scars exotic, but a doll who doesn’t react to anything? No one wants that. And if we don’t eventually find a buyer for her, she’s going to get passed around from one scumbag to another on the direct market for the rest of her life.”

Sukuna had little interest in the doll’s sob story, but he was intrigued by the fact that she couldn’t feel anything. “So you want me to fix her? Make her feel again?”

“Yes. I figured if anyone could, it would be you. But be careful. She’s already been shattered. I don’t need you grinding up the pieces.”

Sukuna stands up and heads for the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll reforge her,” he says with a smile, “in a way that pleases me.”

***************

The man covered in strange black tattoos introduces himself as your trainer. He’s handsome, well-built, and dressed like a man far too rich to be working here. A few years ago, you might have been attracted to him. Your heart might have fluttered at the thought of him touching you. But now? Now you feel nothing as he tells you to follow him to his room. 

He opens the door and walks in first, turning on the lights as he goes. You follow behind him and look around. The room looks like someone converted a fancy hotel room into a dungeon. 

The deep red carpets and expensive looking furniture contrast with the various… devices around the room. There’s an X shaped table, harnesses and chains hanging from the ceiling, and a wall of leashes, whips, rods, and other such items along the left side of the room. 

Ah, so he’s this type. 

You’re not surprised. Actually, it makes sense. Give the girl who can’t feel pain to the trainer who tortures his dolls. 

The man, who said his name is Sukuna, is watching your face, looking for a reaction. He won’t find one. But instead of seeming disappointed, he’s grinning. 

“My specialty is probably obvious,” he says, to which you nod. Then he goes over to the wall of tools and toys, taking something small and shiny from it. When he returns, there’s a silver, claw-like item on his right index finger. Without a word of warning, he approaches you and quickly swipes the claw over your exposed right forearm. 

You look down, curious, to see a thin red line appear on your skin, small drops of blood beading along it before sliding down. You watch the blood with no expression for a moment before looking back up at Sukuna. 

His grin is wider than before. “You really didn’t feel that,” he says, not a question but a statement. He’s standing in front of you, staring at you, when he says, “Let me ask you something, and think hard about your answer. It’s going to determine how the training proceeds.”

You nod. 

“Do you prefer being this way to how you were before?”

You blink as the question settles into your mind. You’ve never really thought about it before, but do you prefer being numb? It’s helped you block out the hurt you felt upon being sold off by your father, being abused by your owner, but it also blocks out any joy. 

“I… I don’t know.”

He’s looming over you, looking down with an expression you can’t quite place. Is it desire? Pity? Disgust? Or have you lost the ability to distinguish them? 

“Do you want to feel again?” he asks, something about his deep tone telling you to answer honestly. The sheer intensity of his presence is overwhelming you. 

You can still remember when you felt things. You can remember a poor but happy childhood when your mother was still alive. Even after, when things got worse, there were still moments of happiness. Watching movies with a friend, eating cheap snacks from the convenience store down the street. A kiss from the boy you had a crush on in high school. You miss these feelings. And once you realize that, your answer is clear. 

“Yes, I want to feel again.”

“Even if what you feel is pain?” he asks. 

An emotion you haven’t felt in years bubbles to the surface, startling you so much that your voice cracks slightly as you reply, “Yes! I’d love to feel pain again. I’d love to feel anything!”

A smile spreads across his features, and his hands move to your shirt. “I’ll make you feel again,” he says as he pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it aside. “But it will only work if you want it.”

“I… I want it,” you say, realizing with some measure of shock that you’re already feeling emotions you thought long dead. 

He removes the rest of your clothes, leaving them strewn about the floor. Then he stands back to look at you. Completely bare before him, you don’t feel embarrassed. Shame is yet another emotion you can’t seem to feel anymore. But there is a strange prickling sensation on your skin as his eyes rake over you, taking in the scars that form a map of your suffering. 

“It’s like a work of art,” he says, his gaze lingering on the left side of your torso. The words make you feel something else, but you’re not sure what that is. Your own emotions have become unfamiliar to you. 

He leads you over to the X shaped table and lifts you onto it, then spreads you out on it like a meal. He slowly attaches the leather cuffs on each end to your ankles and wrists, still watching your face for any sign of fear. 

There is none. You’re starting to feel things for the first time in three years, but fear isn’t one of them. If he can bring back the girl you once were, one who could laugh and smile and feel, then you’ll accept anything he wants to do to you. 

Once you’re secured to the table, he stands back and unbuttons his shirt. When he slips it off his shoulders, you get a full view of the intricate tattoos on his body. They’re beautiful, the way they move and twist with his body’s motion. 

He steps back to the table and runs one large hand over your arm, trailing it down toward your chest, where he squeezes your scarred breast. You can’t feel it, so you don’t know if he’s squeezing hard or not, but when his fingers lightly slide over your nipple, a tingling sensation blossoms there. What was that? 

Did he notice that you felt something? You don’t think you visibly reacted in any way, but he’s smiling as if he knows. His fingers suddenly pinch your nipple, and you feel pressure, but little else. He maintains eye contact as he leans down and runs his tongue over that same nipple, then wraps his lips around it. You feel it again, that pleasant tingling. It reminds you of something, but you can’t remember what. 

His hand moves to your other breast, where his fingers grope and pinch. You feel this a little more, and your breathing quickens slightly. That’s when he stops abruptly and goes over to the wall again. This time he returns with a rolled up velvet pouch, which he unrolls to reveal a group of very long, very thin, shiny silver needles. 

He pulls one out and holds it up for you to see. “Let’s see how numb you really are,” he says. Then he grips your scarred nipple between his finger and thumb with one hand while using the other to bring the needle closer. He looks up at your face, perhaps still searching for a trace of fear. Finding none, he pushes the needle in, sliding it sideways through your flesh. 

Your breath hitches as a new sensation hits you. This… this is pain! You haven’t felt it in so long, you’d almost forgotten it. When he grips the other nipple, the one with no scar tissue to dull your senses, you almost flinch. He grins up at you, as if he’s reading your mind. He leans down and licks the nipple slowly, awakening it to sensation, before plunging the needle in. 

This time you gasp, your arms reflexively tugging on the restraints. You felt that! Not as keenly as a normal woman would, but far more than you’ve felt anything else in years. It hurt. It still hurts as his hand squeezes your breast, his tongue running over the needle imbedded in your skin. But you welcome the pain. It’s far more preferable to no feeling whatsoever. 

Then he steps back again, and walks around the table to the bottom, where he moves in between your widely spread legs. His hand moves to your pussy, kneading it gently for a moment before his fingers slip inside your folds, finding you clit. 

You draw in a sharp breath as he strokes it, feeling the pleasure so strongly that it’s almost as if you were never numb. Your previous owner had ignored your clit, having no interest in giving you pleasure, so these sensations were entirely new to you. 

When Sukuna uses his fingers to spread you open and leans forward to lick your quivering clit, your body nearly jerks off the table. He rises up and looks at you. “Not so numb down here, are you?”

You can only gasp out shallow breaths.  

His thumb begins stroking you again as he speaks. “I don’t care who your previous owner was.” He reaches over and pulls one more needle from the pouch, his tongue running over you again, making your nerves come alive. “I don’t care if you’ve had a thousand different owners before me.” His thumb and finger pinch your clit, holding it in position. Your heart races as you wait, now holding your breath. “Because now,” he says, gliding his tongue across the glimmering needle in his hand, “you belong to me.”

He pushes the needle into your clit from the bottom and out the top, so slowly that you feel every single bit of it. Your body bucks from the table, your arms and legs jerk against the cuffs, and a loud scream erupts from your mouth as you feel excruciating pain for the first time in three years. 

It’s wonderful. 

Tears spring to your eyes, and you cum on the spot, weeping and shuddering. You were certain you would never experience an orgasm again for the rest of your life, but here you were, riding out the insane pleasure while Sukuna’s tongue prodded your clit, licking over the needle stuck there. 

**************

Sukuna watches his doll as she sleeps peacefully in his bed. She passed out not long after the “training session” was over, just as he was unfastening the cuffs on her wrists. He carried her to his bed and laid her there, and now he’s looking over her scarred form once more before covering her. 

He’s surprised by the progress they’d already made, but he can’t get too comfortable. 

Because he noticed it. When he pulled the needles out of her, which should have hurt, she didn’t even flinch. He’d squeezed one nipple afterwards, before beginning to uncuff her, just to test it. This should have made her scream, given how sore she should be, but she had no reaction at all. 

Meaning she’s numb again. The awakening of her senses was only temporary, and wore off after she came down from the high of her orgasm. 

Sukuna smiles. He certainly enjoys a challenge, and it’s clear to him that his job is far from over. 

Tag List:

@akaotv 

[ficretus]

Blake ships problematic things

*teams RWBY and JNRO in Vacuo cafeteria*

Jaune: So what are you up to these days?

*scroll rings*

Weiss: I have to excuse myself, SDC related business. *walks away from table*

Yang: Well I am mostly killing Grimm VB. Although I did pick up some sweet lasso skills.

Ren: That's bit odd.

Yang: I got inspired by that girl from that crossover I'm not allowed to talk about anymore due to copyright reasons. I asked Ilia for a help since she is a whip user. I guess you can say she... showed me the ropes.

*audible groaning*

Yang: As for the others. Weiss is trying to keep the company afloat, Roobs is probably doing weapon maintenance.

Ruby: My baby is not gonna clean itself.

Yang: Nora and Ren are helping refugees settle.

Nora: I also picked up an electric guitar... not as exciting as I thought.

Yang: Oscar is trying to stay alive and Blakey is back to writing.

Ren: Blake is a writer?

Blake: Not professional one, I mostly write fanfics.

Ren: What kind of fanfics do you write?

Blake: Mostly romantic ones. I usually delve in more sensual aspects of love.

Ruby: She is writing filth.

Yang: Don't be like that, lot of them are sweet. I almost cried when I read her fanfic about us.

Ren: You write fanfics about people around you?

Blake: Yeah, I wrote at least dozen fics about all of you.

Nora: *stands up* Who do you ship me with?

Ren: Nora, you can't just jump Blake like that...

Blake: Ren.

Nora: *giggles*

Ren: *groans*

Ruby: Blake, I hope you are not making me cheat on my beloved Crescent Rose.

Blake: I ship you with Oscar.

Ruby: That's... acceptable.

Oscar: YES! I mean... very interesting.

Yang: Let me guess, Weiss Cream with Vomit Boy.

Blake: No, that one makes no sense.

Jaune: Fair enough, I was obnoxious to Weiss back in Beacon.

Blake: Oh, that's not an issue. I usually ship things like that, but both of you have better partners.

Jaune: Wait, then who do you ship me with? Emerald? That girl from crossover we are legally not allowed to talk about? Cinder?!

Blake: Oh, that last one might work. Need to write few fics about it.

Yang: No offense VB, but I personally don't care who you are shipped with. But what about Weiss?

Blake: Weiss with Whitley.

Everyone: Wait, what?

Blake: There is nothing more beautiful than relationship between siblings. It's both pure and dirty at the same time.

Ruby: I might puke.

Jaune: Wait, you ship me with Saphron?!

Blake: I ship you with all of your sisters.

Jaune: What the hell Blake?! Is that why you kept asking me details about my sisters?! So you can turn it into smut fic?!

Blake: Ugh, it's not a smut fic, it's a beautiful story about people growing closer before crossing the taboo line.

Jaune: *looks at his scroll* Latest story is titled "7 inches, 7 sisters," how the hell is this respectable?!

Blake: It was a conservative estimate.

Yang: VB don't make this about accuracy of your dick size, there are more pressing matters. Do you ship me with Ruby?!

Nora: Wait, is that why you ship me with Ren? You said we were like siblings back in Beacon.

Blake: I don't ship you with Ruby anymore, I wouldn't want you to cheat on me.

Yang: Anymore?!

Ruby: Yup, here it comes. *pukes*

Ren: Look Blake, you can't ship people with their siblings, it's wrong on so many levels.

Oscar: Oz says it was normal back in the day.

Jaune: Not now Oz.

Ren: Imagine if someone wrote about you having an explicit relationship with your parents. How would you feel?

Blake: Ew, that would just be weird. Those two things are not comparable. Sexual relationship between parent and child would be gross violation of trust. Relationship between siblings is pure.

Yang: IT'S THE SAME! But because you are the single child you don't see anything wrong with it.

Weiss: *walks towards the table* What did I miss?

*five traumatic minutes later*

Ruby: *puking*

Weiss: *crying*

Ren: So Blake, what did we learn today?

Blake: Titling the story "Little brother, big problem" is highly offensive?

Ren: Go on.

Blake: Brothers don't jump their sisters whenever they have their back turned to them?

Jaune: Or in any other circumstance.

Blake: Inbreeding is not funny and "we must ensure our babies have Schnee Semblance and blue eyes" is not good reason to do it?

Yang: Or any reason for that matter.

Blake: You are right, this whole... bro x sis thing was mistake on my part. I'll no longer write stories like that. Sorry Weiss, sorry Jaune.

Ren: See, there is nothing constructive conversation can't fix.

Blake: From now on, I am shipping Jaune with Cinder...

Jaune: Sigh, tiny step forward...

Blake: And Weiss with Winter! I can already imagine it, forbidden love and neither can let it go.

Yang: AW COME ON!

Ren: This might take a while...

[utilitycaster]

Daggerheart Character Build thoughts!

I am actually out at work and haven't checked the version that's since come out, but I did participate in the character build beta, and the NDA is officially lifted, so here's my thoughts from that! It's definitely limited since I just made a L1 character and didn't go through gameplay, though I surmise about some aspects of gameplay.

Overall, it clearly seems to be made by people who love a lot of things about D&D 5e but wanted both more flexibility and more simplicity, which is difficult. I think they succeed.

To that end, it takes away some of the crunchier aspects (precise positioning, exact amounts of gold) and I think for some people that will be a problem, and that's valid, but ultimately this game wants to both allow for interesting mechanics in and out of combat while also not being terribly math/map/resource management heavy. It is a hard line to walk; most systems either go hard crunch or go entirely gooey.

The dice mechanic (2d12, Hope and Fear system) is fantastic; look it up but I think it handles mixed successes more gracefully and interestingly than a lot of games.

The playtest was not super clear on armor and evasion choices (or indeed what evasion means; it seems to be sort of initiative but sort of dex save, or maybe more like the Pathfinder/old school D&D varying ACs by scenario?). It was much, MUCH clearer than D&D on weapon choices (part of why I play casters? Weapon rules in D&D are annoying and poorly explained and many people rightfully ignore them) so I'm hoping this becomes clear when there's a full guide rather than just the character creation info.

The character creation questions by class were fantastic and in general, and this is a theme, this feels like it guides people towards collaboration. FWIW I feel like D&D has that information, but the way it's presented is very much as flavor text rather than a thing you should be doing. Daggerheart makes this a much more core part of creation. The Experience mechanic is particularly clear: you better be working with your GM and really thinking about background, rather than slapping it on as a mechanic.

The other side of character creation questions is that it really encourages engagement with the class, which is something I've talked about. I think either subversion for the sake of subversion, or picking a class for the mechanics and aesthetic but not the fundamental concept, will be much harder to justify in Daggerheart, and I think that's a good thing because when people do that, their characters tend to be weaker.

The downtime is designed for you to write hurt/comfort fanfic about and this is a compliment. There are a number of mechanics that reward RP, particularly one of the healing mechanics under the Splendor track. I feel like a weakness of D&D is that when you try to reward RP it's really nebulous because there's not actually a ton of space to put that - you can give inspiration, but, for example, the empathy domain Matt homebrewed actually feels kind of off because it's based on such fuzzy concepts amid mechanics that are usually more rigid. Daggerheart comes off as much cleaner yet still RP-focused, and I'm excited to see it in action.

A judgement of Candela and I suppose Daggerheart might be that it's designed for actual play. I've mentioned before that I know people who are super into the crunch and combat and numbers of TTRPGs and are less story-oriented, and again, that's valid, but actual play is just storytelling using a ttrpg and so yes, a game that encourages RP while also having mechanics to support that and influence it is an extremely good goal. I am not an actual player, but I do like D&D games with a good plot and not just Go Kill Monsters, and I want to play this. (I also have some real salty thoughts about how if you modify an existing game for AP purposes that's staggering genius apparently, but if you make your own game how dare you but that's another post).

And now, the classes/subclasses. I am going to sort of use D&D language to describe them because that's a point of reference most people reading this will understand, but they are not one-to-one. A couple notes: everyone can use weapons and armor. HP is not totally clear to me but it seems to be threshold based - everyone has the same HP to start but people have different thresholds and armor, so the tank classes have the same amount of HP but are much harder to actually do damage to.

All classes are built on a combination of a subclass and two domains. There are 9 classes and 9 domains. This technically means that if you wanted to fuck around and homebrew you could make up to 36 classes (27 additional) by just grabbing two domains that weren't otherwise combined, which is fun to consider for the potential. Anyway I cover the classes and briefly describe domains within them. You can take any domain card within your domain, regardless of subclass.

There are six stats. Presence, Instinct, Knowledge, and Strength map roughly to Charisma, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Strength. Dex is split into Agility and Finesse; Agility covers gross motor skills (jumping, most ranged weapons, "maneuvering") and Finesse finer ones (lockpicking and tinkering, though also it does cover hiding). The really big wins are first, no CON score, so you don't need to sink stat points into something that grants no skills but keeps you alive. The second one is that the "hybrid" classes spellcast from their physical stat. This is fucking fantastic. The thing about ranger or paladin or the spellcasting subclasses of rogue and fighter in D&D is that if you don't roll pretty well you're locked into the core stats and CON and nothing else. (This also doesn't have rolling for stats: you assign +2 to one stat, presumably your main, and then distribute two +1s, two 0s, and one -1.)

Your HP, Evasion, and Thresholds are set by class, and there's a core ability; the rest is all from the cards you take for subclass and domain.

Leveling up is very much based on taking more domain cards (abilities) but has a certain degree of flexibility. It's by chunks: in leveling up anywhere levels 2-4, you can, for example, increase your proficiency by +1 once, so if you wanted to do that at level 2 but your fellow player wanted to wait until level 4 and take something else at level 2 instead, they could. It allows for more min-maxing, but also everyone has the same level up rules and differs only in the abilities on the cards, which is very cool.

Bard: Grace (enchantment spells) and Codex (learned spellcaster stuff; the spells available are definitely arcane in vibes) based, Presence is your main stat. The two subclasses map roughly to lore-style stuff and eloquence. Core class ability is sort of like inspiration but not entirely. It's a bard; I like bards a lot, and this is very similar vibes-wise to your D&D bards. If you like D&D bards you will like this.

Druid: Sage (nature spells) and Arcana (raw magical power spellcaster stuff), Instinct is your spellcasting/main stat. The two subclasses are elemental but frankly cooler than circle of the moon, and a more healing/tranquility of nature focused one. I really think Marisha probably gave feedback on this one, because the elemental version is really strong. You do get beastform; it is quite similar to a D&D druid under a different system, as the bard, but the beastform options are, frankly, better and easier to understand.

Guardian: Valor (melee tank/damager) and Blade (damage). Strength based for the most part (Valor mechanics assume strength) though you could go for like, +2 Agility +1 Strength to start. This is barbarian but like. 20 times better. It is, fundamentally, a tank class, and it is very good at it, with one even more tank-focused subclass and one that is more about retaliatory damage. You do have a damage-halving ability once per day, but really guardian's questions are incredible. I think Travis and Ashley likely gave feedback. Also rage doesn't render you incapable of concentration as that doesn't seem to be a thing, so multiclassing seems way more possible (you are, I think, only allowed to do one multiclass, and not until you reach level 5 minimum, which I am in favor of). Yes, you can be a Bardian.

Ranger: This is what I built! It is based on Sage and Bone (movement around the field/dodging stuff) and it is Agility-based, including for spellcasting, which is a MASSIVE help (as is, again, the fact that CON isn't a thing.) The subclasses are basically being really good at navigation, or animal companion. Most importantly to me you can be a ranger with a longsword and you are not penalized; Bone works with either ranged weapons or melee.

Rogue: Midnight (stealth/disguise/assassination spells and skills) and Grace-based. Yes, rogue is by default a spellcaster, which does help a LOT with the vibes for me. One subclass is basically about having lots of connections (as a spy or criminal might) and the other is about magical slinking about. Hiding/sneak attack are also streamlined. I will admit I'm still more interested in…almost everything else, but I think it evened out a lot of rogue weaknesses.

Seraph: Splendor (healing/divine magic) and Valor. This is your Paladin equivalent. It is strength-based for casting, again making hybrid classes way less stressful. Questions for this area also incredible; you do have something not unlike a lay on hands pool as well. Your subclasses are being able to fly and do extra damage; or being able to make your melee weapon do ranged attacks and also some extra healing stuff, the latter of which is my favorite. Yasha vibes from this, honestly. Single downside is this is the only class where they recommend you dump Knowledge. I will not, and I never will. Now that I don't have to make sure CON is high? I am for REAL never giving myself less than a +1 Knowledge in this game.

Sorcerer: Arcana (raw nature of magic/elemental vibes) and Midnight based. Yes, sorcerers and rogues now share a vibe, for your convenient….less enthused feelings. Instinct-based, which intrigues me, and the core features are in fact really good. The two subclasses are either one that focuses on metamagic abilities, or one that is elemental based. I would play this for a long-running game, though it's not my favorite, and I can't say that for D&D sorcerer (except divine soul).

Warrior: Blade and Bone, and the recommended build is Agility but you could do a strength build. Fighter! One subclass is about doing damage and one is about the hope/fear mechanics core to the game that I have NOT talked much about. I will admit, the hybrid martials and Guardian are more interesting to me but you do have good battle knowledge.

Wizard: Codex and Splendor. Wizards can heal in this system; farewell, I will be doing nothing else (jk). Knowledge-based, and you can either go hardcore expertise in knowledge, or be a battle wizard.

Other scattered thoughts: healing is not as big a deal here; there is no pure cleric class! There is also no monk, warlock, or artificer. There is not a way to do monk as a weaponless class really though you might be able to flavor the glowing rings as a monk weapon and play a warrior. Wizard, meanwhile, with the right experiences and high finesse, would allow for some artificer flavor. Cleric and Warlock are the two tough ones and I will admit those are tricky; I feel like you'd have to multiclass (which you cannot do until level 5) between perhaps seraph and a caster class and you're still going to come off very paladin.

[metalheads-trash-bin]

Hello everyone! My name is Toby, I’m a beginner writer and love to make shit uber realistic for readers. Here’s all the info about my stuff!

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Key:

Ships

Notices

Warnings

Fandoms

Baseline importance

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So far I have three fanfics, a fourth is on the way.

All of my fics will be linked down below! They are wips, so please be patient. Each has their own schedule so make sure to read!

All fanfics will have nsfw, and I don’t mean the basic “stick penis in hole” shit. I mean detailed, loving, and non vanilla nsfw.

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TROLLS:

The first one is my all time fav: Fliff! It goes into Floyd’s trauma, his healing, and realistic dynamics between the characters. This fanfic will be updated twice a week, it used to be updated every day but that’s not survivable long term for me ^^

The second one is Breek! Creek is in no way infantilized in this fanfic. I look at things in a psychological aspect and make damn well sure he’s not babygirlified. This fic goes into Creek’s trauma, Branch’s trauma, allll the trauma, a bunch of healing, and a little bit of angst. It’s updated whenever I feel, but it won’t be abandoned or rarely touched!

The third one is John Dory x Reader! In this it talks about JD’s trauma, some headcanons of his diagnostics, and a bunch of intimate stuff and heart to heart stuff. He is not glamorized in this fic, instead he’s recovering and in therapy. He also has a smallll teeny weeny alcohol issue, but he’s in therapy for that as well! The reader is a trans male, fat L if you can’t handle that. <3 It’s updated whenever I feel just like the Breek fic, but it won’t be abandoned or rarely touched!

The fics are interconnected, so if you see a ship or lore that’s in one of them, assume it’ll be mentioned or involved in the other!

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CREEPYPASTA:

I am currently working on ideas for a rework of a Jeff x reader fic I read. It had a really nice plot but the execution was absolutely horrendous + it was abandoned. I’ll type more info as I update!

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Where else you can contact me or see my content:

Insta: _.metalheads.trash.bin._

Twitter: _mhs_trash_bin_

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And with that…

!!Release the hounds!!

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TROLLS:

Summary:

Floyd is forced into therapy after Branch takes him to his annual checkup since he's staying with him.

Branch's reason for sending him being that he notices Floyd's facade of "being fine" and totally not traumatized even toward a doctor. This leads to him sitting in therapy, which in turn gives him homework. Whats the first assignment you ask?

Making friends besides your brothers and Poppy.

Who better than Barb, the queen of rock, as a starting point??

Summary:

It was the last few weeks of fall, Branch heading to the forest to get the final harvest for the season. There were rumors of an animal lurking around the farm, he didn't realize that that animal was a familiar face.

Summary:

You're a metal/rock troll starting a new life in Pop Village. During one of your bonding activities with Branch, you notice a large creature in the meadow.

Why not pay the owner a visit??

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CREEPYPASTA:

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PS. I have a shit ton of playlists on Spotify of ships, characters, and more! Check em out down below~

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Enjoy! <3

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[sim0nril3y]

First Meeting

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader

Scenario: Being dragged out for the night with friends Simon find himself desperately trying to be alone when a girl with a broken shoe stumble across him.

Note: Set in 2014

Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), briefs mentions of abuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, suggestive conversation, mentions of age gap, derogatory comments. Note: I made this an OC rather than a Reader because she has her own backstory and family and dreams that may not align with the whole Reader aspect of writing. If you guys do want something like that let me know and I'll see if I can work something out.

30-08-2020 Edit: I’ve updated this fanfic to be a reader rather than OC.

Returning from deployment never really changed for Simon. It wasn’t something he ever enjoyed. There was something about the regiment of the forces that grounded him, something about the strict timelines and regulations. None of that mattered back home. It wasn’t like he could speak to his "friends" about the trauma of being away in war-torn countries. It wasn’t like they even asked; they knew better.

Occasionally on nights out Simon would get asked the rude question of his death tally. He’d simply brush off the question. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he had a reasonable answer to it anymore. No, instead he would pretend like he didn’t hear as other friends chastised for even asking that sick question. Why was it sick? Did they not think of him as a killer? Maybe that tainted their idyllic persona of the perfect solider. Simon knew that war was disgusting and bloody and each time he took another life a little bit of his own chipped away too.

Stand outside he brought a cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly and just enjoying the cold winter air. “Bollocks…” A voice slipped from beside him, glancing over his shoulder to see the slight frame of a woman bent down trying to repair the band of her high-heel. As always, he stayed quiet, used to just observing and not interrupting the flow. “Need some help, sweetheart~” A drunk came stumbling in her direction.

In an instant she shot to her feet, stumbling in her broken heel as you turned to face the offending man. “Oh-” “Gonna catch y’death out here, sweetheart. Specially in that little dress…” He commented and Simon gave himself a moment to take in your outfit, it was particularly short from a night-out in January, not that any of the other birds were dressed any different. “Why don’t we get a taxi back to my flat.” He offered and Simon saw the way your shoulders seemed to tense at the suggestion. “Oi…” His voice began before his brain registered that this was a poor idea. “Fuck off and leave her alone.”

“The fuck you think you are?” Came a drunken drawl back in his direction. “Think I’m gonna be your problem if you don’t leave her alone.” He rose then, towering over the two of them you, double both your weight, double both your size. “Pshh… fuckin’ have the slag…” Drunkenly he turned and stumbled back into the club. “Thanks…” Your voice was small as you tilted your had up to make eye-contact. “S’nothing…” Then turning he moved back to where he was sitting.

“Mind if I join you?” Your voice was quiet, flasing a packet of cigarettes in his direction. “Not gonna stop you.” Simon answered with a short shrug. “Fuckin’ shoe…” You grumbled under your breath before joining him delicately, sitting close enough that it looked friendly but far enough away to give him plenty of space. It a light voice your informed him your name. It was pretty. It suited you. The way your voice cut through the cold air, warm personality shining even on this night.

Simon didn’t reply, simply continued to smoke his cigarette in the quiet whilst you lit up your own beside him. “Y’even old enough to be in there?” Suddenly you looked at him before snickering. “Turned 21 months ago.” You announced proudly. “Even got my ID to prove it.” Fuck, you was young. 9 years younger than him, in fact. Whilst he was being beaten and abused by his sick father you was just coming into this world. Fuck, don’t think about any of that. “So, do I get to know your name? Gonna have to tell the story of how a dashing smoker saved me from a weirdo.”

Dashing? Were you flirting with him? You… were way out of his league. Jesus, why was you even paying him any mind when you could go home with practically any lad in there. Why did that sentiment bother him so much? “Simon.” He ground out finally, putting a firm stop to his inner monologue. “Nice name.” “No, it’s not. Just a name.” He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Don’t be stupid.” He watched the way your pretty face contorted into a smile and then fell into a fit of giggles. It was fucking bliss. The way that you laughed. It was almost fucking musical, or at least it was to Simon’s ears. “Nice fuckin’ name…” He repeated shaking his head. “Kid, you’ve got to work on technique a bit.” Then shaking his head as he took another long drag of his cigarette.

“Well, maybe you could help with that…” Your voice was suggestive and inquisitive, putting the question out there loosely enough that he could see it as a joke or an invitation. “M’sure there are plenty boys your age that could help with that.” There was finality to his tone that even you could sense. Jesus, you were 21 by your own confession. You was so fresh and new to the dating scene. He, on the other hand, was just beginning his 30s, though his years of service made him feel a lot older. There was no way he could just fuck around with a girl like you. It wouldn’t fair.

Sensing his apprehension you simply shrugged your shoulders, as carefree as ever and then muttered. “Maybe~” Nabbing a nearby empty cigarette packet and jotting down your details onto the card before sliding it in his direction. “Guess if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

A flurry of girls stumbled from the club, surrounding her in a moment in a loud chatter of excitement. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” “C’mon, next club~” “Who is that?” “What happened to your shoe?” The questions buzzed around his mind and you kept his gaze until whisked away by her friends. “Fuckin’ hell…” Cursing under his breath as he inspected the packet between his fingers, taking the final drag of his cigarette and then flicking it aside.

Masterlist | Ask | 28-08-2023

[olderthannetfic]

Genuine question: what's the point of writing fanfic? As in, what's the purpose? No one in the fandom I'm in comments on fics and I even got told off by one person for doing so, as it "encourages bad writers and makes them think they're good". So it seems that it's a lot like book writing, where people work hard and are creative, but instead of getting paid and getting comments on the work, you just sit there silently hoping someone will press the kudos button and make a number go up. I feel like that time and work could be better spent on making something you might get some kind of profit off of. Don't get me wrong, I love doodling fanart, but I don't post it, as I'm aware that there's no point to doing so, and while it's a nice way to fill the time on a commute, it's not something that takes me as much time and effort as fanfic does. So... why do people bother? Sometimes I describe ideas I have and people I know in my fandom will tell me I should write it, but I don't see why. I get more interaction from just saying "imagine if [thing here]" than I would by sitting down, writing for hours, editing and posting [thing here], so what would the point be? I'm not punching down or going "haha women and their fanfic lol!", I genuinely do not get what the point is and this blog feels like it might have someone reading who knows the answer.

--

Do you make art for profit? Genuine question.

There's nothing inherently wrong with being motivated primarily by external factors, but it's not actually why a lot of people create things, whether it's books or recipes or doodles in a notepad.

I enjoy the actual process of writing.

I think many people lose sight of that aspect in an era where tons of <500-word fics that are mostly outlines and "Imagine if..." posts get disproportionate attention for being easy to consume. But the satisfaction of doing a bigger art piece and doing it right is real and motivates a hell of a lot of creation.

I suppose you might be thinking "Okay, but why not just write it alone and never post?", but I like sharing. Showing off my finished creation is part of the joy, and sharing with other people like me is too. But those aren't quite the same thing as worrying about kudos. It's like dressing nicely when you leave the house because you feel great when you know you look good vs. needing another person to tell you you look good.

To be honest, though, this type of feeling has grown in me the better I've gotten at a craft. The closer my finished projects get to the vision in my head, the easier it is to find them fulfilling and to be excited to share them. When I fall short of my own ambitions, it's discouraging no matter how much attention I might get from others.

I feel like it's time for my regular reblog of Adam Westbrook's video essay series The Long Game.

The third and least known in the series is all about this idea of who you're making art for if you're not getting material rewards in the short term. It talks a lot about autotelicity—being internally driven instead of externally.

--

But if you really just want clicks, anon, start a blog that accepts anon asks and posts about wanky stuff. Actually tag things, unlike me, so people can find you.

No, writing for attention isn't worth it.

The time investment is too great and your brain will always fixate on the times people didn't respond instead of the times they did.

But that's not actually why most people write.

[bonknigirlinthehood]

Leisure Time [1]

Blade x Child!Reader

CW: Reader has Blade’s original hair color (White-ish), the reader’s age was around 5-6 years, and the gender is neutral.

TW: mention of Blade trying to kill you (literally just 5 words).

author's note: I have daddy issues and I'm craving some hsr men as daddies. There will be a part 2 in the future, alongside with a Zhongli-child reader fanfic that someone requested and I kept forgetting to post (I'm sorry t_t). The full picture will be uploaded later!.

+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_++_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+

Synopsis: Blade just woke up from his sleep after a long day of mission, and found his child sleeping on the edge of the bed. He thought it’ll be fun to kind of annoy you for a bit.

Rain was pouring hard when blade was awake from his slumber. He looks around the dim room, then his body. It's covered with bandages, with some blood seeping through it.

He sighs and sits, running his hand through his hair as he slowly recalls what has happened the past few hours. He got into a fight, got wounded as usual, and then probably passed out. He sighs again, half frustrated, half annoyed until he realizes something was on the edge of his bed.

You were sleeping on the edge of the bed, a bowl of water was placed near your feet with a towel on it. You sleep peacefully, ignoring the fact that your sleeping position was so uncomfortable. 

Blade hesitantly reaches out to you, caressing your hair out of your face. Feeling calloused fingers touching you, you open your sleepy eyes and look at the man, still rubbing your eyes and trying to focus them.

"Daddy?" You ask, half whispering, then sweeping your body closer to him to take a better look. "A-are you okay?Is your head hurt?" Worried, you tried to stand and check on your father, but he grabbed your hand and put you to sit down on the bed. "I'm okay" he sighs, tracing a circle on your smaller hand. 

You nodded, still feeling a bit groggy from waking up. Blade isn't the one to tell you about what happened during his "work", and you tried to respect his privacy by not asking much, yet it's still hard because as his child, you wanted to be useful to him even for a bit.

After a minute of silence, you try to talk again. "Uh…are you hungry?, I-i can get some food for you…" 

Blade doesn't answer. Instead, he was eyeing you from head to toe, as if checking something until suddenly he brought you into a hug. 

You yelp in surprise, feeling his large, bandaged hand covering your entire back.

When he lets go, there's this unknown expression on his face you can't quite decipher, but somehow he looks…. satisfied?.

'Looks like they treat you well enough'. He hums to himself. You tilt your head in confusion, but he just patted your head, making a mess of the hair that you with great effort trying to make it neat this morning.

"Noooo daddy!!It's hard to do my hair!You'll mess it up!" You whine, trying to take his hand off your head. He stops, but his hand remains on your poor disheveled hair, and no matter how hard you try you don't have enough strength to peel your father's hand from your head.

After a few minutes of trying, you give up and just let Blade rests his hand on top of your head. Through strands of your hair, he can see you puffing your cheeks and pout. He chuckles softly, and while you were surprised at the sound, you can't see it with your own eyes since he is still holding you down.

After feeling content for teasing you, he finally lifts his hand off your head and watches whilst you try to fix your hair. No matter how much he hates that hair color of his, he really can't blame you for being born with it. And the fact you look exactly like him in many aspects is just gut wrenching, it's as if life itself was mocking him.

Blade, now matter how many times has passed, still feels guilty. Whenever he looks at you, something stirred in him wildly–like his stomach being split open and his inside being ravaged. He feels sick to himself whenever he sees you or hears your voice. He feels…. unworthy, after literally the gruesome thing he almost committed towards his own child when you were barely 1 week old.

Blade tried to kill you.

If it weren't for Kafka and other Stellaron Hunters, he probably would feel the worst guilt he would ever feel in his life, and he is actually grateful to them for preventing him from doing so. 

Because amidst all his sorrow, he finds it enjoyable to see you grow up.

Your first crawl, first steps, first tooth, first word…Blade actually has photos and videos of them in his phone. He even had to buy a harddisk to store it because he was running out of space on his phone. When he was out for work, he would watch the video of you from his phone during the break. There's even a video from his other colleagues where they record you and ask to say 'daddy to come back quickly' he hates it when they do that, yet every time he got one of those videos he would save it regardless.

When he got back, most of the time he would be wounded or passed out. And you will always stay with him when he is unconscious, waiting until he wakes up, just like now.

You tried to ask him about his job or his past, but after a few tries, you just stopped asking. Blade feels guilty, but at the same time he thinks it's for the better. It's better if you don't know anything about his past. Thankfully, you don't seem to be too bothered by it, even though sometimes he can see that curious expression on your innocent face.

"Uh…daddy…" you look at him shyly, “A-are you okay?, do you need more ban-bandase-banda..ge..s!” you ended up kind of shouting the last word since you still having a hard time pronouncing things. 

Blade smirked when you tried to babble the word out. It amuses him whenever you try to pronounce a word that is just…complicated for kids. He thought it was cute and he actually has some video recording containing you trying to study pronunciation.

“It’s okay…” He answers, hand back on the side of your head, caressing your cheek and pinching it, causing a yelp from you.

“A-a!, Daddy!It hurts!” Blade retracted his hand, and you touched the reddened cheek with a pout. Your father sighs and picks you up, then kisses the cheek–much to your surprise.

“There, should be better now” 

Your face turned red. Blade was never the one for doing kisses, so his action took you by surprise. You stare at him for a bit while, cheeks a bit flushed. Blade knew you were embarrassed, he actually was too but tried so hard to keep his poker face because it would be even more embarrassing if you see him being flustered.

'Why are you so cute? Your cheeks look like a hot bun. I should take pictures, but it would be too out of character for me to do it in front of the child…WHY'S MY CHILD SO CUTE DEAR AEONS.'

Blade was screaming internally right now. He holds you like a cat right now, and the fact you did not give him any resistance just makes him want to clench his chest tightly because of the cuteness.

After a good minute screaming in his inner heart, Blade suddenly brought your body closer to him and hugged you. You wrapped your arms around his neck in surprise, and just when you are about to shoot him a quizzical face, he pats your back softly, making you yelp a little.

He stops when hearing you yelp, but continues to pats you after a few seconds. 

"Da..Daddy?" You called out to him, Blade only answered with a hum. 

"Uhm…nothing…'' After answering him with that, you lay your head on his shoulder, enjoying the leisure moment between the Stellaron Hunter and his kid. Who knows how long until Kafka will come to this room and drag him away for another mission.

And before you realize, your eyelids flutter shut, your little mind succumbing to the dream land while being hugged by none other than your father.

–

"Bladie~, Elio decided to give you some free time. Why don't you bring your little baby out for a walk?. I heard the shopping district in this planet was quite amazing, i would like to go there myself too"

Kafka blows her drink before drinking it. Right now, the three of Stellaron Hunters were having a little meeting in one of the vacant rooms. Blade just got out of his room 5 minutes ago after putting you to sleep to grab some food. 

"I actually wanted to go there too. Heard there was some nice arcade in one of the shops. Have to try it, y'know" Silverwolf added, eyes glued to her phone, trying to beat a stage. 

Blade munched his sandwich in silence. That's right, he hadn't brought his child for a walk for a little while now…since he forbids anyone to take you out for a shopping or walk without him tagging along, it's been quite some time since the last time he brought you out to buy toys.

"Alright" he finishes his sandwich and drink before standing up, walking back to his room. Kafka only chuckles seeing him. 

"Would you look at that, huh…" she hums.

"I can't believe that's the same guy who tried to kill his baby the first time he saw it" Silverwolf huffed, finally relaxing her body after beating the stage. "That baby gotta have some ancient magic or something to be able to turned that monster into a loving father"

"Heheh~, they say a father is always weak to his child, you know?. Maybe that was just the case" Kafka sips her drink again,

"Maybe his little baby can help him change the way his heart went, after all".

[alpaca-clouds]

Why I loathe CoD Hector

Something I really wanted to write a proper blog on, is Hector. I answered on another blog on this before, and wrote a shorter thing about this before. But I really wanted to write something on its own. Because I will once again iterate: While Hector in the animated series definitely gets to finish out his character arc, he works a lot better as a character than his game counterpart. And that even though the game came out at the time, where Castlevania tried to go more for storytelling.

Yet, there is this thing, and that mostly comes from it still being an old action-centric game... How the need of making the main characters of action games until sometime in the 2010s into the stoic kind kinda made them worse characters.

I said it before: The Castlevania games for the longest part never really were that interested in telling characterdriven stories and focused more on the gameplay. Which is very much fine. But even when they tried to include more story, for the most part they still keep the brutish, stoic protagonist. Even Alucard, despite looking like a beautiful princess, is very much the stoic male protagonist. This is just a thing with action media that was going on for way too long. Sure, even stoic characters could make for good fan interpretation in stuff like fanfics, it often is an issue that the media itself does not want to actually explore the characters emotions.

Or, to make it fairly clear: This has very much to do with this idea of toxic masculinity. A lot of old action media (not only games, but also movies and such) will not allow male action heroes to show emotional vulnerability, because that would be unmasculine in the eyes of the writers. Which then boils the characters down onto the supposedly "masculine" emotions, like anger and the urge for revenge.

And this is kinda where we get to Curse of Darkness.

We have this whole backstory through the manga, that goes into Hector's background and all that. While I will say that here I prefer the animated version, too, I will fully admit that this is just a subjective thing (I like that the animated version draws some clearer cultural aspects into it, while also giving Hector the agency of killing his abusers, rather than having it happen as an accident), because I definitely can see why people would prefer the manga version.

Where this ends, however, is already at the moment when Hector joins Dracula. Yes, I will fully admit that I am not a big fan of game!Dracula in general, though I will not go into the why here. He works as a game villain, I will admit that, though.

No, what I dislike about Hector's story with Dracula is more the: "And he becomes like the best forgemaster. Like he is so amazing and so strong, and did we tell you how amazing he is?" It goes too much into the power fantasy to me. While I get that the game canon heavily drew on this idea of the main conflict between Hector and Isaac being one of jealousy... I will just say, that a conflict of jealousy is actually so much more boring than a conflict of ideals. And the backstory by far had enough going on there to make it a conflict of ideals, as Hector did still - like in the animated version - not like the idea of killing thousands. Which could have been used for a lot of conflict, but... yeah.

I will still say, that for the most part, the backstory works. While I roll my eyes already at everything with Rosaly, because Rosaly is very much the incanation of the trope where this pure hearted girl saves the soul of the corrupted man (I don't know how this trope is called, but it is for sure a trope), it does work so far.

No, where Hector as a game character stops working is... at the game. Or rather in the moment that Rosaly does do the thing that she as the sole female character in this entire fucking story has to do: She dies so that her death can motivate Hector. And that is to me where game Hector as a character does stop working.

They could have given Hector any motivation to face off against Isaac. They had put up more than enough story fragments in the manga that they could have build from. They could have made it that Isaac wanted to go for revenge and before he could do it, Hector tried to go in there to protect the people he had now learned to love. They could have made it that Isaac tried to ressurect Dracula. They could have made it that Isaac tried to continue Dracula's work until Hector decided that he could not let his former friend do this, because Hector now knows better. There could have been several interesting and good motivations.

But no. Instead they went with: "Girl dead. Boy sad. Boy angry. Boy wants revenge." The fuck?! This is just so bad in terms of storytelling. It is just the refrigerated woman trope, in its most lazy iteration.

They could have given Hector an interesting motivation and conflict. But no, instead they went for revenge. Ugh.

But that was not enough for the writers of this game. Ooooooh no. If it was just that, I would still hate it, but I would be fine with it. Because let's face it, a lot of games use the "revenge for loved ones" trope. Sure, this game is not using it in the most creative way, and it could have done a lot better from the backstory that was set up in other media, but... It is fine. This is fine.

What is not fine however is Julia. I hate Julia. I hate everything about her as a concept.

And again, mind you. I absolutely would not have a problem with Julia if she was just "some girl" or just "Isaac's sister". Then Julia would be fine. It would even be fine if Hector caught feelings for her, even though I would once again roll my eyes at this.

No, what makes Julia so offensive is the fact that she looks and sounds like Rosaly. Meaning, that she explicitly, not just implicitly exists to be a replacement for Rosaly. And that just makes it all so, so badly written.

Worst of all: This gets never explained. Julia just is Rosaly's doppelganger. Just because... Well, because the writers of this game wanted to have their cake and eat it too. They wanted to motivate Hector by revenge for a dead girl, but also wanted to have him end with the girl. And it is just... misogynic writing. I am sorry.

It portrays women as "things" that can be easily replaced. And I hate this so, so much. It is the reason why, even though CoD might not be the worst game in the series, it is by far the one I loathe the most.

And they could have so easily done it differently. Either by not motivating Hector through Revenge in the first place, or by just making Julia a different person from Rosaly. Make her strikingly different and then have Hector fall for Julia. That would have been fine. Just this: "I broke one doll, but I will just get a replacement" thing that game has going is... horrible.

And yes, additionally I will say that another reason why I do prefer the animated version of Hector is, that he is not the stoic kind of character, but he is actually fairly vulnerable. He is a bit of an idiot who easily fall for people. He definitely does not get to have his power fantasy. But it is exactly this that I like. Because it is a story we usually do not get with male characters.

The story of Hector in the animated series is very much a story that would have usually been given to a female character. And I adore this fact. I adore how they switched the gender stereotypes around for this.

Yes, I am well aware that some fans of the games hated this, too. But I honestly have to say: Look, the game characters might have some minor differences, but all in all they all fall under the stereotype of the stoic action protagonist. Yeah, the series needed to switch this around a bit, because it would have gotten boring otherwise.

And frankly. I am sooooo sick of protagonists being all stoic all the time. Give us some variety. It won't kill these characters to smile from time to time... Or, you know, be vunerable.

[brucewaynehater101]

Santa AU

Gun batman Tim doesn't have the gift anymore, neither to the other young justice lords, using the gifts for serial killer or joker nonsense would cause them to lose it, the naughty and nice lists takes a lot of stuff into account, since they don't consciously know they have these abilities then it would be hard for them to consciously abuse it

the gifts work all year long, they just work faster/better in July and December, Cassie can always speak/understand whatever language but if it's not July or December it takes her about a minute to register that she knows it

Kon is always aware of the vibes of a person but in July and December he can clock someone on the naughty list without even looking at them, yj might start getting kon to vibe check their dates before they go out with someone, especially cissie and greta, they just text him a picture with a question mark and he sends back a thumbs up or down

In July/December Tim not only knows a person's deepest desires but he also can wrap a present better than Alfred, his wrapping skills go back to pre gift level when it's not July/December

In July/December, someone just has to look at Greta and they get a sense of relief that there's someone safe to talk to or who can help, outside of July/December Greta has to speak up and get a person's attention before it kicks in, if she's confronted with someone who needs help and that help is outside of her wheelhouse then she gets one of the team on the line to help her

Cissie has the tony hawk effect but when it's not july/december some people might say something like "oh, you have the same name as that one movie star" the paparazzi is always on the look out for her and they always fail, the only time she's been in paparazzi pictures is when she takes pity on tim and acts as his arm candy for some trendy social event where he's stuck being the Wayne representative

Bart really craves sweets in july/december more than he usually does and they tend to keep his appetite in check for longer periods in july/december than other times

if anita made gingerbread in july/december then it could withstand a punch from superman and still taste delicious, there's no reason for it to do so, so none of yj ever discovers this, any thoughts about the gingerbread tasting especially good in july/december is attributed to the way things can hit different at holidays because of nostalgia and memories

Thank you so much for expanding and clarifying. I love figuring out how powers work, what their constraints are, and how different aspects apply to them.

The explanations make sense, and I'm definitely vibing with them. I would definitely read a fanfic that just subtly explored these aspects (especially if YJ just never finds out). I wonder if Gun Batman thinks about how he's lost the ability to know what people. Does he trick himself into believing he still knows or does he see it as a necessary loss for his mission?

[fand0mswithbunny]

this is so different from the other posts i do but fuck it. descendants 4: rise of red review, spoilers ofc, we still boycott disney's ass, pirate this movie like uma and her crew ate the intro of this movie instead of watching this from disney+

keep reading if youve seen it or dont care about spoilers but tldr: if you havent seen it and see this as a spin off movie instead of a 4th installment, i say go watch it. its basically how i feel about the 2024 mean girls movie, im just here for certain characters, dynamics and songs, and a bit of the actual plot, its fun but definitely not for everyone, i liked parts of the movie/plots tho

okay honestly overall, despite the fucking terrible rushed ass ending, i still honestly enjoyed a lot of aspects of this movie.

songs, generally i liked. yeah its all pop-y but yk, none of them were unbearable, i loop red, whats my name (red vers.) and love aint it what about it

the editing was. a choice at times. like it will cut at the most random moments and when red was being transported and fell from that. pipe. thing in the castle it was so. disney channel editing core LIKE OKAY I KNOWW OFC IT IS but grahhhhhHH

the cg was good, direction was. also a choice at times. idk how to explain it but it felt like every scene was being directed like a music video and not like a MOVIE esp the lighting oh my god idk what it is but its so GLOWY AND WEIRDD

the characters themselves, i love the main cast, red, chloe, ella, bridget, etc. were all cool. IM A FIRM RED/CHLOE SHIPPER THEY ARE GIRLFRIENDS IDC and i also liked the dynamic they have with their past moms it was nice

oh yeah i dont mind how they wrote mal, evie, jay, and ben outta the story, i mean they gotta explain their absence yk. and i loved the carlos tribute, you can tell china was genuinely not acting in that tribute scene.

the vks were. okay. i dont mind that literally every villain/princess/disney protag goes to high school. this whole series basically feature length fanfiction anyway, idc personally about that. its weird URSULAS SISTER was the main antagonist. like i get having a completely new villain aside from the vks parents or something but. ursulas. sister??? besides you could tell me shes ursula and ill believe you.

its nice seeing filipino prince charming thats it thats all i gotta say RAHHH PHILIPPINES BABYYY 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 MY MANS GOT THAT 'PINO RIZZ OKAYYY

the plot was actually fun, but yeah I WISH WE COULDVE SEEN CASTLECOMING WE WERE ROBBED OF THAT i knew when red and chloe got the book there was like 10 minutes left in the film but cmonn we couldve had Morgie, I DONT KNOW somehow freeing the rest of the vks and them STEALING THE POCKETWATCH AND RED AND CHLOE HAVING TO GET IT BACK, GET ANOTHER 30 MINUTES IN THE FILM MAYBE, ANOTHER ACTION SEQUENCE, CASTLECOMING. but its finee im sure theres a fanfiction in the works somewhere that has that exact premise because thats what fanfic is for babyyyy

imagine. during the dance chloe and red are scrambling to find the watch, they see the vks, they find bridget crying because her best friend isnt there, she thinks ella bailed on her, they have to find the watch but, they gotta make her feel better right? red comforts her while chloe chases after them to find the watch, ella comes to the dance late after deciding, fuck my stepmom, get your hands dirty parallels, something something, the four of them all stopping the vks together, THEN they travel back.

i should just write a fix it fic for this movie at this point damnn i impressed myself

but yeah the ending does leave a lot of plot holes, if bridget didnt change from the past WHO DID, if Red even CONSIDERED a VK in this timeline? if not then WHO IS IT?? IS IT CHLOE?? its hella rushed, its ass, but i guess we'll find out in the 5th movie ig

also i thought they were totally setting it up for Ella to be the one that humiliated Bridget in the past, like the "I saw through her" in Love Ain't It we NEVER GOT ANY CLOSURE FROM THAT WHAT HAPPENED?? sighhh its okay its fine

i see this movie as a spin off movie rather than a 4th installment of the universe because it pretty much is, like its basically its OWN universe with the lack of the og cast and new characters. i unofficially coin it as the "Descendants: Redverse" because it just makes more sense

so many questions, mainly WHY, but yeah, still liked it, would rewatch. certain. parts of it. but honestly? a 7/10. leaning towards a 7.5

is this a recommendation? not sure, depending on who you are you could totally love this film or hate it, i say give it a chance and completely ignore the busted ass ending <3

anyways KENDRICKKK FANFIC WRITERSSSSSS- DROP SOME MORE CHARMINGHEARTS FANFICS/D4 FIX IT FICSSS. AND MY LIFE, IS YOURRSSSS

[valley-of-headcanons]

Can you write a fanfic where Harvey saves and counsels his nephew who is struggling with his alcohol addiction. Harvey later seeks solace in the farmer (Richie is on Nexus btw nexusmods com stardewvalley/mods/19654)

don't overwork yourself, doc || harvey x farmer oneshot

at a time of need, harvey needs a friend to go to for comfort.

warnings: alcohol addiction mention (+ talk of relapsing), harvey has some self-hating inner dialogue, severely heavy tone. a reverse comfort (?) fic if you will. friends to lovers :)

requested by: anon! hii, thank you so much for requesting! this a pretty specific one, so i apologize if i didn't do it justice! i started the fic with harvey interacting with the farmer, if that's okay! but, i tried and i think i made a pretty cute fic out of it. hope you enjoy! :) mod link is here if you wanted to check it out, i didn't get a chance to but it looks pretty interesting!

The night was young and you had finished your work for today. It was calm, but it wasn't necessarily peaceful. It felt eerie, living alone on your farm. It wasn't the best feeling, but it could be ignored. This feeling seemed to be interrupted when you heard a gentle knock at your door. Raising up from the couch you had plopped yourself upon, you wandered towards the door. “Who is it?”

“Hey, it's Harvey ... if you're not busy, would you mind talking to me for a second? I need a second opinion ...” the voice behind the door trailed off. Stressed poured from the usually collected voice. This was definitely odd coming from him, as he usually had everything put together. Something was wrong.

You opened the door with a small smile that soon fell after seeing the disheveled man in front of you. His clothes were wrinkled, his tie loosened and practically falling off. His green coat was missing, only wearing his now un-buttoned white shirt. His hair looked like he had raked his hand through it several times due to stress. The most alarming aspect was his eyes. They had such a far off look in them, like he was scatterbrained. It seemed as though, for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.

“Harvey ... please, come in. Are you alright ...?” you asked, taking him by the hand and leading him to your couch. You rushed to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before sitting down beside him, placing the bottle in his hands and unscrewing the lid. He looked so weak, you wondered if he had been taking care of himself enough.

Harvey leaned back against the couch, taking a sip of the water and closing his eyes. “I haven't slept in a few days. My ... my nephew is struggling. I'm trying to help as much as I can, it's my job as a doctor! But your job is supposed to come before emotions- and the relationship I have with him is preventing that. I- ... I'm so worried.”

You rested a hand on his shoulder. You felt his tensions ease under your hand. “Harv ... you need to rest. You look exhausted,” you said gently.

He opened his tired eyes, raising forward and resting his face in his hands. “I-I can't! There's so much to do still- I have to keep caring for him! I haven't done my laundry either, I look like a wreck! I haven't eaten in two days- I don't think I could! I feel sick and I just- ... I don't know what to do,” he said with a sigh.

You thought for a moment, raking your mind for solutions. “Let me call Maru and explain the situation. She can watch over him for the rest of the night and tomorrow. Let me take care of you until you feel better,” you said as stood. You were about to walk towards the phone before Harvey tried to object.

“Don't worry about me, I'm fine ... he just fell asleep and my legs just ... kind of ... took me here. I didn't really think about it, I should go. I shouldn't be burdening you,” Harvey muttered, standing as well.

You grabbed his hand, not letting him go. “You're working yourself to the point where you're putting your health at risk. You're a doctor. You should know better. Now sit, I'm gonna call Maru. Drink your water,” you said sternly, sitting him back down on the couch. Then, you stepped over to your phone in the other room to call Maru.

Harvey took off his shoes and laid down completely on the couch, attempting to calm himself down. He noticed how aggressive his heartbeat was and how sweaty his palms were. He took deep breaths. In ... hold ... out. In ... hold ... out. His mind was cleared, but he was still shaking a little. He needed food. He felt like such a defenseless child who couldn't take care of himself. But everyone deserves to be taken care of, right?

You walk back into the room and head toward the kitchen. You know that Harvey enjoys pickles, so you make him a sandwich with some pickles and bring it to him. Sitting down beside him, you offer him the plate.

Harvey takes the plate silently, taking a bite. He shows a soft smile. You were so thoughtful, it warmed his heart. It was probably the most relaxed he had been all day. “Thank you ... I'm sorry for coming over with no notice. It's so unprofessional, I apologize,” he said, taking another bite afterward. He was starving.

You shake your head, your brows curved and your frown evident. “No, don't apologize. You needed a friend, and that's okay. No need to be professional,” you say with a smile. You thought for a moment before a lightbulb struck. “Can I give you a massage? You can talk about all your worries, and you seem really really tense.”

Harvey's face shifted to a gentle pink, letting out a nervous laugh. “I mean ... sure. Just be careful, I don't want any nerve damage,” he said, shifting to where his back was toward you. He tried his best to let his shoulders relax, stretching them slightly before reverting back to the same position.

As you put your hands on his shoulders, he felt himself begin to relax. He let out a breath of relief before beginning to open up. “My nephew has been struggling with alcohol abuse for some time now. I believe it's comparable to Shane, but I can't be too sure. I know that it's horrific, and it's been worrying. I thought I was making some progress, but he relapsed when I was dealing with another patient. I went to his room and I- I freaked out. He was lying there, a bottle in hand. Asleep, thankfully. I automatically assumed the worst, though ...”

More shuddered breaths left Harvey's mouth, his eyes closing tightly. He took another sip of water because of the dryness in his mouth. “I-I got him to wake up, but he wasn't all there ... not sober anymore, for sure ... I sobered him up enough to make sure it wasn't alcohol poisoning. He looked like he was doing okay, but my nerves were out of control and I almost had a panic attack. When I made sure he was asleep, I just ... walked out. I couldn't handle it, and my legs took me here. I think I blacked out, I may have had a panic attack on the way up here ... it's the first one I've had in a really long time ...”

You stopped massaging his shoulders for a moment. You wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him from behind, resting your forehead on his back. “You're safe here. Everything will be fine, Harvey. You hold too much weight on your shoulders, distribute it if you can. Let Maru take some of this workload. You need your rest, please. Call in sick tomorrow and stay here,” you practically begged, worried for his health.

He tapped your arm, asking you to release him. He turned around quickly, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you. There were tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. He was really trying to keep it in, but he'd wanted to hear those words for a long time. “Thank you,” was all he could say.

You both stayed there, a few tears falling onto your shoulder. You laid back on the couch, adjusting so that Harvey was laying on your chest. You didn't mind that your shirt was tear-stained, you could just change tomorrow. All that mattered to you right now was that Harvey felt safe enough to open up to you and relax. He was always working so hard, just like you. Maybe you both need to take a step back, focus on yourselves for once. Or focus on one another.

Harvey couldn't make eye contact with you. He was embarrassed, but at the same time ... he was more comfortable than he had ever been before. He sniffed a little before clearing his throat. “Do you mind if I just ... stay here, all night? I- ... I don't mean to intrude or anything ...” he trailed off.

“Harv, it's fine. That's what I've been asking you to do! Just stay here, get your mind off of things for once. Fall asleep right here if you'd like,” you suggested, rubbing soft circles into his back.

He gave you a soft nod, letting out a quiet “thank you” before holding you a little closer. That was the last thing you heard from him that night, aside from a few quiet snores and mumbling in his sleep. He was so comfortable in your presence; he could not be moved.

You pressed a small kiss to his temple as he slept, whispering a soft goodnight to him before closing your eyes. Your cabin felt much more like home with Harvey around. The quiet wasn't as eerie, it was peaceful. You both were hellbent on protecting each other, nothing could happen to either of you in the moment. Maybe everything could be alright.