#WHY IS HE TRYING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD IN THE SECOND ONE

[aakeysmash]

christmas shopping, matching pajamas and family discounts

college!sukuna masterlist

"Why are we here again?" college!sukuna huffs from next to you for the umpteenth time.

"Stop acting like a little bitch. You asked me that 20 seconds ago, Yuuji is acting better than you," you hiss out, glaring at him. It's true though: the kid is trotting right in front of you two, not a care in the world, while his caretaker is currently dragging his feet on the pavement you're walking on.

"And you still didn't answer, fucker," he barks back, grimacing, kicking a little rock.

"Yes, I fucking did! I told you this morning we were going Christmas shopping! You never listen to me," you start, jutting your lip out and trying to play the victim. You know he hates it when you do it. "Maybe I should tell Yuuji how his big brother hates the idea of going shopping with him," you provoke, whispering so that only you and him know what you're talking about. He scoffs, offended.

"Liar. Don't you fucking dare-"

"Are you two fighting again?" whines Yuuji, turning around and pouting. You and Sukuna glance at each other before shaking your head at the same moment.

"No, we're getting along so well," you force yourself to smile.

"Yeah, she said she's so glad I'm accompanying her. Matter of fact, she said she's going to offer us lunch," Sukuna continues, an evil glint in his eyes when he hears you gasp.

"I did not-"

"Really?! Yippie!" screams Yuuji, coming to hug you violently. You stumble back, gritting your teeth, and reciprocate the hug while narrowing your eyes at the grinning tattooed man in front of you. He knows you're not able to say no to his brother.

When Yuuji runs inside the mall, you push Sukuna's shoulder, mumbling "bitch". He just chuckles, then boldly gets you close by placing one open hand on your lower back. You know he's just going to tease you, so you put both hands on his chest to fight back, trying to put some distance between you two, but the place is crowded and everyone is looking at you. A woman passes by you and looks at you weirdly, so you stop wriggling in his grasp, and he delicately pushes you even closer. You're chest to chest, his breath fanning over your features, grin ever present on his face, enjoying how you look pissed out of your mind. From the outside, it looks like you're hugging each other, when in reality he just puts his mouth on your ear to utter "Never play with me, baby. I know how to drive you mad," then frees you and walks behind Yuuji with his hands in his pockets, not turning back to see if you're following him or not. You're seething.

"Oh my God, Yuuji, look at these!" you swoon over a pair of pajama pants. They're a soft brown, decorated with little green Christmas' trees and little reindeers, a bright red Merry Christmas! on both knees.

"It's a set!" squeals the kid next to you, grabbing the sweater right on top of the piece of cloth you have in your hands. You both notice at the same time that the set comes both in adults' and kids' sizes. "Can we take it?" he asks you looking up, puppy eyes activated. Your heartstrings are pulled so tight you feel like you could implode if you look at his face for a second longer.

"Of course we can, I thought it was obvious," you say excitedly, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down with him in a circle while he laughs, smile on full display and brown eyes squeezed shut happily.

Sukuna, who has kept watching his phone for the majority of the time you've been inside the mall, raises his gaze when he hears your laugh mingled with his brother's. If you had been looking at him in that instant, you would've seen the brief soft glimpse that passed on his whole face when he took in how happy you both looked together. When you turn around, though, he's already schooled his features to appear bored.

"Are we done?" he yawns.

"Would you like to match with us?" you ask him, at the same time. You scowl and he scoffs.

"Hell no, girl. I'm not with whatever stupid shit y'all are doing," he says, trying to act tougher than what he actually feels like. Seeing you being kind to the only person in the world who shares 100% of his genes makes him feel things he doesn't want to acknowledge right now.

"You're a party pooper, 'Kuna," Yuuji mumbles, frowning. "Can we still match? I really want us to match," he adds, shily, looking at you. You're shocked. His cheeks are getting redder the more you gawk at him. "Sorry, you can say no-"

Your kiss on his cheek resonates all around the ally you're currently staying in. "Of course I want to match with you. We don't need your evil brother, Yuuji. Let's go try them on," you sweetly say, taking his hand and walking away from Sukuna, not before flipping him off. Yuuji is so giddy that he follows you like he's walking on clouds, his face slightly hurting from how hard he's cheesing.

Sukuna just stands there, baffled and even a little offended. He stiffens, noticing he still has his phone in his hands. He's so fast with it he's the first to remain shocked by his own actions: he hears the click of his camera and looks at the pic he's just taken, feeling his chest heavier than it's ever been. It's a beautifully taken pic, where you and Yuuji are squinting at each other, hand in hand, laughing. He turns off his screen, shakes his head and catches up to you. You're going to give him a headache if you continue being like this. Or a heart attack. Or both.

"Hello, what can I do for you?" the nice old lady at the checkout says.

"Hi, we'd like to take these two pieces," you kindly respond, handing her the pajamas you and Yuuji just tried on.

"Let me see... oh, we actually have a family discount on this! Is the daddy not going to take anything?" she innocently asks, looking over at your older roommate.

"Yo, I'm not his-"

Your eyes almost fall out of your sockets. "Ah ah ah! Silly us! We forgot his one! Just give me a second," you interrupt a scowling Sukuna, covering his mouth with your hand before he can finish his sentence, dragging him away. Yuuji gives the old lady a confused look, to which she responds with "Young parents these days," shaking her head.

"You're going to take the fucking matching set, Sukuna, and you're going to like it," you seethe, still dragging him away (well, it's more like he's letting you drag him away). You hear how he's trying to talk behind your hand. "Don't piss me off. I'm going to pay less to get more, and you're going to listen to me. Go." You ignore him and he raises one eyebrow, looking you up and down, before biting your fingers. You yelp and let him go, scowling. "I said go! And act like you care about me when we get there, we're a family until the discount tells us so!"

"Okay, ma'am," he grins down to you, wiping his saliva from the corner of his mouth with a slow movement, his gaze lingering a bit too much on the way you're panting.

"Move! Take your size and let's go! Yuuji is waiting for us!" you push him, rushing back to the cashier.

"Oh, you were really fast. I thought you were going to argue with the way you rushed away," she says when she sees you come back, surprised. You nervously chuckle, telling her how you were already planning on buying one for Sukuna, you just forgot. "That would be 20.99$."

While you're swiping your card, you suddenly feel engulfed by heat. Sukuna positions his hands on your waist, giving you a half hug from behind while simultaneously giving his best confident grin to the old lady in front of him.

"Yeah. I just like when she bosses me around a bit, if you know what I mean," he says, sultry, winking at the cashier who is chuckling behind her hand, embarrassed, waving him away.

What the fuck? You initially try not to stiffen, then relax and give her a shy smile, and he squeezes you a bit closer. You melt on his chest, feeling hotter than you've felt all day. He's so comfortable. He brushes his lips near your ear and makes sure you hear the way his raspy voice is all around you. "And I do, baby. I really do."

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Frustrated ~ a blurb

word count: who cares

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Joe was pissed. That’s as simply put as anyone could make it. The second he left the coaches’ room after another bullshit meeting, he was dialing your number.

They lost to the Eagles and everyone is already blaming him. Sure, he was gonna blame himself anyway, but he’s actually starting to get sick of it.

Sick of the organization using him as a coverup. Sick of Taylor not taking any kind of responsibility. Sick of the media flaming him whenever he moves- since when did his hair have to do with how he played?

So when you arrived at his home, in his shirt with your phone up to your ear, he said fuck it. He took your phone, dropped it in your bag, and then chucked it by the door so he could grab your hips and pull you close until your lips shared one breath.

The kiss was harsh, his need to devour you taking precedence over comfort. His fingers gripped your hips as his tongue controlled your lips. He nipped, bit, and sucked on your plump lips until your back hit the couch.

You had no time to wonder how he had moved you without knowing because he was back on you. Sucking dark marks into your neck, moving the jersey, his jersey aside to kiss down to your breasts until there was too much resistance.

"Why the fuck are you wearing this?" His voice is breathless and gruff as he asks what's supposed to be a simple question.

"I watched your gam-

In a flash, his number is pulled off your body, and he's back on your lips, muffling any other words that could leave your mouth. "Fuck the game."

The next few minutes were a blur as clothes were tossed off and his hands seared their path down your body until he was gripping your bare thighs as you sunk down on his thick cock.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He sighs breathlessly, into your ear.

You whine in response, your tight walls trying get use to the burning stretch. Your nails creating crescent shaped indents in his strong shoulders.

Rough groans and grunts vibrate your skin as he leaves slick bites and purple bruises on your neck to hold back from fucking up into you too early.

“Baby, tell me I can move- please.”

A whimper and a light nod give him all the assurance to slowly lift you and give you a harsh trial thrust of his hips.

It doesn't take long for all your discomfort to fade away, and enjoy the pleasure of him kindly bullying your walls.

But you can't not notice his grip on your hips tightening while his hips meet yours hesitantly and almost too softly.

His pearly teeth buried in his plump lip til it's red and raw and his head thrown back but not from bliss.

You slow your hips down to a slow grind, lean forward, and make him face you. "Joe?"

Your small voice calls him from his head, from his frustrations with his job, and he tilts it towards you. "Yeah, baby?"

His voice is filled with a rough need, only one you can satiate. He needs to feel in control, to forget about the outside world, to use his frustrations and feel whole.

You watch the turmoil in his ocean eyes while he waits for you to speak, not knowing where this will go. You gently hold his head, run your fingers through his growing hair's sides, and lean your forehead against his. "You know I trust you, right?"

He blinks, his eyes narrowing, and then he nods. "I know."

You smile, then place a chaste kiss on his bitten lips. "Then ruin me."

And just like that, he flipped the switch and stopped thinking.

⋆ ┊⋆✿°.┊✾.⋆ ┊

Main Masterlist

[captainmera]

In the modern au, what would Caleb's reaction be if Philip's father reached out to him about Philip?

He does make contact!

Caleb is polite, if anything. But mostly overly compliant.

Philip's father didn't know he had a son. And very much want him. He's not a bad person, but both he and Caleb have been given different stories about the other. (they're being manipulated by Anthony Hopkins)

Pip's father has been told that Caleb isn't a great person, but comes across as pleasant and very polite. Meanwhile, Caleb had it pointed out to him that he's in a bad seat, legally.

He's just lost his job at the Roasted Robin's, he's mentally and emotionally unwell - and untreated! Their lives are their version of normal. But Caleb is growing increasingly aware of how not-normal it is.

Legally, Philip's dad has the rights to him. He gets the final say if Caleb is somebody who should be part of Philip's life or not. Caleb knows his record looks bad. But doesn't know Hopkins has set him up to failure.

Hopkins is pretending to help Caleb, in actuality he's just pushing Caleb's circumstances closer to an edge where Caleb will feel there's no better solution than suicide. Which would, in Hopkins world, leave nobody with the knowledge of the royalties.

He's trying to manipulate Caleb the way his mother was manipulated. She gave the church access to her money so she wouldn't spend it all. He's trying to do the same to Caleb, but gaslighting him into believing he's too broken to manage this himself, and needs Hopkins' guidance. Caleb does, after all, not know his way around legal things. And has no reason to disbelieve Hopkins.

Philip, in the case of Caleb dying, would be taken to his father. Leaving the Wittebane home vacant. And Hopkins could get access to any papers that'd be there, where he can sign over rights to himself. Why give it to the church??

Philip, in the meantime, isn't clued in on what's going on.

Caleb and the father discuss how to go forward, what's best for Philip. And Caleb is saying all the right things, which makes the father uncomfortable, because he's been told that Caleb is a good manipulator and mentally/emotionally abusive. So hearing him say very loving and thoughtful suggestions on how to move forward, puts him on edge.

Hopkins is, of course, banking on that the father is an idiot and will blindly trust him. But he keeps his cards close to himself. He lets Caleb's actions speak for him, and is wondering why Hopkins said Caleb was a bad person - sure, rough around the edges, but his heart is full of warmth, especially for his little brother.

Caleb's suggestion is that they move slowly. First, let him tell Philip he *has* a father that didn't know he existed, and now that he knows, wants to be part of his life.

Caleb is acutely aware that, in the end, he has no rights to Pip.

If his father wants it, social workers will get involved and they'll dig up everything that's wrong. If it gets to court, it'll traumatise Philip (mostly Caleb though) and in Caleb's world - he'll definitely lose Philip forever.

So, he's agreeing. And being friendly. And suggests that Philip and his dad hang out, maybe go on father-son dates, maybe start sleeping over on the weekends.. Y'know. Ease him into it.

Philip doesn't like this.

not. one. bit.

To him, it looks like Caleb doesn't want him anymore.

"Why don't you fight for me then?! If you want me, then take it to court!" "With what money?! Look at me, Philip! No authority would let me keep you, and honestly? Maybe they're right! Maybe I shouldn't!" "Caleb-" "No, Philip! Enough..! You know I love you, but maybe I'm.. not good for you? You know? He's not a bad man, for crying out loud, he's a dork! He has a what's cookin' good'lookin apron! I don't have that! I have... Powder-mix flapjacks!" "But I like that, it's home to me.." "Then.. I'll pack some down for you. And it'll help you make a home there too." "...." "..Pip, I don't stop being your home, just because you get a second one." "I don't need a dad. I never needed one, not a mum either. I just needed you, you've always been good enough." "you only think that because you don't know what- Philip, come back. We aren't done talking- okay."

That sorta thing! :D

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

need a bigger size

✰ summary: you’re six months pregnant and calling your husband to help you put on the jeans you just can’t seem to wear right now.

✰ warnings: MDNI!! satoru gojo x fem reader, pregnant reader, soon to be dad satoru, mentioning of sex

✰ a little note: i apologize for it being a bit short. i hope you like it. also, you can tell that i wrote this during my ovulation.

“Ugh… please, please fit. I really don’t want to buy another pair of pants.”

The sixth month of your pregnancy hadn’t exactly been a breeze. Your belly was getting bigger, and the clothes you bought just two weeks ago were barely fitting. Could a person really gain this much weight in two weeks?

As you struggled to pull your jeans up over your hips, you were truly at your limit. Moments like this made you question why you were pregnant in the first place. A simple act of getting dressed had turned into a sweaty, intense battle. You had no choice but to play your last card.

“Satoruuu! Can you come here for a second, please?”

As you kept struggling with your jeans, you heard footsteps approaching the bedroom. You looked miserably toward the door, seeing your husband with his perfect, well-kept hair standing there, giving you an amused look. You, on the other hand, had sweat-plastered hair sticking to every part of your face.

“I didn’t know you wanted to have a quick fuck so bad before we went shopping.”

Your husband was truly straightforward. But right now, more than a quick fuck, you needed to fit into these $70 jeans.

“How on earth did you think I wanted that?”

While leaning against the doorframe, Satoru walked over and stood in front of your struggling body.

“First, you’re trying to take off your pants. Second, you’ve been moaning for the past five minutes and—”

“OH MY GOD NO! I’VE JUST BEEN TRYING TO PUT ON THESE DAMN JEANS FOR THE PAST HALF HOUR, SATORU.”

The mischievous grin on your husband’s face instantly transformed into disappointment. Did he really not realize you were just trying to put on your jeans?

“So, the moans that I could hear all the way in the living room were just because of your jeans?” He sounded so genuinely let down that, as mad as you were, you felt a bit sorry for him.

“FINALLY, YOU GET IT.”

Your husband went into defense mode. “Hey, calm down, wifey. As your husband, who’s constantly thinking about wanting you, of course I’d think that way.”

“Gosh I’m so sorry. Pregnancy is really making me so irritable.” You hadn’t even realized you were yelling, and it upset you to treat the person you loved most in the world this way. All the blame lay on these cursed jeans, which had fit just fine two weeks ago.

A sweet smile appeared on Satoru’s face as he cupped your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “Never apologize to me. Alright, then, let’s get these jeans on you and head out shopping!”

Satoru moved behind you and took hold of the jeans stuck just below your hips. “Okay, this might be a bit tough, but take a deep breath, baby.”

Listening to him, you took a deep breath and allowed him to work the jeans over your hips. After a few challenging minutes, he’d finally managed to help you get them on.

“You might actually be the strongest, Satoru.” As you buttoned your jeans, he moved to stand in front of you again.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m always the strongest for you and our babygirl.”

After managing to fasten the buttons, you threw your arms around his neck with a triumphant smile. “I should have stopped you from getting me pregnant that night. Being pregnant is seriously tough. I bought these jeans just two weeks ago, and now they barely go over my ass”

“You’re the one who said you’d kill me if I didn’t get you pregnant that night, wifey. Besides,” he paused for a moment and placed his hands on your full hips, giving them both a firm squeeze, “if I’d known these amazing things would be this big, I would’ve gotten you pregnant the day I first saw you.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before turning around to grab the shirt you’d left on the bed. “Let me just put on this shirt real quick and we-”

The sound of ripping made you freeze, and your hands instinctively reached to feel the tear right where your backside was. Your jeans had split straight down the middle.

“Shit, shit, shit… GOD, I PAID 70 DOLLARS FOR THESE DAMN JEANS!” You cursed angrily at them, glancing at the rip in the mirror. Your husband, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment, was happily staring at the split right in the center of your backside.

“I guess this might be a sign that I should fuck you before we go shopping.”

Yeah, it really was, because after he finished speaking, he started kissing you hungrily. Later that day, while out shopping for baby items, you ended up buying a new pair of jeans. You just hoped they wouldn’t tear from the back after wearing them.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[signanothername]

Could we have some soft/comfort headcannons about anyone of your choosing? It's election night and I really would like something soft for my brain to chew on instead of worry all night

Absolutely!

Imma give you a bunch of different little guys <333

———

Killer:

-his cats help him a lot with sleep problems, they make him calm enough to the point of actually closing his eyes whenever he’s with them (reminder that he usually sleeps with one eye open xhxbbx)

-after he’s saved, he gradually becomes better at eating, he still avoids food that reminds him of the past but becomes more accepting of other types of food, eventually getting his bone mass and weight back, going from lanky to chubby <3333

-he eventually accepts the state of his soul and instead of trying to fix it, he tries to understand it, understand himself, he becomes a lot more gentle with his own self

———

Color:

-he has albums upon albums full of pictures he took over the years, filled with places he visited, pictures of people he loves and moments he cherishes

-he’s very connected with so many people, and a lot of people find him to be a great confidant, he does a lot to help people where he can, he eventually gets the good he gave back with people taking care of him

-he’s in a queer platonic relationship with Delta and Epic

———

Nightmare:

-he has piles upon piles of gifts Dream gave him for their birthday over the years, he never got rid of any of them, these gifts are something he cherishes dearly

-he’s the one to introduce Killer to Ccino’s cafe, he actually did that with no ill intentions, and Nightmare himself is not really sure why he went out of his way to introduce Killer to the cafe

-he and Dream sometimes sit beside their mother in silence, just taking everything in, taking each other presence in, not talking or interacting, Nightmare feels peaceful during these moments, it’s the closest thing to the same feelings he had as a happy child

———

Dream:

-even though he has a fallout with Ink, he eventually remedies his relationship with them, they become best friends again

-whenever life gets too much, he goes to Swap’s house and stays with the swap bros, it helps immensely

-Dream never expects to receive anything on his birthday, that expectation is broken when he receives a gift from Nightmare, he never got another gift afterwards, it’s only that one gift, but it’s the entire world to him

———

Error:

-he thinks of Ink as his bestest friend in the world, he’d never admit that out loud tho dhdhhdhdh (they’re frenemies)

-he loves geno and Fresh dearly, they’re his proclaimed siblings, he’s more open about his love with them

-he actually takes commissions by making dolls for people who want them in exchange for chocolate as payment (his chocolate stock never runs out zgxggx)

———

Horror:

-He eventually finds a better relationship with food

-he succeeds at escaping from Nightmare and managing to keep his AU (and most importantly his brother) safe in the process

-he finds himself becoming best friends with Farm

———

Ink:

-his art is something others never see, but surprisingly, if you had the chance to see it, then you’d find it’s art the people they love most

-their fallout with Dream actually hurt him, so when he and Dream got back to being besties, they felt very happy about it

-he loves spending time with Color, Epic and Delta cause of their constant traveling habits, they’re very entertaining to be around

-while they spend most his time in the doodlesphere, the second place you’ll most likely see them in is with their parents in the omega timeline, he loves them with all his heart

———

These are the ones I can think of off the top of my head hdhdhdhdh hope they’re enough to rotate in your brain all day <333333

[iichfilwypj]

she's the one | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: panic attack! i wanted this to be different but i got one while writing it, so so sorry! i will post the others ideas i had though. ღ wc: 608 pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - pt 5

“Can we please go inside? I’m starting to feel like part of the door.” Percy murmured, leaning against the doorframe of his house. His friend paced anxiously around the empty hallway and he couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh, feeling a mix of concern and impatience for her. “We’ve been out here for ten minutes. The sooner we go inside, the sooner you’ll stop feeling-”

“'I'm dying, please” she exclaimed, a note of panic creeping into her voice. Percy watched her friend come to a sudden stop, clutching her chest tightly like she wanted to stop her heart from racing. “Please, I just need a second-”

“Dreamy?” his voice was almost a whisper. Thinking about her having a panic attack overwhelmed him. No, he couldn’t let her go through that. He found himself looking at her a bit longer than usual –easy work– to make sure he was wrong.

“I just… need a second,” she repeated, her breath faster than usual. Percy could feel the tension in the air.

He stepped closer and took her wrists tightly, trying to get her to stop pressing her chest so hard. “Stop doing that, we don't want a broken rib. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise you”

“I don’t know why I’m so worried,” luckily, her breathing slowed down under his touch and she let out a frustrated laugh “she must be just like you.”

It was evident that sleep was taking over her, no matter how much she tried to fight it –after all, it wouldn’t make a good impression on Sally to find her son’s friend asleep at her door.

It was so hard not to, though. Percy radiated a warmth that melted her defenses. The urge to sleep hit her hard whenever she was near him. And she felt so bad about it; what kind of person was always tired around their friend? Beth's words echoed in her ears, loud and clear: ‘The more comfortable we feel with someone, the sleepier we get.’ She hadn't understood it the first time. Nor had she really tried to.

But right there, everything clicked into place. She felt secure. She felt at peace. She felt safe. With her head resting on Percy’s chest and his hands holding her, she felt at home.

He hugged her properly, and she didn’t have the strength to return the embrace; but a soft smile spread across her face as she nestled against his jacket. She let herself be vulnerable, surrendering to the solace he offered.

“Should I take that as a compliment or not? I‘m kinda worried here.” maybe it was a bit selfish, but he couldn't help it; he needed to know what she truly thought of him. The girl’s body felt heavier in his arms, and he was almost fully supporting her full weight.

A bad thing? she thought, how could that be a bad thing? In a world fulled with chaos, he was her safe haven, the one who brought her calm.

"I wish everyone would be like you." she murmured, and with those words, she fell into a deep sleep, her body relaxing completely against him. Percy was left speechless holding her tightly, not able to process what had just happened. 

The front door finally opened, revealing Sally with Estelle asleep in her arms. Her face lit up at the sight in front of her. When her eyes met his son’s, he showed no signs of embarrassment at being caught in such a position. Instead, he grinned widely, mouthing a silent ‘It's her,’ in her direction. ‘She's the one’.

well hello! as i said, this didn't go as planned BUT i think we can see more of her feelings now! we're getting closer to something! let me know if you like it!!!!!!!!! also i PROMISE i will try not to make her so anxious next time, it's just that i have anxiety and i can't help but wirite from my perspective; but i will work on that!

[ferg0s]

how writing about your favorite Blue Lock boy who can't deny how good his s/o looks in the Blue Lock spandex suit?

BAROU BAROU BAROU 🗣️🦅‼️ not so much s/o but trust me I have a vision…

I haven’t seen PNGlock season 2 😞 so mb for some inconsistencies

If you asked Ego which he liked better, woman’s soccer or men’s soccer, he would say which ever could win a gold medal. He was like a goblin, craving for the shiny smooth surface of a gold medal to glide across his fingers - and he would do whatever it would take to get it. When he had proposed the idea onto the board, they had laughed it off. But he didn’t understand why? Having a woman’s team meant that they had double the chance. More versatility. He didnt want to put his eggs in one basket. Besides he wanted Japan to be the best in the world - in every aspect of the sport.

Pink lock. That’s what the boys at Bluelock started to call the sister program. Even though it was literally just named blue lock. Thats until the practice match. Pink lock was started to look like pain lock the way they were making the boys run across the field. What the boys didn’t know was that the they had to fight harder, the threat of underperforming and having the whole program shut down was looming over them. An extra stress to add to the stress they already had of being kicked out. Their performances not only reflected them but everyone. Misogyny is the name of the blade that mercilessly cuts off the wings of angels.

Though there was one person that seemed to get on Barous nerve. Some girl who kept popping out of no where to block his shots, steal the ball and all in all make it impossible for him to have more then 3 seconds with the ball. He didn’t know her name, just the crazed look in her eyes as she would run past him. Number 67. Fuck her, he thought.

~

You didn’t know how tired you were until you got back to the dorms they had set up for you. The showers had a long line, and it seemed like everyone was taking Atleast a minimum of 30 minutes. The facility hadn’t given you the spandex suits they had given to the boys - the board said they didn’t have the Budget for it. Que another wingless angel. And it seemed like you wouldn’t get them for a while.

The practice test was more a presentation by ego to show the board to her more funding, which it had. After ego threatened to close the men program, the board rolled over and gave into his demands. But the official uniforms would have to wait. It took a while to make them with the same physicality monitoring sensors. Until then, you were stuck wearing frumpy soccer gear. The knee long shorts and over sized shirts. What you had assumed were the initial clothes for the men.

You seemed to pick up on the man who has been eyeing you with nothing but hatred pretty quickly. Having being divided into duos , of course you got stuck with him. It was temporary, ego said, to grow both players abilities, he said. While the other duos flirted and exchanged numbers, you and Barou did nothing but fight. The self proclaimed king didn’t like someone telling him what to do. Especially someone as annoying as you.

“-are you allergic to passing the fucking ball?” You ask as you walk up to him. “Not my fault you can’t keep up-“ he replied back. The other boys started to assume he didn’t swing that way based on how much the two of you fought, Barou seeming to resent the idea of even being on the same planet at you. But in reality, it was just two hard strong stubborn people clashing. Two unstoppable forces trying to merge into one, while also actively trying to avoid it.

You use the helm of your shirt to wipe the sweat off your forehead. It has been 20 minutes and you hadn’t even scored once against the hologram goalie. You look over at your partner, who was equally as tired as you. Both of you had been fighting for the ball rather than trying to figure out how to get past the goalie and score. You needed a minimum of 10 to leave and have dinner. And you were starving, and stuck at 0.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He asked, walking up to you. “The strategy is simple, hand me the ball and-“ “go fuck yourself princess-“ you spat back.

Barou didn’t need to come and taunt you after every missed goal. He didn’t need to walk up to you every time and stand way to close to when he was having another verbal altercation with you. But he couldnt help it. He liked the colour of your eyes :)

Yes. Barou had a crush.

On you.

Barou grew up with sisters so it wasn’t like he hasn’t been around women, but he still acted like it. His way of flirting with teasing and insulting, like an elementary school kid. As much as he bragged about being a womanizing bastard to the other guys in the locker room, he would rather eat cement than talk to a pretty girl alone. Which is why he figured insulting was a good alternative.

Even in the frumpy uniform, hair a mess and sweat covering your face, Barou saw you as someone akin to a model. You had a sort of fire in your eyes that drew him in, like a moth to a flame. Ego had made the duos based on compatible personalities, and you were just as stubborn, goal oriented and hot headed as him. If you had stuck around for longer instead of walking away in a huff to drink some water, you would notice how he seemed to zone out when you were yelling at him.

Out of everyone, you and Barou had the worst score. Leaving you one of the teams near the bottom.

It seemed to get worse when the spandex uniforms came. Landing the two of you at the bottom. He spent more time staring at you more than he did the ball. It should be a sin to look so good, he thought. His eyes would linger longer as you bent over to pick up the water bottle, drinking up the sight of you laying on the ground having from exhaustion. Or in the training room doing squats. It was entirely his fault that you two were at the bottom, which meant more verbal abuse from you. He tried his best to look into your eyes, wondering what specific colour they were on the colour wheel, hoping his years of discipline would stop his eyes from going down further.

It wasn’t until one day when you finally managed to score a point, in under 20 minutes with him, that you finally had a positive attitude towards him. In the midst of your joy, near tears for finally being able to cooperate enough to score 1 goal, you hugged him.

Shortly after that you somehow skyrocket to top 3. You didn’t know why he had Suddenly done a 180.

But Barou thanks who ever decided to put you in that stupid spandex uniform.

__________

kinda burnt out in the end 😞 Mbmb. Bit off more than I could chew

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: thisapplepielife! @thisapplepielife has 37 works posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 24 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @thisapplepielife:

Tuesday's Gone With the Wind

Take the Money and Run

You Oughta Know

Never Not Mine

Let the Boy Be Merry

"They are my favorite Corroded Coffin writer. I found by accident their fic “Tuesday's Gone With the Wind” and loved everything they wrote since!" -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @thisapplepielife answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Steve Harrington. I found myself not connecting with S4 when it premiered, and decided that I probably just needed to rewatch the other three seasons again first, since it'd been a while between seasons. Well, Steve was always my favorite, but I left that re-watch with his voice fully lodged in my brain. So, I had to write something for him, just for myself. That was You Oughta Know. We all knew Eddie identified as a runner, and that just felt like the story to tell. Then somehow, for some unknown reason that I still cannot possibly explain, I decided to actually post it. I still don't know what possessed me to do that, honestly.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love a good second chance fic: A divorced couple that eventually rekindles. A missed first chance that they get to take another crack at, later in life. I also like a good heartbreaker of a fic. I know, I know. Don't get me wrong, I still love happy endings, but I don't require them. Break my heart. Do it.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Slice of life? Is that considered a trope? I know I like to write about things we all deal with in real life, from the small and inconsequential: a mattress with a bad spring. The delight of clean sheets. Or the bigger: the real life heartbreak of unavoidable loss and grief.  And older Steddie is my favorite, I think. I love to spend time writing for them. These boys that turned into men, who made a full life together, and it's great. Maybe not perfect. But they wouldn't trade it for the world. That makes me happiest.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting by badpancake is the one I think of that grabbed me first, and did not let go. I still need to read the final part of the trilogy! My fic TBR is so, so long because I definitely struggle with writing and reading at the same time. I know there is amazing work out there that I've just never read yet. But I look forward to it, absolutely. It's just something I've never figured out how to manage well. Joining Tumblr has helped that immensely, though! Reading the shorter fics here has been wonderful, and I've enjoyed it so much. There are amazing things being posted every single day! And I gotta say that don't start (too late) by Ark is one of the best "first time" fics I've ever read in any fandom. Eddie's inner voice is wonderful. I believe every word he thinks while he experiences this brand new thing with Steve.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

It's not brand new to me, but there's a found family one that I've been tinkering with for a very long time, and that excites me.  And I do love events for tossing me situations or prompts to write for that I may not have thought of, independently. @steddiemicrofic especially has been so, so fun. I think it was the very first event I wrote for on Tumblr, and the challenge of having a very limited amount of words, but still trying to make it feel like a whole story has been told, has been a blast. Thanks to @wynnyfryd and @steddieas-shegoes for challenging us all each month!

What is your writing process like?

I don't outline or anything. I just write, and edit, as I go. And I'll edit obsessively. I'll tweak and change small things over and over, ad nauseam. And even then, I know I still miss mistakes. But my mistakes are my own, I have no beta, because I kind of like being solely responsible for anything I write. Right or wrong. Here it is, take it or leave it. I also talk things through things in my own head a lot, especially dialogue, or I'll open a document, and just see where that takes me. And if I'm writing a long fic, like Tuesday's, I write totally out of order when scenes come to me. I wrote on every single year of that fic all at once. Then kept writing until they'd stitched themselves together into a full story. That's my last part of writing. Putting in the transitions from one scene to the next, when needed.  Sometimes ideas are more fully formed before I start putting words to the page, and other times I literally just start and figure it out as I go. There's one fic I wrote for Steddiemas last year where I sat Steve down at a mall food court and then just started writing. I had no idea what that was going to be. (It was Eddie turning up as the Mall Santa.)  Also: Research, research, research. I love the research aspect of writing. I'm curious in general, and if I can even think to look something up to see if it's true, or of the right time period, I will. And I like to add mixed media to my fics. That was a huge part of Take the Money & Tuesday's. All the newspaper articles and such. I felt like they were needed to make it feel like this really happened to these characters we all love so much. I did newspaper articles all throughout writing Tuesday's. In fact, I think that main article, the one at the top, was written and designed very early on in the writing process. They weren't all done at the end, they were done as the story needed them.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Short paragraphs. I love 'em. You'll pry them from my cold, dead fingers. Also see: Long sentences.  Honestly, I do like to throw out the rules, a bit. I write by feel. How does it sound, to my own ear? If it works, for my character, my fic or just me in general, I'll use it. "Don't use two "ands" in a sentence." Okay, but sometimes I'm gonna when that flows the best. Or: "That's a run-on." Okay, but I like the way it reads. "You don't need a comma there." But, I like the way that it breathes, so it's getting one. All this is especially true if writing from someone's POV. I know I don't always think in proper grammar, and I don't expect them to either. I don't want things to feel hard to read, but I do want them to feel natural. If that makes sense. I walk around, pacing as I write or edit on my phone, as if the moving somehow lets me see it differently. I think it does! And I don't know if this is a quirk, but some of the characterizations formed while writing Tuesday's have stuck, hard. Gareth is Gareth Jones, and where you find him, you'll probably find Di. Freak is Goodie. Jeff is Jeff Williams. These things have been decided in my brain, and now I feel compelled to take them with me, fic-to-fic. I didn't intend to build a headcanon I wouldn't be able to shake, but here we are.  I feel like I can transplant Steve and Eddie anywhere, into anything, and be comfortable changing things up. But the Corroded Coffin boys are cemented, as they were created, for the most part. Maybe that's because I did have to do so much shaping for them. Steve and Eddie, we know. We're all working off a decent amount of canon content. Corroded Coffin only had a few moments on screen to help flesh any of us flesh them out into real characters. And now that I've made my choices, for good or bad, they're here to stay.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Finished, definitely. My three long fics were all mostly written before I started posting, and I still struggled to get the last part of All of Across the Universe out in a timely fashion. Tuesday's was posted over one week, one chapter per day, and I really enjoyed that fast schedule. It didn't give me any extra time to overthink the finished product. It was going out, and that was that. I had to trust that I knew what I was doing when I deemed it finished.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Tuesday's Gone With the Wind. I truly thought I was done after Take the Money and Run. And then this idea slapped me in the face, and I spent five months just lost in their world. These versions of the characters came so naturally, and they are still with me today. I feel like most of what I've written since then is shaped by those versions. Also, that was the last fic I wrote without anything else coming down the pipe. The last one before I joined Tumblr. The last one that had my full, and utter, undivided attention. It's really special to me, and I'm beyond grateful to everyone that has embraced it and recommended it to friends. I know it's got some scary warnings, but for those that have dove in and let me know that it spoke to you in some way, you've made me so happy. It spoke to me, too.

How did you get the idea for Tuesday's Gone With the Wind?

By watching the documentary "If I Leave Here Tomorrow" about the band Lynyrd Skynyrd. As I was watching it, there was an interview section where one of the band members spoke about their assistant road manager, saying: "He was like a bartender roadie. Where he took care of us really good, you know? Anybody who was sick, or needed a little more attention, he was just there for you. He was like the big brother, and sister, and your mama and everything." My brain whispered, Steve Harrington.  And that was that. Corroded Coffin were going to get Road Manager Steve Harrington, and he was gonna take care of them as they headed towards this unavoidable disaster. I wrote like 5k words the first night. It was just in there, waiting to spill out, somehow. And I think it's also an anomaly for me, but I'm fairly certain I started that fic with what turned out to be the opening. That first bit of Eddie's first interview section. I think that's where I started telling the story, and it held throughout. That's pretty rare for me. (Fun fact: I wrote all the interview bits in a separate document, and then just fit and tweaked them into the story, as needed. But not that opening. That was the launch pad into everything else.)

When writing Tuesday's Gone With the Wind, what was something you didn’t expect?

It's not exactly a Steddie answer, but - Gareth! Gareth Jones, my beloved. I wasn't on Tumblr when I wrote Tuesday's or any other social media in a fandom way. I was in my own bubble, doing my own thing. So, I didn't know the fandom had given him a fanon surname. I chose my own, and now he's just Gareth Jones to me, and always will be. He's also Eddie's best friend. I've pondered on more than one occasion on if Take the Money and Run would be different if I knew that first, lol. Just exploring my version of a character that had so little screen time to work off was incredibly fun. And has remained fun. Gareth is definitely gonna show up again in my future works. He's to Eddie, as Robin is to Steve in my head now and forevermore.

What inspired Take the Money and Run?

These lyrics from the song "Me and Paul" by Willie Nelson: Almost busted in Laredo But for reasons that I'd rather not disclose But if you're staying in a motel there and leave Just don't leave nothing in your clothes I had a literal shower thought that made me laugh. And thought, well, why are they even in a motel? Oh, they must be on a road trip. So, I wrote that little scene mainly in my head, but jotted it down, just in case, and assumed that was the end of it. But then I just kept writing it. Until I was knee deep in maps and mileage and research trying to figure this road trip out from a logistics standpoint. All because I thought it'd be funny if Eddie left weed in his pants and Steve got all put upon because of it.

What was your favorite part to write from You Oughta Know?

I loved getting to include all the fun 90s things, since that's when I was a teen, and can remember a lot of it very distinctly, first-hand. And I loved getting to use El's powers to look in on Eddie, so while they might not know where he is, they did know that he seemed to be doing okay out there in the world. Also, if I could go back and change one thing about it, I'd fix that I said Eddie's never had an acoustic guitar. I didn't notice his acoustic in his room until my re-watch. Oh well. This version of Eddie didn't, I guess, lol. (This might be from the second part, Eddie's POV. But still. It's my Roman Empire. I think of this mistake at least once a week and beat myself up. If I'd been on Tumblr at the time, I feel this would have never happened, because someone would have blogged about it, drawing my attention to it, surely.)

How do/did you feel writing Never Not Mine?

This one is heavily inspired by the Taylor Swift song imgonnagetyouback. It was fun to dig into a slightly angstier world for a bit. Because things don't always work out, or if they do, not always the first time around. I like to think they'll find each other again, in any universe, but they might not take the easiest path. They aren't perfect, and that's realistic.

What was the most difficult part of writing Let the Boy Be Merry?

Crying while writing it. This one slapped me around a little while writing. Life isn't always as romantic as fic leads us all to believe which, the audacity, honestly, lol, but the kind of love and relationship in this fic? That feels real to me. Old, and familiar, and even as well as you know a person, you can't read their mind. You don't always get what the other needs immediately, you don't get how important things can be to them, but figuring out how to compromise is love. Real, lasting love.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This question was hard! I'm gonna pick two from Tuesday's: For the first, I cried while writing and then cried again while editing the scene where Eddie and Steve hash out how serious their relationship is, and realize they've kind of been on different pages. There are two scenes in Tuesday's that got to me, and made me cry while writing them, over and over, and I don't even know why. (The other is Gareth picking that fight with Steve. Yeah, yeah, I know. Neither of these parts are the saddest parts of Tuesday's. But they stripped me raw, for whatever reason.) And a second, more fun, favorite: I'm gonna go with the scene where Eddie's naked and tripping on mushrooms in the backyard while Steve hangs out with him, and Eddie thinks they've written "Tom Sawyer" by Rush. That was so fun, and just a feel good write, if that makes sense. That whole summer they spent at the lake I look back on writing fondly. They are so in love there. They are all happy. And this scene is carefree in a way that they won't always be, due to circumstances coming down the pipe.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I run @corrodedcoffinfest and I've got a whole list of planned pop-up events coming up over the next few months for that. Steddie is absolutely welcome, so if anyone would like a little more Corroded Coffin works in their life, consider coming to join us! I also finally updated my masterlist, so everything I've written for Stranger Things is finally gathered together. There's a lot that's still only on Tumblr and not on Ao3 at this point.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Thanks so much for including me and my works in this! And to the person who nominated me, thank you, thank you! You really made my day. It was fun to think about these fics again, and answer these questions. I've really enjoyed writing for Steddie, and I've also enjoyed making friends in the fandom. Thanks for welcoming me. Thanks for showing my fics love, and commenting or leaving kudos or reblogging. Just, thank you all so much. And I'm sorry if these answers were too long, lol. As a habitual "end notes" kind of writer, that's just the way I roll. 

Thank you to our author, @thisapplepielife, and our anonymous nominator! See more of thisapplepielife's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 6: The Tip Of Your Tongue

Content warning: cannibalism, forced cannibalism, vomiting, angst, mention of non-consensual voyeurism

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Total Depravity - The Veils Touch Myself - Genitorturers

* * * * *

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

* * * * *

Hours had passed since you awoke, long before sunrise and well before anyone else at the shrine had stirred. The night still envelops the world outside as you tiptoe out of your chambers, beginning your preparations for the day.

You bathe, tie your kimono, and comb your hair until it’s glossy. You're ready.

Now, you sit on your futon, waiting as the early morning sun gradually slides its fingers through the slats of your window.

Inevitably, your thoughts turn to the incident from last night. After two weeks of absence, Sukuna had finally returned to the shrine, and he certainly loved making an entrance. In a brutal display, he killed his stablehand in the corridor, toying with him, and making him suffer before ending his life.

You're unsure why Takashi entered your chambers while you were asleep, but hearing him die in such a manner was nauseating.

Worst of all, right before the end, Sukuna tauntingly declared he would be having Takashi as a meal. And you knew you would be expected to dine with him for the first time as husband and wife this morning.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling the cool silk of your gloves against your skin.

The mental acrobatics you were about to perform would be nothing short of a miracle. But that's why you were up early—to prepare.

You had bathed, your kimono tied, hair combed until it was glossy. You were ready.

Now, you sit and wait for the impending knock at the door, indicating your attendants' arrival.

Any minute now.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous about the upcoming encounter. The last time you saw Sukuna was weeks ago during that heated standoff. More heated on his part than yours. You still recall the way his four pupils dilated.

That way, he looked at you… You really need to kill him, and fast.

Your hands move to your lap, smoothing the fabric of your kimono in a repeated motion. Creasing it over and over again, then flattening it back out.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Any second now.

Your stomach cramps, pitching painfully.

You can handle this.

Knock, knock—

“Come in.”

You are on your feet before the third knock sounds.

The door groans open as Sayuri and Ren enter, giving you their customary bow. 

"Good morning, my Lady," they greet.

Ren’s voice is as reserved as ever, while Sayuri's tone is unusually animated. Her cheeks are practically glowing, eyes flashing with a bright intensity as she raises her head.

"Good morning," you nod, a calm, measured smile spreading across your face as you place your hands behind your back to fidget with them.

Sayuri steps further into the room. "Ah, you look lovely this morning." She all but beams the words at you.

"Oh, thank you," you reply, swallowing back modesty.

Ren silently moves to the futon to complete one of the few tasks you have allowed. Each morning, one of them sets the sheets back into place. They’ll likely need washing, as you woke up this morning covered in sweat from another one of your nightmares.

“Ren, would it be possible to have my sheets cleaned today?” you ask.

"Of course, my Lady," she replies, already starting to work efficiently. "I’ll replace them with a fresh set and remove these."

"Thank you," you murmur, twinging with embarrassment as the sweat-stained coverings are carefully removed.

It’s time to find a remedy for your disturbed sleep. Perhaps Uraume could help by making a sleeping draft.

"I’ll be the one showing you to breakfast this morning," Sayuri says, swaying on the balls of her heels. "Shall we?" She moves toward the door.

You glance at her, feeling your nerves taking root as if trying to anchor you in place. Despite the feeling, you force yourself to start moving. 

As you approach the door, something catches your eye—a small, pearl-white stain caking on the floor. It wasn’t there when you went to sleep last night. You toe it with your wooden sandals, watching the congealed mess flake. Your stomach curdles; you may be a virgin, but you are not naive. You know what semen looks like.

The incident from last night. Takashi.

You clench your fists.

Fucking pervert.

Beneath the surface, people can be an entirely different breed of animal.

You swallow the ugly feeling weighing on your chest before subtly grabbing a cloth from the wardrobe, wiping the stain off the floor and tossing it away.

Focus.

You exhale and move into the doorway's threshold before halting and glancing back.

"Ren, could you also have my door fixed? It makes a racket when opened and closed, and it's driving me a little mad," you ask gently, feeling conflicted about asking more of her. Though you suspect she won’t mind at all.

She looks up from folding your sullied sheets into a neat pile. Her eyes soften ever so slightly, a rare and welcome surprise.

"Of course," she hums before retreating into her familiar quietude, seamlessly returning to her task.

“Thank you.”

Sayuri moves closer to the doorway, silently urging you to step into the corridor. She communicates with her eyes, blinking prettily with her long, dark lashes.

You leave your chambers and glance to the right, towards Sukuna’s room. The muted feel of his presence suggests he’s gone, possibly already waiting for you. Though he’s not one to wait for anyone. 

Sayuri clears her throat, giving you the final push needed to take that first step.

One foot in front of the other, you start walking.

Though you've been traversing this same path for two weeks, today, the corridor seems to stretch on far longer than usual.

You keep moving forward, counting each step as if it were a mantra.

The skirt of your kimono brushes softly against the smooth wooden floor, its whispering sound helping you stay calm, stay centered.

Ahead, the turning point signals that the central hall is near. From there, you'll take another long corridor before reaching the private room.

You turn the corner.

Now, each step feels like a compulsion.

You pass the central hall and move into the final passage.

The door to the private room comes into view. It’s usually open, but today it’s shut. You swallow hard, realizing that being in that small space with the King of Curses will be suffocating.

You reach the door, stand there, and stare at it.

The lack of a breeze in the corridor suggests that the sliding door to the garden is also shut.

You listen intently for any sounds but hear nothing. Perhaps he isn’t here. You take a deep breath and catch the faint aroma of raw iron. He is here. The realization makes your mind go blank, erasing everything you had planned for this encounter.

The panic starts settling in, and you step away from the door.

“My Lady?” Sayuri’s soft and airy voice comes from behind. She steps closer, standing next to you. “Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

Her voice, so reminiscent of your sister’s, brings you back to your purpose. Yuna is the reason you are here—the reason behind it all. To save her.

You straighten your shoulders and shake your head.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, Sayuri.”

Inhale. Exhale. Reach. Pull.

You slide the door open halfway.

You are greeted by a large expanse of muscled back draped in a haori the colour of midnight.

Sukuna sits on a large cushion, facing away from the door. His body overwhelms the space, leaving little room for you to navigate to your side of the table. His upper arms extend outward to support his weight, while the lower pair is hidden in front. The dark colour of his garment contrasts sharply with his pale skin, making the ink snaking around his wrists appear as an even deeper shade of black. He assumes his usual sitting position with one knee raised and the other leg folded beneath him, his posture both casual and attentive.

The sliding door thuds softly as you push it open fully.

Sukuna continues to give you his back, ignoring the sound of your entrance and making no gesture to acknowledge your presence.

Fearing him like a sleeping bear, you move silently through the door and into the room. You walk heel to toe, keeping balance, moving quietly.

You fix your eyes ahead, focusing on your destination: the cushion at the opposite end of the table.

Almost there.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your bodies align side by side.

So close.

You take another step to pull yourself from his proximity.

Suddenly, his upper right hand leaves its place on the floor and moves forward. With all his arrogance, he pushes it beneath the hem of your kimono.

A firm grip ensnares your ankle, halting your steps.

His fingers, warm and steady, settle against the softness of your skin, wrapping tightly around the slender curve of your ankle.

You flinch, mustering all the restraint not to pull away, and in the end, you don’t.

If Sukuna were a shackle, you were a prisoner.

Heart racing, you tilt your head down to take in the situation.

Half of his forearm vanishes beneath the layers of fabric, and his tendons flex and shift as he adjusts his bruising grip.

You slowly raise your gaze until you are looking into his face. His eyes are lowered, focused on a ceramic dish on the table before him. A thick slab of meat stains the plate bloody. The cut is slick with a glistening sheen, hinting at its freshness.

He uses his lower left hand to eat, scooping up the pulpy flesh and bringing it to his mouth to tear off a chunk. Remarkably, he manages to keep blood off his chin, though his hand is smeared. His indulgence is almost civilized—almost.

He chews thoroughly, then swallows, the muscles in his neck tensing and rippling with the motion before going still. A look of bliss crawls over his face, making yours twist with disgust.

“Wife,” he says. His lower eyes are fixed on the meat as he places it back on the plate. His upper eyes turn to you. “I’ve been gone for two weeks, and you think you can slip in here without addressing me properly.” All four eyes finally lock onto you. “It appears that living under my roof in my absence has made you cocky.”

The grip on you tightens like a noose. The pressure against your delicate bones aches.

Your mouth dries.

From this angle, if you draw your right leg back, you might have a good chance of smashing his mask with your knee.

Be charming. Be obedient. Bottle everything up.  

“Welcome back, my Lord.” You bow your head respectfully. “I trust your travels were successful. We certainly missed your presence while you were away.” You force the words at the end through clenched teeth.

Cocking his head to the side, the monster studies you for a moment before bringing his red-stained hand to his mouth and licking the blood from his fingers while maintaining eye contact with you.

Your eyes start to narrow but then widen.

In one of the most bizarre displays you've witnessed from him, you feel his thumb start tracing gentle circles on the skin of your ankle, the pad of his fingertip sliding up and down.

A tremor of unease spans the length of your body.

Up and down, up and down. His thumb continues its languid path.

His jaw is set so severely that a muscle pulses along his jawline as he clenches his teeth. It’s clear he’s challenging you to do something reckless, but you stay perfectly still, even as your palms begin to sweat beneath your gloves.

Up and down, up and down.

What if you threw caution to the wind, tore off a glove, and shoved your hand into his face? Would you make contact in time, or would he cut you down before that? Most likely, the latter. You’d probably be dead.

Up and down, up and—

The circling abruptly stops.

A sharp, biting sting radiates from your ankle. He digs his nail into your skin with enough force to make your body jerk and twitch involuntarily. You feel a warm liquid trickle down your ankle. He’s broken the surface of your skin.

His nostrils flare in anticipation as if he can smell the blood pulsing beneath the fabric of your kimono. His eyes shut, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he savours your scent.

You struggle against the urge to run, shifting on your feet, body swaying.

His eyes snap open, pupils dilated into black pools that swallow you whole.

You cease your movements, your spine locking into place as a shudder moves through you. Sensing it, the curvature of Sukuna’s mouth turns into a wide, hypnotic grin that reveals his sharp, pointed canines.

Now, you are scared.

“Sukun—my Lord.” your voice is a hesitant warning.

When he hears your nervous words, his eyes flicker to your mouth, and for too long, he’s captivated by the gentle dip and bow of your trembling lips. 

He blinks once, then twice.

The blackness consuming his eyes fades, and his grin vanishes into a pensive line.

Finally, he slowly releases your ankle, drawing his hand out from beneath your kimono. He then picks up the meat from the plate.

“Sit,” he commands dismissively, his eyes never leaving the bloody pulp.

It takes several heartbeats for you to gather yourself before you begin to move. Each step exacerbates the pain from the cut on your ankle. You are aware that you will need to bandage it later, once you can properly assess the wound. A pool of blood remains at the spot where you stood, and your kimono trails through it, leaving a stain across the floor.

When you reach your spot, you kneel on the cushion. Your meal is already prepared and waiting for you. As usual, it consists of rice, fruit, and vegetables. Meat has finally been removed from your meals, as it consistently remains untouched.

You lift your head to realize Sayuri is still waiting in the doorway, her presence having been forgotten. Now that you've finally taken a seat, she eagerly steps inside, her gaze remaining on Sukuna.

There’s a sense of longing behind her eyes.

“Get out,” he snaps, not bothering to turn. Her face falls, and you can’t help but feel sympathy for her as she is dismissed so curtly.

“Yes, Master,” she murmurs before retreating from the room and sliding the door shut, effectively trapping you inside.

You glance back at Sukuna, narrowing your eyes as you watch him eat in silence. His lower left elbow comes to rest heavily on the table, making a thud that rattles everything on it.

“I can feel you staring at me, brat. Why don’t you focus on the shit in front of you instead of me?” Sukuna remarks between mouthfuls, chewing voraciously.

You suppress a scoff and glance down at your plate.

“What do you mean, ‘that shit’? It’s called food,” you retort, grabbing your chopsticks from the table. “Unlike that travesty on your plate.” With a sharp glance at Sukuna, you pick up a piece of cucumber and shove it into your mouth.

What the hell are you doing? Charming. Obedient.

His eyes lift, and the atmosphere shifts as he pins you with a stern expression. To spite you, he takes a larger bite and chews so loudly that the clacking of his teeth is almost unbearable.

“You want to talk about what this travesty is?” he growls through his chewing, lifting the meat for emphasis. “Or rather, who it is?” It flops in his grip, accentuating his point.

Your blood runs cold.

No. You didn’t want to discuss who it was, because you already knew. The shame of what happened gnaws at you. You are unsure what you did to earn the stain that ended up on your chamber floor. All you know is that Takashi came into your room, and now he’s dead.

“I’d rather not,” you murmur, dipping your chin and focusing on your food.

“Tch, of course not,” he scoffs before returning to his meal with a renewed appetite.

Choosing not to respond, you scoop some rice up with the chopsticks and eat in silence.

Technically, you have only known each other for a day and have been married for just a few weeks. Yet, already, your interactions resemble those of a long-married, unhappy couple.

As you work through your meal, you finish the vegetables, then the rice, and finally, a cup of water to wash it all down.

You save the best for last: a fat, ripe peach.

You slide one glove off and bring the succulent fruit to your mouth. As you take a bite, the smooth skin gives way effortlessly under your teeth. Juices burst onto your tongue, a perfect blend of sweetness and tanginess that almost makes you groan with pleasure.

Uraume may be many things—emotionless, aloof—but they definitely knew how to find the most delicious peaches.

Feeling a sudden heat on your skin, you realize Sukuna’s gaze is fixed on your face. You look up to find him chewing slowly, deliberately, his eyes following the velvety fruit held between your thumb and index finger and the way your lips wrap around it.

A trickle of juice escapes from the corner of your mouth, making its way to your chin. Without thinking, you use the back of your hand to wipe it away before taking another bite.

Sukuna's eyes darken.

You are not entirely sure if this is part of your plan, but perhaps this approach will work—death by peach seduction.

The fruit squelches as your teeth sink into it for a third bite.

Drip, drip, drip.

Sukuna pauses mid-chew, his eyes fixed intently on your hand and mouth. His top lip twitches slightly. For a moment, he remains motionless until he swallows visibly. With a sudden sharp movement, he tosses the meat onto the plate, causing the ceramic to clang loudly.

“Come here,” he snaps.

The abrupt command catches you off guard. Not eager to provoke him, you set the peach down on your plate, wipe your hand, and slip your glove back on.

You approach cautiously and stand by his side.

With two fingers, he gestures to a spot on the floor.

“Sit.”

You sink to your knees beside him, feeling dwarfed by his imposing size.

Before you have a chance to react, Sukuna swiftly grabs your wrist with his upper left hand.

“What are you—ah!”

You stumble forward into his space as he pulls you with a force that makes you take a sharp breath. The sheer strength he uses forces you to brace yourself by placing your other hand on his muscular thigh.

“Hold still,” he grunts.

As you try to steady yourself, memories of his aggressive handling of your breasts in the forest flash through your mind, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead.

He studies your delicate silk glove closely, rotating your wrist and forcing your palm to turn over several times. Then, with his lower left hand, he reaches for the human tissue and rips off a piece.

He brings it towards your face.

“Open.”

Shit.

“I’m not eating that.”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“Oh, come on now. You once asked me to share a meal with you. Well, I’m doing just that. Besides, I can’t have my wife going hungry, can I?” His sneer is laced with mockery as he moves the piece of red tissue, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, closer to your lips. “Now, open.”

You lean back, trying to distance yourself.

“Your wife is not hungry. Let go,” you snap, your heart rattling in your chest.

“That’s a shame because I’m not taking no for an answer,” he growls. “Now, part those lips you just so brazenly taunted me with.”

Your face flushes with heat. He always seems to have the upper hand in these moments.

“No, there’s no way I’m eating that,” you insist, shaking your head as you shuffle backward, sitting on your haunches. 

He grabs your other wrist with his upper right hand, tightening his grip on both. Slowly, he drags you back towards him. Your wooden sandals scrape against the floor until you are practically in his lap.

“I will give you until the count of three before I pry your mouth open,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing tone.

Using his extra appendages to his advantage, his lower right hand wraps around your face. Your chin rests between his thumb and forefinger, while his palm supports the underside of your jaw. His hand is so large it nearly engulfs your entire head.

You can’t help but whimper at the intense physical contact.

His eyes narrow.

“One.” 

He starts the countdown.

Your breathing grows uneven.

Your eyes dart between the piece of human flesh—no, Takashi’s flesh—in his fingers and his unyielding gaze.

"Two." 

If you can free one wrist from his grip, you might be able to slip off one glove.

“Three,” he says quietly, his grip tightening on your jaw and wrists. “Time’s up.”

Without hesitation, he follows through on his threat.

He begins to part your lips, doing so with excruciating slowness. Your tongue fights against the pressure, making a soft clicking sound as it leaves the roof of your mouth.

As he forces your mouth to open wider, his own mouth parts slightly. Tilting his chin up to look down at you, his red eyes lower in a way you've come to recognize—those eyes that seem to catch you at your most vulnerable, when your facade starts to crumble.

You are trembling with a desperate need to escape, pulling gently and testing his hold, but his strength is unmatched. The King of Curses is always unmatched.

A low whine escapes your mouth as he moves the piece of meat closer to you. His thumb, previously resting against the side of your face, shifts to press into the dip under your lower lip, dragging it downward.

Time slows.

Your heartbeat pounds so loudly in your ears. The piece of flesh approaches your parted mouth.

Your vision narrows. Weightlessness overtakes you.

He guides the meat past your lips, positioning it carefully on the tip of your tongue before gently setting it down. Salt and iron. As he withdraws his fingers, he presses his thumb upward, closing your mouth.

“Chew.” His voice has become low, rough.

You don’t chew.

His grip tightens painfully around your jaw.

You begin to chew.

Rolling the meat around in your mouth. You force yourself to ignore the unsettling texture and suppress the urge to regurgitate it into his lap.

“Swallow it.”

Fuck you, Ryomen Sukuna.

You swallow.

Satisfied, he smirks and releases his hold on you.

As the chewed human flesh moves down your esophagus and settles in your stomach, your face contorts in reaction. You feel your body tense and revolt.

You heave once.

Sukuna’s face morphs into a look of disgust as he realizes what’s about to happen.

You scramble to your feet with frantic speed, rushing to the garden door and wrenching it open. The door almost comes off its track with the force of your action.

Bursting into the summer heat, you stagger into the garden, bend over, and vomit the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

A harsh bark of laughter erupts from back inside the room, echoing through the open door and reaching your ears over the sound of retching.

You stay hunched over, expelling every last bit of bile until there’s nothing left to throw up.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaches, and you tilt your head to glance back at the doorway.

Sukuna casually leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk.

“You really couldn’t handle it, could you?” he chuckles. “You are so fragile, so weak.”

You straighten.

On the tip of your tongue lies every profanity and curse that waits to be unleashed. But you swallow them down, choosing to hold back the torrent of rage.

“Nothing to say? Your father really does have you well-trained. Just a mutt.” Sukuna taunts.

You clench your fists in response to his relentless goading, then turn to head back inside, deliberately brushing past him.

“I should have taken your sister as my wife instead.”

You stop in your tracks, slowly turning on your heel to confront him.

“What did you just say?” 

A vicious smile cracks across his face.

“You heard me. Your sister. I should have taken—”

“Don’t you ever talk about my sister again, you fucking vile creature!” you shout, the words spewing from your lips with anger.

He takes a step toward you, and to your surprise, you step toward him as well. Standing chest to chest, you strain your neck to look up at him.

He has no idea what he’s just unleashed.

“What are you going to do, girl? Scream, yell, cry at me?” he mocks.

Oh, if only he knew what you were truly capable of.

Your fingers itch beneath your gloves, his taunts drilling into your skull.

“Go ahead, try to do something. It will be entertaining and utterly pointless, but I know you want to,” he quips.

A violent burst of adrenaline courses through your veins, and the familiar humming sensation below your fingertips pulsates.

Sukuna closes the distance further until your chest is pressed against his abdomen.

“Do it! Let’s see if you are even capable of scratching me.”

You tremble. Fists clench and unclench.

Subtly, you bring your hands together, pinching the edge of one glove, preparing to remove it.

His fingers curl inward, leaving only his middle and index fingers extended. His presence fills the space with a tense energy, coiled like a snake ready to strike.

“Do it!” he commands, voice booming.

Your jaw shakes. Your legs shake. The overwhelming urge to strike at him is too much.

But then your rational mind reasserts itself.

You can’t do it.

Throwing everything away in a moment of reckless fury is not an option. A reckless death is not an option. Surviving this—so you can return home—is and has always been your only option.

With a deep breath, you let your hands fall to your sides.

The anger that crashes across Sukuna’s face is instantaneous. His four arms tense as if he's restraining himself, just as in your recurring nightmare.

A deep, jagged groove cuts a path between his mask and eyebrow. His energy increases.

With no other options available and no way to escape the escalating situation, you push off your wooden sandals, gather the hem of your kimono, slip through the open garden door, and fucking run.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 7

[acourtofthought]

Out of Elucien and Gwynriel, who do you think is more likely to have their story told next, and why?

I just want to preface this by saying Sarah could absolutely write either pairing first. Only she knows what her 5 year (10 year??) plan is for this series and whether Koschei is supposed to be a bigger bad than he currently seems or whether she's going to introduce an even worse villain that she'll tie into different crossover plots. All that could make a difference in who is getting the next book.

With that said........

I think Elucien makes the most sense. First they are both more strongly connected to the current ACOTAR plots. At the end of SF they were worried about Beron, Koschei, those on the continent not signing the peace treaty, the issues in Spring.

To date, neither Bloomsbury or Sarah has ever made the announcement that you need to read the CC series to understand the next ACOTAR book. Even if they did it wouldn't make a lot of sense because most casual readers don't follow Sarah or Bloomsbury therefore they'd have no way to know what order you needed to read the series in. To me, that logically means the events of HOFAS cannot kick off the next ACOTAR book and truth be told, the ending of HOFAS didn't actually leave us with an actual plot that needs resolved. There were hints of what might come but the characters were not left thinking, "this is a threat to our world right now and we need to deal with it." Especially not when they already have more pressing threats to their world, the ones that were introduced in ACOWAR, the novella and SF.

Second, Elain and Lucien have been waiting a very long time for the resolution to their mating bond / love story. It's not that Sarah can't dive into a Gwynriel romance but I'm not sure their romance is more of a story right now. There's no real tension between them that needs resolved, they're in the baby stages of things. It's a beautiful place for them to be of course, it's fun to see them beginning to interact but I think it would be odd for Az to go from lusting after Mor, wanting to go down on Elain then end up mated to / in love with Gwyn all within the same year. I think Az could use a bit of time where he's removed from his centuries of pining for unattainable women to focus on his issues alone so that he's the right kind of love interest for Gwyn. And where Gwyn has a little more time to explore the world outside of the library, where she's not going from leaving it for the first time in two years to being mated to Az that same year. (Girl deserves to see what else is out there and make Az sweat a bit).

But Elain and Lucien? Their will they / won't they has been a major theme in the series since book 2 and not only for them but for all the characters. Feyre and Nesta struggled with the realization of the Elucien bond then finally came around to it. Az can't stand the scent of their bond, Cassian feels sad for Lucien's longing over his bond, Rhys is worried about the ramifications of Az trying to dick Lucien over because of the Elucien bond. To me, it's not something that can really continue lingering on in the background without resolution, not when every single character is talking about it / thinking about it. Not the way Gwynriel's romance could easily take a backseat and Sarah could give it a little more time to cook, add a little more drama to their setup.

With that said, I'm not Sarah so I have no idea if her thoughts are similar to my thoughts!

[ha-rinrin]

Hiding From The World

Summary: After a meeting with Silco, Jinx goes missing, leaving you to go find her.

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 1k

Authors note: The long ass story is still not finished im so sorry guys im gonna try to publish it as soon as I can 🤞🏻. I also did this at 2am, sorry if its bad I literally fell asleep in the middle of writing it.

Masterlist

It's been hours since you last saw her. Jinx was supposed to come back to the hideout after a supposedly urgent meeting with Silco, but the minutes dragged on, turning into hours, and still no sign of her. You tried to convince yourself she was just blowing off steam somewhere, but you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in your gut.

Without a second thought, you head to the one place she might be. It’s a little secret basement in an abandoned building tucked away in the darker parts of Zaun, somewhere she figured no one would ever think to look, when you and Jinx first stumbled on this little abandoned building while exploring Zaun’s hidden alleys. The structure was half-buried under layers of graffiti and rust, but Jinx saw it as treasure—something forgotten by everyone else but perfect for the two of you. Together, you’d set up this place over the months, stringing fairy lights from the cracked ceiling, stacking old crates to make makeshift chairs, and even securing it with a series of hidden traps to keep intruders out.

The shadows stretch longer as you approach the building, slipping past the creaky metal door and down the stairs that lead to the basement. You disable the traps one by one, the steps so familiar you could do them in your sleep. Finally, you reach the heavy door that leads into the basement, taking a breath before pushing it open.

And there she is.

Jinx is slouched on the floor, leaning against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes flicker with a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and you catch the way her hands keep fidgeting, as if even while sitting still, she can't quite find peace. She looks up when you enter, and something in her expression softens ever so slightly.

"Y/N," she mutters, sounding almost relieved. "Guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought, huh?"

You close the door behind you, crossing the dimly lit room until you’re in front of her. “Not from me, anyway.”

She scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. You slide down to sit beside her, close enough that your shoulders are almost touching. For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is comfortable, settling like a blanket around you both.

You glance over, studying her for a beat. “Rough day?”

She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “Silco thinks he knows everything. Says I’m too… reckless, like he doesn’t know me by now.” Her fingers toy with a stray thread on her pants, pulling at it absently. “Sometimes I think he just doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get me.”

You nod, listening to every word. “Sometimes I don’t think he deserves to.”

Jinx looks over at you, that fire in her eyes simmering down, replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. She doesn’t say anything right away, but her hand inches toward yours, her fingers grazing your palm as if she’s testing the waters.

You intertwine your fingers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We don’t need him, you know,” you murmur. “We’ve got this place. It’s ours. Away from everyone else.”

She leans her head back, gazing around at the dim room, where the fairy lights cast soft, warm glows over the walls. It’s far from fancy, but it feels like home, like yours. The two of you worked to make it that way—a sanctuary in the chaos.

Her gaze drifts back to you, a small, genuine smile breaking through her tough exterior. “Guess that’s why I wanted to come here… I knew you’d find me.”

“Always,” you say softly, brushing a thumb over her knuckles.

For a while, you sit in comfortable silence, her head eventually finding its way to your shoulder. The weight of her against you feels reassuring, grounding, like the world outside doesn’t matter when it’s just the two of you in this little hidden corner of Zaun.

“You know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, “this place… I’d never let anyone else in here but you.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else.”

She smiles again, her eyes half-closed as she leans into you. In this moment, with the flickering lights casting shadows across the room and the muffled sounds of Zaun fading in the background, you both find a rare, quiet peace.

Jinx’s head grows heavier on your shoulder, her breathing slowing, steadying. You glance down to find her eyes closed, the furrow in her brow smoothed out. It’s rare to see her like this—unguarded, peaceful, away from the chaos that usually surrounds her.

Carefully, you shift, wrapping an arm around her to support her as you slowly stand up. She stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake, her head resting comfortably against your shoulder as you carry her over to the old, beaten-up couch you both dragged in here ages ago. Easing yourself down, you settle back with Jinx still in your arms, her body now draped across yours.

She mumbles something incoherent as she nestles closer, pressing her face against your chest. One of her arms wraps around you, clutching the fabric of your shirt as if you’re an anchor keeping her steady.

You can’t help but smile, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. She looks so serene, her usual smirk softened, her breathing deep and calm. Gently, you stroke her back, your fingers tracing light, soothing circles as she relaxes even further against you.

The warmth of her settles into you, a quiet comfort that makes the dim room feel like it’s lit up with something more than just fairy lights. Holding her like this, feeling her heartbeat thrum in sync with yours, it’s like all the weight of the world fades away.

As minutes slip by, you let your head rest back against the couch, one arm wrapped securely around her while your other hand continues to run softly up and down her back. You could stay like this forever, hidden away with her, in a place that’s just for the two of you.

In this little pocket of the world, it’s just you and her, and for now, that’s all you need.

[idle-flower]

Amy Madison is one of those things which, like some of the subplots of DS9, I assumed that I'd missed something the first time around and that there was a lot more to it, and was disappointed on a rewatch to find that... no, not really.

Like, I thought it was super-cool that there was this tiny minor character with stuff going on in the background who would resurface seasons later instead of a "remember the new guy" plot! And obviously Willow cared about this girl and there was a whole story there, right? I wasn't religiously watching the show when it first aired so I'd probably just missed whatever her story was!

So then I did a big rewatch with a friend who'd never seen Buffy before and... ehh.

(Now, I never watched season 7 and have stricken it from my personal canon, so that already limits me.) I want Amy to make more sense and to have more story. In those few appearances there are just enough threads of a story that I can totally build a bunch of ideas, but they rapidly diverge from canon.

Because yeah, there's the "Amy decides to delve into witchcraft". Many good reasons why she might, protection from someone messing with her again being an obvious one, dark fascination and love/hate with her mother being another, but she's never given the chance to tell that story.

There's the "Amy back from the dead" which was HORRIBLY disappointing how glossed-over it was. Amy's real-world situation is more fucked-up than Buffy's was! Was she declared legally dead? How many people had any idea what had happened to her? (What happened to that Michael kid who was also in their witch circle? He knew, right? Did he used to visit Rat-Amy?) When she finally went to find her father how did she explain this to him, or did she panic and mind-whammy him because she *couldn't* explain? There could have been more detailed connections here with both Buffy's problems and Willow's problems, without having to go the ridiculous route of...

"Amy's magic druggie problem" Even leaving aside that this entire plotline is horrible, stupid, and horribly stupid, I don't for a second believe that a girl who's been stuck as a rat for years could instantly find the super-secret floating lair of the local druglord. She clearly didn't have that sort of hookup before and it wouldn't be that easy for her to find it now. She's years out of touch! And she should be struggling with magic now. She was not as powerful as fully-juiced Willow to begin with and the trauma of being ratted ought to be giving her the yips. Even if she knew this guy existed and never told Willow about it in high school for some reason, it ought to be a difficult quest on her part to find a way in.

"Amy wants revenge on Willow" A perfectly good plotline idea if they'd actually worked with it in the show, which would require making her more of a major character for a while. Because yeah, getting mad at Willow for 'ruining' her life is plausible, but we need to see Amy's life falling apart first. Even if it's almost-all offscreen because she's not a Real Scooby, it should take time for her to develop this hate-on for Willow. Because at first she'd be grateful for being saved, and then as she slowly realised how screwed she was, then she becomes resentful. Sort of an inverse of Buffy who wasn't happy about being saved and then comes to terms with it, Amy slowly gives up on trying to have her life back and decides to throw in with the dark side.

Just spitballing here. Willow, desperate to prove that she can do good things with her magic powers, de-rats Amy. Amy is thrilled at first but becomes more and more distressed as she realises that life has left her behind. How's she going to fix things with her dad? And Willow suggests magic. Willow takes her home, makes her dad accept everything with a mind-whammy, zap-zap-zap's Amy's long-turned-into-storage bedroom into something cool and modern and witchy, and leaves Amy there, feeling super proud of herself. See, it's easy! Magic really can fix everything! Cut back to Amy, alone in the dark, twitching in terror at the sounds of cats, trying to cast little spells and having them go wrong...

Reverse Unpopular Opinion: Amy Madison

[Reverse unpopular opinion meme.]

This is an interesting one because I think there’s a solid argument to be made that the character of “Amy Madison” does not, in fact, actually exist on the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

By which I mean … look, okay, yes, obviously, there is a character in an early Season 1 episode called Amy Madison, played by Elizabeth Anne Allen.  And there’s a character with the same name in a Season 2 episode, and [in an admittedly weird coincidence] she’s also played by Elizabeth Anne Allen.  And there’s one in Season 3, and a one in a few episodes of Season 6, and one in an episode of Season 7, and all of them are played by the same actor.

But … I mean, come on.  There’s no way these can all be the same character, right?  They don’t have the same basic back story or the same relationship to magic or to Willow; they certainly don’t have anything resembling a definite personality or set of motivations or a consistent character arc.  No, surely what’s going on here is that there are several different “Amy Madisons” in Sunnydale – just like there are several different characters called Anne or Nancy on the show – and in a bizarre in-joke the writers simply decided to cast the same woman to play all of them.

Now, ordinarily, simply being written inconsistently over a handful of episodes and not having anything resembling the same personality from week to week would be no obstacle to having a few die-hard fans.  But – as far as I can tell, anyway? – there’s no “fandom Amy” either.  She never really gets mentioned when people want to talk about how all the Scooby Gang had awful mothers [even though Amy actually did, explicitly and inarguably, have a very, very awful and openly abusive mother!].  There’s very little in the way of Amy/Willow shipping going on here or on AO3 [even though witchcraft is heavily coded as a metaphor for being a lesbian and Amy, one of the first witches we meet on the show, is repeatedly linked to Willow throughout the show’s run].  There are no adorable drawings of Amy as a rat staring out of her cage at Willow and Tara (or if there are, they aren’t getting as many notes as they should be getting).  

No, it looks like most people who are still watching and talking about the show twenty-five years later have about as much interest in poor Amy Madison as the writers did.  She’s a plot device.  A punchline.  A cipher.  A blank slate.  She’s whatever the plot requires her to be to further the stories of the actual characters on the show, and she’ll never ever be anything else.  Which is a little sad, if you think about it.  I think Amy – or, well, most of the different Amys: The Killer In Me’s smirking evil-for-evil’s-sake Amy I’m not so sure about – deserved better.

[As I write this the thought occurs to me, belatedly, that I might be one of Amy Madison’s biggest fans.  Pretty grim news for her if so.]

OK. Enough stalling.  Five positive things about Amy Madison [with, as ever, the usual caveat about the comics, which I’ve still not read anything about and still don’t exist].

Witch, Amy’s debut appearance, is a solid episode!  One of that season’s best, I think (though not, of course, one of its very best).  And I think the duo of Elizabeth Anne Allen's Amy Madison (and Robin Riker as her mom Catherine) is a big part of why that episode works: no, they haven’t got a huge amount to work with, but I think they both do a pretty good job switching between evil witch Catherine and innocent victim Amy.  Catherine’s bodyswap spell foreshadows (albeit unintentionally) the bodyswap artifact that the Mayor gifts Faith in This Year’s Girl / Who Are You? and I’ll always have a soft sport for it because of that.  And I really like that the episode ends with Amy alive and hanging out with Buffy in a way that suggests that they are going to stay friends, even if we don’t see any evidence on screen that that happened.

Sarcasm aside, I’m really glad the writers brought Amy back in the second season.  To me, part of the appeal of the high school years are the recurring minor characters – I talked about Principal Snyder before, but also Jonathan and Devon and Percy and Harmony and … yes, Amy too.  The show obviously doesn’t care about her very much, and you have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to fill in the missing pieces of her story and make her arc make sense (why is she starting to do magic in Season 2?  When does she start hanging out with Willow?), but … well, I do care and I have done those gymnastics.  At least Amy didn’t end up like Marcie Ross or Buffy’s old flame Owen or any of those poor kids who must remember eating Principal Flutie. 

I’ve been reading a few old interviews Elizabeth Anne Allen gave recently (here and here, for example) which I think have some pretty interesting insights into how the character of Amy developed.  Had you ever heard there were persistent rumors at one point that Amy was going to be one of the starting regulars on Angel?  It’s mind-boggling to think about a world where that happened.  Allen seems to have put a huge amount of thought into her character, too, at least for her first few appearances, which … uh, I guess makes me feel a bit shitty about those opening paragraphs. [Not enough to delete them though…]  Also in one of the linked interviews she says that she “hopes she won’t be a rat much longer” – and that’s an interview she gave before the Season 3 finale had even made it to air, which made me pretty sad to read.  Forget appearing on Angel, imagine if Amy had been de-ratted in Season 4.  Imagine if Superstar was about Amy instead of Jonathan.

There is a second or two in Season 6’s Smashed – no more than that – when Buffy and Amy are catching up again (“How have you been?”  “Rat.  You?”  “Dead.”  “Oh.”) and you can, if you’re quick, delude yourself into thinking that the show is going to do something interesting with the obvious parallel it’s just set up. Willow has now not only brought Buffy back into the regular human world [and left her struggling to live and find meaning as a college drop out with a dead mother and an absent father last seen on screen about five years ago], she’s also brought Amy back into the regular human world [and left her struggling to live and find meaning as a de facto high school drop out with a presumed-dead mother and a presumably-now-absent father last mentioned about five years ago].  Surely this must be deliberate?  Well, no: the show doesn’t do anything with this idea ever again, because Marti Noxon had very different [worse] ideas for Amy’s character this season, but if you pretend it might be about do something like that it’s a pretty exciting couple of seconds.

The fact that “Amy Madison” exists as a (technically!) canon character means that I can write (or daydream about writing) fanfiction in which Willow has a friend in high school who is also a practising witch. One with a vague but miserable home life, who is secretly in love with Willow but too afraid to admit it (and so she keeps professing to be interested in men who she can’t possibly ever expect to date, either because they’re unpleasantly vile toward women or openly gay or both). And I can do that while, just about, pretending that I have not created the most embarrasingly psychologically revealing OC you ever heard about in your life.  Thanks Amy!

[jademight]

This might be the brainrot setting in (again) but 

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE CHARACTER ASSASSINATION MUMMY RETURNS DID ON MY BOY IMHOTEP--

[loveguts]

i’m not a transandrophobia truther in the slightest don’t get me wrong, but i think some people on here really need to realize and comprehend the fact that cis women, way WAY more often than not, hold extremely significant social and political power over trans men the vast majority of the time in our day to day lives

[crossbackpoke-check]

i C u moyle

captured in 4k

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”