#I’m not sure 100% what to tag as a tw

[lamentingpat]

there is a scary amount of people who pair their wol with Alphinaud. he’s 16. that is a CHILD

[wowevenmoreloveonearth]

I really need to stop going into the general 911 tag bc some of y’all are so stupid and that’s ok but you’re also really mean and I’d like you to please keep it away from me (I have blocked so many people already)

[nightsmarish]

Summary: after talking to Regulus, you both decide to take the offer to stay with the Potters, and barty gets thrown across the slytherin table by Evan

Pt1

A/n: very focused on Reg for some reason, not 100% sure why, but it's lovely, also we love bestie barty. ALSO ALSO, reader is aggressively, very aggressively, hinted to be slytherin

Poly!moonwater x reader (Remus lupin x regulus black x reader) | 1.4k words

Tw: toxic family, running away? Family disappointment, ect. Barty jinxing Gryffindors for sport and an owl flying into a chess game

Asked to be tagged: @misacc08

★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊

It's finally two weeks until the end of this year at Hogwarts. Class times have been filled with going over study guides and reviewing for the final exams only a few days away. 

Neither you nor Regulus have said yes to staying at Potter Manor this summer. Despite James being very adamant about it.

“I’ll just mention you blokes might be joining us.” James told you when you visited Gryffindor table one morning, as he wrote his parents. 

“James-” 

“No, no, let ‘im. No harm in it? Is there?” Sirius cuts you off, feet extended to rest on the bench across the table from him. 

“But Mrs. Potter shouldn’t prepare an extra room if neither of us will be joining.” Your points are acknowledged when James hums to confirm he heard you, but his quill never stops moving.

Remus has been looking at you the whole time. Not in a creepy way, you're both pretty sure not in a creepy way at least. Just in an undivided attention way. Practically ignoring the other two boys to admire you, other than when he occasionally slaps away Sirius’ hand on his fifth attempt to grab Remus’ food. 

You look down to where Remus sits as well. Honestly, he's not that much shorter than you sitting down, but wherever. Your hand that's not holding the strap of your bag gently scratched the hair at the base of his head before kissing his cheek, mumbling a small promise to see him during your study time later. 

ᯓ★

It's not like you don’t want to go to stay with everyone else. It’d be amazing; it really would. But the idea of going when Regulus stays at the Black House feels wrong. You know being with your parents won’t help him, nor will being at James’ house, but it feels wrong. 

Remembering how destroyed he was when Sirius left. When he came back to school, you two hadn’t known the Marauders like you do now. The anger he knew was misplaced, but he couldn’t help but feel abandoned by Sirius. You remember it—the crying, the way he couldn’t focus until a month into school. And you remember Sirius being disowned.

And maybe that's part of it too. The idea of being disowned. Even if you know they are horrible people, people you don’t wish to be related to. The idea still makes you sick. Their horrible and evil, but dear Salazar, parent approval is so addicting and you hate how much you still want it. 

So which is worse, feeling like you betrayed one of your boyfriends, or your parents disapproval? 

“Regulus?” You keep your voice low in the library. The aforementioned boy looks up from his textbook sitting across from you. Remus, next to you, pauses, moving his quill to focus on you two as well.

“Yes?” His voice matches yours, despite being a little more stiff. 

“I wanna talk about it again. About James’ house.” You rush the words out. Probably because you know Regulus will want to shoot it down immediately.

“Love, you know I’m not going.” He sighs, sitting up straight in his seat. 

“Why? Why not go?” 

"Dove-" Remus tries to interject, not sure how well direct confrontation will go after Regulus has already denied it far too many times.

“What would I do?”

Both you and Remus pause, looking right at Regulus. Who stares right back at you.

“What do you mean?’ Remus says what you think.

“I leave, I get disowned, I lose the family fortune.” There are unspoken words there; everyone knows. He loses the Black name, he loses the reputation, and he loses everything he ever knew. Sirius had always wanted to leave; he had dreamed about it long before the possibility ever even crossed Regulus’ mind. The older Black had an idea of what would happen long before he left. Regulus hasn't gotten that right. 

“We can figure it out when we get there, love.” Remus rests his quill in the small ink pot, reaching both his hands to cup Regulus’ hands between his own. 

All three of you stay silent for a second, Regulus looking down at Remus’ hand covering his own, you staring at Regulus, and Remus looking between the two of you, trying to figure out what to do. 

"If..." you sigh, shifting in your seat, “if... you go... I’ll go, and we can figure it out together.” 

Gray eyes shoot up to yours. “Are you serious?” His voice is unsure, like you're going to take your offer back for no apparent reason. 

“Yeah. I’m scared too, but I don't think I can bring myself to go back, not this time. But at the same time, I won’t be okay with going if you don’t go.”

Remus takes a deep breath, one hand still holding the younger boy's hand, other moving so his arm wraps around your shoulder, gently rubbing your upper arm. “So, it's settled. I can tell James.” 

“Thank you,” You whisper, and Regulus takes one of his hands from the lycan to intertwine your fingers. 

ᯓ★

The letter felt wrong to write. Less than a week before you're off to Potter Manor is when you get a response.

You're sitting at the Slytherin table in the morning when the letter holding their response arrives. Your owl landing smoothly, unlike the poor Hufflepuff owl you see sly head first into a game of Wizard Chess.

The seal of the letter belongs to your family, and it's painfully obvious. Regulus had gotten his response within a few days. Hurtful and harsh, despite never reading it yourself.

Looking around, Regulus is watching Barty, who is sitting on the long table rather than at it, cast small, mostly-hopefully harmless jinxs on a few older Gryffindors who haven't seemed to notice who's doing it. While Evan is whispering more and more jinxs for Barty to use.

Deciding that you might as well get it over with, you break the wax seal. The letter was nothing but vile, as you expected, the threats, the anger, the disappointment. Yet, you are honestly relieved. Like a huge, bolder is off your back. Sisyphus would envy you.

"And what do you have? A secret admirer? Are you planning on finally leaving the wild beasts you call boyfriends?"

Barty turns his attention to you as you finish reading, snatching the letter to inspect it.

"Ew, is that from your parents?" Evans nose scrunches up, noticing the names signed at the bottom of the parchment when he leans over Bartys shoulder.

"Yeah, I wrote them last week that I'd be staying with the Potters this summer, and they finally got back to me." Your voice remains surprisingly even, despite feeling somewhere between calm and like you're going to vomit, cry, and punch a wall.

Evan and Barty continue to scrutinize the letter, the phrasing, and how your mother writes the letter S weird. While Regulus leans closer to you.

"Everything okay?" His quite, a stark contrast two the boys sitting acorsd from you as Barty pushes his boyfriend off the seat for something or another and Evan kicks a little too close to Bartys dick.

"Yeah, it'll be okay." You hum, scooting closer to the pale boy, "would you and Remus want to come stay at my dorm tonight? At least for a little? Serenella and Iris are both going to be out all night."

"Of course, love. I'll grab Remus after charms and we can meet you there before dinner?" A soft kiss is placed on the top of your head when he finishes his sentence.

"That sounds good."

The peace of the situation is cut off by Barty falling off the table towards you, taking you down to the floor with him.

"God damnit Barty!" A smile far to big for the situation paints your face face.

"Evan threw me, gem! He tried to kill me! I'm wounded." Barty sits half on hus knees, half laid out on the gross Hogwarts in such a pathetic manor Regulus chuckles under his breath.

"And I'll do it again idiot!" Evan sits back on his spot at the long table. Huffing while smoothing out his hair and uniform.

"Oh God, gem, I won't make it." Barty throws himself onto you, your back to the ground as you laugh. "If I die will you leave your loser boyfriends to join me and Evan?"

"Okay, junior, that's enough." Remus appears in your vision, slightly nudging Bartys side, like touching him too long will make whatever is sodding wrong with the boy rub off on him.

"Hello, big boy." Barty stands up and takes you with him, dusting off his and your clothes. "You know, both of you could leave Regulus and-"

"Okay Barty!" Regulus pushes Barty to sit back down, shutting him up as he begins to bicker with Regulus next.

[joyful-soul-collector]

Eclectic Ensemble

Pairing: Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley x gn!reader (reader wears slightly more masculine clothing but other than that it's pretty neutral)

Summary: Reader decides they're going to ask the moon boys out on a date. Things do not go perfectly to plan

Tags: SFW, asking out, neighbors to lovers (is that a tag??), swearing, uhhh reader is a major fucking dork who talks to their cat like it can understand them, no TWs it's all fluff

Wordcount: 1288

Read on Ao3

You couldn’t figure out why you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You’d had crushes before, and those were tolerable, you would daydream, but you’d snap back to reality at some point, and go about your day like normal. 

With the man across the hall though… that was something else entirely. 

You tried to convince yourself it was just the mystery of him, the fact that he seemed to have three different accents depending on the day, how one day he’d be cheerful and awkward while the other he’d be suave or stand-offish or nervous. 

But you couldn’t convince yourself of that, because even after he explained to you that he had DID and was not in fact a method actor of some kind, you still found yourself fascinated by him despite the mystery being solved. 

Fascinated by all three of them honestly. 

You’d talked to each of them in the hall before, learned things about them, even visited Steven at the museum a couple days ago. That’s what started it honestly, you’d chatted for hours after he got off work, each of them periodically switching out to have turns to speak with you. Sitting next to them by the fountain, rambling on about anything and everything as the sky grew darker and darker, it was the most fun you’d had in ages. And by the end of the night, with the way you couldn’t seem to shake the thoughts of them, you’d think you were in love with all three of them.

Which is also part of the reason you were so nervous to be doing this. 

You folded the collar of your dress shirt down, sighing at your reflection in the mirror on your closet door. 

“What do you think? Too much?” You turned to look at your cat, who was sitting on your desk, not at all minding that she was wrinkling all your papers. She stared at you for a moment, then licked her paw. “Yeah. Too much.”

There’s no way they’ll say yes, you thought as you unbuttoned your shirt. Even if one of them likes me back, what’re the chances the other two will be willing to date me if they don’t like me? Even lower chances that two of them will be interested, and definitely not all three of them. This is such an awful idea, why the hell am I doing this?

As you were undoing the third button you heard someone walking down the hall outside your front door. Normally this wouldn’t be cause for alarm, but you recognized the voice drawing closer and closer. 

“Yeah, I know it’s your turn to choose dinner tonight, but I’m just saying, could you maybe not go wild with the hot sauce this time? You always do that and then leave me and Steven to deal with the stomachache after--”

A voice speaking in Spanish cut him off, and you would’ve started laughing if the panic hadn’t seized you right in that moment. 

They weren’t supposed to be home this early! You were supposed to have another hour to get ready, to rehearse what you wanted to say, to work up enough courage!

You didn’t even stop to think about what you were doing because you could hear them getting out their keys, and if you didn’t do it now you weren’t sure you ever would. So you sprinted to your front door and flung it open. 

There stood the man you’d been waiting for. It was clear that Steven was the one who dressed them that day, wearing his oversized clothes, but the perpetually frowning face 100% belonged to Marc right now. He glanced over his shoulder at you. 

“Oh, hey Y/N! How’re y--” He cut off as he fully turned around to see you, and it was only then that you remembered exactly what you were wearing. 

Not only was your shirt halfway unbuttoned, but you were wearing a rather old tank top underneath it, your bedhead was not the hot kind, you didn’t have any shoes or socks on, and of course, you were wearing a pair of fluffy blue pajama pants covered in cat fur. 

Marc was clearly trying not to smile, but it wasn’t working very well, and for a moment you were glad for it, as Marc seemed to smile the least out of the three. 

“I uh--Well I--Okay I was going to ask you something,” you said with an embarrassed laugh, running a hand through your hair as a nervous habit, but also just to try and get it under control a bit. “But just--Just hang on, lemme put on actual clothes--”

“Pfft, you’re fine, we don’t care about that, you should see the things Marc tries to make us go out in some days,” Jake said, his Spanish accent replacing Marc’s American one. “He would wear pajamas to work if me and Steven didn’t stop him. Go head, what’s up?”

You stared at him for a second, and in that moment you remembered exactly why you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about them. 

Because no matter who was talking to you, each of them had that same soft look in their eye. The one that made you feel instantly better after an awful day, that made you smile when you were worried, that made you feel like you could be yourself in a way no one else did.

The one that didn’t care at all how disheveled you looked right now, only about the question you wanted to ask him. 

“Do you wanna go out sometime? Maybe for coffee?” you said. Jake blinked, and immediately his demeanor changed, his head tilting to the side as fidgety fingers rose up to touch the strap of his bag. 

“You mean, like a date?” Steven said in his British accent. “You’re asking us out? All of us?”

You nodded and suddenly felt like looking anywhere but at their face, running a hand nervously through your hair again. 

“You uh, you guys can think about it of course, you don’t have to answer right--”

“We’d love to,” Steven interrupted. You looked up to find him smiling brightly at you, the excitement so evident in him he practically glowed. 

“Really? ‘We’ as in, all three of you?”

“Yes, yeah, er, well we've been meaning to for a while really, we wanted to ask you at the fountain the other day but… I dunno, we weren’t sure you liked any of us that way, much less all three of us.”

You gave a small laugh and leaned your arm up on the door frame, shaking your head. 

“I honestly don’t know how I couldn’t like all three of you. Really it’s a surprise that all three of you like me.”

You gestured pointedly to your rather comical outfit, and Steven laughed. 

“I dunno,” he said, tilting his head and gazing at your eclectic ensemble. “It’s kind of cute, in a messy sort of way. Jake and Marc think so too.”

“Oh? Well maybe I’ll wear this on our date then.”

He laughed again, and you chatted for a few more minutes, long enough to set up a coffee date for Sunday, before Jake said he needed to get started on dinner (much to Steven and Marc’s annoyance). 

Once you were back on your flat with the door closed behind you, you punched the air with triumph, letting out a laugh of both relief and excitement. 

“YES, yes yes yes! Fuck yeah!” 

Your cat stared at you with her head cocked as you did a victory lap around your living room, before returning to licking her fur, and you liked to imagine she silently believed in you all along. 

THE END

If you made it this far, congratulations, you have read the first x reader fic I have ever written lol. Lemme know what you think, I hope you enjoyed!

[mossstep]

More sagau (self aware genshin au) headcanons(plus a little bit of writing) These ones are a bit more focused instead of general.

Ghost!reader sagau headcanons

As always: I am a minor, don’t be weird with my posts!

Note: these posts are made with the intention of lightening up the sagau tag, also, if you’re interested in me writing an entire story using my headcanons just ask and I’ll be happy to!

Tw/cw: sagau, swearing, references to the 4.2 archon quest (not 100% sure if this is needed)

Arriving in teyvat

Waking up in teyvat was certainly not on your bingo card for this year. You had only been playing genshin seriously for about a year or so. You had played before that, but had gotten bored after the Monstadt archon quest, because of the steep ar requirements for the Liyue archon quest.

So waking up in Liyue, specifically wuwang hill was, jarring to say the least. You had recognized the area immediately. You had basically lived in the crimson witch domain farming for your Hu Tao. Not that you had Hu Tao yet, having lost your 50/50 on each of her reruns. (Seriously! Talk about bad luck!)

As you get up you notice a vague feeling weightlessness, looking down, you noticed that you were partially see-through? What?

-

So the creator would probably meet Hu Tao first, as she likes the hang around wuwang (I don’t know her lore to correct me if I’m wrong) and Hu Tao would almost immediately recognize the reader as the creator due to their “golden aura.” Despite this, she’d treat you as your average ghost

-

The creator’s appearance would be like the ghosts seen in a game. But instead of that blueish-white color outline, the creator’s would be golden.

-

The creator’s ability to interact with things would be limited, only being able to slightly nudge or push things. They wouldn’t be able to pick anything up, or eat anything.

Despite this, they’re able to be seen/talk to vision holders and other elemental beings. While regular humans would only be able to sense them.

Also, the creator can possess shit, because ghost!

-

It’s likely that Zhongli, after catching wind of the creator’s arrival in not only teyvat, but also Liyue, would try to meet with them.

I can see the geo archon getting in contact with Ei or Neuvillette about making a mechanical puppet/body for the creator, since they were very limited in what they could do.

-

In their ghost form the creator would likely be able to take advantage of laylines/teleport waypoints/statues of the seven/etc. to travel around teyvat, which is how they meet with their favorite characters, wether or not they know about the creator’s arrival

Creator: hi tighnari :3

Tighnari: ARCHONS WHERE DID YOU COME FROM!?

Creator: secret :3

Alternatively

Creator: Hi Kaveh

Kaveh: OH SHIT A GHOST (unaware they’re the creator)

-

The creator would probably spend a whole 6 months or longer in teyvat without a body, because the people of teyvat would make sure only the best body is given to them.

If the people of Fontaine make a body for the creator they’d probably have the the fortress of meropide temporarily stop production on gardemeks to put all their energy in making the perfect mechanical body for the creator of teyvat.

If Ei instead uses the technique she used to create the shogun and scaramouche she’d source only the highest quality materials, then spend ages meticulously working on every little detail to make sure it’s perfect

No matter how much you say you don’t care about it being perfect, the people of teyvat would consider it blasphemy to give anything less than the best for their creator.

[dearest-kibble]

Atlas

A part one (the second is in the works and I'm going insane because i have a lotta ideas) Read on A03 here!

Tw: Stalking, (kind of?) suggestive content, general yandere-ness. It is slow to get to but very much there. Kinda goes from 1-100. Miguel is so sane he swears. I'm back to my dialogue loving ways. (If you think I've forgotten any tags please let me know!)

“Are — Are you okay?” There is a man bleeding in the alley behind your apartment. Profusely might you add. He doesn’t speak, just grunts at you and you notice — Spider-man. That’s Spider-man. He’s bleeding out in the alley. Without a single other thought you make your way towards him and rid yourself of your jacket. Spiderman cocks his head at you. “It’s not much. I know-” You tie it as tightly as you can around the wound. “But until I can get something better-” He shakes his head. “No?” He coughs. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.” He painfully rasps and starts to push himself off the damp pavement. Immediately your hands are outstretched and willing to help support. A large shaky hand takes them and you try your best to pull him gently from the ground.

He doesn’t offer any thanks as he staggers out of the alleyway, just a small nod but you feel compelled - “Thank you Spider-Man.” You think he turns at that.

———————————-

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

“What, had a good night?” You don't have to look to see Phil's stupid smug face.

“Interesting night maybe.” You were still tired, worried and a little high on meeting Spider-man.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” You love your co-worker, he's nice. Really truly he is. But what you wouldn't do to give him a good punch.

“I had an interesting night, take it as you will.” No way in hell you're ever telling him about Spider-Man.

“So you totally fu-” You've never been more relieved for a potential rush.

“Hello! We’ve got a menu on the wall above the counter whenever you’re ready to order just let one of us up here know!” You turn around to smile at your customer only to realize you have to look up. And up and up, until you finally meet his gaze. His eyes meet yours and he quickly turns his gaze up towards the menu.

“Just let us know whenever you’re ready to order.” Your co-worker tacks on. He stands with posture that cannot be comfortable, not speaking a word. He’s the only customer and both you and your coworker share a glance. He has this undeniably defeated look in his eye, but he still stands tall - as if he’s forced to.

“-ato.” He finally mumbles

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t quite hear that.” You give him a smile as best you can and wait while he just… stands there,

“I said macchiato.” It is then that he stares you down. You can see so much so clearly. His piercing brown eyes, you’d thought they were defeated before but maybe that was just the bags around them. Now that he’s looking at you he seems… much less sad. Though placing that emotion is not something you’re up to the challenge of. They seem to lighten a little as he asks, “Are you going to ring me up?” He speaks flatly, not a single hint of inflection and his teeth seem to glint in the light strangely. Briefly you wonder if maybe it’s some sort of body modification that he got, you don’t see a terrible amount of fangs. He clears his throat and suddenly you realize you’ve just been standing there.

“Oh gosh - yes yes. Let me just-” You move to the POS “Right over here!” You chirp. “One final question, do you mean a traditional macchiato? Or one of the Stellarbucks ones?” He huffs a small chuckle from his nose and his lips twitch upwards, not quite into a smile but a ghost of one.

“Those aren’t macchiatos. Traditional.” You should've figured, he seems like a straight espresso, black coffee kinda guy.

“Alright we’ll bring it out when it’s ready.” He goes to sit in the corner, away from any windows and from a bag pulls a computer.

“Did he tip?” A whisper as your co-worker grabs one of the macchiato cups from atop the espresso machine.

“Don’t think so.” You whisper back.

“Asshole.” You can’t help but giggle a little.

“Oh c'mon, he doesn’t seem completely awful, He just seems a little awkward is all.”

“You’re just saying that cause you think he’s hot.”

“Where do you get your ideas? First it’s my ‘fun night’ and then it’s this.”

“And where do you find the time to flirt so much?” Phil smirks.

“I absolutely was not flirting.” You make sure to say it with authority.

“I mean he is hot.” Phil says this rather loudly, and gives you the shittiest grin to ever eat. “You seemed to be staring at him.”

“Eye contact is common courtesy!!” You hiss.

“And his macchiato is done and I’m not dealing with him, go get him, lovebird.” You roll your eyes and take a doily and the cup. You make it quickly to his seat where he is comically large compared to the table and chair. He’s spilling over the edges of his seat and his arms are so large they take up what little space his computer doesn’t.

“Alright, I’ve got your traditional macchiato, let me just…” You look for a spot to place it, and find nothing with everything on his table. “I don’t want to throw a wrench in your work. Where would you like for me to place it?”

“Here is fine.” He shifts awkwardly, shoving his arm to his side so you have space. He watches you place the doily first and as you gently set down his cup. Before you can turn and tell him to “enjoy!” he exhales and mumbles softly, “You’re good at your job. No one knows what a real macchiato is these days.”

“Thank you.” You say politely. “We serve both, enjoy!”

“Can I ask your name?” You turn, just to see his eyes on you, a little softer, just as sunken and he’s got that same smile, almost knowing. He takes a sip of his coffee. “You don’t need to answer.” His mouth opens again as if he’s about to speak and you see it again, his elongated canines scraping against the edge of his cup when he downs his macchiato. He gulps it down quickly and takes your wrist, placing the cup in your palm and curls your fingers around it. Eyes so fixated on your hand in his that when he finally looks up, they widen and he pulls away quicker than you’d’ve thought possible. He sits down immediately and focuses pointedly onto his screen. He mumbles again - a quick, “Thank you again. Good espresso.” He can’t bring himself to look at you anymore, but you nod as if he’s looking anyway.

“Thanks, it's Peruvian!” He stares ahead just at his screen. Nods. “Just let us know if you need anything else.” He nods again and you walk back to the counter.

“So, how was it?”

“He’s-”

“You like him don’t you?”

“Would you stop with that? He’s strange,” You think back to his hand under yours, take a deep breath because even he was clearly surprised by his behavior. “But that’s all.”

“F’you say so.” Phil shrugs.

The rest of the day is painfully slow. Just an occasional latte or cappuccino. Nothing interesting. It’s as you’re closing that you see him again. Just as tall, just as weighed down. He still cannot bring himself to look at you when he murmurs “My name is Miguel. Have a good evening.” And he briskly walks out the door, bell ringing behind him. When you clean his table you find five dollars cash and a note in neat handwriting. “Best espresso I’ve had in a while. Will be back.” You pocket the money with a small smile, and take a second - you should split it with Phil, shouldn’t you. You sigh when you walk back and put it in the tip jar, and smile when you tuck it into the envelope labeled “tips”. You finish cleaning quickly, and start your trek back to your apartment. It’s a quick, brisk walk - chilly in the fall. You’d’ve thought after Spider-Man’s visit last night that maybe, your block would’ve been quieter. But the outskirts of Nueva York are never really quiet as you near your building, petty thieves run out of the grocers’ and it’s all you can do to pass by - who knows what could happen if you got involved. They scurry away with their money and goods and you come face to face with your door.

Held tightly to the metal with faint red webs and a note that reads “thanks again, S. M.”, is your jacket. You tug at the webbing, noting the slight warmth and strange pulse that it seems to have. Thrumming softly as you pull it away. Your jacket has clearly been cleaned, impressively might you add as for the amount of blood that seemed to be on it, there isn’t a single stain. You press your palm to your door and put your jacket on as it verifies your identity. You catch a glimpse of the blue and red suit from your kitchen window, he must’ve caught those thieves too!

The next day is bright and early, you put on your jacket for a brisk morning walk, spending your time before work amongst the carefully manicured trees with a sandwich for breakfast. Phil isn’t there when you clock in, and a quick check of your schedule tells you he won’t be there - you’re on your own today (and apparently the rest of the week). So you buckle down, set up the portafilters and check the espresso for the day - (light almond flavoring, all natural - the bean is kind).The morning is steady, different drinks, no terrible customers. Midday slows, no lunch rush today. Your evening is interesting. It gets busy around three o’clock, an entire line that on a Thursday, isn’t common. They’re asking for cortados, specialty drinks, modified with oat, soy and coconut - a never ending onslaught of everything you serve. The pastries you had set out that morning were all gone not even fifteen minutes after three and the line only grew and grew and grew. But you keep your composure. Deep breaths and glances to the tip jar have gotten you through rushes before, it’ll get you through one now. The line starts to dwindle around four thirty. Slowly, slowly thinning and exiting the shop. You are almost completely sold out of pastries and your coffee supply is running a little higher than your energy; not very. That’s when he finally enters again. Miguel(?), from yesterday. With the macchiato.

“Welcome back in,” You try your best to sound enthusiastic for a returning customer but you can’t help the exasperation seeping through. “What can we get you today?”

“Black-eye.” His eyes flit to you. “Please.” And back to the ground as they had been when he entered.

“That’s easy enough, we’ve got good espresso today.” You give him a nod.

“It was good yesterday.”

“But it’s better today, trust me.” You punch his order into the POS, “Oh, preference on single origin?” You smile at him again.

“What’s your lightest roast?” He tilts his head and the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Oh you need caffeine that badly? It’s our Ethiopia.” He shakes his head in amusement.

“No I,” He catches himself, “Yes I need the caffeine.” You start setting up the pour over, 21 grams and a gooseneck.

“What, you have late shifts or something?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Think I can imagine. I have to deal with Phil half the time. Love that kid but god-” He exhales out his nose again, “So anyway, what do you do? Miguel, right?” You're halfway through, one eye on the coffee another on him. At the mention of his name his face drops. His face goes blank, eyes closed and he starts to turn.

“Same place as yesterday.”

“Alright.” Well so much for conversation. You turn as you make your last pour, and switch the espresso machine on, pour the shots and then the coffee. You take the mug and start over to the same table he was hunched over yesterday.

“Your black-eye.” He takes the cup from you this time, pulls it from your hand and doesn’t place it down.

“Do you…” His eyes dart to the side as he trails off, seems to stop himself.

“Oh?”

“Was just going to ask about coffee cake.”

“Oh yes! There is a single one left in the back, would you like it?”

“No.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything else.” He hums in response, sipping at his coffee and turning to his screen. You walk back to continue cleaning up the shop - with the rush of the day it’ll take longer to have it all cleaned and fixed. Your boss was born in 2037, and liked to do things the old fashioned way. No automated cleaning, no voice activated espresso, everything you did was done by hand in this shop. You supposed that maybe that’s what makes your cafe unique or popular, the antiquity of it. You knock the remaining pucks, cringing at the sound as you do, mop the floor, restock just about everything in the shop and even then you still have more to do it seems.

“What time do you close?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you on your way to check the table and chair positions.

“We close in,” You look to your shoulder, and immediately his hand is merely hovering, no longer resting on your shoulder. You continue slowly. “About ten minutes.”

“You’re an incredibly hard worker.” He stands, collecting his screens and pushing in his chair.

“Thanks,”

“It’s -” He cuts himself off again, wincing to himself and pinching his nose. “Nevermind.”

“Have a nice evening!” He bobs his head and doesn’t look back. The next day is slow. Rainy, dreary, cloudy - all of it. And the people willing to come out in this weather… well they all live in the undercity. Y’know - where the weather never changes. It’s a good day for the old jazz music on “Bluetooth” speakers, cozying up with some tea or coffee and setting up to do some computer work yourself. It’s cozy, you alone in the shop at seven in the morning, pastries put on display, coffee by your side and non-work related work set up on the counter. Eventually after sorting your affairs, you turn to check the state of the shop - maybe that Miguel guy would come again today, you might’ve gained a painfully awkward customer these past two days. Maybe it’ll be a different regular, someone seeking shelter from the pouring rain that refuses to drizzle. Maybe you won’t have any customers and you’re forced to go home and catch up on all the things you’ve been meaning to - ever since Spider-Man returned your jacket your door seems to have had some slight issues. You suppose the lock being a kind of genetics based lock (or something? Your landlady would know,) had some strange reaction to Spider-Man’s webs. Which makes perfect sense if you’re honest, if they’re any kind of biological creation they’d have to be a little strange to a door meant to scan a palm. Make it malfunction maybe. So yeah, if it’s a slow day you’d love to make it back and make sure your door isn’t going haywire and that you haven’t been robbed. The rain continues to pound against the windows, showing no sign of stopping. You decide to make yourself a drink and watch the day. The jazz is soft and the rain is loud, the view out the windows is limited, only showing the faint glow of signs reflected in puddles and the occasional passerby.

About two hours in you settle into working on your own thing. The rule is three hours no customers, and you can close. Just one more to go. You’re doing your fourth patrol of the shop when you look out the window again. It’s too rainy to tell exactly who it is, but from a distance you see a silhouette. They seem to be facing the shop, but it is a silhouette, maybe their back is facing the shop. They aren’t holding an umbrella, though maybe it was one of those less affordable nanotechnology devices to keep rain off, and they stand as you watch them (really this is the most interesting thing in hours, the fact that the rain has cleared enough to see the outline). The sign across the street flickers slightly and they flinch at the burst of light amidst the gloom. Eventually you realize how creepy it is of you to stare at someone who’s probably got their back turned to the shop and you go back to pacing. You can’t help but look on your fifth round though, to see if they’re still there.

They stay there for an hour in fact, get a little closer too, so you can tell that the body is masculine. He absolutely is facing the shop, looming closer and closer to the window. He lingers for not even a minute before you see him shake his head, finally take a step to the left and continue away from the shop. You’re left standing and still staring out the window, already possessing the idea to call and report the strange occurrence. You’re stalking your way over even, towards the counter to make a call when the bell finally rings.

“Hello good mornin-” You’re interrupted by a tiny little laugh and take a closer look at the customer in front of you. “And good morning to you too!” You give his daughter a smile and wave gently. She opens and closes her fist in response.

“Hey hey! Would you mind,” Her father gives you a nod and digs around in a large pocket of a pink bathrobe and pulls out some outdated cell phone. “Getting just a few pictures of us? It’s her first time in a coffee shop and I wanna capture the moment.” He holds the brick out to you over the counter and gives you a lazy - but winning, smile. “Thank you, thank you - oh her mother is gonna love this,”

“What’s her name?” You snap a picture.

“Oh this little angel? Mayday!” She coos adorably at her name. “Yep that’s you kid!” He ruffles her hair and you snap another picture.

“Isn’t she just the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen?”

“She’s adorable! You, her father and Mayday all agree with a round of laughter.

“Names Peter, by the way!” He holds his daughter up like that ancient, animated classic with lions and you grab another photo.

“Nice to meet you.”

“My good friend has been stopping in the past few days, mumbling about a good cup of coffee.” The man sets down a drenched umbrella in the stand you keep near the door as he speaks.

“Good friend, do you mea-'' It's right then that the bell rings again. Mayday coos gently at the noise and a sopping wet regular of three days stands on your welcome mat.

“There you are! Miguel, buddy!” Peter claps a hand on his back and Mayday reaches her chubby hand forward.

“I don’t recall telling you about this place.”

“Didn’t have to, s’nice little joint.” He gives you a smile to ignore Miguel’s glare. “And I mean, buddy! You gotta admit you’ve been a little happier these past few days. Wanted to check and see how good this coffee is myself.”

“Do you even drink coffee?” Miguel raises an eyebrow at the man and looks at his very evident lack of coffee.

“Ah,” the man sighs good-naturedly, “Right uh… cappuccino?” You pass back his old phone as you nod.

“Yep, can do! For you?” You turn to Miguel to discover he’s already looking at you.

“Macchiato.” He looks at the child who found her way onto his shoulders and scowls lightly; clearly with no real malice.

“Sure!” Their drinks are simple and Peter wrangles his daughter away from Miguel and they make their way to a slightly larger table. When you bring their drinks, they are mid conversation and you notice that either the man is oblivious or just doesn’t care because Miguel obviously isn’t very interested in what he has to say.

“I’m a geneticist.” He says exasperatedly as you place down each cup. Peter nods at you as you place his coffee and pats a third chair with another winning smile that Mayday echoes. You take a look at the door and then the window. The rain has only gotten worse. You sit and hope for riveting conversation. Miguel gives you a hum of acknowledgement and you join the tables’ conversation and Peter jumps to include you.

“You’re a — see isn’t that great? You know someone for so long and you just,” He gives Miguel a hearty clap on the back and Mayday giggles at the scoff that the larger man gives. “You keep learning things about ‘em. Isn’t that amazing? You can know someone for so long and never know enough huh.” Peter takes a sip of his cappuccino. “Oh my, oh that - that really is fantastic. Miguel buddy, you really know your coffee.” Miguel rolls his eyes and looks towards you. “See he’s always like this! Always this deep broody guy with the weight of the world on his shoulders and he just keeps piling more and more on — that’s why they’re so big y’know — and he just keeps pushing away any relief.” Mayday babbles a little at this as if she’s very wisely agreeing and no one at the table seems to notice the chord that appears to have struck Miguel. “Mhm yep that’s right Daddy’s right about that one, isn’t he!” He presses a kiss to his daughter’s head and Miguel seems to cheer up a little at the laughter that rises. “See if he just took some time for himself-”

“That’s why I’m at a coffee shop.” He mutters to himself, and you know enough Spanish to catch ‘idiot’ “This was time for myself.” He looks to you like he can’t believe he has to put up with this man.

“Yes but you’re always working!” And you think about that for a second because if Miguel is always working, how didn’t Peter know that he was a geneticist. They were close friends after all.

“So Peter, what do you do?”

“Oh I’m a house husband.” He stretches his arms and postures himself proudly. “Yep.” He elongates the word, pops the p for emphasis. “That’s all I ever do. Nothin else.”

“That is all you do. Yes.” Miguel deadpans.

“If you’re a geneticist, mind if I ask?” You speak up and less ill tempered than you thought he might be, Miguel turns to you. “My apartment door has been having a few issues, it’s one of those genetic locks, put a hand on it and it’ll open for you.”

“A little outdated.” He comments.

“Don’t live in a very new apartment, but anyway - very recently it seems to be having some issues?” He seems to sit up as you say this, Peter is playing with Mayday and half paying attention.

“What kinds of issues?” There’s a hard edge to his voice that it almost seems he had tried to shave off. “If you are,” he coughs.

“Comfortable sharing.” You look at him for a bit, both Mayday and Peter have stopped to pay attention.

“Well, recently my door has been malfunctioning a little. I think my neighbor’s kid is getting in because my chairs or tables have moved.”

“M’not gonna have to worry about that with you will I?” Peter pokes his daughter’s cheek gently and smiles. “No I'm not! No I’m not!” Miguel seems to contemplate his response deeply before,

“Are you sure it’s not just old?” He raises a stern eyebrow at you.

“I mean it is, but this is the only issue I've ever had with it; only issue anyone in the building has reported. And we’ve got a classic elevator.” Miguel grumbles at this and doesn’t say anymore. You sit in silence for a little bit, the only sound being the rain and Mayday’s warbles.

“Well, thank you for allowing me to sit-” You almost excuse yourself before Miguel speaks again. There’s something in the way that his hands seem to scrabble at the table and how his eyes seem to widen as you stand from your chair.

“I want to,” Peter and you both turn to look at him as he stares at the cup in front of him. Peter’s eyes widen very unsubtly, “I want to ask you your favorite kind of coffee.” His fingers tap against his biceps.

“Working here made me try a lot of it, and made me realize I like all of it. So I don’t really have a favorite.”

“That’s a good outlook! What’s not to like?” Peter stops abruptly to check his phone. He looks back up frantically. “I gotta get goin though, it’s Miss May’s nap time and she gets real cranky when she misses it. See you later Miguel,” he raises his cup towards you, “Excellent coffee. Really, just exquisite.” He sets his cup down on the table, looks between you and Miguel and puts Mayday back into her little carrier before pulling his umbrella from the holder by the door and exiting into the pouring rain. You see him dash into the street away and dart to the right.

“I,” Miguel starts but the words seem to catch in his throat like they always do.

“You,” You give him a smile “C’mon, talk to me! You’re a regular now,” You take a second to formulate your thoughts. What Peter said explains a lot about his more awkward behaviors. “And probably need someone to talk to if Peter’s right. Don’t keep depriving yourself of joy.” Unlike the previous days where he had avoided your eyes, suddenly he stares into them. You have to wonder, were they always tinged with that red? You had thought they were brown when he first came in, now they're flecked with a ring of maroon. He takes a small sip of his previously untouched coffee and takes a second before responding.

“I was going to ask if you think you’ll be open all day today.” He keeps a straight face, you’re pretty sure there's a hint of warmth in his voice though. “The rain.” He taps the window pane with a large finger.

“Well Miguel,” You don’t notice the way his hand clutches the table, the tense of his shoulders or the lurch in his seat at his name. “I think I’ll be closing early today. Gonna get home, see if I can get that door issue fixed.” You grab Peter’s empty cup and hold it with both hands, offering Miguel a polite smile and nod.

“You’re a hard worker.” He smiles and stands, placing his tiny cup on the table. “It’s refreshing to see. Also very kind.” He pauses before taking a breath and continuing to mutter, “Stupidly kind.” He approaches you slowly. Hands on his hips looking down at you with red eyes. He reaches a hand out, close enough to your cheek that you can feel the warmth radiating from it. He leans down so that your foreheads almost touch, and gently speaks, “Are you sure you’re safe by yourself?” You take a second to process that. Blink as he still looks into your eyes. “You smell good, by the way. Noticed it when I first came in, better than I imagined.” And everything seems to speed up, the rain is louder, your heartbeat palpitates uncomfortably and you hear the blood rushing through your body. He’s been a regular for three days. He’s taken your hand, pat your shoulder and asked your name. He stood outside your shop for an hour this very morning.

“I’m sorry sir, we closed ten minutes ago.” You blink away the tears in your eyes, and try to compose yourself as you say the words.

“What happened to Miguel?” He whispers the words so gently, so strangely vulnerable. His hand lingers by your cheek, fingers twitching. He groans. He shakes his head violently as if it'll make him stop whatever he’s doing. He turns and stands to his full height, eyes leaving yours again. He doesn’t say a word to you as he leaves the shop. You watch him walk slowly into the rain as he leaves and you make sure he doesn’t turn. Immediately you lock the door to the shop, flip the sign to ‘closed’ and pull the blinds. You contact your boss telling them you're closing early and set your sights on getting in touch with law enforcement. The hurdles you have to jump just to get a safe ride home are astounding. Calling the local P.D proves to be useless as all you have are ‘Miguel’ with no last name and ‘abnormally tall’ and those two descriptors don’t get you anywhere. But your distress does seem to affect the other end of the line with some amount of pity, as they dispatch a vehicle to take you home. All it took was a stalker, sobbing your eyes out to a cop and bang, safe ride home with someone comforting you and a shock blanket. Simple really. Oh the joys of being stalked.

“This is where Spider-Man has been hanging out these last few days!” The cop says as you reach your complex. It’s clearly meant to comfort you. “That guy makes the whole city safer, but I don’t gotta tell you that,” They sound like they’re giving you a smile. “Well best be on your way, stay safe and contact us if anything happens, okay?” They point towards the lapel of your jacket, to the Spider-Man pin you got just last week. “Tell ya what, we’ll put in a word with him when we see him next, have him look out for ya.” The cop will probably forget about this in the next few hours and it’ll probably never get back to him, but it’s a kind gesture.

“Thank you.” You exit the vehicle, looking every which way in the rain, checking for shadows along the walls of your complex. You all but run to your apartment and look desperately around for anything taken or misplaced, when you find nothing you turn to your chairs. You’re careful when you stack them against the door. You forgo food and drink in favor of grabbing the emergency metal pipe and decide to sit on your bed to wait for the other shoe to drop. It doesn’t. For hours and hours and hours. The stormy weather never lets up even as it grows darker.

Absolutely nothing seems to happen, save the loud cacophony from outside as Neuva York wakes for the second time of the day, nightlife not being stopped even for the rainstorm. You hear the shouting, the screeches, the loud music that you’ve grown accustomed to sleeping through and like that old classically conditioned dog, it makes you yawn. You look at your malfunctioning door and the small — hopefully effective — barricade and clench your fist tighter around the pipe. Falling asleep now would mean missing if anything were to happen, you try to drill this into your mind, bash it in like it’s a window. No glass shatters to keep you awake however and uneasily you’re lulled to sleep by the sounds of the city.

You wake up to Spider-Man (suddenly you’re able to identify that broad frame, the shocking height and burdened shoulders of Spider-Man who you’d seen three days ago.) leering over your sleeping body. Even if you can’t see his eyes he’s clearly staring at you. For a second you don’t move, try not to breathe as your heart hammers against your ribs. He doesn’t move for what feels like hours as he stares, he must know by now that you’re awake. The neon glow from the window is dull in the night and the rain has finally stopped, no more clubs blast their music. It’s just you and Spider-Man - Miguel.

You take a deep breath and your heart races and suddenly you can feel the metal pipe in your hand. You tighten your grip and immediately swing your wrist as hard as you can.

He stops it with a hand and tears it from your hand. He gives a disappointed growl, and bends the pipe with ease between his two hands.

“I was,” He sighs deeply. “Impulsive today. I had meant to be slow about it. Meant to be patient.” You cannot bring yourself to move as he continues to speak. “Because I am,” His voice spikes suddenly and he sees you flinch. Spider-Man softens his voice, “Patient.” He groans, turns away from staring at you - finally you can breathe again - and bashes his hand against your wall. “It was going to be weeks,” He cannot seem to help himself now, voice raising slowly as he sweeps back to where you are unable to move on your bed. “Until I would talk to you,” You cannot see him from behind the mask. You imagine him with the same stern eyes, haggard and a sneer if his tone is anything to go on. “But you,” His body heaves and before you can throw yourself from the bed and make a break for the door, a monstrous hand finds the back of your head. Fingers card tenderly through your hair before another hand appears on your hip and wrenches your entire body up, face forcibly made to look at his mask as it gives way to blindingly red eyes, iris sclera and pupil all flooded with the sickening red that blood often starts as. “You wanted this.” He softens, as he looks at you, “You wanted my impatience, didn’t you?” His eyes dart to your Spider-Man pin and he gently moves the hand on your hip so that it’s his forearm beneath your thighs and presses you closer to his chest so that you feel his lips drag on the top of your head. “If I had known I would’ve just taken you with me three nights ago.” He releases your grasp on your hair, and you pull away to see the red of his eyes recede like the beach before a tsunami. “See what you do?” He pats your cheek softly, “I’ll make it up to you. You’ve been nothing but foolish and kind. I’ll make this easier, stay still for me.” He offers you that same small smile, and pushes your head upwards to his cheek. You can feel his erratic heartbeat against your chest as Miguel nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck once more before taking a deep whiff of you and while you’re too busy trying to hold back the bile in your throat, he crumples into you and sighs as if this was the happiest he'd been in years. You feel his lips part against your skin and it feels like bugs crawling on you when he rumbles against your neck. You try your best to block out the tender mutterings of “You’re sweeter than….” and “Made for me,” before you feel his fangs sink delicately into your skin.

You pass out from the shock and pain before you feel the warmth of his venom.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Domesticity 

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

"Do you have a job?" Tracy asks as she helps Molly put away groceries. It's starting to strike Tracy as odd that Molly can afford all this and also spend the majority of her time with Tracy. Molly’s talked about past jobs, but never anything current.

“Not right now. Don’t worry, you’re not keeping me away from work or anything. This is where I want to be.”

“So how do you… afford all this?” 

“My parents were very wealthy, and I got all of it when they died.”

“Ah. That explains a lot.”

Molly laughs. “I’m not sure how to take that.” 

Hmm… Tracy tries to think of a way to direct the conversation that might give her helpful information. “Are you planning on getting another job any time soon?”

“Probably not. I don’t want to leave you alone all day.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Still, if you got hurt, or needed me for something else, you’d have no way to get help. And I like spending time with you. I would miss you the whole time I was gone.”

That makes sense, logically. No one is forcing Molly to be here, she must be spending time with Tracy because she wants to. Tracy wants to ask what makes her so special, but she chickens out. She gets the feeling that whatever the answer to that question is, she really won’t like it. “Do you… have any friends? At all?”

“Mm… I hope someday you’ll consider me a friend.” She puts the last of the groceries in the pantry. "Do you wanna play Wii Sports Resort? I bet you can get a new high score at wakeboarding."

"Sure." She's really good at the wakeboarding game.

Molly grins and sets up the game. It makes sense that she has no friends, but it’s disappointing all the same. No one is going to come visit her and ask about the heavily locked basement. Tracy isn’t getting outside help.

A thought hits Tracy like a bus. "Am– am I the first person you've kidnapped?"

"Of course!" Molly hands Tracy a Wii remote. "First and last."

A chill runs down Tracy's spine. It's okay, it's fine. Just gathering information. It doesn’t matter why Molly decided to kidnap Tracy, that knowledge won’t help her escape. "Right. Um…”

Thinking of questions is hard. Maybe she should just try to make natural conversation, and see if anything important comes up?

“Do you have a favorite video game?” Tracy asks, partially focused on digital wakeboarding.

“I’m not sure. The only thing I ever play alone is The Sims, so I guess that would be my favorite?”

“That makes a lot of sense. You like taking care of the- hell yeah!” Tracy is momentarily distracted by getting a long string of 100-point tricks.

“Yeah.” Tracy can hear the smile in her voice. “I do really like games where I can take care of people. I’ve had to ban myself from getting any games like that on my phone, I always end up setting alarms in the middle of the night to check on them. Sims don’t have their needs drain when the game is closed the way so many mobile games do.”

Tracy’s turn ends. She didn’t get a new high score, but she got close. “You’d… set alarms in the middle of the night?” 

“They’d be so sad and hungry every morning if I didn’t!”

“They’re… not real.”

“That’s the thing— how do you know? I can’t bear the thought of telling someone that they’re not real if they actually are. Can you imagine, someone coming up to you and telling you you’re not real? That would be awful! I don’t want to risk it. What separates us from programs, really? People a lot smarter than me have theorized we’re all in a simulation. If that’s the case, would it be okay for someone to starve and hurt us because we’re not real? Even deleting those apps felt kind of like killing people. I couldn’t function for weeks afterward… But I’m okay now!” 

“You’re… actually crazy.” That shouldn’t be surprising for a kidnapper, but it somehow is.

“That’s not very nice.” Her tone is lightly scolding. Not angry at all, but definitely the harshest tone she’s used with Tracy so far. “You probably didn’t want to hear about my issues, though. What’s your favorite video game?” As she talks, Molly repeatedly does so badly at the game that it pauses to remind her she needs to land on the water with her board flat.

“I never really played video games before I came here— before you kidnapped me, I mean. I think I need to try a few more before I decide.”

The conversation continues like that until Tracy gets a new high score. Just… pleasant, even if the things Molly says are disturbing sometimes. Tracy’ll have to mentally go through the conversation a few times before bed to make sure she didn’t miss any valuable information. Even if she didn’t, though, building a rapport with Molly is good. That’ll… that’ll definitely benefit her somehow, even if she’s not sure how yet.

“You’re amazing.” Molly looks at Tracy like she’s… Tracy doesn’t even know. Definitely not something human. A beautiful painting, maybe? A sunset? A skyscraper?

“For… being good at Wii Sports Resort wakeboarding?”

“For everything. Everything about you is amazing.”

“…thanks?”

Molly stares at her for a moment longer, then breaks eye contact. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. You barely know me, that probably sounded more like a stalker complimenting you than a friend. I’ll do my best to dial it back.”

“…I appreciate that.”

Molly fidgets with the Wii remote. “I think… I need to spend some time cleaning today. You won’t be able to relax if your living space is filthy! I’ve been putting it off a bit.”

The basement seems plenty clean to Tracy. "Okay."

"I've been keeping the cleaning stuff upstairs, so I'll go grab some stuff and be right back. Is that okay?"

"Yep, go ahead." Tracy feels like she should offer to help, but… she doesn't want to. This isn't her house, she doesn't want to be here and would leave if she could, she has no obligation to do any cleaning.

For the next several hours, Molly takes various cleaning supplies up and down the stairs (always making sure the bag with restraints isn't downstairs while Molly is upstairs) and cleans more or less the entire basement. 

Tracy plays some Minecraft, then starts a book that looks interesting. She's… enjoying herself. Is this the best use of her time? She could talk to Molly more, but did she really learn anything last time? She runs through the conversation in her head repeatedly, but can't find anything useful.

She puts the book back. She needs to think of more questions to ask, more information that might help her, she needs to do something because if she has time to enjoy herself she definitely has time to get something done but there's nothing to get done, she can't do anything she's useless–

"Are you feeling okay, dear?"

"I'm fine. Do you… need help with anything?"

"You're here to rest! I'll handle everything, don't worry. I'm basically done, anyway, I've just got to take the mop back up the stairs."

She's not pathetic enough to beg to help her kidnapper with chores, so she nods and heads to the kitchen. She'll just make lunch for both of them, Molly's okay with her doing that. It's really hard to just wait for helpful information instead of actively working towards escape, but… she can do hard things. It's not Tracy's fault that she's useless right now, anyway, it's Molly's, so there's not much she can do but suck it up and enjoy herself until Molly lets something slip.

Tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears

[biscuitsngravie]

Daylight by Moonlight

Vampire!Nanami x Reader

cw/tw/tags: vampire!nanami, fem!reader, hematophogy (blood drinking), not editied cause im tired

wc: 2295

an: idk what to tag it regarding characters and stuff. should i just put in all the ppl who'll be included eventually or just tag them as they appear? also this is 100% gonna have smut later cause like, vampires are hot. do i tag it smut now or later? help! 😭

Chapter One

He opens his eyes suddenly, a sheen of sweat cooling his exposed skin with his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t need to check the time to know that he’s up before his alarm, the buzzing in the street confirming that much. His bangs lightly poke him in the eyes, fitting around the eyelashes that futilely try to fight against them. With one, heavy sigh he brushes them back, willing his heart to slow down. He eventually sits up and cradles his face in his hands, bringing his knees to his chest to breathe. 

Breathe…

Breathe…

Breathe……….

“He’s still breathing!”

“His heart rate’s coming back up! Hey, can you hear me?”

“It’s getting too high, he’s gonna go into shock!”

“Hey buddy, can you hear me? We’re gonna take care of ya, just hang in there!”

His alarm snaps him back into reality, sending a jolt down his spine. The surprise sets his heart aflame again, but this time it’s almost welcomed. Alarms nowadays are a lot more varied, from sing-songy (much like Gojo’s) to industrial ones that are a tad nostalgic. Kento’s personally decided to go for one that imitates birds chirping, a sound he occasionally misses from the mornings that now rings as his lullaby. 

He stretches his legs back out and leans over to check the time for sunset. Upon realizing it’s about an hour or so he softly groans to do a full body stretch before rising from the bed. He’s not too keen on doing laundry yet again this week, gathering the sheets to toss into his hamper before stepping into the shower. The water is hot, so hot it just barely burns his skin, but the sting is welcomed. It makes him feel alive. 

Small drops cascade over his body, racing each other down the drain. He softly chuckles to himself as he places imaginary bets on ones that glide down his thighs. He eventually dips his head under the stream, hissing slightly at the sting and turning the temperature down just a little to make it more bearable. His shampoo bottle pathetically squirts out just enough for his hair for one wash, and he curses himself for hanging out with Gojo the day (to him at least) prior rather than doing the grocery run he planned. 

The sound of the water hitting his skin and the tile fills his ears, drowning him in familiar memories once again. 

“I’m so sorry, young man! Are you hurt?”

“You don’t think he’s one of them, do ya?”

“He ain’t got no fangs—”

“Some of’em are sneaky like that! Open yer mouth, boy!”

*ding*

*ding*

*ding*

A fourth ding on his phone can almost undoubtedly confirm that it’s none other than the troublemaker himself reaching out. Nanami moves on with his shower and steps out with his towel around his waist. He forces his bangs to lay away from his face to squint at his phone. 

Gojo Satoru: <<Nanamiiii!>>

Gojo Satoru: <<Good morningggg (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~>>

Gojo Satoru: <<I can’t stop by tonight but Choso should be there soon!>>

Gojo Satoru: <<Suguru’s letting me spend the day at his place!!! 😋>>

Nanami huffs incredulously. Well that’s sure a surprise. Though a part of him weeps for Gojo’s poor lover. He sends a text of warning back. 

<<Don’t try to bite him.>>

A text comes back almost immediately. Nanami can almost hear the saccharinely sweet feigned innocence dripping from the words on screen. 

Gojo Satoru: <<Oh whatever do you mean~>>

Nanami doesn’t even have the energy to kiss his teeth the way he wants before moving on, deciding that the message isn’t worthy of a response. He stands in front of the mirror to brush his teeth, bringing out his fangs and being sure to brush around them, only retracting them once he has to shrug his tongue. Once done with a quick and simple face wash and moisturizer he blowdries his hair from soaking to damp, leaving it wet enough to mold later. After doing a pat down with his towel, moisturizing the rest of his body, and getting dressed, he returns to his vanity to finish his hair off, using a gentle pomade and steady fingers. 

Though he’s done it more times than he could possibly count, he can’t relax until it’s molded into the perfect shape. As he does so, he notices his eyes slowly taking on a red tint under the caramel. The doorbell ringing almost cues the growling of his stomach and the aching beginning to creep in his bones. He settles for “good enough” and begins to head downstairs, dressed in everything but his shoes. 

There stands Choso, a pale but stocky man. Over a lot of time and quite a few half conversations, he’s learned that only one of his parents was a vampire, that parent quickly fucking off and living life who knows where not long after Choso’s conception. Choso inherited a jumble of traits that might as well have been taken out of a mystery bag with one’s eyes closed. He has that stark, pale skin, yet no fangs. He can survive on little blood, human blood stretching much farther for him than most. Though he can walk in the sun, he still has a sun sensitivity that generally keeps him safely tucked away, especially during the summer. Even without that state, he prefers the community of fellow vampires over humans either way. The bags under his eyes are completely separate, as he’s an incurable night owl with an early shift. He also has a brother. He also had more. 

“Please come in,” Nanami says uselessly, this becoming a routine for over a decade now. Choso still politely waits for the invitation, however, a mutual commitment to the bit. Nanami’s body is already buzzing with anticipation, every one of his muscles flexing at the sight of the wagon Choso totes behind him. A familiar smell wafts up to his nose, making him grunt.

Choso lets out a half-laugh. “Gojo-san felt generous.”

Nanami notices the way he’s tensing and wills himself to calm down. “H-how many extra?” he chokes out, his fangs already baring without his will. 

“Five.”

“Christ—”

“That’s what I said. Worst fucking haul of my life. Took everything in me not to tear into it, and I don’t even drink much.” Choso makes his way through the entrance hall past the first living area, heading to the industrial kitchen on the right. Once inside, he goes straight for the walk-in cooler and begins opening the top of the wagon. He hands one to the Nanami, deciding not to comment on the veins now poking against his temple and the eyes that have fully turned now. He faces the cooler shelves and reorganizes the leftover bags from the week before, moving the labels to keep the dates in order. “Alright, let’s see…”

Nanami greedily takes the bag in his hands, hastily tearing the corner off the packaging made for easy feeding. His body warms immediately, tingling and buzzing as the blood flows through him. It smells sickeningly sweet as it rushes throughout his system, but what else could he expect from Gojo Satoru. With the way he feels, he won’t have to feed for another month or so, and it wouldn’t be the first time. Gojo’s blood is divine and anyone who’s anyone knows that. 

Gojo Satoru: The sole remaining descendant of the Original Vampire. And to think he was only half. He contains every trait that any one person (or not) could dream of: his senses enhanced tenfold beyond the strongest vampire anyone could name. His regeneration and strength ridiculously above what should be vampirily possible. His stamina, his speed, his everything. With immunity to the sun and gifted in looks as well, he’s just as much the most annoying being on the planet. 

But his blood is heavenly. If Gojo were a con artist he could sell it by the two ounce bottle and ensure that anyone who had a taste could maybe be like him someday! Hell, with the way it feels right now, even Nanami would entertain the thought, even if no more than a brief lapse in judgement. Once his eyes hazily focus again after rolling to the back of his skull, he tries to strike up conversation as Choso does his work. 

“Sorry for not doing that, I thought Gojo-san was coming.”

“S’fine, I don’t mind it really. I like this kinda work anyway.” he sighs softly, clasping his hands momentarily as he surveys the bags he has before him. “I wanted to try something, tell me if you like. If not I’ll just go back to the normal stuff.” Choso grabs one bag with an extra label on it right under the date. “This one, aaand, where is it? Oh, these ones over here? I tried curing them. This one is withhh…” he squints at the bag to read the description, “Oh! So this is a Mediterranean vegetable medley. This one over here I put with chorizo, I dunno what I was thinking, but it was kind of a double-process.”

Nanami hums in interest, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. 

“And this one, I was actually supposed to deliver a while ago, but forgot. I decided to put some, uh, some yeast and sugar and cinnamon and stuff in it. Kind of like…” he snaps his fingers a few times and scrunches his nose as he tries to search the air for the word that escapes him. 

“Apple cider?” Nanami offers. 

“That!” he points back, “exactly that! I know you don’t mind the normal stuff, but you’re a chef, you know?”

“Owning a restaurant doesn’t make you a chef, it—”

“It makes you something. Besides, you basically cook for yourself all the time. It’s nice to let vampires do things for you sometimes.”

Nanami sighs to dispel the smile that threatens to tug at his lips. Even if he wasn't told, he and Itadori are brothers without a doubt. “I’ll try them. If I don’t see you next time I’ll be sure to text you my thoughts.”

“My first food review,” Choso chuckles at the joke made almost to himself. His ears perk up when he hears Nanami clear his throat.

“Would like one of Gojo-san’s?”

His eyes widen at the offer. “Oh no! No it’s no worries, he said he owes me for the last minute call so trust me, I have a lot to look forward to.” Choso sighs airily with a smile. “That human’s got him wrapped around his finger, I see.”

“He’s letting him spend the day over for the first time,” Nanami comments, letting Choso pull the wagon out of the walk-in.

“Oh? Suguru’s lucky he’s male or Gojo-san would keep him barefoot and pregnant.”

“Technology is advancing fast nowadays, if he ever turns that’s when he’d really be in trouble,” Nanami half mumbles to himself, pulling a laugh from Choso as they walk to the door. 

“That reminds me, do you know if Yuuji works today?” he asks, turning around after leading the wagon out the door. 

“Any particular reason why?”

“He’s been dodging my calls and I need to talk to him.”

Nanami’s not one to distribute information on his employees, regardless of familial relation. Unless it’s an emergency, everything is under lock and key, or in these times, safes. Though the information proves quite interesting considering that Itadori’s been especially active on his phone as of late. So much so that Nanami actually has a talk scheduled with him once he comes in. 

“It’s not nothing bad or anything, it’s just…” Choso exhales tiredly, scruffing up the back of one of his ponytails. “He’s got this boy toy recently—”

“And he’s human,” Nanami interrupts without really meaning to, letting his thoughts flow right from his lips. Choso nods in confirmation. Nanami mirrors him and says, “He works eleven to seven thirty.”

“Thank you,” comes out almost in a whisper, as if Itatdori himself were standing right there. With a sharp nod and an exchange of departing messages, Nanami closes the door and continues the pack from Gojo. Once he’s done he makes a small breakfast for himself. Though he doesn’t need to, making food and cooking it is fun. He likes the smells, the textures, the flavors. Anyone would say that as much as it is a necessity for some, the act of eating is plain old fun. No wonder his grandad opened all of these restaurants, besides the other reason. 

It’s only eight, so the grocery stores should still be open by the time he’s done with the cooking and cleanup. Cleanup being “put everything into the dishwasher and turn on heated dry.” Once he’s done with that, he heads to a nearby store and buys his coveted shampoo, sighing with relief as he picks up the last bottle. He decides not to go back home to drop it off, rather enjoying the warmth of the night. He walks down the sidewalk, already bustling with night owls and those who try to steal some time to themselves after their jobs before inevitably dragging themselves back home to sleep and do it again. 

He admires the way the trees decorating the sidewalks have their first signs of buds, soft and delicate to the touch. Sometimes he feels they’re so fragile they may disintegrate right before him. Spring is coming. Spring means summer. And summer means shorter days. He sighs to himself, looking to the stars, awaiting the “Quiet Hour,” when the city turns off its lights to let everyone enjoy their light. To bask in the suns that are too far away to hurt them.

When the clock reaches half past nine, he begins his walk towards work. 

[medusapelagia]

Hidden Treasure - STBB Proj 7 WIP Wednesday - Eddie

And... I'm sharing another snippet from my @strangerthingsbigbang fic for this WIP Wednesday! When I decided to write an omegaverse pirate au I was 100% sure no one else would have been interested in such an unusual mix. Guess what? I was wrong! Because two amazing artists (the super talented and incredible @mothellie and @ghostdeb) chose to work on my fic! While we tremble in anticipation, waiting to share the story together with their art, here is the second banner I made to promote my fic, featuring the one and only: Eddie Munson!

tagging those who were interested: @katyawriteswhump @lingeringmirth @akichania @v3lv3tf0x

A little snippet under the cut! TW: violence, prison

“Come on! It was just a silly game!” the man says, turning his head toward the guards “I wasn’t cheating. Playing dice is a sacred thing, you know that right? Sacred! Like… like something sacred.” he insists, slurring.

Steve stands up abruptly, ready to yell the man’s name but Robin kicks him in the shin and he yelps, “Omegas.” she says shrugging “You know how they are. They see a new man and think he’s their mate. That’s not an alpha. Can’t you see?” she insists, “That’s just… who’s that?” Robin asks the guards who ignore her and throw the drunken young man in another cell.”

“I didn’t cheat!” the drunk man insists, whining when one of the guards kicks him in the stomach, “I swear on your mom!”

The guard immediately comes back, grabbing the man by the collar, “What did you say about my mother, little piece of shit?” he hisses on his face.

“God your breath is… bleah… do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I’m not surprised she was looking for comfort somewhere else. Nice woman, by the way.”

The punch that follows is not unexpected, but Steve yelps in empathy, while Robin holds him tight. The guard spits on the man on the ground who is holding his stomach, groaning loudly, and then he leaves.

“Eddie! Eddie!” Steve calls, freeing himself from Robin’s grip and running toward the side of the cell they have in common.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” he tells him, resting against the prison’s bar still holding his stomach, “You feeling better?”

“How? Why?”

“Shh… tell me about you, baby.” he whispers, “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s not fucking fine,” Robin roars behind him, “the two of you left an omega to travel alone without his alpha, are you fucking crazy?  And a guard just threatened to kill him if he doesn’t give him some information about your dirty business!”

“What happened?” Eddie asks, noticing at that moment the little trickle of blood still pouring from Steve’s face.

“It’s just a scratch. And I didn’t say a word. I swear”

“I know you didn’t, sugar.” He cradles Steve’s face with his slim long fingers, “I’ll kill him. I’ll open his chest and I’ll rip his heart out!” he growls, staring at the cut on the omega’s face.

[astrophel-gaygore-obsessed]

Hey!

Astrophel, He/Him.

Thanks for visiting my account!

Here I will publish various kinds of art based on your requests, in particular fan fiction (although maybe I will publish drawings too).

For now, requests are open, so don’t be afraid to give me ideas for different types of art!

But I want to warn you that I will not accept anything with fem readers. I want to make this blog aimed only at gn and male readers, so with your idea (which is great, I'm sure!) with a fem reader, you should go to another creator.

MY YES!

Smut stuff, NSFW in particular(Don’t worry, I will mark it with a special tag if you are uncomfortable with this genre of reading.)

(Ero)Guro, a detailed and non-detailed description of cruelty. I’ll warn you right away that I’m new to describing this kind of stuff, so if you have more experience or just want to correct me, my DMs are always open!

Headcanons. From the sweetest fluff "How [OC name/character name] and [OC name/character name] spend their mornings/etc" to the most horrific descriptions of violence of one character (or even characters) towards others.

Incest, big age difference, etc. I absolutely don’t care who’s sibling and what age your characters are, but I understand that this is very triggering for many, so I will also publish similar posts with a separate hashtag and TW/CW (And also please don’t try to somehow reproach me for this or somehow condemn me, cancel me, etc., etc. My job is to create art, fiction.)

Trans guy/s, non-binary characters, etc. You guys are in a safe place.

Abuse, Self-harm, etc. Again, such fics will be published under a special hashtag so that you guys still feel comfortable being here.

As you understand, I publish and write whatever your perverted brain wants, and I promise you 100% anonymity and respect. But, of course, I have my limits.

MY NO!

There is no separate list of things that make me uncomfortable, but I can refuse your request if it seems uncomfortable/strange/unpleasant/etc.

I don’t have a DNI either, but for disrespectful attitude towards others (homo/transphobia and queerphobia in general, propaganda and approval of such behavior, neurophobia, psychophobia, belief in “narcissistic/borderline/antisocial/histrionic” abuse (fuck you. I have cluster B disorder, and I certainly won’t approve such crap on my account), and simply being aggressive towards others will lead you to a permanent ban.)

Btw, selfships and self-inserts are also okay! Love you guys.

BYF!

My level of English is quite low, and I also created this account in order to develop my level and just to ✨️have fun✨️, so if you see mistakes, please point them out politely. I can also often be late with fanfiction and requests, but I will try to publish them faster. Please be patient, thank you.

FANDOMS YOU CAN REQUEST ✎

Poppy Playtime(Current hyperfixation)

Danganronpa(Fanganronpas too! Sdra2, DRDT, P:EG)

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Scream

Madoka Magica

Yandere Simulator

Omori

Hotel Hazbin

MASTERLIST ★

None, for now.

[4dbstar]

heyyy so

this is kinda just my blog where i be me and stuff and i reveal my TRUE INTENTIONS HUAHAHAHAH nah jk I’m just really queer so

TW: I AM agere but this blog may not be 100% sfw!! You’ve been warned!! DNI if:

EXCLUSIONIST; anti-agere, anti-alterhuman, queerphobic (that means transphobic, aphobic, homophobic, lesbophobic, biphobic, if you hate on neopronouns and xenogenders, or any other hate towards 2LGBTQIAP+ people), sexist, racist, ableist, or if you hate on people because of their religion or their identity at all.

CREEP; Minor Attracted Person (MAP), aka PEDOPHILE, zoophile, if you’re one of those people with that agere kink or whatever is up with that, or just a creep. Also if you’d ever blame a victim of rape for what happened to them, that applies, whether they’re male, female, non binary, agender, androgynous/bigender, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Indigenous, no matter who they are.

Anyways next topic

ABOUT ME

I’m gender-fluid (afab) and use he/it/starself (neo)pronouns as I do use xenogenders. I’m aroflux, reciprosexual, hypersexual, and abrosexual as well.

I’m an alterhuman and a furry, TWO SEPARATE things. If you’d like me to explain what they are and the differences, or anything about my queer identities, I will. I’m also agere. Remember, please be respectful. ☺️

I am very uh fluid, that is for sure. I’m either in a horror movies, true crime, Elsbeth typa mood, or a Sanrio and Bluey typa mood.

also I’m a 40billion year old star as in like the burning ball of gas and shit so yeah

MY FAVORITE: (finishing later in order to avoid someone 🥲)

FOODS; Grilled cheese, strawberries, muffins, cake, brownies

DRINKS; milk, fizzy pop (those hello kitty and stuff ones ❤️), apple juice

GAMES; Genshin Impact, LoZ games, Animal Crossing, FNaF

MANGA; One Piece, Naruto, Death Note

BOOKS; Life as We Knew It - Susan Beth Pfeffer and Mondays Not Coming - Tiffany D. Jackson (I like too many books—these are the best bro)

MUSIC ARTISTS: Crane Wives, 100 gecs, Alice Gas, bo en, BTS, Vocaloid artists, and Childish Gambino (these change regularly 😭)

SHOWS; Sister Sister, Moon Knight, Elsbeth, Bluey

MOVIES; The Insidious five, Slenderman, Captain Marvel

ALL TIME FAVE STUFF; Dinosaurs, trains, LoZ, Creepypasta, Bluey, Sanrio, Peppa Pig, ASMR, Childish Gambino, cats, and collecting Fizzy Pop cans!! (Ex. Rillakuma, Hello Kitty, Tokidoki, etc)

REMEMBER

Don’t be hateful, as there are tags for people in the communities I’m in, and we’re not going to trigger them because of your ignorance

have a great day, and be kind, you never know what someone is going through.

[beetheyapper]

okay i had a few people ask about that so i’m just gonna make a post about it and tag everyone that wanted to know. this post is going to be somewhat long. also, please keep in mind that i don’t know Nora Sakavic personally by any means, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion. If you’re rude to me about my discomfort with these things, I won’t hesitate to block you.

DISCLAIMER: this is essentially all just about my opinions on/interpretations of the books and how i feel about them. i’m not trying to cancel Nora Sakavic, I’m simply sharing why i don’t really like her. these opinions are also held by my friend who read the books with me at the same time, @noodle-g , so i’m not alone in this.

I’d also like to preface this with the clarification that I am a part of the lgbtq+ community, as I discuss some issues revolving around that factor of the characters.

TW for vulgar language and mentions of s/a and more below the cut!!!!!! also spoilers for the series All For The Game

1. The Stereotypical Portrayal of Queer People Via Nicky

It’s perfectly fine to have an intentionally problematic character. I’m not sure if Nicky was meant to be problematic, but he certainly is. Unfortunately, the problems with his character perpetuate negative stereotypes.

Nicky is the first character who we find out is gay, and six years ago, as a queer 13 year old reading this for the first time, I was overjoyed to see some queer representation! Unfortunately, the more I read, the more Nicky seemed to be a creepy, hyper-sexual character, which is a really negative and typically homophobic stereotype towards the queer community. I’m not by any means saying that Sakavic is homophobic, obviously, but the portrayal of Nicky accidentally feeds into the stereotype that gay people are predatory.

For example, when Nicky repeatedly makes suggestive comments towards Neil, pesters him about his sexuality, etc. Additionally, his method of drvgging Neil at Eden’s Twilight being to forcefully make out with him, which, the entire situation was incredibly not okay, but it could have been done very differently if Neil getting drvgged was really a plot point she wanted to make. Not to mention, this was all done while Nicky had a partner in Europe (Germany, I think? but I haven’t read the books in six years). He additionally makes suggestive comments about Matt and says that Dan is “lucky” despite, once again, being in his own happy and committed relationship. His character is just creepy, and borderline obnoxious at times. It’s not a good portrayal of queer people by any means.

2. The fact that Suggestive/S3xual scenes only revolve around gay characters

I’m 100% not saying that Sakavic’s intention was to fetishize the queer community, but to me, that’s how this series reads sometimes.

I understand that the main characters of each book were, in some form or fashion, queer. I don’t understand, though, why seemingly every sexual joke or comment is made by or towards the gay characters. One scene in particular that makes me feel very uncomfortable is the shower scene with Andrew and Neil. For Neil, this is a very vulnerable moment. He’s injured and embarrassed. I know that Andrew isn’t exactly the most tender of people, but the choice of interaction in this scene just makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I know that Neil gives Andrew his verbal consent, but Neil’s situation makes it almost seem like he was at a physical and emotional disadvantage, so to speak. I’m NOT saying that Andrew assaulted Neil, because that is NOT what happened. I’m just saying that it was incredibly weird to me and I don’t think Sakavic thought this scene through very much. This kind of leads me into my next point

3. The… Interesting… Portrayal of S/A Victims

Assault is a real, serious issue. I believe Sakavic was brave to write about it, as it’s something that genuinely happens and it’s not often discussed in media. I honestly applaud her willingness to write about such a tragic thing. My issue lies with how she goes about it.

I’m going to start this by talking about Jean in The Sunshine Court. It’s shared that he, as a minor, was coerced and pressured into intimacy with many of his teammates. This is awful, but it’s something that really happens. Furthermore, he goes on to be shamed by the team for his behavior, getting called a “wh0re” by just about—if not genuinely—everyone. Again, this is something that seriously happens to people, and it’s awful. I just think that her choice to write this about Jean when he was a minor is… interesting. I’ve included some pictures below of the situation being brought up.

Moving on to another assault victim in the books, Andrew. I fear I’m somewhat of an Andrew apologist, to be honest.

I’ve talked a lot so I’m just gonna get straight to my biggest issue with this one: I don’t like that Sakavic went into explicit detail on what his abusers did to him. She shared this on her tumblr account, and I believe she’s since taken it down. I feel like it was unnecessary and I’m somewhat disturbed that she’s thought about the explicit details of what happened rather than just leaving it at the fact that it happened, especially since these details aren’t really significant or brought up in the book.

again, these are all just my opinions/interpretations, and i’m not asking anyone to agree. it’s just my reasoning for not being her biggest fan. i appreciate those who took the time to read through what ive shared!

tags of those who were asking about it on the original post: @josten4exy @literarylarkspur @multi-babii @voidears

[of-twilight-and-moonshadow]

Help Me to Feel Again - Yuta x Emery

I've been in my Yoots feels lately, and then with what I saw happened at All In yesterday, this happened.

Can't promise that I'm 100% back with Dark Angel- as with work and college, I'm pretty busy all the time, BUT something once in a while might pop up :)

Didn't start out like I imagined either, but I guess my mind thought there needed to be more to the story? I don't question it anymore.

Part of the Dark Angel of the Bullet Club series

Word Count: 2484

TW: dizziness, passing out, suggestive themes (but nothing descriptive)

Tag List: @katries @rainries @summertimefun1982

(border by)

August.

How it was already eight months into the year, Emery couldn’t understand. Another month, she felt as if her world had been turned upside down. Everything she knew, everything she had, it was slipping through her fingers- and she didn’t know where to turn or even to pick up the pieces.

Kenny was still gone, with no return in sight.

Hangman had lost his mind, no longer her lovable cowboy.

Wheeler kept his cold distance from her, being aligned with the BCC.

The Bucks…. She didn’t even want to think about how that had all gone wrong.

OC and Chuckie had moderately distanced themselves from her since the Trent betrayal- though they were slowly coming around. Slowly.

Eddie was out with an injury, with no return in sight.

Wardlow had aligned himself with a new devil, Adam, and had since ignored her completely.

Kris had turned as well, no longer the friend Emery once had.

Jungleboy was long gone, replaced by this new version of himself that he aligned with the Bucks.

Darby… was there for her, but he kept a slight distance- not wanting her to get hurt because of his antics against the Bucks.

Kyle. That seemed to be the one person she had left right now that kept her sane. Her longtime best friend. Her brother. Her rock.

 She wanted to be able to wrestle, to take her mind off of everything, but unfortunately, the doctors wouldn’t clear Emery. A wave of dizziness had caused a misstep in training last week, leading her to awkwardly fall from the top rope. Although she had shaken it off and walked away, the dizziness seemed to stick around. No concussion came up in the scans, and there was no apparent reason for the swimming vision. The doctors and Tony Khan wanted to be sure, though- be sure that she wouldn’t accidentally hurt herself or her opponent, so no matches until the dizziness was gone for two straight weeks.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, though, and a part of her wondered if it was the beginning of the signs telling her to end her career. Back in the early stages of AEW, Emery had constant dizzy spells that on-and-off lasted for almost two months. That, however, had been the effect of a botched move, where she had awkwardly landed on the back of her neck. Doctors were surprised that she didn’t have a fractured spine and wouldn’t need any surgery.

Now? All these years later, with all the shit she’d done in the ring since then? With everything else going on around her? Maybe it was fate telling her it was time to hang up the boots. She needed someone to talk to…. But who? Emery didn’t want to worry any of her friends…. The ones she had left anyway. The one she wanted to speak to…. It wasn’t much of an option because of the company he kept. Not that it mattered; Yuta had made it obvious last year that he didn’t want anything to do with her.

Sighing, Emery got out of her chair and began walking down the hall but immediately had to stop and lean against the wall as her vision swam. A small bout of nausea crept into her gut, and she had to close her eyes, willing it to all go away.

“Hey—you okay girl?” Willow asked, walking up to her, concern lacing her voice.

“I’m—I’m good, yeah,” Emery swallowed, focusing on breathing evenly until it all passed.

“You sure? I can go get OC or Kyle—”

“No—no, it’s…. I’m fine, really,” Emery argued, her voice soft, “Just…. Stood up too fast.”

Okay, that was a lie—but the last thing Emery wanted to do was worry either of them, especially right before their match.

“Alright, well—if you need anything, just let me know, okay?” Willow told her, a small, warm smile on her face. As the feeling ebbed away, Emery opened her eyes to look at the upbeat and friendly person who had recently become a good friend, bonding over the betrayal of Trent and Kris.

“I will…. Thanks.”

With a slight nod, Willow walked off in the opposite direction. Emery closed her eyes again, taking a moment to compose herself before continuing down the hall. Maybe some fresh air would help?

Before she knew it, August had passed and it was now September. Yet another month with no change to her life. Orange and Chuck slowly became themselves again, being around Emery more often, and Orange allowed himself to smile a bit more often.

Darby had gone radio silent since his loss to Jack at All In last month—just when she needed his calming touch. It was weird—how someone so chaotic like Darby could be the calming presence in another person's life, but that’s how it was for her. That was precisely what she needed, more and more lately, as the dizziness only worsened with each passing week. Emery tried not to think about it, tried not to let those close to her see how much she was struggling, but it was getting more difficult to hide.

The night of All Out – it all changed, as hiding it became impossible. She, Willow, and Mark Briscoe were walking down the hallway of the Chicago arena, waiting for Orange to arrive. Emery was trying to be happy and supportive of her friends, as they all had important matches that night – but the nausea in her stomach was intensifying with each step. The two competitors walked in front of her as Emery followed along, keeping her eyes downcast, focusing on breathing through the discomfort. Their conversation became muddled as a sudden intense wave of dizziness hit her, causing Emery to nearly crash into the wall beside her. Suddenly, Willow’s concerned face was right there, asking her something- but Emery couldn’t hear any of the words. Mark was over Willow’s shoulder, his fatherly instincts kicking in, knowing something was wrong with the younger talent. He asked Willow questions, trying to figure out what was going on, but before Willow could provide any answers, she lurched forward to catch Emery before she hit the floor completely, the strength completely leaving her body.

“Wha’ should I do?!”

“See if you can find Orange—or Chuck—someone!”

“On it—yous keep her safe!”

Mark ran down the hall, rushing past all in his way, yelling in his Briscoe way for people to move.

“He’s a strange one,” Claudio remarked, shaking his head as he readjusted his Trios championship on his shoulder.

“You’re telling me,” Bryan chuckled, “Come on, let’s get to the locker room- get ready for our matches.”

The two older BCC members, followed by Yuta, began walking down the hall, crossing at the intersection where Briscoe had run past them. They heard the frantic voice of Willow Nightengale down the hall to their left, and each briefly glanced towards her before turning their attention back to in front of them. However, as soon as Yuta did, his head snapped back to the left, squinting his eyes to see who was on the ground beside Willow.

“Wheeler?” Claudio questioned, looking back at the younger man. As Bryan turned to look, Yuta’s eyes went wide in concern as he took off in a full sprint down the hall—every animosity and confrontation from the past two years gone from his mind.

“Ree!” Yuta exclaimed, skidding to a stop beside her unconscious form on the ground. Willow looked at him, uncertainty in her eyes, but he paid her no mind as he knelt beside them.

“What happened?” Yuta demanded, his hand reaching out to gently brush Emery’s cheek, pushing some hair behind her ear. A pained groan reverberated through her body, her already closed eyes squeezing themselves further together.

“I-I don’t know! She seemed fine, but—”

“She’s obviously not!” Yuta snapped, but when another pained groan reached his ears, he swallowed the lump in his throat, “I--- I’m sorry. There…. There has to be something---”

“I don’t know if it’s what’s going on… but she’s complained about being dizzy lately?” Willow offered.

“Dizzy?” Yuta repeated as Claudio and Bryan walked up to stand near them. As Willow nodded, Yuta traveled down memory lane to 2020, shortly after he joined AEW. When he had been with the Best Friends. When Emery and he were close…. When he had wanted to ask her out…. She had some dizzy spells back then, too—due to a head injury of sorts.

“Wheeler—we should go,” Claudio tried, attempting to pry the younger man away verbally. He and Bryan knew how Yuta felt about Emery and how he had tried everything to get her off his mind.

“I--- Where’s Cassidy? Chuck?!”

“Mark went off to find them—We were the first three to the arena…” Willow explained.

“Wheeler.”

He looked up to his BCC companions, a grimace on his face when he nodded. Chuck and Orange would be there soon. It’d be okay. She’d be okay. Right?

As Yuta went to stand up, he felt a tug on his jacket and looked down, his eyes widening at the sight below him. Emery had reached out, her subconscious just barely aware of his presence. Her hand was gripping the bottom of his jacket. It took everything in him not to see it as a sign to stay.

He needed to leave. But how could he leave her there when she needed him? When she wanted him to stay?

“Wheeler.”

“I--- One second….” Yuta asked of the older two as he reached up and unzipped his hoodie. It wasn’t a BCC one but a personal hoodie that he had carried for several years. Shrugging it off his body, Yuta gently placed it over Emery’s upper body, covering her head to shield her from the light around her.

“If…. If it’s the dizziness… the light will only make it worse…” Yuta explained, glancing at Willow briefly before standing up. As he did, one of the medic staff hurried over, having passed Mark Briscoe in the hall.

“Let’s give them some space…” Bryan whispered, knowing from personal experience how bad head injuries of any kind could affect a person. Yuta gave a slight nod, looking down at Emery’s form once more before following along behind Claudio and Bryan. Hopefully, the rest of the night went better for Emery and himself. As they turned the corner, Yuta heard Mark’s voice in the distance, but more importantly, when he looked up, he saw Briscoe flanked by Chuck Taylor.

“Good…. She won't be alone…”

*timeskip*

It was nearing midnight when Emery found herself walking down a hotel hallway towards one of the rooms. Not a room she ever thought she’d be going to again- but it was something she needed to do.

Especially after the ending of All Out.

Something in her told Emery that maybe…. Just maybe…. He needed her just as much as she needed him. Stopping outside the right room, she hoped he was alone. It’d make it easier on her if she didn’t have to deal with anyone else in BCC.

Dealing with BCC was never easy for her.

They had taken her Yuta from her.

Changed him into something…. Different.

Taking a deep breath, her grip tightening on the fabric in her arms, Emery reached up and knocked on the wooden door. It seemed like forever until the tell-tale sound of a lock being turned sounded and the door slowly opened, revealing a shirtless Yuta. They stood there momentarily, neither saying a word, before Emery extended her arms towards him. The black hoodie dangled from her grip, swaying in the space between them.

“I… I wanted to return this. I know it means a lot to you.”

“Willow tell you it was mine? She didn’t have to—”

“I knew it was yours,” Emery shook her head, finally looking into his eyes for longer than a few seconds, “It’s uh—got the green stitching on the inside of the pockets…. From where your gramma patched up a hole….”

Yuta paused, his face warming up slightly at the fact that she remembered such a fact. Slowly, he reached out and gently accepted the jacket from her, “Oh… uh… Right. Thanks….”

“Yeah…”

Silence stretched between them once more before Emery spoke up, “I wanted to uh… check on you… after what happened tonight…. With Bryan. I know you looked up to him—and what happened couldn’t have been easy….”

Yuta felt his throat constrict as he recalled the moment. The BCC—Mox and Claudio, mostly—turning on Bryan like they did. Holding him back from aiding Bryan. It made him sick to his stomach. It made him want to punch someone. Yuta’s grip on the jacket tightened momentarily, not going unnoticed by Emery. His stare burned a hole in a spot on the floor behind her.

“Sorry… You probably don’t want to talk about it…. I get it…. I—I understand betrayals…. More than you know…. It seems like that’s all I’ve experienced lately, heh….” Emery gave a weak chuckle, it dying on her tongue, before she cleared her throat, “It’s… late. I’ll let you get back to bed…. Good night… Yuta….”

Slowly, she turned to walk away, but before she even stepped, a hand was clasped around her wrist. It was tight at first but loosened quickly. Emery glanced up at Yuta, who was staring at her now, his brown eyes swimming with several different emotions simultaneously.

Did he dare say what he has wanted to for years? Did he finally make the move that he should’ve years ago?

Emery herself was conflicted. Everything that had happened between her and the BCC—whether that was with the Best Friends or the Elite. Could she overlook everything—could she let herself possibly give in, for this night, allow herself to finally feel something for once- something she hadn’t done in so long?

“Stay….?” Yuta asked of her, finally making up his mind.

“I…. I don’t know…. If I should….”

Yuta tossed the jacket in his free hand, somewhere in the room, off behind him. Then, taking a considerable risk, he reached forward and pulled Emery closer to him. Chest to chest. He stared down into her wide eyes, feeling her breathing hitch in her throat at the sudden force.

“Stay?” He asked of her once more, sounding more certain of himself.

Slowly, Emery shook her head once, breathing out an ‘Okay…’, causing Yuta to give a small smile. Effortlessly, he dropped his arms to her thighs and picked her up, Emery’s arms wrapping around his head as she leaned in towards him more. Turning around, Yuta closed the door with his foot and walked them into the room's darkness.

Yesterday hadn’t gone great, but perhaps they could start the new day better?

[bp-zb1fics]

hi! it’s me the anon who requested best sellers such as “shy shy shy” and “the perils of dating you” (im gonna just call myself anon 🐰 since i’m in here all the time😭) but i’m back with another req!!

this time it’ll be

-gunwook x male reader

-gunwook having a crush (confession included) on reader

-fluff/humor

-same year/university au!

it’s readers birthday and gunwook has always had a crush on reader. they share a lot of the same classes and same friend group but he never had the chance to talk (or confess) to reader so this year he decides to leave presents on readers desks for his birthday leading up to his big confession!

maybe throw in some challenges for gunwook (like maybe an older brother sung hanbin oop🤭) but you can go about this however you want you always do a great job in your writing!

-🐰

The perils of confessing to you~

pairing: park gunwook x male reader

genre: university au on some crack (same verse as perils of asking and sunbaenim), fluff, humour

tw/tags: planning confession, pining, gunwook’s hyung and gyuvin ftw, pda, flirting, yes gunwook’s hyung is the scarier park brother, hanbin being equally scary, it’s giving overprotective but unhinged, cheesy messages (I also cringe), lots of banter, we’ll never know what the final gift was

wc: 1928

Summary: gunwook plans to confess to you on your birthday. The plan doesn’t exactly go as planned.

a/n hi 🐰anon! Tysm for sending such fun reqs, I really never thought I could write this much comedy bc I’m really not a funny person. This fic took a diff direction from what I had in mind but I hope you like it! And since it’s the same au, gunwook’s hyung and Gyuvin are dating, it is canon~

check my pinned for more fics!

It wasn’t that Gunwook was used to winning.

Sure, he had an impressive track record. Medals from debate competitions and football matches, consistent class president or vice president certificates for every year that he was in school. Sure he was successful. But that wasn’t because he won at everything he did, 100% success rate without trying.

No, it wasn’t that Gunwook was used to winning, it’s that he knew how to win. His strategy was foolproof, carefully tweaked and reworked to fit the goal he was trying to achieve.

And now? The goal was different.

It was, arguably, the most important of Gunwook’s life and he wanted to win desperately.

The goal? Confess to you with a 99.99% success rate of you saying yes.

And like any other goal that he’s had, Gunwook had to make a plan. A winning strategy. And no, it wouldn’t be long or complicated or fussy. Gunwook liked his plans to be as simple as possible. Simple is best, he’d like to think.

So yes, Gunwook’s plan to confess to you consisted of 4 simple steps. Sounds pretty easy, yeah? Well unfortunately, life is not that simple as Gunwook would soon find out. And confessing to you? Well it might get a little more complicated than he thinks.

1.Start Early

This step was fairly easy. He’s got about a month till your birthday. More time would be ideal but it was still a good number of days. He needed to collect intel, your class schedule for one, he did share a few classes with you. Your likes and dislikes, another important list he needed to make, nothing would throw a wrench in his plans like accidentally doing something that would make you angry or annoyed or upset. Huh, maybe he could-

“Gunwook?”

His laptop slams shut. Gunwook sends out a prayer to the universe that he looks normal and not at all scheming about how to confess to you as he lifts his head to meet your curious stare. You fidget a little, nibbling slightly at your bottom lip.

Cute, he thinks. No Gunwook, now is not the time.

“Sorry, is it not a good time?” You hesitate and he’s scrambling to reassure you. In his head, of course. No scrambling will be witnessed by you.

“No, no, it’s all good. I wasn’t working on anything important.” Spectacular acting, great job.

“Oh! Okay, uh well your hyung was looking for you and um, I think he said you weren’t answering your phone? Something about dinner, I think. And yeah, just happened to see you there.” You laugh a little as Gunwook’s unbothered expression took a shade similar to panic.

“Oh! Oh shit- uh, I mean, I’m sorry.” Cool, Gunwook, be cool. Come on. 

“It’s really no problem.” You assure him and wow, your smile is really nice. He wants to stand there in appreciate it for a moment but-

“Um, so would you need to go?” Ah shit.

“Right! Right!” You watch as he hurriedly packs his things, stuffing them into his bag and making to leave. Then, he pauses and turns back to you.

“I’ll see you around?”

You’re not quite sure why it’s phrased like a question but-

“Yeah, see you when I see you.” 

Gunwook doesn’t see the way you watch his retreating back, wishing that maybe you could’ve-

2. Form a Reliable Team

“So let me get this straight. You want me to help you confess to Sung junior?”

“...yes hyung.”

“And you want to do it for his birthday?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe it starts a little earlier than his birthday, one gift every day leading up to it for a week?”

“Mhmm and where will you get the money to buy all these gifts?

“...maybe 3 days before?”

“Okay, sounds reasonable.”

“Soo, can you help with this?”

“Wookie.” Gunwook looks at his hyung whose expression seems to waver between encouragement and exasperation.

“You know I love you and I will always support you especially when your feelings are so sincere. And Hanbin-hyung is one of the nicest people I know. Seriously, he is. But you do know that he gets a little crazy when it comes to his younger brother?”

“More like insane.” Gyuvin chimes in and Gunwook just remembers that his hyung’s boyfriend is there too. “Seriously I’m glad that I ended up-”

“You’re glad you ended up what, huh?” Gunwook and Gyuvin collectively flinch, all too familiar with that tone.

“Nothing aein~”

“Mhmm that’s what I thought.”

“Saranghae~” Ugh, right in front of Gunwook’s dinner? Really?

“I love you more Gyuvinie~” God, Gyuvin’s got heart eyes and he’s leaning and nope-

“Gross, hyung. We’re in public.”

His hyung raised an eyebrow, looking at the empty restaurant they were in, save for another couple tucked in the back corner doing exactly what his hyung and Gyuvin would be if he wasn’t sitting with them.

“Mhmm, public, you say. Wookie, you’re a smart boy, tell me, who’s paying for your dinner?”

“...you hyung.”

“And why are we eating here?”

“Because I like the food here.”

“And why should we let hyung do what he wants?”

“Because hyung loves me very much and he’s allowed to love his boyfriend as much as he wants too.” Gunwook recites dutifully.

“Very nice, Wookie, you’re so smart, that’s exactly what I thought.”

Gunwook shoves more food into his mouth, pointedly avoiding eye contact with either of them. Gyuvin’s eyes have gotten so wide that they look like they’re about to pop out of his head. He also looks either like he’s absolutely terrified or completely in love. Maybe a bit of both.

‘Gyuvinie~”

“...Yes aein?”

“Tell me, who’s the scarier Park here?”

“...You are, aein.”

“That’s what I thought.

Maybe Gunwook should rethink the whole confessing thing. If this was what a relationship looked like, he wasn’t sure if he wanted that. You do, a traitorous voice in the back of his head whispers. 

…Yes he does.

2. Form a Reliable Team 

Have semi-supportive hyungs that make you feel single and motivate you to confess even more

3. Make Thoughtful slogans and posters Gifts

They’ve got one class where the professor likes them seated alphabetically, mostly so she can call on someone and also look them right in the eye while she does. Gunwook hates it. He didn’t come to college to feel like he was in highschool again. The only good thing about it was he knew exactly where you sat and no one would be taking your seat by mistake.

His first gift is your favourite snack. He’s seen you eating enough times to deduce that. But also, you told him one day when he asked about it. Because past him knew that future him was going to need it, definitely so. 

Your face immediately lights up when you see it. Gunwook fist pumps under his desk. He watches inconspicuously as you carefully tuck the snack into your bag and take the note he left with it (type-written because he’s not sure if you’ll recognise his handwriting but also he’s lent you notes before so he doesn’t want to take any chances).

I noticed this was your favorite~ did you know you’re my favourite too? Enjoy! Sincerely, your secret admirer

Your cheeks flush a little and Gunwook resists the very real urge to jump up from his desk and do a little happy dance. Luckily the professor comes in and stops him from doing so.

The next day, he gives you a teddy bear.

Well, more like Ricky does. After much convincing, his hyung had gotten one of his friends from the foreign student society to hand it to you. Gunwook had to make sure it was someone neither of you knew well, you know, to keep it lowkey.

Here’s something to cuddle, hope I get to cuddle with you too~ 

His hyung outright snorted when he read the note.

“God Wookie, Gyuvinie says cheesy things like that all the time but this really makes me want to-”

He stops himself. 

“Well at least I know you really like him.”

“...Did you think I didn’t?”

“Ah no, not really, you always get this really stupid look when he’s around.”

That’s rich coming from someone whose boyfriend looks equally stupid when they’re around. Not that Gunwook would say that out loud. He values his life, thank you very much.

“Also you try to act cool, it’s funny. Ah, ah, don’t look at me like that, I’m your hyung, you can’t fool me Wookie.”

Yeah he really can’t.

The day before your birthday, Gunwook prepared your birth flower for you.

He’s still thinking of a way to pass it to you without giving himself away when Sung Hanbin corners him, a manic look in his eyes.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Ahh shit.

“It is.” Because honesty is the best policy. The older boy seemed to be taken aback. What? Did he expect Gunwook to deny it?

“You want to date my little brother?”

“Yes, hyung.”

“You think you deserve to date him?”

“I think I deserve a chance to tell him how I feel and whether he accepts my feelings is entirely up to him.”

“...your hyung wasn’t lying when he said you were smart.”

Now they’re just staring at each other. Hanbin looks a little less crazy so Gunwook takes a deep breath and says.

“I just really, really like him, hyung.

Hanbin’s silent for a moment. Then, he smiles. It’s absolutely terrifying.

“Fuck it up once and I’ll make sure they never find you.”

“Yes hyungnim.”

“Right. Good. Now where’s his gift for today? I’ll make sure he gets it.”

4. Prepare a Winning speech Confession

Somehow Gunwook manages to make it out of there alive, all limbs intact. It’s a miracle. But there’s no time to waste.

It’s today.

He’s got it all planned. A note’s been delivered to you saying that your last gift is waiting for you at the famous brick wall building on campus. He’s dressed a little nicer than usual. Your gift is tucked safely in his back pocket.

Everything will go smoothly. You’ll come over. He’ll confess to you. And hopefully, Gunwook really hopes you say yes.

He’s a little nervous. What if you don’t show up? What if he messes up his confession? (Yes, he spent days putting one together, it’s harder than doing a campaign speech, the struggle is real). What if you say n-

“Are you my gift?”

Gunwook looks up. You’re smiling at him, holding onto the note he sent. This is it. This is the moment he’s been preparing for.

“Please don’t feel pressured but I just wanted you to know that I really like you and if you accept my feelings-”

“I like you too.”

Wait what?

Well, there goes his speech. He stares at you, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open.

“I thought you were really cute the day our hyungs introduced us.” You tell him, a little flustered but pleasantly flushed. “And I wanted to get close to you but I’m not really good at that and it really took me a long time to convince Hanbin-hyung to stop hovering and I was really scared that he had scared you off the other day but he didn’t and you asked me to come here and I-”

You take a deep breath and Gunwook’s never been happier than when you say-

“I just really like you, Gunwook-ah.”

In a second, he’s closing the gap between you two, hesitating slightly before taking your hands in his, holding them gently.

“Happy Birthday~”

[astelren]

Dr Stone Cinema Date

ೃ⁀➷ TW/CW: Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader, Pre Stone World, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ Minors please interact with me only by liking or reblogs. ➳ Characters: Ryusui Nanami

⤠ You wearing his clothes (Gen) ⤟ Dr Stone Masterlist (soon!) ⤠ Jealousy HCs (Ryusui) ⤟

Anon requested: Hi! I hope all is well in your life! It's for an order, can you do a Ryusui x reader at the cinema in the world before petrification? You are free to do what you want on the subject! In addition, there is not a lot of Ryusui x reader 💀💀 every day I check if there is a blog coming out 💀

Bye 👋🏾💕

Ryusui is my second favorite character in dr stone so I'm always happy to write for him 💞💞 I hope you like this anon!!

I do think that he has a private cinema or something like that inside his house, so, instead of going to the actual cinema, I think he would prefer to stay inside his/your house. Not that he’s against the idea of going to the cinema, but I think, since his family power and notoriety, you might get more attention than wanted

Not that his inside cinema is horrible or anything, oh no. Obviously, it isn’t, it’s actually very fancy and it does feel like you just entered a true cinema and not another room inside the Nanami mansion, it's just on the smaller side since they aren’t that many chairs.

Ryusui, being himself, obviously takes it to the full extent so that everything feels like the experience of going to the cinema: popcorn of every type (he asks about your favorite and gets Francois to make it), any type of drinks, little details like that. All of it just to see you smile brighter

I’m not quite sure if he will be interested in the movie, but he tries. Ryusui would probably get bored after a bit and start cuddling you, demanding attention and love while you try to still follow what’s going on in the plot. It’s a bit hard with Ryusui but you still managed to finish the film

You two can even fall asleep there and Francois will simply put a blanket over, not wishing to disturb your nap. Since it’s inside his home you can do anything you would do at home: even stopping the film for whatever reason instead of waiting for the pause.

But you can defiantly bring him to go out as a date to a cinema, just expect him to bring you to a premiere or something. Or does it exists a more expensive cinema? Because he will bring you there. Everything with Ryusui is 100% at his maximum or he isn’t happy

It’s one of those rare times where the date isn’t at its extreme with Ryusui being loud and everything so goddamn expensive, it’s a nice change of pace. It’s also nice for Ryusui to, once out of his so classic comfort zone: he is a lot calmer and more attentive, but you obviously don’t mind his loud and over-the-top persona.

Mostly because it’s not going to last! While he obviously will stay mostly silent during the film, whispering sometimes funny jokes or random stuff (especially if the movie has something to do with ships), outside he will comment and ask your opinion

And taking you out to some fancy dinner, of course. What? Do you just want a bit of pizza? No. Only the best of the best for you, while he will keep talking about the movie and listening through what you say (and, what I said before about ships continues; he will explain stuff to you about those or some stuff that the movie did bad)

Overall it was a great experience, especially with Ryusui's personality. It’s sweet and nice, especially with how he drives (or the driver does, I don't know if he has the license) his new expensive car to go to the date

This work belongs to @/astelren, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged♡

[philicheesecake]

UL Content Warning Update

Heyo readers!

So I’ve been getting comments and questions about my comics on other platforms, and one repeated question I’ve been getting a lot is: how gory do my comics get?

There’s sort of a long answer to that, and to those who haven’t read the literature version of my book, I won’t spoil these comics. But it does get MUCH darker, and I consider my comics R-rated/Mature and very violent.

But not to fear! The current comic that I’m releasing is one of a series, The Unseen Legion- Issue 1: Trapped in Sheep’s Clothing (TISC). This first issue does have a lot of gore in it, though it is considered pretty mild compared to future installments that will be added to the series. If you’re squeamish and you aren’t sure if you can finish the series, TISC can be read as a stand-alone story once it is finished. Out of the pages that have already been released, it doesn’t get much worse for this singular comic gore-wise. I will include trigger warnings/content warnings for gore and violence as each page is released, so if you can’t handle these things, please block the following tags: #tw gore, #tw violence, #cw gore, #cw blood, #tw blood, #gore warning, #gore, (etc. I’ll try to include as many tags as possible to try to make sure the filters work.)

Please read safely yall! If you don’t think you can handle my comics, it’s %100 ok to stop reading. Take care of yourself first. You know what you can handle, so trust yourself and your limits before continuing reading.

Anywho, thank you all for your support so far and happy reading! ;)

Content warnings:

This SERIES will contain: soft vore, hard vore, fatal vore, nonfatal vore, unwilling vore, willing vore, gore, violence, dismemberment, trauma, graphic digestion, suffocation, blood loss, drowning, fearplay, death, and more

You have been warned.