#THE WAY I LITERALLY GASPED ON AN INTERNAL WORK CALL

[razzmatome]

The way this lit up my entire Friday you have no idea. I literally stopped work and stared at it because my mood improved so much on seeing it. Thank you so much for drawing her!

Kofi membership reward for @razzmatash a bust of her OC Elodie, she's sooooo pretty, I'm in love with her 😭 thank you so much for letting me draw her!

Kofi

[romypearl]

The Queen's Pawn - Regina George/Oblivious!Reader | II

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Summary: Everyone is interested and obsessed with Regina George, after all, she is the queen of the North Shore, so why does Y/N barely look at her? The new student, oblivious to her existence, intrigues and irritates the blonde at the same time. And she doesn't know how to deal with it.

Classification: Fluff

Warnings: Slight internalized homophobia

Word count: +2200

Unrevised

She's always liked strawberries. Sweet, soft and tickling the roof of mouth. And, coincidentally, every now and then it turns pink.

Like the remnants of ice cream that hang around the corner of Y/N's plump lips.

It's hard to ignore, is what Regina tells herself as she turns away, trying to find a random fixed point to distract her. What proves to be more than impossible, out of the corners of her eyes she watches a little speech about Greek culture, something about Stoicism and a guy called Zeno, she doesn't really know, can't pay attention in the long words, only and exclusively in that spot. How could the Miss Perfect and Retainer of All Knowledge miss something so silly? The blonde huffs and crosses her arms in frustration, how has no one seen this yet? The Plastics seemed indifferent, pretending to pay attention to the matter while typing messages, knowing that their respective partners would do all the work for them and be grateful. She had no such luck. When Mrs. Blake, inspired by the... variety of grades, announced that she was going to pair up for assignments, she was sure that had guaranteed a top mark and a pat on the back for the minimal effort, equivalent to a zero. It would have been like that, if she hadn't made Karen switch papers to have Y/N as partner. After all, if she's so clever could easily get an A for both, but it backfired.

"What the hell kind of word is Eudaimonia?" she finally asks, frowning in confusion.

"Did you pay attention to anything I said?"

"All the things you say are very boring." Regina shrugs and turns so that they're face to face "Just like you."

She waits for some reaction, ever since they started studying about an hour ago Regina teases her and pulls all the strings in search of the right one, the one that will snap her out of the calm state of mind or hit her in some way. Nothing. She's rather unreachable. And, just like the other times, totally ignores the petty comment.

"But..." she hates doing it, every lousy second "Can you tell me what it is?"

"Right! For the last time..." Y/N settles back in chair and takes another spoonful of ice cream to mouth, thinking about how to summarize what she's been trying to say for a long time "Eudaimonia is a term from Greek philosophy that means a state of happiness and inner well-being. In literal translation it is "the state of being inhabited by a good daemon, a good genius"."

"Daemon?" I'm getting more and more lost "Did the Greeks believe in that?"

"No, it's daemons, not demons." the newbie's monotonous tone becomes animated as she starts talking, which makes Regina's heart skip a beat and she doesn't like it "In Greek mythology, they were spiritual beings who occupied an intermediate place between gods and humans, they could be either benevolent or malevolent..."

Then another speech begins, this time she tries to pay attention, but gradually the words blur into disconnected sentences and all she can focus on is how they sound on the girl's lips, how she pronounces them, her tongue curling between pearly teeth, the soft sound and, still, that damn ice cream. She tries to remember the last time she ate one, it seems like months, maybe years. What did it taste like? Overly sweet and sickly? Smooth and addictive? Why did her mother have to interrupt them and offer a dozen options? And why did she have to choose just that? Tempting. Lovely. Irresistible.

Y/N gasps in surprise and freezes in place as she suddenly feels something soft pressed against the corner of her mouth, thumb rubbing something that is apparently resisting coming out and her eyes meet sky blue irises, staring at her obstinately. The touch is long, almost purposeful, and they don't realize they're holding breath, unaware of their surroundings, too caught up in each other to notice the curious gazes of the two lackeys.

To everyone's surprise, including her own, Regina rubs the stain, picking up some of the gloss in the process, and brings to her lips, sucking it off. She has to hold back a groan and fight against her body to keep composure, pretending not to be shaken by her own impulsive, totally thoughtless, act.

"If my face was so dirty, you could simply have warned me." she says after a long, thoughtful pause, unable to find any conceivable reason except that "But I appreciate your gesture, it was really kind."

Kind? Has anyone, at any time in life, used that word to refer to her? Maybe her dad, once, just after Kylie was born and before they lost control completely. But there was nothing kind about what she had done, quite the opposite.

"Do you want more?" the blonde points to the almost empty bowl, anxious to mask the situation quickly.

"No, thanks!"

"How about Doritos?"

"I think I've eaten too much junk food today, it can't be good for me." Y/N jokes and opens a big smile, making cheeks stand out along with dimples that are almost imperceptible to inattentive eyes.

"We have strawberries." she says immediately, not stopping to think about those soft lips around the red fruit. When Gretchen looks at her in confusion and frowns, trying to subtly point, the plan comes back to mind and she decides to put it into practice "Also blueberries, raspberries, blackberries. Whatever you like, sweetie."

"You really like berries."

"You can't blame me..." Regina leans on the table, one hand on chin, long eyelashes batting slowly and a smirk, the same one that has won over every boy she's ever wanted "When is your color."

"What do you mean?" the other asked, without even looking up from the papers, missing all the theatrics.

"Red is your color..."

"My favorite color is yellow." she finally abandons the notes, only to find George defeated in front of her, about to slam her head on the glass table to get out of this nightmare "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Of course!" Regina snorts and points towards the corridor "Second door on the right, don't get lost."

Secretly, George hopes, wishes, that she really would get lost so that she could finally have the opportunity to guide her through something, or simply talk to her without two ticks on their backs. When she wants to, Gretchen can be very... clingy and insistent, often taking the brunette as a side effect, not unexpected considering how insecure she is about herself and the stability of her position in the hierarchy of North Shore, a drone that takes pride of function. Most of the time it's acceptable, in fact her presence barely matters to the queen bee in ordinary situations, but now all she wants is for the two of them to disappear at the snap of a finger.

"Karen, Gretchen, I need you to do me a favor." Regina is direct, in a casual tone.

"Of course! What do you need?" Wieners replies promptly, always eager to please.

"Can you go to the convenience store and get some Redbulls?" she smiles and stands up, taking one of the credit cards out of the purse, tossing it for them to take "All the flavors you can find."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. And get some more ice cream too."

They exchange glances, but don't dare deny Regina anything, even if it means half an hour's walk "Right, we're going."

The pair get up and leave quickly, holding their tongues to avoid questioning her about the sudden request, nor about what seems to be an interest in the newbie. Right from the first day, they listed her as a loser, with no social sense and who no one would have the courage to touch without a ten-foot pole, so they didn't understand why she insisted on winning her over. And they had no idea that she would have her as a partner in history and now visiting the George mansion.

Regina smiles triumphantly. The living room is finally quiet and she can turn her attention completely to the plan, she didn't feel shy or pressured to succeed around them, but didn't have all the attention from Y/N as she can have without silly questions and random celebrity gossip. It's the perfect moment.

She stares at herself in the mirror above the fireplace and fixes the smallest details of appearance so that she looks flawless.

"Gina!" her mother calls out from the kitchen, walking briskly into the room, and she rolls her eyes, before feeling blood run cold at the sight of her companion "What a adorable girl! She even offered to help me in the kitchen."

"Mom..." she mutters between teeth, trying to keep composed as her mother steps forward, arms around Y/N's shoulders "She's here to study."

"Oh, of course, of course! Studying is important." June says with a mischievous smile and finally lets her go "Studying what? Human anatomy?" and winks suggestively at her daughter, causing a wave of embarrassment and annoyance.

"Mom!" Regina exclaims, face burning with embarrassment, hoping that the girl won't pay any attention to her mother. At least she didn't offer condoms like last time, which didn't embarrass her like it does now "It's history."

"And philosophy." Y/N adds.

"A lot less interesting, but still important." the woman continues, not letting herself be put down, and turns to the visitor "Darling, would you like something to drink? Juice? Lemonade? More ice cream?"

Y/N, not at all affected by the expansive and slightly invasive personality, nods and opens a shy smile "A juice would be great, thank you."

"Perfect!" June hurries off to the kitchen, but not before taking one last meaningful look at her firstborn, who blushes visibly.

Regina sighs heavily and sits down at the table, this time next to her classmate, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Sorry about that. Sometimes my mom is a bit much."

"It's okay!" Y/N replies, settling into the soft chair, and goes back to concentrating on the notes scattered across the surface. In an almost imperceptible movement, she adjusts her glasses, which the blonde hadn't even noticed were resting on the top of head, and puts them on face, completely transforming her appearance "You're lucky."

It's Regina's turn to gasp, barely feeling the surprised sound escape between her lips. She'd deny it to anyone who asked if she thought the girl was beautiful, deny it to death, but there's something differently captivating that prevents her from lying now. The lenses enhance the Y/E/C eyes, making them more penetrating, as if she could see into the soul through them. The sight makes the older's heart race and her palms sweat, having to concentrate not to let it show, let alone appear enchanted.

"Do you wear glasses?"

"Yes, for years, but I was trying to get used to contact lenses." the newbie says, adjusting the frame correctly, sighing with relief "Which turned out to be a disaster."

"They look... good on you." she comments, trying to sound casual and not too anxious, failing miserably as she stares "Your eyes are beautiful."

"Thank you!" Y/N finally lifts her face and catches the queen bee with a simple glance behind the lens along with the amused smile, rare occasion, the same one Janis gets "But they don't work."

Regina laughs at the witty response, finding her perspicacity and humor interesting, very different from what surrounds her in everyday life. She's not afraid to make a joke about herself, when any of the trio would rather fight a bear than do such a thing, making themselves the material for silly and light-hearted jokes. Y/N seems to be completely oblivious to the effect she is causing, Regina's flushed cheeks being nothing more than the result of the warm weather, the friendly laughter aimed at everyone and the hospitality something routine, perhaps an apology for the not so pleasant first meeting. All the compliments, overly embellished and full of hidden intentions, simple acts of politeness, so she remains unaffected and continues to read the manuscripts, without giving the blonde what she so desperately wants.

"You know, the text isn't going to write itself." she laughs and points to the long-forgotten laptop "And I've already made it clear that I'm not going to do everything myself."

With a disbelieving nod, Regina goes back to work, trying to ignore the signals her own body gives off in the presence of the other. It's hard not to be affected by the sweet perfume emanating from inviting skin, the taste of ice cream she wants to try again, the way she seems so at ease and unimpressed in her house, lips puckering as she encounters a paragraph incomprehensible at first reading and now pushing up the stubborn glasses that insist on slipping down her nose. God, all of this is messing with Regina's head in a way she can't explain, there are no plans that could infiltrate all the sinful thoughts that invade her with this privileged view.

She forces herself to concentrate on the task in hand, which tingles as she feels their arms lightly touching, but a part of her desperately craves more of these moments of closeness, even if it means ignoring the voice of reason that screams in her mind that she's not a dyke and wouldn't be for Y/N. It's just a fucking plan. Nothing more than that.

Taglist: @reginassweetheart @chaengluva @avelynpye @bianchiniomg @royalityofmultifandom @lottiematthewsceo @notjaexiee @mayles @l1lass @bridkesby @newyork1432

Join my taglist here ^^

[sashi-ya]

THAT BOY IS A MONSTER. hibino kafka x f! reader. sinze kink

⋆ requested by: anon. Congrats on 8k sashi!!! you deserve them all! I'm so happy you are writing for Kaiju n8!!! I hope I don't f up with my request, so here I go: kafka x f! reader, nsfw with any kink but can you add size kink? thank you sashi! 😁💓 ⋆ tw: mdni. explicit smut. oral. kinda public, no people around though. oral. size kink. sweet and hot best boy kafka. ⋆ wc: 2.5K // event masterlist // tagging: @i-literally-cant-with-this & @southside-otaku 💕

“Hibino Kafka!” you exclaim. Another night, another late study session from the hard working “old man”.

“YES?!” he stands up, jolting from his seat, scared he might be in trouble. However, he calms down as it’s you instead of Hoshina scolding him for staying up too late.

However, you are there to do exactly that… and maybe, perhaps, win his heart.

“Sleeping is part of your j-“ “Sleeping is part of the job, I know…”

He knows you are right, but there is something he needs to do; to be able to fight along Ashiro Taichou. And that makes your blood boil…

“Just- never mind” you mumble, noticing no matter what you say it will never make him change his mind. And is not that you don’t want him to pursue his dreams, but there is a part of you that is absolutely jealous. However, about that, he doesn’t know a single thing.

Turning around, you know this will be yet another night like any other. No approaches to the man once saved you during battle. No  changes, no kisses… or so you thought.

As you are about to leave, his -pretty big- hand wraps around your wrist. A dominant grip it both made you shiver and scared you, prevents you from leaving.

The only light around, coming from the little table lamp, is the only source of light on the base library. Silence reigns as most of the officers sleep, and yet the only noise you could hear is your heart pumping blood alarmingly accelerated.

“You worry a lot about me, (Name). I must thank you!” him, solemnly and sweet, expresses.

You scoff. A thank you isn’t enough to your heart. That laughter sounds louder, absolutely tinted in sarcasm. Kafka, why are you so slow?

“is everything ok?” he continues, still holding your arm but this time softening the grip little by little.

“I care because I like you, Kafka” you finally spit, rather painfully or even annoyed. You understand how love works, but your heart can’t stand him having eyes just for Mina.

Silence. He is silent like a night with no Kaiju alerts. Like death, profoundly mute.

You get to release yourself from his hand, internally desperate to run away. You know there is no point in staying… you don’t want to hear apologies for liking her and not you. But then again, you were wrong.

“I LIKE YOU TOO!” he shouts, the only way he knows how to.

In awe, you turn around to discover a sweet -and sleepy- dumbass blushed up until the tip of his ears. His eyes, opened wide. His back straight. The little belly you love, sucked it up.

“You do?”

He swallows, takes a big gasp of air and his face transforms. From a silly teenager in love, to a mature man with a mission; communicate how much he likes you.

Kafka walks towards you, seizing the space in between you two. You swallow too, he is taller than you; bigger than you; stronger than you.

“Can we go to the rooftop?” he asks, as his hand reaches your cheek. It’s soft, and manly… the touch you never thought you would experience.

You nod, out of words. And out of words as well is how you walk behind him as you both climb the ladder to reach the terrace.

A soft breeze plays with your hair and his white flowy shirt. Ahead, the city lights of Tokyo glitter on a dark sky and everything around seems to be asleep as you two should be.

He bends over the railing; Kafka seems worried.

“Why did you… wanted to come here?” you ask, coming closer and yet keeping a reasonable distance from him.

He turns around, opening his arms, smiling sweetly so all of a sudden. “Come here” Kafka calls you to his embrace.

You hesitate for some seconds, but your smile finally takes over your whole face. How to say no to that big dumbass you are also in love with?

As you let yourself be engulfed in his big arms, you inhale his perfume. Never have you ever been this close to him, but you quickly get used to the scent of this manly man.

A hug so warm, his hands hanging loosely over the small of your back. A little bit lower, and those would meet your ass.

You keep your nose buried on the very centre of his chest, and your hands shyly around his waist. Even if you wish to hug his whole frame, you wouldn’t be able to.

“Silly” you murmur, muzzled. “Don’t call me silly… although, I prefer it over “old man”” he huffs, hugging you closer. So close, you are unable to breathe.

“See, I prefer someone older…” you whisper -lustfully looking into his eyes- the moment he lets you breathe for a little bit.

Kafka swallows, but it looks as if he had his throat dry. He can feel his palms getting sweaty, and all the blood of his human body migrating to a single place.

Your hand, because there is nothing else both could do to stop this, grazes his belly up his chest. You go slow, painfully slow. Your fingertips landing on his sharp mandible, feeling the raspier sensation of his unshaved chin.

He grabs your hand, allowing you to rest your full palm on his cheek for some time. But soon enough, it’s him who is placing his thumb on your lower lip. He softly plays with it, slowly and delicately opening your mouth, bringing you closer to his lips as well.

On tippy toes, you do your best to receive his kiss, but it’s him the one to bend enough to do so. Like a protective creature that is also about to attack you.

And oh, how he “attacks” you… his lips crash onto yours, with a surprising passion. Of course, he knows how to treat a woman, he is not a youngster anymore.

Tongues that dance, and huge hands on your body. Still respectful, but hot enough, one landing on your waist while the other presses your nape. His fingers tangle on your hair, pulling ever so slightly.

Your nails carve into his back, sure that those marks will be cause of interrogation coming from the officers during the next community bath time.       

The more the kiss deepens, the more he is tempted to undress you right there. And you, of course, think exactly the same way.

Kafka lifts you up, sitting you on the railing. You are safe; no matter how high you both are on that rooftop; you know you are if he is the one protecting you.

His kisses travel from your mouth to your neck; Kafka inhales your skin perfume, getting hungrier from your flesh the more he does. And the first bite arrives, leaving a mark you will need to dissimulate the next following days.

“I want you…” you mutter, in between heated breathe taking kisses. “I- ngh… I want you, too” he words, nervous, hard, needy, desperate, feral and also blushed.

You unzip your uniform jacket, praying no camera were on up there. Breasts still covered by your compression shirt, begging for Kafka to reach them. Nipples hard, ready for his tongue to play with them.

“Can I?” he asks, as if he needed to. “Please ~” you purr. “Hold on tight, I don’t want you to fall” he adds, using both of his palms to finally land on your turgent chest.

He squeezes and plays; he is still a little bit of a dumb. But soon enough, he focuses on sliding your shirt up. His eyes transform once again when he gets to see your naked upper part, almost like a salivating beast, he pounces right on to it.

Kneeled on the ground, he is able to bury his face on your breasts, followed by a wet mouth avid to devour each of them in the most delicious way. Sucking, biting and licking, making your eyes turn white.

But he wants to taste every single one of the delicacies you have to offer, and because of that he urges you to stand right back on the floor while he continues to kneel like a praying devotee of your godly anatomy.

And your most both pure and impure anatomy is what he discovers, as Kafka slides down your uniform pants into the floor.

“please… you are so perfect” he whispers, placing a sweet kiss on your right thigh.

You feel your muscles spasming, but also trembling. What a man he is.

Another kiss follows, right on top of your mound of Venus, causing your knees to faulter a little and for him to scoff in a cute way.

“Don’t- don’t laugh…” you scold him, pulling softly from his short hair. “I’m just happy ~” he smiles, kissing a couple of centimetres down the last peck.

You bite your lip; this game of lust is making you -and your sex- grow impatient. Already. Eat. Me. Out. Hibino Kafka.

He looks up at you, with eyes you’ve only seen while fighting Kaiju and a smirk that’s closer to a devil than anything else. Index slides your panties down, allowing your wet core out and dripping down your legs.

Gloating, he takes a final look at what he is about to eat, and so… there he goes. A tongue that’s suspiciously great and kinda long, plays in between your folds.

You try to supress moans and whines, but it’s tough work when it comes to such precise and delicious pleasure. And it is that Kafka lifts your right leg to make it rest on top of his shoulder, to suck and devour you even deeper.

“Kafk-Kafka-kun… my- ugh….” You can barely mouth incoherent words, a sign of your brain getting totally taken over by climax.

“Not yet..” he giggles, enjoying the taste of your core into his tongue. Kafka is not only delighted; he is over the moon -and probably trying to hold back his kaiju form not to finally reveal in front of you-

A last kiss on your belly button takes him to stand up; you, panting, can’t believe he has just stood up before making you come… but he has better plans for that matter.

“Can I fuc-“ “yes, you can fuck me” “Yoshi!”

The sweetest dumbass grabs you by your waist, and this time he doesn’t sit you on the railing but over what you presume must be some kind of air duct construction on the rooftop. You don’t exactly know what that is, but the chivalry on your lover won’t let your precious booty sit on a probably dirty cement surface, and instead, he takes his shirt off to place it in between to protect you.

You take a moment to appreciate his body; strong and still so real. A little bump on his belly, proper for his age… so. fucking. hot. Several marks, battle scars that haven’t healed just yet, catches your attention… when did he ever got his body cut with blades?

However, something you weren’t expecting -or maybe you did, imagining during lonely nights- was the size of his sex as it is freed from his lose pants.

You swallow. Is this… gonna fit?

“Kafka-kun?” you whisper. “mh…?” he asks, pumping a rather large shaft ready.

You blink rapidly, opening your legs enough for his hips to reach closer. With one hand sustaining your body over the surface, and the other shily touching the warmth of his throbbing dick you barely mumble words;

“You- big” “I’ll be gentle, I promise (Name)-chan”

He sounds by far sincere. But truth is… perhaps you don’t want him to be gentle, at all.  There is something, so absolutely attractive of a man like him. Of a man so sweet and still so feral… as if he had a confidential secret, as if he deep inside hid an untamed monster.

Well now, he has two secrets. And one of them has just been revealed by you. The size of that man is not only equivalent to his courage, but also quite literally in terms of anatomy.

“Don’t be gentle…” you moan into his ear, as his tip gets closer to your entrance and his body covers the moonlight above you.

Kafka grunts; you shouldn’t have said it that way…

Deep. Deep enough to show on your belly as a protruding bulge. Deep enough to make you loudly mewl. Hopefully nobody has heard. Deep enough to trigger your body to stand on the verge of precipice, on the verge of climax.

Slaps sounds take over. His belly against yours, the kisses inhaling the little oxygen left; that, and the soft growls and huffs of that man decided to fuck you until paradise.

It feels like your walls are being ripped apart, and so incredibly good at the same time. So full of him, the scent of his skin getting stronger; his body sweating, the faster and harder his thrusts become.

“Co-coming…” you communicate, muzzled by his lips. “Very good -ngh…” he does the same, hitting the right spot inside of you as if he was made perfectly for you.

Hands squeezing your butt, teeth pulling your lip. Your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, unable to go away… to pull back. Your nails once again carved on his back, your walls squeezing, milking him up.

“Ahhh fuck…” “fuck, fuck, fuck…”

[blackbat05]

After Missions

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Plot: Miguel rarely let’s anyone in after missions. But he does make exceptions.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: Movie was amazing! I would say more but I’ll stop myself. I see a lot of fics for Miguel but there’s few SFW ones, that needs to changed. Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

“You sure you don’t need to get yourself checked out?”

“I’m fine.”

“I can literally see a gash on your side, Miguel.” Jess deadpans.

“I’m fine.”

“Is that all you know how to say?”

“No-yes-argh! Just leave me alone please.” Miguel widens his stride, entering his private space. Well, almost private space.

“I can call her.” Lyla and her uncanny ability to pop up despite not being called for.

“You will do no such thing.” Miguel winces as he takes a seat. Peeling off his suit, he groans as the gash looks at him with a nasty red smile. This was going to take a while.

Lyla shrugs, “Suit yourself boss.” Her hologram switches off quicker than usual and Miguel knows that she’s up to something. Not that he had the energy to care.

Using his left leg, Miguel pulls out the first aid kit with difficulty. The gash was just all in a day’s work, but that didn’t mean he looked forward to stitching it up after every mission. You always did it much better.

“So, are you even going to sleep tonight?”

Miguel sees you standing at the entrance and curses internally.

“One of these days, I’m going to shut Lyla down.” He mutters, loud enough for you to hear.

“It was Peter actually. Thank god because he knew you would be to stubborn to call for help.” Despite your jab at Miguel, you didn’t seem to bothered at how grumpy he was.

Sitting across him, you take the needle from Miguel’s hands. “You didn’t think of taking some painkillers before I don’t know- you try and sow yourself up?”

“I don’t need it.” Miguel grunts as you prepare to clean the wound. He hisses loudly as the cotton touches the raw skin.

“Sure tough guy, keep telling yourself that.” You chuckle. “Here, take these.” You pass him a couple of painkillers before getting to work.

Silence takes over as you steadily work on his wounds. Pursing your lips in concentration, you finish the last bit, cutting off the excess string.

“Done!” You stand up slowly to stretch your body. You stand beside Miguel who is still sitting down, tossing on a grey sweater. You run your fingers through his curly hair, giving Miguel a head pat.

“What are you doing?” Miguel doesn’t seem annoyed. In fact, he seemed more confused at your actions.

“A head pat. I thought that would be obvious. For a job well done. Usually the people that I stitch up are way more fidgety.” You mused. “Besides, isn’t it nice?”

Miguel’s about to tell you that he isn’t a domesticated animal but your fingers somehow work magic on his scalp. He finds himself automatically leaning into your touch, letting out a soft purr.

“Not a word to anyone about this.”

“As long as you come straight to me after missions.”

“Deal.”

***

Afterword

“Did you guys see that! Miguel just smiled! Oh the world’s going to end soon.” Peter gasps dramatically as he paces up and down the room with a babbling Mayday.

“I knew our boss had some color to him! He’s not just multiverse business and all.” Pavitr grins. “Hobie come on, gimme my 10 bucks.”

“Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this. How was I supposed to know O’Hara had a soft side to him?” Hobie passes him a couple of bills.

“Alright guys, let’s get outta here before Miguel finds out.” Gwen ushers the group towards the exit before all four come to halt to see an unamused Miguel glaring at them.

“Oh shit.”

***

Feel free to explore my other Miguel works here!

[wishluc]

I love yandre himeko thou what about kafka thou??😍😍

Literally insane about her it's crazy

A Stellaron Hunter has no business in the Space Station, as far as you're aware.

But it's not like you can go anywhere with Kafka's gun under your chin, her pink eyes looking up at you with unabashed interest. The contrasting sensations of cold metal and her burning gaze sends your heart faltering, your mind spinning as you try to come up with a way to escape the situation.

"Now, my dear," Kafka's smooth voice sends shivers down your spine, and she grins, clearly having noticed the effect she has on you and taking great delight in it, "no need to be so rash. Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

You gulp, watching closely as her eyes narrow, "Uhm, Miss…" Your tongue falters mid-sentence, terror tightening its grip on you as Kafka pushes her weapon into your skin, as though to serve as a reminder, "I don't have access to—"

"Shh," she whispers, slowly withdrawing her gun. Just when you thought you could finally relax your tense figure, she swiftly grabs you by the waist and spins you around, slamming your face up against the wall, wrists held behind your back. Your gasp echoes through the room, but Kafka merely chuckles, "My apologies. I need to take certain precautions, as I'm sure you'll understand. Though if we're being honest, I don't mind your fight. It's what I like about you, your resolve, your determination…you're a clever little thing, aren't you?"

"And please, call me Kafka. We have more than enough time to get acquainted with each other, don't we?"

You only manage to wheeze out a few words before Kafka shushes you again, "I don't have—"

"That's perfectly alright," Her voice is still light, her tone airy, like your current predicament was just a normal occurrence for her, "I don't need any of that."

Then, with a steady hand pushing against the small of your back with unexpected force, you feel her other hand dig into your pocket. Your shuffling and twisting do nothing to slow her exploration, as she finally pulls out your ID card (although you couldn't see her, you could swear that she had a triumphant smile on her face).

"[Name]…a researcher, I see? How interesting. How long have you been working here, darling?"

"3 years now," you focus on your trembling fingers, ignoring the way they grazed Kafka's skin whenever you tried to stretch them out.

"Are you interested a change in careers, by any chance? I have a wonderful opportunity for you. Though…" she trails off, as if internally contemplating something, "I wouldn't want any of my companions getting too close to you either…"

You're not sure if her question warrants an answer, especially considering the clear fact that a researcher like you has no place among the criminals of the Stellaron Hunters.

"Or not," she chuckles, "maybe," she brings her lips right to your ear, and you go absolutely still, too afraid to even breathe, and then she lowers her voice, "you'd like to be my pet instead?"

You don't even have the time to process her words before she's laughing to herself, a soft, lovely sound that worms its way into your soul, "just kidding, of course."

You're not sure what to make of this woman, except for the fact that she was probably half-mad. And you were going to be stuck with her longer if nobody came in to help, and who knew what she'd do to you then?

"How about this?" Kafka's grip on your wrists loosens, and she instead goes to hold your shaking fingers, gently squeezing them in her hands, "I have work to do here, unfortunately, so we'll have to part ways. But I promise you that I'll find a way to come see you again, so then…You'll come to greet me, won't you?"

You nod, wordlessly, and she finally steps away, allowing you to turn around and come face-to-face with her. She's smiling, just as dangerous and as beautiful as when you first saw her, her eyes glimmering with something you can only identify as amusement, and she holds, in between gloved fingers, your ID card.

"Good," she looks you over one last time, pocketing the card, "I won't forget, darling. So you keep your end of the deal too, alright?"

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak, and she begins to walk away, stopping at the door. Her head turns ever so slightly, her piercing gaze directed right at you as she utters her parting words, "I'll see you soon."

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[mikeyisbrooklyn]

We’ve got progress, fairies and frogs, and I’m itching to share. (There’s a part 2 here! And a part 3 here!)

Tags: @on-a-lucky-tide @etanesnil @jgvfhl @roachs-pet-roach

Before reading, some notes…

- This is a WIP, so not finished and subject to change, kinda a part one of sorts

- Has only been partially beta-read

- Author is not: British, Russian, a medical professional, or sane; so beware of inaccuracies abound.

- Not quite NSFW (brief reference to sex and blink and you’ll miss it gross-out moment; safe for teens, not for tots)

All that said, enjoy what’s under the cut (or don’t, I’m not your dad).

Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

(working title)

Price groaned gently as he slowly rejoined the land of the living, croaking like a dehydrated frog was caught in his throat. His groan only got deeper as his eyelids creaked open enough to let in the bright overhead lights. A professional even at his lowest, he took no time to run a checklist of his senses in his head.

Sight? Bleary, but he could see the unnecessarily luminous white beams above him.

Touch? Sore, as all hell, even. There wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t feel a steady throb of ache, but he could tell his head and right leg seemed to have the worst of it.

Smell? An odorous cloud of antiseptic and disinfectant seemed to be ever-present.

With that information alone, even the most daft man could figure out where he was, but the taste of iron lingering under his tongue and the sound of steady beeping sealed the deal. He was in a hospital.

Price cursed to himself internally. He meant to verbalize it but the words he attempted to form came out as further groans.

An almost imperceptible gasp came from Price’s right and he groaned again as he tried and failed to turn. Then, he felt a warm hand grace his cheek—as his brain started twisting back in gear, he could tell there was a considerable amount of bandages covering his face—and saw a figure take up his entire line of sight, forcing his vision to readjust again so soon after barely adjusting to the lights.

As his eyes settled, Price could finally see who was in front of him, as if the hand on his cheek didn’t already tell him all he needed to know. Nik stood over him, whispering sweet assurances in both Russian and English—some amalgamation of “No, don’t move”s and “You’re alright”s and pet names, it all blended together for Price. Price could see a small grin on the Russian’s face with lines across his mug that reflected an endearing relief, but the first thing Price could see in clear, complete detail since opening his eyes was that dogged glimmer of worry.

It made him sick. Literally.

Poor Nikolai, having already pressed the call button for the doctors upon Price’s stirring, now shouted for aid in shock and distress as Price sat up as much as his broken body would allow and spit up bile that couldn’t have more than stomach acid, saliva, and blood in it.

The door of the room opened and quickly nurses and a doctor were upon Price. A half dozen hands checking bandages, assessing vitals, and touching places that made Price groan in what he meant as frustration which only came out as pain. Nik was gently pulled away in the heat of the moment and despite the pilot’s clear desire to cling onto the injured captain like his life depended on it, he allowed himself to be moved to allow the professionals to do their jobs—if only because he knew it was the only way for Price to get better.

After a few minutes—the hectic storm waning as it became clear that Price was not experiencing a life threatening complication—the nurses left, leaving only the two men with the doctor: a short and plump woman with dark skin and curly black hair tied into a bun, with grays streaking from various places.

“Well, it’s good to see you awake, Captain,” she began, looking down at Price, ”I’m Dr. Omar. It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Price grunted, and Dr. Omar smiled warmly but with a bit of mirth. “Your injuries shouldn’t affect your speech ability. I suppose you’re just not in a speaking mood.”

“The captain can be man of few words.” Nik chimed in. “Forgive him.”

“No forgiveness necessary, I’m only teasing, Mr. Nikolai.” Her smile had widened.

Nik shook his head returning a smile of his own. “I have already said, Nik is fine, good doctor.”

“I’m flattered to be considered enough of a ‘friend’ to call you that, but I hope you forgive me for maintaining some professionalism, at least for now.”

Price grunted again, this time with more vitriol than before, feeling ignored despite being the one banged up in bed. At the thought, he looked down and couldn’t properly see the damage—being wrapped comfortably tight in blankets—but from what he could see and feel, there were bandages, splints, and gauze littering his body.

Dr. Omar cleared her throat. “Right, well,” she lifted her clipboard to partially cover her face, “you’ve more than a few cuts and bruises, but the worst of it is a concussion and about a half dozen fractures in your right leg.”

“Should see the other guy.” Price groaned, his voice still thick with disuse. Despite his attempt at humor, Price internally kicked himself as he remembered what really happened.

In truth, it was out of Price’s hands when the informant stabbed them in the back to the kingpin they were hunting, but he still blames himself for the op going tits up. Mostly because what was in his hands was his call to try and finish the mission anyway—an effort at salvaging the unsalvageable. It was only after Gaz took lead to the shoulder that Price realized his stubborn tenacity might get his team killed. But in the retreat, he must’ve stepped right into the bastard’s trap without noticing. If it weren’t for Soap calling out the ticking explosive—thanks to the sergeant’s keen awareness of all things demolition—he likely would’ve been blown to smithereens rather than crushed in rubble. A holy man would remark their survival a miracle, but Price was no holy man; all he figured was that his team kept themselves and him alive, despite his frustrating sudden ineptitude.

Nik’s bark of laughter took Price from his thoughts. “Da! The captain is hard to kill.”

“I’m happy to hear that you've got the mind to joke. Based on what your lieutenant told me, it was quite the close call.” Dr. Omar locked eyes with Price. “But I imagine you’re gonna want the prognosis unless you have any more jokes?”

“As much as I’d love to try out my stand up routine, doc, what I want more is to know when I can get out of this bed.”

“Well, this bed? If you’re insistent on spending most of your recovery at home, just a bit of observation and you can be out of here by tomorrow.”

Price’s lips twitched into a near-frown at “recovery” and lifted a single eyebrow.

Dr. Omar sighed and gave a smile full of more pity than warmth. This look also made Price sick, though he kept down the threatening bile. “You’re primarily on bed rest for a week or two, with crutches or a wheelchair to help you get around if you must. After that 4-8 weeks of physical therapy and continued rest. In short,” she sighed again, knowing the weight of her words, “I’ll be recommending you be put on medical leave for at minimum two months.”

“At minimum?” Price winced as he felt a headache coming on, compounding his concussion. Nik, who had moved closer to the bedridden man, quietly snuck his hand into Price’s grasp and gripped firm but carefully. At his touch, Price huffed from his nose—like a bull.

“It could be longer if you don’t rest and rest well, Captain.” Dr. Omar kept her attitude polite but her tone was assertive. “If you’ve been doing this long enough to earn your rank, then I think it’s safe to assume you’re smart enough to know I’m not wrong.”

Price groaned and looked away, wanting nothing more than to argue but begrudgingly agreeing with her assessment. If it were Simon, Kyle, or Soap he’d have leveled them with a single gaze and made sure they stayed on their ass as long as the docs demanded. Fucking hypocrite he was.

Dr. Omar’s lips tightened like she was about to press him further. Nik spoke up instead. “Da, your expertise is welcome and cherished, good doctor. Instead of tomorrow, could I bring Captain Price home by tonight? He will get better rest in a familiar bed.”

Price looked up at Nik who spared him a brief glance with a wink before returning his gaze back to the doctor. Dr. Omar herself looked between the both of them twice and then three times before sighing heavily but with a more amiable smile.

“I suppose I can see what I can do but no promises, Mr. Nikolai! We need to make sure there won’t be any surprises or complications while we still have him.” She pointed at the Russian accusatorially.

“Da! Da! I understand.”

Dr. Omar smiled as she lowered her hand. “Alright, well, I’ll leave you alone if you don’t have any other questions.”

Price looked back at the doctor finally with a blank expression though with a nod of gratitude.

“Thank you, good doctor, we will call again if needed.”

“Please do.” She patted the end of Price’s bed, eliciting a grunt from the man and then she left the room.

Nik dragged a chair back to the side of Price’s bed and tightened his grip on the hand he was still holding. “You are terrible patient, Jonathan.” He chided with a shit-eating grin.

“Bugger off.” Price shifted his face away from Nik, not being able to move much.

Nik chuckled and kissed the man on the cheek, enjoying the way Price’s face turned bright red. “I hope you are better to me.”

It took a moment for that to sit with Price before he turned slowly back towards Nik. “You wot?”

“Oh, you did not think I meant I would take you back to your own bed, did you, Captain? When mine is much better?”

“Oh, bloody—are ya gonna try and fuck me while I’m crippled? Filthy bastard.”

Nik’s grin turned wolfish. “If you would like. Though, I only meant that I would not let you out of my sight while you heal.”

Price’s face got hot again but worse, his gut churned with a wave of nausea that he barely held down. “I’m not a boy needing supervision, muppet.” He grumbled the last bit.

“Nyet, you are very much no boy.” Nik damn near purred. “But can I not take care of you, even after such an injury?”

Price grunted and turned away but made no effort to move and even returned the briefly tightened grip on his hand Nik still had—an implicit surrender, at least for now. Price knew he was in no state to turn Nik down, especially as his options were the Russian or the hospital. At least with Nik he’d stay somewhere with some damn eye candy and that didn’t reek of sick and despair.

Maybe, just maybe, he could trick himself into have a nice leave. Price laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

[harryistheonlyoneforme]

are you going to transfer ruin p3 and p4 over soon? i’m truly on the edge of my seat

Ruin(3)*

warnings: smut, corruption, kind of mean harry(not to reader), pillow humping, thigh riding

part one

part two

~

YN sighs as she enters her home after work, practically throwing off her jacket and shoes as she goes through any mail she has. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees something at the bottom of the pile. There it is. Styles Gynaecology in bold black lettering against the pure white of the envelope. In her stupor, she hadn't even realized that she hadn't fully closed her front door.

~

"Fuck, Daddy. Just like that! I'm gonna cum" the woman under Harry screams, and he winces in pain at the shrill, exaggerated noise. He rolls his eyes internally, wanting to get this over with. Pounding into her harder, he reaches down and rubs at her clit, trying to get her to orgasm quicker.

When he feels her clench around him, he groans loudly, burying his face into her neck before stuttering his hips as if he had an orgasm. The woman holds onto him tightly but he pries her off of him, standing up and going to put his clothes on.

She looks at him in question, but her face drops once she sees him take the condom off, empty. An offended gasp leaves her lips and she's standing up to tell him off but he's already out the door, the condom lying on the floor as if mocking her.

On the other side of her apartment door, Harry is smiling down at his phone as he sees the text message from YN, accepting his offer. He practically sprints down the stairs and hops into his car, heading to the store to get the things he needs for his visit.

~

Sighing, YN steps out of the shower, a small smile on her face as she remembers the note from Harry, a plain piece of paper with a single paragraph.

'Hello, YN. I have your test results, but I'd rather not discuss them over the phone. Is there any way I could make a house call whenever you're free? I never do this, but I'd like to take another look to make sure my hypothesis is correct. Text me at my cell (XXX-XXX-XXXX).

- Dr. Styles

As soon as she'd seen the request, she texted him and hopped in the shower to be fresh for when he arrives. She's a bit nervous for what his results could be, but she pushes it down and goes into her room.

Just the thought of Harry in her home has her throbbing between her legs, pushing her thighs together to relieve some pressure. A groan of frustration leaves her mouth as that does literally nothing for her, and she deflates, looking around the room for something to occupy her until she has to get dressed for his arrival.

Still clad in just her bath towel, she sighs and climbs onto the bed, going to grab her phone from her other bedside table. As she moves, her pillow somehow ends up directly between her legs, but she takes no mind and grabs it sitting back up.

In her movement, the pillow grazes her bare vagina, the slightly pointed end catching on her clit. A gasp leaves her mouth at the feeling, rolling her hips to experiment with the new feeling. She moans as she feels the same feeling as when she's rubbing her clit with her hand, grasping the pillow and bunching it to make it a bit firmer underneath her.

"Oh wow" she moans quietly, experimenting with a wider roll of her hips and feeling her orgasm already starting to build in her stomach. She gradually picks up her pace until she finds the perfect pace to stimulate her perfectly. Her moans get much louder the closer she gets to her orgasm, YN not hearing her phone go off as her hole clenches around nothing, slick leaking from her with every push of her hips. Her nipples are hard from the stimulation and the coolness of the room, and when she looks down and sees this, something tells her to touch them to see how it feels.

She places her index finger directly on the center of her nipple, groaning at the pleasurable, unfamiliar feeling. Doing it again, she brings her thumb up as well and pinches it, the slight pain sending her over the edge with an unexpected cry. "Harry" she moans, her hips stuttering against the pillow as she rides it out before slouching down in slight exhaustion.

As she rides the final waves of her orgasm, she hears her floorboards creak in the silent house, making her head whip over to her doorway in fear.

~

After Harry got everything he needed at the store, he heads to YN's house with the directions she'd given him. He pulls into the driveway, parking his car before texting her and saying he's outside, hopping out of his car.

He quickly grabs the bag of recently purchased items from his backseat before heading up to the door. Upon approaching it, he sees the door open quite a bit, so he steps in and looks around, calling out for YN. He doesn't hear a response, heading further into the house before he hears what sounds like thuds from upstairs, and fear of what could be happening has him practically sprinting up the stairs to get to her.

Skidding to a stop at her bedroom door, a gasp gets caught in his throat at the sight in front of him. He sees the innocent girl, who had her first orgasm two weeks ago, with a pillow in between her legs and two fingers pinching her nipple.

He's so proud of her, she's learning so quickly. In just two weeks, she's learned that her little pussy likes having things rub against it, and his heart swells at the thought.

Harry places the bag down gently, feeling his cock hardening quickly in his boxers. He palms his cock gently as he watches her, and he can tell by how quickly she's moving her hips that she's going to cum soon. He stands there watching her, wanting to see her fall apart, and when she does, Harry feels precum shoot from his cock and into his boxers at the sound that leaves her lips.

She cums with a loud cry of his name, and Harry has to hold on to the doorframe to keep himself upright. He watches her deflate and realizes maybe he shouldn't be watching such a private moment. Bending down, he reaches for the bag, but winces as he hears the floorboard creak beneath him. Looking up, he sees YN's shocked face as she takes in the sight of him, suddenly becoming bashful.

"Hey, I'm sorry. Your door was open and you weren't responding, so I...came in.... then I heard noises so I came up. I texted, but I don't think you saw it. Sorry, I'll go now" he rambles, about to leave when she stops him.

"No it's fine, stay" she says hopping up and running to the bathroom to clean up before coming out, still naked. Harry is confused, but then he realizes that she doesn't know that it was such a personal sight for him to see.

Clearing his throat, Harry steps into the room, his cock still leaking in his jeans. She tells him to take a seat on the bed if he'd like and he does so, unable to keep his eyes off the wet spot that was on the pillow she'd had between her legs just minutes earlier.

Before he can stop himself, he's clearing his throat and speaking up. "Do you do that often? You know, use your pillow that way?" he asks her.

"No, just today. I've never done that before, but it felt good" she says nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders as she scavenges for something to wear.

"Oh" he says, and an idea comes into his mind, leaving his mouth before he can stop it. "I have an idea for something just like that, but it'll feel a bit better" he says nervously, hoping she doesn't catch on to how wrong all of this is.

"Sure, what's the idea?" she asks, turning around to face him with a curious glance.

"I think it'd be better if i showed you than told you. Can you come here for a sec?" he asks, and she obliges. The second she's close enough, he's pulling her toward him and over a bit before spreading her legs, placing her bare vagina on his thigh. A soft gasp leaves her lips as the denim touches her sensitive center.

"Just like that, and then you do exactly what you did with your pillow, just on my leg. Is that okay? Can you do that for me, honey?" he coos, not waiting for her answer -which was yes- before gripping her hips and helping her to slide her vagina onto his thigh. She's instantly moaning, the sensitivity of her core so delicious as he helps her along.

"Oh my gosh" she moans, pressing down harder onto his thigh. Harry smiles up at her softly, happy she's feeling so much pleasure from something so new.

"Does that feel nice?" he coos, and she just nods, reaching up to grip tightly at his shoulders, her orgasm already forming.

"Yes, Harry. Oh my gosh my tummy's burning again" she whines, and his eyes darken.

"I bet it is, honey. Do you think you could keep going until you get that funny feeling. Make a mess all over my thigh, okay honey?" he coos and she's letting out a loud moan, her legs starting to shake around his.

"Just like that, baby. Keep going, you're almost there" he coos to her, groaning in satisfaction when her entire body locks up and she lets out a deep moan, soaking his thigh. "Such a good girl" he encourages, helping her through her intense orgasm until she cries out from overstimulation, and he stops her hips.

She relaxes against him, and he gently picks her up before placing her in her bed, running to grab a warm washcloth to clean her up. After a bit of searching, he finds what he's looking for and heads back into her room.

Upon entering, he sees her curled up on top of the duvet, snoring slightly. A small smile makes its way onto his face, and he walks over to her, gently spreading her legs to clean her up, being careful not to wake her.

Once he's done, he pulls the blankets over her and tucks her in, heading into her living room to wait until she awakes.

~

ruin masterlist

regular masterlist

[possum-quesadilla]

The people have spoken! The bad ending to LoopJuice, “You And I Will Always Be Back Then”, is here! Ouch. (I’m so worried this sucks haha)

Please read the warnings/tags before proceeding! Here are the extras, for even more salt in the ouch.

- The song for this part’s title are from “Time Adventure”, specifically the version sung by Rebecca Sugar. PLEASE listen to that version before and/or after reading this for full emotional ouch. The lyrics for the title for about Lydia and Beetlejuice, and how them and their friendship/sibling relationship is in the past now. It will always be back then, but unfortunately not now. The extra lyrics I included in the start-of-work note, “It seems unforgiving when a good thing ends” is meant to reflect how Beetlejuice always felt like it was unfair that he got so little time with his family and happiness. The ones for the end-of-work note, “That’s why you and I will always be best friends”, is because Beej is still stuck living thirty years ago. (Perhaps literally ;) ) In his head, he and Lyds will always be best friends.

- The weird format - This whole work is meant to feel like accidentally listening in on a conversation you’re not supposed to hear, so I limited the physical descriptions and the internal thoughts as much as I could while still keeping it cohesive. I hope it works! I’m really worried it doesn’t and this sucks haha. (Also, the lack of internal POV thoughts helps me make sure there is little to no spoilers for the yet to be published parts of Time’s Arrow!)

- “Thought I’d find you up here.” - This first line, some of the dialogue throughout, and the whole general vibe are meant to embody two scenes from “BoJack Horseman” that really inspired this scene specifically. The last scene in the show, and this exchange from “The View From Halfway Down”. Warnings for talk of substance abuse and suicide attempts in those clips! That show heavily impacted me as a person and also how I write, so it felt fitting to continue to pay it homage. Maybe I do it too much.

- “Her monster” - This is a reference to a spoken line in the musical, where Lydia calls Beetlejuice “my monster”.

- “He was so… different. But so was she.” - Again, this is meant to feel like listening in on a conversation, so I limited the physical descriptions as much as I could. Beej’s brief description comes later, but Lydia does not get one. She has obviously aged, but she looks fantastic. She is wearing mourning clothes, including a veil. She still dyes her hair black, and it is longer than it used to be, but styled up. To Beetlejuice, she is still just his little sister, so he doesn’t have the time to process the changes, hence why it is not mentioned. Again, it isn’t mentioned, but she kept up the witch stuff, just not as intensely as she used to. It’s hard being the only witch in your coven.

- “Thir-… thirty.. thirty years?” - He does not know how much time has passed.

- “I-I wasn’t allowed to visit any sooner-” - I wonder what this means?

- “You… you left me.” - Again, a reference to a line in the musical.

- “She blew smoke in his direction, causing him to step back.” … “She blew smoke in his face once she was close enough, causing him to duck away and cough harshly.” - Yes, Lydia is aware of how triggering this is to him, but right here she is too angry to care. She will feel horrible about it later.

- “Sorry I let my family get attached, sorry I fell for your tricks!” - Lydia feels fully responsible for what happened. She feels like she’s the whole reason Beetlejuice and all of the shenanigans he brought along with him happened to her family.

- “Sorry I trusted a demon.” - This is a callback to something hurtful she said to Beej in Time is a Flat Cirlce. Ouch.

- “His voice was somehow impossibly rougher than she remembered.” … “He inhaled, softly. A wet little gasp.” … “.. wheezing out his words”… “He was wearing a thick black scarf, tightly wrapped around his neck in a way that was undoubtedly uncomfortable.” … “His chuckle was cut short by wet coughs.” … “.. as he took in weak, heaving breaths.” - His neck is still actively bleeding, he is covering it up with that scarf so she isn’t too freaked out. It hinders his ability to speak, hence why his voice is “rougher than she remembered”. It also makes it hard for him to function, hence all the wheezing and wet sounds, since, y’know, he’s bleeding significantly.

- “ “And I’m…” she inhaled deeply, looking out onto the ground far below them. “I’m glad I’m alive, I guess.” ” - Lydia is thinking about what would’ve happened if she had jumped off the roof here, and is genuinely glad she didn’t.

- “ “I’m glad I’m alive, I guess.” “… yeah. I’m glad you’re alive too, Lyds.” “I guess I’m glad you’re not dead-dead.” She took another drag of her cigarette. The demon remained quiet.” - Notice how Beetlejuice does not return the sentiment.

- “But his clothes were stained a dark russet brown, nearly entirely coating his clothing, sticking to his hair and smeared on his face.” - Yeah that is his blood. The weird placement of the blood stains is from being dragged through a pool of it.

- “His earrings were missing.” - Cyrus took the earrings Lydia, Barbara, and Adam gave him.

- “There was a significant gash on his right temple, still slowly dripping out fresh blood.” - This is from his tussle with Cyrus, but it was never really explained! “Beetlejuice felt something hard hit the side of their head before they could hit their mark.” This was Cyrus purposefully ramming his horns into their head!

- “His hair was entirely grey. No brown or green or any sort of rippling shade to be seen.” - Not just the grey that was spreading up from his roots. That was from stress. This is grey because of emotions. We’ve seen his hair go fully grey a few times before.

- “ “Yeah, what’d I tell ya? ‘Great witch’, ‘wonderful, weird goth adult’.” His chuckle was cut short by wet coughs. “… a local legend, scarin’ the kids, I bet.” “… I think I recall you saying I’d be a ‘sarcastic old bitty’. That’s probably more fitting.” ” - This is pulled straight from the ritual scene in Time is a Flat Circle, when Beetlejuice was speculating on what kind of adult Lydia would turn out to be.

- “… yeah, well… I guess some stupid part of me missed you too.” - Beetlejuice often mentioned how “some stupid part” of him wanted his mother to love him, wanted her approval. Lydia remembered that, and shares a somewhat similar sentiment about Beej. (Except she does not view him as an abuser)

- “Barbara and Adam moved on about ten years ago, when I got married.” - By “moved on”, she means beyond the Netherworld, to whatever afterlife lays beyond it. I plotted this before seeing Beetlejuice 2, and accidentally kinda predicted a popular headcanon? Barbara and Adam found fulfillment in helping raise Lydia, and were able to move on when they felt she didn’t need them anymore. Also, she did not marry Ash. It is not mentioned here, but they took the duffel bag and ran away shortly after Beetlejuice’s disappearance. Lydia got back into contact with them many years later, and they are distant friends.

- “The only reason I’m here and not at my own home is for Dad’s memorial service.” - AGAIN, PLANNED THIS BEFORE I SAW BEETLEJUICE 2! Whoops.

- “ “Didn’t even bother to ask about the veil or anything, huh?” “… you did… use to wear veils all the time.” ” - Kinda a cheeky joke about how movie Lydia wore a mourning veil for no reason in the movie. And she slayed.

- “… the Garden’s gone.” - Notice the capital ‘G’? Does the class have any ideas? Anyone notice any callbacks to the ridiculous chapter one of Time’s Arrow?

- “ “…. Are you happy, Lydia?” She seemed taken aback by this. She stammered, briefly, shrugging. “I-… is anyone?” ” - she isn’t happy.

- “ “Humor an old demon.” “… yeah. Okay.” Something weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she couldn’t quite place what. “I’ll tell everyone you said hi. Not to worry about you, that you’re happy, off scaring people and causing trouble like always.” She balled up her fists at her sides until her knuckles turned white. “… and.. I’m… happy. Despite everything.” “.. yeah?” “Yeah. I turned out okay.” His posture slowly relaxed. “I’m glad.” ” - Lydia realizes she can take some weight off of Beetlejuice’s shoulders by lying to him here. She can tell his time is probably limited, thanks to their remaining connection from the Seal and signing her name in his Book. She’s very mad at him, but she still loves him deep down.

- “The humid summer breeze was suddenly much colder.” - This is meant to play on the theme of warmth and love in LoopJuice as a whole.

[dream-phantasm]

Leona Kingscholar x Reader: Love Letters (END)

Y’all, let’s pretend it’s still Feb 14 

this thing has literally been chilling in my drafts since the first part of this series 😭 so, uh, if anything seems off, it’s because I wrote this before I wrote parts 2-6

Hope you enjoy! This entry contains a very small reference to Episode/Book 1

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | END [!]

You enter the library. Your mind was still racing from the possibilities of your…admirer? Ugh, it was still weird to think about! Who could it be!? 

You weren't even here for the books but it would be nice to maybe get some studying done. There was a big exam coming up soon or so you had heard from Riddle. You sigh and get to work, gathering books. 

Plus, Ace and Deuce wouldn't come find you here anyway. You had dropped Grim-sitting duty on them, which in retrospect, wasn't a good idea. If anything did happen, you had no part in that. You'll bail them out of the consequences later.

You'd been here a few times before. After all, you were a complete stranger to this world and the library seemed like the best place to find out more. Since you weren't from this world, you could treat this just like reading the lore of a fictional world. That made things fun for you. 

You made your way to your spot at the back of the library. Nobody usually goes back there so you've laid claim to it as your private reading spot. The books you've compiled completely block your view so you carefully put them down, watching your step. You pull a chair out and you freeze.

The soft sound of breathing and a light inconsistent thumping. You look beyond your pile of books.There lies a slumbering man, head laying on his arms as he's slumped over the table. 

He has messy brown locks, there are two braids framing his face. His unbuttoned shirt and rolled up sleeves gave off the impression he was rather careless with his appearance. You really hated how he appeared to give off that 'I woke up like this' look but still managed to look gorgeous. Most notable of all, of course, were the fuzzy lion ears on top of his head and the furry tail with a tassel of fur at the end. 

You stare silently. Internally, your thoughts are going off like a lightning round.

Who is this guy? Is this a beastman? Should I be scared? Is this a good time to run? Will he wake up? What will I do if he wakes up? Can I even outrun a beastman? If he's not a cat, what is he- 

He shifts. His head leans slightly to the side, off his arms. He does this rather gracefully and now you can see his beautiful features that just scream 'big trouble'. Oh boy, that scar is not helping your heart. You're starting to understand your admirer. It does indeed feel like an oncoming heart attack.

You notice him shivering just a little. Maybe beastmen were simply more sensitive to the cold draft. It is basically Winter after all and you've definitely had it hard living in Ramshackle. You sigh and shrug off your blazer. 

Hoping you don't wake him up, you gently lay it over him. You tense as the tassel at the end of his tail thumps against the chair. His ears twitch and your heart clenches. 

It's adorable, the animal traits. Especially on a handsome guy like that? Well, the gap here was gigantic. Paired with the scar, it gave him a roguish-edge that would make anyone swoon.

Wait a second. A scar? You stop and gasp rather loudly. You quickly slap a hand over your own mouth. His ears twitch and you pray to the great sevens he hasn't woken up. 

It's the grouchy guy from the botanical garden! The last time you had seen him he was threatening to bite your face off or something and you hadn't paid attention to his face. Aha! So you were right, all the attractive people here were the worst. 

His name was Leona, or so you had assumed. That's what Ruggie had called him that day. Ah, stupid! You knock yourself on the head. If only you had recognized him sooner!

You had met him other times before in the botanical garden again. Your conversations were always awkward with him making sly remarks and implications about mauling you. 

Once he was in a better mood though, he made an okay conversational partner. Leona was rather intelligent and sometimes he threw some advice at you when you were doing your homework. Of course, that was because of his weird superiority complex over you. 

You never really paid attention to his face though, the first time he had looked at you was intimidating enough. You never asked for his name either. Your mind must've repressed the details of his face in your head. 

You hadn't gotten the chance to speak to him again since everything just…happened with Heartslabyul. He had completely slipped your mind as you were reeling from the incident. You felt kind of bad. 

You glumly wondered if you could get your blazer back. But then again, you didn't want him to freeze to death. But then again, if you took it from Leona now, you could leave your future nuisance cold. Wait, that was kind of mean. He was kind of friendly and helpful sometimes. 

You wish the guys here weren't so complicated but you had to admit, that was their charm. Yes, they were all jerks. You're starting to think Stockholm syndrome is sinking in. 

With a sigh, you take a seat and open a book. You sneak a glance at the beastman to find he's still sleeping like a rock. Leona's no longer shivering. I just let him have the jacket because I don't want to risk waking him. You reason to yourself. 

You bring your focus back to the book you're currently reading as you try to ignore Leona. Dang it, even when he's not doing anything, he manages to captivate your attention. You huff but keep your eyes on the book. 

What feels like about a few minutes later, you lower the book with a sigh.  "Oh my great-" You try not to scream. 

His lidded emerald eyes bore into you, pinning you still. A tiny amused smile plays at his lips as his . You nearly threw your book at him out of sheer shock.

"You- How long were you awake?" You calm yourself down with deep breaths as you still look at him wide-eyed. "Hm, long enough." Leona makes a low hum, there's still a calm smile on his face.

"That's very specific." You respond. Silence fills the air as you try to hold a staring contest with him. You don't really feel like returning to your book. His green eyes just keep drawing you in. You wonder how deep they go. You might've been imagining it but they were really bright.

"Hm, like what you see?" 

Your face turns red as you groan. You drop your head into the table. "No, stop. This is the worst Valentines day." You grumble. 

"Tell me about it." You hear him reply, you hate how every time he speaks, your heart skips a beat. You're starting to understand your admirer. "Don't patronize me. You're attractive and cool, you got a bunch of confessions or something." You snap. You're just stating the obvious when you call him that. 

"What? There's nothing to be jealous about. Valentines is a day just like any other, where some win and others lose." Leona drawls. "Ugh, yeah. At least there was free food." You mumble, then you remember Ruggie. "Wait no, my food got stolen by that jerk." You scowl.

You're still face down on the table. You notice his tail underneath the table. You watch as it inches closer to you. 

"Did you like the candy hearts?"

You freeze. You didn't…nobody but Ace, Deuce and Grim should've known the contents of that pouch. Of course, the only exception would be the-

You shoot up from, just as you feel the tassel of his tail wrap itself around your ankle and pull. You fall forward onto the table, inches away from hitting the wood. 

"Wow, what the heck was th-" You shout before you look up. You can feel his breath tickle your face but more importantly, those green eyes. The orange vest meant he was a Savanaclaw student if the animal features weren't already a dead giveaway. 

"You…You're Leona Kingscholar, the dorm head of Savanaclaw." You pause. 

"That's right. I would've thought you'd figure this out sooner." He snorts softly. Leona looks at you expectantly to continue.  

"And…"

"And?"

"You're my secret admirer."

You're this close to banging your hand against the table if it turns out you're completely wrong. 

"So, you finally caught me."

You breathe out a giant sigh of relief, leaning back into your seat. "Oh thank the great sevens!" You laugh, wiping tears of joy and relief from the corner of your eyes. You lay back and laugh some more. 

"You're…that overjoyed that your secret admirer was me?" Leona looks incredulously at you. You stop to breathe, you realize how weird this probably looks to him. "Uh, um…" You consider his question carefully. 

You blink at him blankly as you think. He sighs after a moment. "Ahh, I get it. So, it's a rejection." He grumbles. "No, no, i-it's not like that!" You frantically shook your head. 

"I…I accept. You're cool. I want to get to know you better first though? Like, why were you so confident I wouldn't reciprocate?" You raise an eyebrow. To your surprise, a subtle blush somewhat forms on his face as his eyes widened only slightly. 

"I don't know if you're really that dense to not notice. Most people don't like me, herbivore." He growls, tail flailing around lazily. "But, Bucchi seems to like you plenty and those Savanaclaw students cared enough to cover up for you." You frown. 

"That's because I pay Ruggie and those students fear me too much to say anything." Leona snorts. "Hm…I don't think that's true at all." You sigh, 

"You're very intelligent, cool and most of all- You're pretty pretty." You pull a cringe face that immediately gives you secondhand embarrassment…from yourself. Leona seems to think it's dumb because he shoves his hand in your face and pushes you back.

"Ah, okay. I get it." You groan, grabbing his hand off your face. Leona smirks, his fingers intertwining with yours. 

Your face turns red, being around this man would do you no good.

Ao3: HERE If you see it posted anywhere or by anyone else, it's not me.

[oodles-of-noodles]

"head"canons of my fav oc fam

i made this for myself and then realized i should post it here, so if nothing makes sense, that's why 👌

so mark and ilsah are rich, and they get government privileges (they're also. um. covert operatives that need to travel abroad for their jobs)

this also means lots of vacation time to COOL PLACES TOO WITH THEIR DAUGHTER

but work first:

so before mark gets his leg chopped off 💀 he's out in the field a lot more often

and from age 22-27, ilsah is his partner

the aga is like, pretty rich? i just like imagining money idk, it'll never be tangible for me sooo imagining it is! 😭🙏

(i'll make some info posts somewhere about all the atlas government things but the AGA is the biggest, i'm not gonna tell you what it stands for yet because it's very very very very very very silly)

that said, if they're taking a more public route (a typical plane) they're just That Fancy that the aga will give them (on international flights) business class privileges

so bros having a good time... idk 🤷‍♀️ living the dream

they sit in those little pod things, and ilsah always likes having it closed because girl likes her privacy (she also sits at the window all the time) but mark likes having it open to see what ilsahs watching on her tv 😭

*gasp* "is that crazy rich asians?"

"no?? it's literally-"

"let's watch crazy rich asians"

it's honestly *their* tv instead of *her* tv (mark has his own?? he just doesn't use it???)

a lot of their flight is taken up with calls and plans though, bros look over operation plans and work overtime to find cracks so that they won't have as many when the time comes (works better if they're on an aga private jet, with its own fancy wifi)

or at least, they say they're looking over the plans, in reality ilsah is helping mark FAIL at online poker

she's literally sabotaging him she's like "yea this"

and the next thing they know he's lost his life savings /j

"well why were you betting with your life savings on a game you don't even know how to play?"

"i like to live life on the edge"

"your 'edge' is stupidity"

at the beginning of their partnership, ilsah scolds mark for playing poker when they should be working,

but over time she's grown more comfortable because mark always seems to know what he's doing in the field (he's been doing this a lot longer than she has) and she *had* to trust him

or maybe she just gave up tryna stop him because bro was relentless

ilsah can't sleep on planes, there's something about it that's just so uncomfortable and vulnerable.

mark on the other hand? he likes being rocked to sleep by the tuberlance lol

....how do you spell turbulance

i give up, anyway

when marks not playing poker or actually looking over the mission plans or bribing ilsah into watching something, he's sleeping

he doesn't see the reason in staying up on a plane, cus his mindset is always to have energy when he gets off

but ilsah doesn't work like that lol

doesn't matter how long the flight is, 9, 12, 15, 19 hours, girl won't sleep

it's not necessarily because she doesn't want to? it's just because

1. theres always too much happening (she's a light sleeper)

2. she's uncomfortable (doesn't matter how rich, planes are still planes dude)

3. she's worried abt the upcoming mission

(mark can tell when this is happening

he claims that ilsah gets into a special mode of anxiety

the type of anxiety that manifests by drinking tons and tons and tons of coffee

and being rude

and mark knows how to spot this type of her anxiety in an instant)

(he typically lets her handle it on her own, he's worked with her long enough to know that she has to be the one to get herself out of these snits)

is snits a real word

like he's still there if she needs him, but her way of needing him in this anxiety is for him to stfu

mark doesn't understand plane food, he's just quirky about it

ilsah doesn't really either? but i mean she just doesn't eat it cus she thinks it's poisoned

real girl, if i were a spy? yea real

mark is just quirky about it, he just doesn't like it lmfaooo

but ilsah does always take anything that's packaged, like little biscuits or pretzels something.

she'll put them in her bag and then whenever they're remote and away from bases and safe spaces she'll just take out the package and... munch

she's done this like 15 times in the 5 years they've known each other and mark never loses his surprise

"you're eating a chocolate biscuit"

"you shouldn't be surprised atp"

"people were just shooting at us-"

"field snack"

and mark would just go ".....reasonable, slay"

but back to the actual plane time lol i strayed away

and then i lost my train of thought

so i guess ill pause here and family time will come later

i love this fam sm (AND YOU DIDNT EVEN MEET MILLIE 😭😭😭😭😭)

you will, one day

trust

so like, i *could* do an intro post on these guys, but i think exposing you to them in the most unfiltered unhinged and just.... niche... way possible is the best way to go <3

[starlitwhispers]

caution: contents may be hot (part 1/2) sylvix / sylvain x felix - Coffee Shop AU a/n: i finally stopped hiding n decided to write them bc i cant stop thinking abt them

Almost every day, without fail, he comes in at the same time for the same drink. He’s typically in a rush, he’s frustrated or angry about something. The red-haired barista thinks to himself, he’s never once seen him in a good mood. 8:00 AM is the typical morning rush for the café as everyone is preparing to head to their 9-5’s so of course it would be crowded with a long line. But he always placed a mobile order, and that way, he could cut the line and just pick up his order. Sylvain smirked peeping up at the clock, it was 7:58 and he would pop in through that door any minute and walk up to the counter for his drink. 

The ticket for his drink had arrived a few minutes earlier, and as per usual, Sylvain was in charge of that end of the counter. A large black americano with an extra shot of espresso. It smelled heavenly when put together, but the barista knew more than that. The extra shot of espresso made it taste like black tar in his humble opinion – but what did he know? Funnily enough, in his occupation, he didn’t care much for coffee. He was much more of a tea kind of guy. 

However, for some reason, this morning was more packed than normal. They found themselves rushed, switching out grinds and foaming milk with more pace. In the literal heat and steam of the moment, Sylvain hadn’t realized his unacknowledged favorite regular had already popped in and was waiting at the counter. His cheeks flushed as he watched the businessman in front of him frown, his brows knotted in irritation. Whenever he came in, he always looked pissed, but today it was an exceptionally sharp expression. 

Sylvain’s hands felt buttery as he fumbled to make his drink in a flash, sloppily pressing the lid to the cup. His fingertips reached for a sleeve which he pressed open to slip the drink into. He appeared unusually self-conscious, perhaps due to the fact he could feel this customer’s piercing gaze scrutinizing his every move. His poor heart began to pound as he stepped closer and closer to the counter to set down his drink. And of course, this was all done with a bit of urgency in his step. 

So, as he approached the regular, he foolishly took his sight off the product and up to the customer, with whom he briefly locked eyes. Surprised by the sudden eye contact, Sylvain tripped over himself. And the cup? 

It went flying. 

All over the dark-haired young man, who – incidentally – happened to be wearing a lighter gray pantsuit. Thankfully, he didn’t seem burnt by the liquid, and by the shade of Sylvain’s face, one would have thought the barista was the one burned. The only words that could come out of his mouth at the moment – 

“I am so sorry,” he profusely gasped. 

Although amidst madness and rush, even his manager witnessed the assault. She rushed over to inquire after the customer’s condition, but he wouldn’t say a word. Instead, he looked at Sylvain, extremely displeased, grabbed a napkin to wipe what he could, and walked out of the café. His manager had continued to call after him, “sir! Sir!” but they received no answer as he made his exit. She returned to behind the counter, immediately resuming work but admonishing and questioning her employee. 

“Just what on earth happened with you? I didn’t hire you to have butterfingers!” She exclaimed, obviously exasperated. “I wasn’t even able to file an incident report since he wouldn’t answer me. We’re screwed if he decides to sue!” 

Sylvain remained quiet, incredibly embarrassed and internally cursing himself. He wiped up the remaining mess with a wet towel and continued his shift for the rest of the day with no more accidents. When he went home that day, he realized that it had been his first bad day at work. For the first time, since he had started over six months ago.  

“Guess there’s a first for everything,” he muttered to himself in pity. 

—

The next day, when Sylvain arrived at work, he made sure prior to clocking in that all his ducks were in a row – meaning, sleeves were rolled up tightly, shoelaces were all tied and tucked, and his apron was properly fastened. There would be no mishaps today and he would deliver the usual to the usual customer at the usual time. 

But, something strange happened, instead. 

His heart pounded as 7:55 came around and he didn’t hear the machine printing off the mobile order. He kept glancing at the clock, as each minute passed, the ticket wasn’t printing. Eventually, the clock struck 7:59 and from behind, he suddenly heard the printer. His head whipped around and he immediately reached for the order. To his dismay, it read “Md Van. OatMlk Ltt”. 

8:00 passed and there was no sign of that dark hair, some well-trimmed suit, or glossy dress shoes. There was no piercing gaze or expression of annoyance, no low “tch” that usually escaped from those lips when the regular scrolled his email on his phone. His presence was missing from behind the counter… and Sylvain noticed it. 

He hadn’t been entirely sure when he began noticing that customer, anyway. He had assumed he’d always been a patron of the café, but then he remembered he only started seeing him about four or so months ago. He was always here, on the dot, every day ordering the same drink, walking in the same way and standing there, waiting, with an existence Sylvain just couldn’t ignore. Perhaps he admired him, they seemed close in age yet here they were – Sylavin was just some twenty-something barista during the week and his regular? Well, his regular came in everyday, sleek suits, polished loafers, and a shiny wristwatch. He looked like the whole package, the whole shimmering, sparkling package. 

And that sparkly looking gentleman decidedly did not come today. The day after the red-headed barista spilled coffee all over him. If his actions had alone been responsible for losing that young man’s patronage, he couldn’t be mad at anyone except himself. As the end of his shift came around, he walked to the break room to wash his hands and remove his apron. 

The manager approached him, her long brown hair bouncing behind her. “Sylvain, you didn’t have any issues today, but I haven’t forgotten about yesterday, you know?” 

“I honestly don’t know what was up with me, besides that guy didn’t come back, so it should be all good right?” 

She sighed, stretching her arms out. “Not sure, it’s only been one day. That suit he was wearing looked awfully expensive to me.” 

Sylvain’s lips pressed into a line before responding. “You’ve always had an eye for those kinda’ things, though. My shift is over, do you need anything else from me before I go?” 

He watched as she shook her head and walked back out to be behind the counter with the other employees on shift. Lazily, he opened his locker to retrieve his other aprons. Throughout the week, at the end of his shift, he would store his dirty aprons in his locker. When Friday came around, he’d gather them all up to wash them over the weekend. For some reason, as he closed the locker, that customer popped into his mind again. 

He swore he’d never thought of another human being as much as he thought about this damned businessman. As he walked out the door of the café and continued down the block, he pulled his phone from his back pocket to check his texts and notifications in general. Nothing of much importance, he saw. It wasn’t as if he had some kind of company email that was always pinging… unlike, someone else—

“Hey.” 

A slightly husky voice he had never heard before broke into his thoughts. He turned his head up from his phone screen and looked to his right. Leaning their back against the brick wall of the nearest building, it was the very man that had been stuck on his mind all day. Sylvain stood there, a little dumbfounded and blinking unsure as to what to say. 

“I said ‘hey’,” his voice asserted once more, evidently vexed. But what the redhead couldn’t believe is what he had been seeing – that irritated, well-dressed guy that showed up everyday for a couple months, he was speaking to him! In all those times he served him coffee, he hadn’t so much as heard one word other than an exasperated sigh or click of the tongue. He was surprised, taking in what his voice really sounded like. And he liked that sound, in fact. 

“Oh, sorry,” Sylvain finally answered, a little slow to react. “Is this about yesterday?” 

“You could say that,” the dark-haired man answered. He stood there with his back leaning against the brick, a little dressed down than usual. Instead of the usual full-on suit, he just had some dress pants with a dress shirt on, no tie, top two buttons undone. His sleeves were a quarter of the way rolled up, and for some reason, Sylvain found himself eyeing his partially bare arms. 

“Are you looking for financial compensation?” Sylvain asked blatantly, clearly aware that he wouldn’t be here unless he was looking for some kind of compensation for what he did. However, in response, the man standing across from him just blinked. 

“I am fairly certain you couldn’t pay me back monetarily,” he responded back, a small scoff behind his words. “I was just wondering what kind of person you had to be in order to screw up like that, and just what you would do if I wanted to see you squirm.” 

“Why on earth would you be wondering about some barista?” 

At that moment, he stood up from leaning against the wall and walked towards Sylvain. As he came closer, Sylvain became more conscious about how he smelled of sweat and how putrid his old and dirty aprons in his arm must reek. Why was he walking up to him? Why come any closer? He suddenly stopped in front of him, only about a foot between them. 

“I’ve always been curious about you, Sylvain.” 

He knew his name? The redhead stepped back and felt blood rushing to his face. “How did you know my name?” 

The seemingly aloof gentleman in front of him rolled his eyes and pulled a business card out from his back pocket. Using the corner of the card to point to Sylvain’s chest, he locked eyes with him as he answered. 

“Your nametag, you fool.” Afterwards, he pressed the business card flat onto Sylvain’s chest, his fingers grazing his pectoral. Sylvain quickly brought his hand up to catch the card before it fell. The dark-haired man tucked his hands into his front pockets and began to walk away. Sylvain looked down at the small piece of cardstock in his hand, bewildered. 

“Felix,” he continued, introducing himself a few steps away. “Fraldarius. When you get curious, give me a call. And next week, don’t spill a shitty cup of coffee all over me.” 

Before Sylvain could answer him again, he had already walked quite a bit from him. He watched as this ‘Felix’ disappeared into the throngs of people in the streets. But somehow, he knew if he continued to watch, he would be able to spot his dark hair if he wanted to. 

Felix, huh. 

He now knew his name, something he hadn’t been expecting to learn… ever. Six months ago he was just a rookie barista, two months into it he started noticing this Felix guy coming in everyday, and yesterday he flung an americano all over him. And today, he had a business card with his number, email, and name on it. Not only did it say that personal information, it had his company and his company’s address. Sylvain felt like they were more than just strangers now, more than just strangers with one conversation shared between them. 

Then, a thought struck him. Felix had mentioned he couldn’t pay him back monetarily, did he have something else in mind?! His heart began to race again and he swallowed. Now he had another thing to worry about. It didn’t sound as if he was going to raise an issue with the café after all, but what could he – a simple barista – do for this hard-to-please suit? 

He rubbed the back of his head in grief and confusion. What was he to do…? With himself, these thoughts, and this… Felix guy? Who knew a cup of coffee could cause such anguish? 

Not Sylvain, that was for sure. 

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

also the complicated interpersonal dynamics are so interesting sdfgd what was the darkling's reaction/thought process when the tsar stated that his son was to wed Alina? does the royal court suspect anything going on between alina and aleksander? bro is NOT being subtle 😭. he's doing this shit right in front of everyone's salad-

Re: this fic

I talked about both points a little bit in a previous ask. I was initially considering having that scene where he’s informed of it actually from his POV, but I liked the emphasis on how he told it to Alina and how she recounts it to Nikolai.

For reference, this is what she says:

I think he’s being pretty honest about what actually happened (gasp).

The way I picture the actual conversation going, I think the Darkling and a couple advisors, and the Apparat (who’s getting way too annoyingly ubiquitous) are trying to brief the Tsar on things he does not care about and get him to okay particular things that suit them etc. The Tsar gets impatient and shoos everyone off but singles the Darkling out like *you* stay. Side note, I think it’s really funny that he has no like natural sounding title or name to be called by a superior. The Tsar is obviously not going to call him “moi soverenyi” so… I can’t think of any alternative that isn’t mildly insulting??

Anyway the Darkling is fully braced for a very annoying time, and sure enough the Tsar opens with like how disappointing the long awaited sun summoner has been, and the lack of results. And how disappointing he has been. None of this is quite eyebrow raising yet, just white noise. The Tsar could have a particularly nice nap and suddenly decide that the Darkling is his best friend. He’s generally mercurial so the finer points of his mood don’t super matter to him. But then he gets into how Alina wouldn’t deserve an engagement to Vasily. And that is a record scratch moment lmao. The Darkling internally:

He’s of course already jumped two steps ahead, and assumes that the conclusion of opening with this, means that the Tsar intends Alina to marry Vasily despite all these caveats. Which imo says something about him, and it also says something about the Tsar that he means it very literally lmao.

Anyway it’s too absurd for the Darkling to feel like insulted about it in the moment. It’s more just bewildering and fucking crazy. He also just does not take the Tsar at all seriously, coup plans or no coup plans. He thinks it’s just as likely that he’ll change his mind the next day. (This is hm too much arrogance on his part tbh, I don’t think that’s actually plausible)

Then the Tsar’s finally like okay so all this is why she’s going to marry Nikolai instead. Which is itself I think hysterical to him that all this preamble about Vasily wasn’t even important. I do think that’s the point where he is starts to think strategically about the engagement though, both as something that might actually be happening, and that could be very advantageous.

But with the realization that maybe this isn’t just drunk rambling also comes the annoyance that the Tsar is very much encroaching on Grisha affairs, and also just Alina generally.

This isn’t in the text but I think there’s something of a power struggle happening where the Darkling tells the Tsar that the Apparat is too opportunistic and oversteps, while the Apparat says the exact same thing about him. The Apparat was more successful in the last round, so the Tsar’s more annoyed with the Darkling and wants to remind him who he answers to. That he can just make arbitrary choices like this, and also marrying Alina into his family does somewhat wrest her away from him as a pawn. (My arbitrary answer to “why was the Darkling planning a coup now, when he could have done so at literally any point in time in the centuries of Lantsov rule?” general is just that the Apparat was stirring things up. Even if they ended up working together by the end)

And the Darkling is very aware of all of this and will be more mad about it the longer he thinks about it lol.

As for what the court thinks, it varies to an extent. I think his reputation for keeping very separate from everyone else, and the fact that he’s ageless and immortal, has been doing a lot of heavy lifting, up until the start of the fic at least. And before all the drama began, he had been pretty careful to keep things secret (even if it was more motivated by keeping Alina at arms length than by actually caring about no one knowing). But yeah he is uh… not being that subtle anymore.

I think generally like everyone can tell that there’s some conflict happening between him and Alina.

Here’s a snippet from the next chapter actually

So yeah, the existence of drama is very very obvious. But the question of like what they’re fighting over or the exact nature of their dynamic is pretty open. I think he’s kind of been thought of as her de facto guardian almost? So people aren’t quite jumping to the conclusion that they’re having an affair. But they can only be so messy and dramatic before more people catch on.

[keybladeofthelostcitiesbsd]

BSD, but it’s NTP’s Scooby Doo Parody Musical

watch this for context: https://youtu.be/bJP-JB5szH0

Dazai: The Armed Detective Agency! Mystery solvers, crime fighters, the HOTTEST people you’ve ever seen and kunikida!

Dazai and chuuya: *see each other*

Chuuya: dazai…

Dazai: chuuya…

Ranpo: ranpo!!

Junichiro: ZOINKS!!

Kenji: JEEPERS!!

Atsushi: JINKIES!!!

Kunikida: [A WHOLE STRING OF UNHOLY WORDS]

Kunikida: *clears throat * sorry

Dazai: * in response to kunikida* that was a new one 

Mushitaro: yes though, DO be careful…

Mushitaro: *evil laugh intensifies* mwah hahaha!! MWAH HA HA-

mushitaro: we installed that for dramatic effect  during our shows, now how did you all like it?

Mushitaro:

Mushitaro: oh they left

*mystery plot twists in Bsd be like*

Client: then he could really be anywhere! The basement has a tunnel system connected throughout the entire town!!

Kunikida: really? And you didn’t think to just, tell anyone that earlier?

Client: I didn’t think it was that important…

Kunikida: IN WHAT WORLD?!

Dazai: * is in jail*

Dazai: *sings an impossibly high note*

Dazai: woah man! I didn’t know I could do that!

Fyodor: yeah, well I do teach voice lessons in my spare time so-

Dazai: dude no way!

Fyodor: if you need any help just reach out

Dazai: yeah man for sure! For sure!

Dazai: so am I supposed to just like, stay here? Or…

Fyodor: oh! Right! Sorry sorry

Dazai: *sees a beautiful woman to commit double suicide with*

Dazai: *touches up hair and clothing*

Dazai: *dramatically poses*

Woman: *does not notice*

Dazai: *dramatically sighs for attention*

Woman: *doesn’t notice*

Dazai: * dramatically sighs even more dramatically*

Woman: *does not give two []s*

Dazai:

Dazai: *somersaults next to her*

Dazai: *to the waitress* were perfect together! You’re hot! I’m soooooooo hot! And I know everyone says that the bandages make me gay, but they’re really popular in Europe, besides it was only one time, he barely put it in it does not count!!  (*cough* cHuUyA * cough* )

Lucy: I’m done! Ok? Im done! Im sick of you, and Fitzgerald, and everyone else just acting like all I do is stand here and look pretty! That is what I do 70% of the time but the other 30% I am a well working member of the guild!!

Kunikida: wait a second, did you and chuuya like…

Dazai: yUp

Kunikida: I had no idea…

dazai: well it’s called the Mystery Machine for a reason

Kunidia: wow- wait a second IN MY CAR?!

Dazai: oh, yeah. Wooooops

*higuchi and chuuya are talking about chuuyas latest diary entry after dazai left the mafia*

Higuchi: you sure it wasn’t about anything else?

Chuuya: like what?

Higuchi: you know chuuya, it would be completely ok-

Chuuya: IM NOT GAY

Chuuya: IT WAS ONE TIME

Dazai: ever since the gang split up, I’ve had nothing! 

Dazai: Except for my modeling career, the book deal, a job, the car, riches, fame, fortune.

Dazai: but literally nothing!!!

Literally anyone: maybe you’re right-

Ranpo: Mhm, I know I am

Dazai: we’re gonna need a grappling hook!

Yosano: oh! I have that in my purse!

Dazai: a crowbar-

Yosano: I also have that in my purse!!

Dazai: a- a large net?

Yosano: I’d have to grab my second purse from the car, but it’s in there!!

Chuuya: *loses his temper in front of his team*

Chuuya: sorry guys, im dealing with a lot right now, it’s um- 

Chuuya: *checks self help book*

Chuuya: internalized rage cause by my attraction

Chuuya: *checks book*

Chuuya: towards

Chuuya: *checks again*

Chuuya: men

*Bsd mystery’s also be like*

ADA: *reveals perpetrator*

ADA: the [person working with them to solve the ctime]

ADA: *gasps*

Dazai: *sarcastic* man, I did NOT see that one COMING

Chuuya: PUPPY POWEEEEEEEEEEEEER

*mysteries in Bsd be like, (part 3!!)

Perpetrator: and I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling SUNAVA []S!!!!

Chuuya: *is being forced to retreat. Dazai’s dragging him away* you haven’t seen the best of CHUUYA NAKAHARA! LET ME AT EM!! LET ME AT EM

Might do a part 2, idk. But I do want to do this with more musicals! Should I do a part 2 with this one again?

[farer-dreamer]

Entry 1

Intro

(8/29/2024) - Welcome to the next roughly six+ months of my life! maybe more! oh boy!

Here is where I'm going to be documenting my overall thoughts and development on my senior thesis project, as it is required as a part of the grade that I keep a devlog. Posting it here wasn't a part of that requirement, but I thought it'd be easier to share. Whether you're a friend I sent this to or someone just happening upon my little corner of the web, welcome! I'm going to be doing a lot of yapping <3

For the time being I've named this project Farer Dreamer. In summary, it's a 3D (…maybe sometimes 2.5D) exploration game where you ride a subway car to… well wherever it decides to take you really. You'll explore the random levels the subway takes you to and maybe meet some interesting characters on your journey.

Admittedly this project is more of a last minute decision as opposed to something that's been marinating in the back of my mind for the past four years, but maybe that's for the best. With how I'm currently envisioning this project going, this thesis is only the beginning of what could be a larger thing if I so choose to continue working on it after the due date. I can add as much or as little as I want, as long as I get the basic gameplay loop working I'll be happy. Of course I'll try to shoot for more than just that but I also am not going to bite off more than I can chew.

I can already foresee my biggest challenge with this project being the 3D elements, as most of the games I have made in the past have been 2D. I do have experience with 3D modeling, texturing, animation, and some rigging but it's definitely something I'd like to get better at and I think this would be a nice way of doing just that! But outside of using this as an opportunity to really polish the new skills I've accumulated throughout my time at school (3D, animation, and GASP! coding… the horror!)

Another thing I think I am going to struggle a bit with is with working collaboratively. Not in the sense that I'm opposed to that and haven't done collaborative work in the past, one of my finals last semester was a game the my entire game concepts 2 class worked on together, and I've happily helped out on numerous friends films. But my struggle here would be that this is the first time I'd be welcoming help on a project that I am directing, as my other projects in the past have been solo endeavors. I definitely have some trouble when it comes to reaching out for help outside of my friend group, but this will be a great opportunity for me to do just that I think.

I want this project to serve as a way for me to reconnect with art and why I do it. See, for awhile now I've been grappling with myself if I've made a mistake going down this path, fearing that I'm not cut out for the work, that I've lost my passion and that I should've pursued something else instead. Realistically, I know a lot of that is that annoying negative inner voice most of us have to battle, but there is a crumb of truth to all this moping: the loss of passion. As I've gotten closer and closer to entering the professional world, I've been noticing that I am almost restricting myself in my art and what I make and put out into the world in what I only assume to be an attempt to be AS appealing and corporate/professional as possible when that's just?? not me. at all. Though again I do feel like at least part of this is coming from that little internal voice that likes to chew me out for literally anything I find enjoyment in that's even remotely "cringe". POINT IS, this has lead to what I've been calling a "disconnect" between myself and my art and why I create, leading to me feeling shame for my work and it's been impacting my enthusiasm for art overall. I'm hoping by allowing myself to experiment and "play" with my art again through this project, that I'll be able to rekindle some of that passion I've been losing.

TLDR; The main core idea of my thesis is that you can really just sit down and make a thing and now that exists in the world, and even if it's not perfect.. if it's weird, messy, or whatever, that's pretty damn neat and deserves a place in the world. I've realized that more often than not with my projects I spend too much time stressing about them being perfect instead of enjoying the process of creating them and/or using them as opportunities to learn, explore, and maybe even get silly with it y'know? I feel like the projects where I've allowed myself to get silly with it often wind up being my favorite works, and I hope this winds up being one of those.

[kael-writ]

sooo, the biggest problem with this is the very beginning of it: ANYONE CAN BE AN ARTIST. To gatekeep who is an artist in the first place is messed up. That's not ok. Anyone should be allowed to join an art club and make art, actually. Certainly your friend who is having a good time there and not causing problems. Because THEY CAN BE AN ARTIST TOO. Literally anyone who wants to create art can be an artist! A 3 year old can be an artist. Art is for everyone.

And that's really the same way gender and sexuality labels work. Anyone can be a man, a woman, or non-binary because they're just labels.

labels for abstract and fluid social concepts.

Social concepts that were made up to assign characteristics to people based on their genitals that doesn't match real people ...and/or to assign them an internal romantic/sexual attraction that also doesn't match real people.... so people evolved ways to bend, break, reforge these labels, because labels are kinda bullshit but can be useful, and it's complicated and messy because humans are diverse individuals.... *gasps for air* yea yea that's a lot.

I get that it can be a lot for people to process, it was for me. That's how the heady experience of the diversity of individuals within society is, it's complex.

A second problem with this analogy is that, obviously, gender and sexuality isnt a club or an activity, it's literally just a personal label a person uses. It doesnt mean you have to do or refrain from any activities.

People *do* try to gatekeep labels based on things like who you are currently dating or if you are planning on getting a surgery, but uhhh that's actually total bullshit too. And a lot has been written about why and Im not going into this tangent this moment so anyway.

Also, people are not trying to join art clubs because they hate art, that isnt a real thing that happens that art clubs do have to gatekeep. The same applies to queerness. No one is faking it for like weird nefarious purposes, dude.

I live in a major city and am active in the community and Ive never heard of LGBTQIA+ centers that forbid hand holding or a kiss goodbye or anything like that. If that's actually truly happening somewhere, maybe we should look at the actual evidence, where and why exactly it happened, instead of blaming the existence in the world of whatever queer people we're trying to gatekeep today. Were these people - idk, a non-binary asexual person who uses the label lesbian let's say - actually the people running the center and making those rules? Probably not. It probably was just a regular cut and dried cis gay guy who does get past your gate. If this event even happened.

Do people in queer spaces use slurs like queer and the f-slur and the d-slur? Yea, always have. That's what reclaiming is. We get called that stuff, so we use it with our friends. Can people be more sensitive about who they say that in front of? Absolutely, can and should.

That isnt, again, the fault of, idk, - a trans masculine person who doesn't want surgery and hasnt chosen a label - or whoever we're gatekeeping this week. Again, regular old "passes the gatekeep" cis gay guys say "the f slur". That isnt gonna be helped with the gate.

If you truly want to have an actual clubhouse for only Gold Star Cis Lesbians you can do that. And you can put yourself through the un-fun task of scrutinizing members and kicking people out and shit if you really want. And you can accept the consequences of that, like a lot of people disliking you. You can do that.

You can have an art club at your house for only visual artists who use acrylics and graduated art school and take commissions on tumblr, you can narrow down your club, because that's your little small social gathering.

but you cant actually stop an artist with zero experience who never went to school from calling themselves an artist even if you think only experienced professionals who went to school should be called artists. Because they can do that. And they will. All you can do is be an asshole about it.

And there are consequences for being an asshole, like people not wanting to associate with you.

You can't stop people from using labels like lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, non-binary, asexual, aromantic, and queer for themselves. You physically, practically can't stop them.

All you can do is be an asshole about it, or get over it.

PS: btw if you send me an anonymous shitty mean message about this, you're just making it more clear to me that Im right, so save your energy

why gatekeeping the LGBT community is a necessary evil:

say that you decide to start a club it's an art club. you like this club, because it's full of artists just like you, who understand the struggles you go through. they have resources and advice and empathy to share, as do you, because you're all artists. but then one day, your friend who is not an artist, asks if they can join.

and they're your friend!! you want them to have fun too! maybe they have an appreciation of drawing, so you think it’s okay. so even though your friend doesn’t draw, you say sure! and they join the club. and they sit with everyone else and chat and talk, and everything’s good, it’s nice, it’s fun.

but then your other friend hears about your first friend being allowed in. and you already said yes to the first friend—how can you tell this one no? so you let this friend in, too. but then that friend decides that they really like the club, even though they don’t necessarily like drawing, so they invite THEIR friends. and what are you supposed to do? say no? you already have two non-artists in the club. so you grit your teeth and allow those people in, too.

and the cycle repeats. friends invite friends, word spreads around. pretty soon, your art club becomes an art-and-movies-and-book club. and then it’s an art-and-movies-and-book-and-instrument-and-comics-and-gaming-and-knitting club. resources are dwindling and it’s hard for the artists to talk about their needs with everyone else chatting away and detailing the conversation, but you don’t kick anyone out because you don’t want people to feel bad. after all, you made this club so that people could feel supported and understood.

then the worst happens: some people join who don’t like art. sure they say that they support artists, but these are the kinds of people who would stiff an artist their commission price, who would look down their nose and critique, who would say they feel uncomfortable with the fact that maybe some artists prefer digital art over traditional pencil & paper on account of it not being “real art”, and they’re very vocal about it.

soon, those artists that you’ve had from the beginning start to leave. they don’t feel safe and supported anymore. they can’t find the resources and help that they need. they feel unsafe and uncomfortable with such a large group inside what was supposed to be their refuge talking bad about them, sometimes even directly insulting them. you’re helpless to watch them go, because you did this. you let everyone else in. you set the stage for this exact thing to be able to happen.

maybe one or two artists stick around. but now the non-artists have made rules about actively creating art within the club’s time. the club is not a safe place anymore. no more artists join your club.

you are alone again, just like you were before your club, because you wouldn’t tell people no.

sound familiar? this is literally what is happening with LGBT centers right now, in the real world. there are LGBT centers where displays of affection are prohibited, where there are people who actively use slurs and insults against LGBT members, but are still welcomed in because of the “+”. this is real, and it’s happening all over.

gatekeeping isn’t fun. gatekeeping sucks. it feels bad. but it is necessary. we have to gatekeep in order to keep our LGBT family safe. we have to gatekeep to allow our LGBT family to have a refuge from the world, where they can be who they are without fear.

the acronym is LGBT. no Q. no plus. LGBT, and that’s it. we deserve to have a place to be who we are, and not have it turned into a microcosm of the outside world just because a few people couldn’t say no.

inclusivity is harmful. inclusivity will lead to the destruction of LGBT safe spaces and resources. inclusivity does infinitely more harm than it does good. please stop being complicit in the hatred & discrimination the community faces from people who are supposed to be “on our side”.

we are hurting, and inclusivity needs to end.

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

Okay, I'm not one to reblog cus like, I dunno the etiquette here and it just feels weird to do the majority of the time for me. ... Tumblr etiquette? I dunno! HOWVERRRRRRRR!!!!!!! This this shall be like, one of the exceptions. Not THE exception cus I dunno if anything else in the future is going to compel me to do this But like, oh my gosh! THEY WERE CARDS! Before I continue though. Like, thank you, @bathroomgirl0024! Thanks!! Like, the effort to deep dive and find all this obscure stuff from like 2013. Gosh that was over a decade ago! Also like OvO! I'd use something else to show appreciation but I avoid emoji's like the plague!

Also, I maaaaay have just woke up but this is like the most amazing thing ever like, ahem. I will now be ranting in the most excited way I can right now sooooo...

Makoto looks so fucking adorable and cheeky, Byakuya looks dumpy as hell in that Monokuma costume. No wonder he hates it. Monokuma looks like he wants to throw some paws at Byakuya a bit cus "This is meant to be fun, damn it!" and Byakuya is refusing to cooperate like the usual. And Kyoko looks cute too! Like, she's just vibing while the other two are being idiots in the background. While also holding wine? Is she planning on doing something with it? GASP! Kyoko! Getting crunk in a Monokuma costume?! Plastered?! Wasted?! How scandalous! But, also, the more I look at her, the goofier it gets cus like, Monokuma holds wine and since she's holding wine, or who knows. Maybe it's freaking grape concentrate. But like, since SHE'S holding it, it's channeling some major "cosplayer trying to be lore accurate with their cosplay via props and stuff" energy and that is freaking adorable. Like, look gang! She's just trying to accurately depict Monokuma to the fullest of extent's she can. Also, I swear! Makoto looks like such a dork here! Like, that is the grin of a goober right there! In the flesh. If my allegiances weren't to the tall, rich one, I'd be internally cooing more. That's mostly a joke! Mostly cus I AM still cooing at Makoto and like, all of them a bit cus they all look so dorky together. Like, as much as Kyoko's pretty chill here like, one cannot ignore the fact that they're in that Monokuma drippage. ... Why did I have to call it that? But yeah, they're in the Monokuma costumes and one can only look so flattering and cool before one is either dousing themselves in irony, jokes, playfulness, and grumpy energy to cope. Well, if they ARE coping. It's funny to look at it at that lens though even if Makoto and Kyoko do not give "smile through the pain" energy at all. Like, those two look like they're finding some good in this experience. Byakuya's a big NO though. Like NOPE! Another thing to note is that I find it funny though that this is legit not their first time doing this promotional art wise cus of the fact that there have been some other promotional art of the students dressed as Monokuma via costumes. And a part of my brain now wants to make an AU where Monokuma forces the THH cast to dress up in costumes of himself to promote stuff. Like "Upuhuhu! You guys gotta get in the cosplays now or no dinner for you!" I mean, in the school mode, he had them mining. They were mining. Not like, actually but it's not above Monokuma to literally send the guys to work in the mines

Also, the more I think about it, Byakuya's slender long-legged body type did NOT save him here. Like, he looks even goofier BECAUSE he's a long, tall business man.

Also my freaking gosh like, again THANK YOU!!! You're a hero @bathroomgirl0024 like, I have not seen many other places or people find or mention this full image. I've only seen the cropped one until well, this very moment. Today. March 26th, 2024.

On a Tuesday

Dang! My "must repay human" bones are tingling now. O^O

Ugh! If I was more awake from my sleep/nap/scheduled nightly restart of my system, I'd be more coherent but I'm trying my diggity dang best here! Like, I've gotten off and on topic so much and even I'M disoriented. But yeah. Uh... Dang it grandpa! You're a franchise! (insert disgruntled grandpa noises here)

Okay. This is just me sending this out to the world cus like, what is the full image of this?! Where can I find it? Like, I can TELL Makoto's right there! I can see his freaking hair poking out! But like, this the most I can find of this so uh... yeah!