#also hi if you are actually reading these

[thankskenpenders]

Thoughts on two specific areas of the writing in Sonic X Shadow Generations

The best new 3D Sonic game in over a decade (or even two, depending on who you ask) dropped late last year. And I didn't write anything about it! Sometimes life happens. Well, I've finally sat down to finish Shadow Generations, and by now everyone has already been singing its praises for three months. This is the rare instance where the entire Sonic fandom, and even mainstream reviewers, are in agreement on something. The level design is the best it's been in a long, long time and the cool factor is off the charts, embracing Sonic's peak cringe era in an incredibly confident way. It's great. If you're even reading this post, you probably don't need me to tell you that. So I won't!

No, what I'm really interested in here is the writing. Because this is me we're talking about. But I actually don't want to talk about the main narrative of Shadow Generations, which is really solid little story about Black Doom trying to mold Shadow into his perfect soldier. No, I'd like to zero in on two other aspects of the writing here: the revisions made to Sonic Generations, and Gerald Robotnik's unlockable journal.

The updated Sonic Generations script

The new package mostly presents Sonic Generations how you remember it. There are some tweaks, but it's not a major overhaul. Graphically, I don't think the game has been touched much, if at all. I certainly can't notice any difference without a side-by-side comparison, despite playing it on a PS5. The most notable update is that the game's script has been rewritten by Ian Flynn.

Naturally, this caught my attention. Generations always had a nothingburger story, so with Ian rewriting Pontac and Graff's lame dialogue there was nowhere to go but up. (I don't like to pin the blame for those games' stories entirely on them, as a ton of it was dictated to them by Sonic Team, but, well, I don't think they're very good dialogue writers.) But it's less a complete rewrite and more like Ian was brought on as a script doctor for some minor touch ups here and there. Many lines of dialogue are completely identical to how they were originally written in 2011, and many others only have slight wording changes. Ian was clearly not allowed to request additional scenes or extend the ones that already existed. He has to match the original beat for beat so that they can reuse 99% of the cutscene animations. Don't expect it to be a whole new experience compared to the original.

Still, I think the new script is an improvement, albeit a minor one. Various things have been tweaked to maintain characterization consistency. Cream calls Sonic "Mr. Sonic" instead of just "Sonic." Instead of calling Sonic "buddy," Rouge uses the pet name "Blue," like she tends to do in things like the IDW comics. Espio doesn't have to remind you in the dialogue that he's a ninja, and he no longer has a line making it sound like he has some kind of soul reading power. I also like that Modern Sonic now actually has responses to what his friends say when he rescues them, rather than being silent like Classic Sonic. They won't blow you away, but they make Sonic feel a little more engaged with everything.

In general, the altered dialogue just seems tighter to me, and some of the more childish or trite wording of Pontac and Graff's script has been altered. Here, let's actually make a direct comparison, just because this stuff is interesting to me as a writer. Here's a couple lines from after the Egg Dragoon fight late in the game, in the original script:

Modern Eggman: Ooooh... I can't believe this! I was supposed to beat you this time. Modern Sonic: Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't get that memo. I beat you every time! [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat this guy every time. It's like it's our job or something!

This is a simple exchange. Eggman is mad that he lost. Sonic is unflappably confident because he always beats Eggman, and he explains this to his younger self. But the wording here isn't particularly good. Eggman's simple and direct wording makes him come off like a little kid who's mad because his older brother beat him at Mario Kart, rather than a mad scientist who just had his plans foiled. It's making light of the situation.

And I've never liked Sonic saying "It's like it's our job or something!" That doesn't feel like a thing Sonic would say, it feels like a thing an outside observer would say about Sonic. This is a frequent problem with so-called "MCU dialogue," where quips meant to echo the commentary of a casual, somewhat disinterested audience are inserted into the story itself so that the writers can be like "See? We get it. We're genre-savvy, too!" It also just reminds me of bad Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric lines like "Rings! It's like they're made for me!"

And then here's Ian's rewrite:

Modern Eggman: I recalibrated everything! This was supposed to be my time! Modern Sonic: Oh, please, keep dreamin', Egg-head. I beat you every time. [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat him every time. Our score card's flawless.

Eggman's still mad about his defeat, but the line "I recalibrated everything!" makes it more specific. He put all this work into the engineering side of his latest scheme and got tunnel vision, thinking if he got his creations just right there'd be no way he could lose. "This was supposed to be my time!" also turns it into a time travel pun, which is a bonus. He's still pitching a fit over losing, but it feels more like Eggman pitching a fit, rather than sounding childish.

And then instead of saying that beating Eggman is "like his job or something," Sonic says he's got a flawless score card against Eggman. He doesn't take Eggman seriously as a threat—at least, not to his face. He acts like it's all a game. But he conveys this in a way that feels truer to the character, rather than feeling like the words of a real world observer poking fun at the tropes of the Sonic series.

Is this amazing, A+ dialogue that blows me away? No. Again, it's not a completely different scene from the one we already had. Ian had to fit the beats of what was already there. He couldn't go all out and write an all new story confirming his longstanding headcanon that the Time Eater is a remnant of Solaris or whatever. But the wording here makes the existing story land a little better and feel truer to the characters in subtle ways.

But to me, the main change is that the Sonics and Tailses seem to have a more solid understanding of what's going on with the timeline and the Time Eater, compared to how idiotic they sometimes seemed in the original game. Which is good! No more standing outside Green Hill and wondering why it seems so familiar. Thank god. As part of this, yes, there are a few more references to past games in the dialogue, like Sonic briefly being confused about the fact that they're time traveling without the Time Stones, or South Island and Westside Island being acknowledged as the normal locations of Green Hill and Chemical Plant. Yes, ha ha, insert joke about how Ian loves references here. Look, it's Sonic fucking Generations. It's a game built entirely out of nostalgic references. Just own it! And, again, in this instance Sonic and Tails come off as less stupid when they make it clear that they do, in fact, remember their adventures from presumably less than a year ago in-universe.

Eggman, too, seems to have a better understanding of the powers he's toying with. Where in the original vesion his focus was simply on going back in time to undo his previous defeats and he seemed kind of oblivious to how much the Time Eater was actually fucking up the universe, here Eggman says he wants to use the Time Eater to give himself complete control over the entire timeline. Eggman also makes way fewer references to his own failures and shortcomings. Of course he won't admit that Sonic has defeated him time and time again. To him, he's never truly lost—Sonic just keeps delaying the inevitable total victory for the Eggman Empire.

So, yes. The new Sonic Generations script is better. It won't blow anyone away, but it's better than it was. It's been elevated from "kinda lame" to "fine." No, if you really wanna see Ian flex his ability to breathe new life into old Sonic stories, look no further than...

Gerald Robotnik's Journal

Hoo boy.

The story of what happened aboard the ARK has always been... a bit confusing, to say the least. Fans with encyclopedic knowledge of the script for every route of Shadow '05 may disagree, but it's the truth. We've had all the pieces to understand the story for a long time now, but that info was given to us out of order by a pair of unreliable narrators—Gerald, who became a vengeful lunatic shortly before his death, and Shadow, who was subjected to multiple rounds of amnesia and altered memories. Some of the ambiguity left by Sonic Adventure 2 was cleared up in Shadow '05, but that game also retconned in a bunch of new elements to Shadow's backstory (aliens!) that lead to further confusion. Not to mention the fact that that game had multiple routes and only revealed the truth about Shadow if you sat on the ultimate final boss battle for WAY longer than the fight would normally last. Or the fact that Sonic X made its own tweaks in its telling of the story. Or the fact that none of these things ever had the best English translations. I can't blame anyone who hasn't played those games in two decades for not remembering the truth about these characters and getting some details mixed up.

What we needed was something to piece together all of the info we have into one coherent backstory, told in chronological order. And thanks to Shadow Generations, we have that, in the form of an official journal tying together what we knew from Sonic Adventure 2, Shadow '05, and Sonic Battle into the tragic tale of Gerald's rise and fall.

Ian Flynn was the perfect man for the job here as the guy who started his career by tidying up the mess that was the first 159 issues if Archie Sonic. This is what he excels at: taking disparate bits of weird Sonic lore from multiple different sources, boiling them down to their most interesting elements, and connecting it together in a way that will make the audience see the dramatic potential he's always known was there. Rather than feeling like a cynical exercise in franchise building, going back and explaining things that never needed explaining so that people can add more bullet points to the wiki, he puts a new spin on things that retroactively enriches those past stories. The story here means something to the characters involved and gives us a better understanding of them as people, rather than as plot devices to motivate Shadow.

(And, of course, Ian didn't do this journal alone. He wrote the story, but I also have to give a huge shout out to Evan Stanley, who made the final product. All of her handwritten journal entries, sketches, and "photos" included throughout. The physical damage done to the journal over the course of 50 tumultuous years, passing from Gerald to Eggman to a certain special someone at GUN. The way Gerald's handwriting gets less and less legible as his mental state declines. So much love was put into what could have been a mere text dump in a menu, and it really elevates it to the next level. Congrats on officially getting hired by Sega, Evan, you've sure as hell earned it!)

The main idea the journal conveys is that Gerald was under a lot of pressure from a lot of different parties—GUN, the President, his colleagues aboard the ARK, Black Doom, even his own family—and boy did it get to him. The known incidents aboard the ARK mentioned in previous games are put together here to form a story where everything slowly spirals out of control as Gerald keeps compromising his morals to further his research, thinking he'll eventually find some way out of all this because he's a genius. I won't recap that whole story here (if you haven't already played the game and read the journal entries, I would highly recommend at least reading it on the Sonic wiki), but I'd like to highlight my favorite elements of the story, as Ian tells it here.

1) The Eclipse Cannon

Here's something that never quite made sense in Sonic Adventure 2: why does the ARK have a laser that can blow up the Earth built into it? It was supposed to be a peaceful research colony. Sure, Gerald went crazy and swore revenge on the Earth, but, like... when did he have an opportunity to go back up to the ARK and modify it? Did he have someone else do it? How? The ARK was raided by GUN and shut down! And then they arrested him, held him in prison for an unclear period of time, and executed him by firing squad when he was no longer useful! It doesn't add up. Shadow 'the Hedgehog '05 would give its own answer by introducing the Black Arms and saying that the Eclipse Cannon was always supposed to be a secret trump card against the Black Comet. But, like... we know that's kind of a bullshit answer, right? You don't need enough power to blow up a whole planet just to destroy a comet.

Well, the new journal retains what we already knew, but it paints a much more complete picture.

See, long before Gerald ever made a Faustian bargain with Black Doom, he had already made one with an even greater evil: the military. GUN gave Gerald much of the funding for the ARK, Gerald's personal utopian research station in space, but it didn't take long for GUN to start pressuring him to design them weapons. Gerald tried to get GUN off his back by personally contacting the President of the United Federation, and the President gave him an alternative: how about, instead, you just use your genius brain to figure out the secret to immortality for us, so our soldiers can be immortal? Gerald was initially sickened by the notion and found it completely absurd, like chasing a shadow... but given no other option, the sarcastically named Project Shadow soon began in earnest. (Maria would later put a more positive spin on the name after Shadow's awakening, pointing out that a Shadow can show us the direction of the light, like she says in the game itself.)

Of course, this search for the ultimate life form didn't go very well, and without any results on that front GUN kept hounding him for weapons. Gerald would throw them a bone here and there to get them off his back. His research on Chaos resulted in the Artifical Chaos prototypes, which he worried would be used for warfare but could at least theoretically be used for search and rescue missions in floods, in his mind. But that wasn't enough. So he gave them Chaos Drives to power their mechs. And that still wasn't enough. He's got Emerl. He'll give them Emerl. They're not impressed by Emerl. They'll shut the whole ARK down if Gerald doesn't give them something big.

Fine! GUN wants something big? Gerald builds a huge fucking laser cannon into the ARK. However, as a middle finger to GUN, Gerald makes it so powerful that it would destroy the Earth if it was ever fired at any target on its surface. In other words, GUN now has their ultimate weapon of mass destruction, fulfilling his contract, but they can never actually use it. Oh, the delicious irony. (And also Shadow will blow up the Black Comet with it in 50 years yada yada yada.) Is this perhaps extremely shortsighted and naive of Gerald, to believe that such a weapon would never actually be used just because of the risk? Of course. But hey, that's Gerald for you. And I love this as an answer.

(Also, this, uh, kinda echoes something from real life! Remember the bit in Oppenheimer where he says all nuclear war will become unthinkable, and Edward Teller responds "until somebody builds a bigger bomb"? Yeah, Teller went on to conceptualize a superweapon codenamed Project Sundial that would have been able to kill all life on the planet, as the ultimate deterrent for war. This was never made for obvious reasons, but hey, there's a basis for this sort of thinking outside of heightened sci-fi! There's a whole Kurzgesagt video about this if you're interested.)

2) The Biolizard

The Biolizard is, of course, brought up as the initial failed prototype of the ultimate life form, from before Gerald met Black Doom. We don't really learn all that much about it that we didn't already know, but I just love the way it's framed in the story.

As you can see above, we actually get to see a picture of Maria holding up the cute little salamander that would end up mutating into the Biolizard through Gerald's experiments. (Researchers want to figure out how to replicate salamanders' regenerative abilities for humans in real life, too, so this was a natural starting point for the project.) And then, after it grows to a monstrous size and goes out of control, Gerald has to lock it away in an unused sector of the ARK. He needs to keep the poor thing alive for his research into harnessing Chaos Energy, building life support systems directly into it, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Maria what happened. So it just becomes this first dark secret weighing on his conscience. The Biolizard becomes Gerald's Tell-Tale Heart beating beneath the floorboards of the ARK. I love that.

3) Lost Impact was the breaking point for the ARK

Remember the level Lost Impact in Shadow '05? The flashback level on the hero path where Shadow is running around fighting Artificial Chaos enemies on the ARK 50 years ago? Yeah, that wasn't just a random incident. That was important, as we now know due to its placement on the timeline.

See, Emerl's rampage aboard the ARK that was chronicled in Sonic Battle and Dark Beginnings set off a domino effect. Emerl riled up the Artificial Chaos, causing Gerald to lose control of them. They became violent, and so Shadow had to stop them, as depicted in Lost Impact. The thing is, that incident sent an SOS signal to GUN telling them that shit was going down on the ARK. Gerald didsn't fully understand the trouble he was in and assumed that he'd simply be reprimanded by the higher ups, or maybe face legal action. But, well... the next time he heard from GUN, armed troopers were raiding the ARK.

So Lost Impact was the straw that broke the camel's back. I just really like that detail.

4) Maria

And, of course, there's Maria herself. Maria has often been more of a symbol than a character, this perfect embodiment of everything that's good and pure in this world who gets killed to motivate Shadow and Gerald's revenge plots. But I really like the wrinkles this journal adds to her and Gerald's story, and their relationship. This is the most fleshed out they've ever felt.

For one, the journal leans into the idea of Maria's intellectual potential. The rest of the Robotnik family is all geniuses, after all, and she was proving to be a really bright kid. She excelled in her studies on the ARK, and she even helped design Shadow's jet skates and inhibitor rings. When Maria died, the world didn't just lose a symbolic personification of purity. She genuinely could have been a hugely influential scientist who did so much good for the world. That's what Gerald wanted for her. But we'll never know, because GUN killed her.

Speaking of her family, their presence isn't just mentioned for the sake of fleshing out the Robotnik family tree. It's mentioned that as Gerald struggled to find a cure for Maria's illness through his genetic research, he faced mounting pressure from his family. They didn't want Maria to be up on the ARK forever. They wanted Gerald to hurry up and find a damn cure, or otherwise just send her back home to Earth so she could be with her family again. She'd been up on the ARK for so long that Gerald's coworkers started thinking that she had been born up there. Eventually she gains a baby sister on Earth who she's never met. A rift forms between Gerald's two sons, and he's unable to really deal with it because he's so consumed by his work. There's this sense that the family is falling apart, and that everyone is dreading the possibility that Gerald will never find a cure and that Maria will just spend her final years up in space and die far away from her family, because Gerald just couldn't let go. If that happens, it'll break the whole family. But he can't stop now. So he just keeps working. Curing Maria is the only way to win his family back, in his eyes. It can't all be for nothing.

But my favorite detail regarding Maria is this one paragraph:

Maria is growing into a lovely young woman. It breaks my heart that someone as bright and energetic as her is diminished by disease. There are no visible effects, and I've caught my fellow researchers muttering to each other, doubting her illness. It is infuriating. I find all my reason and restraint vanishes when she's slighted.

This is SUCH a great addition to the story! It's always been true that Maria doesn't really seem all that ill, just looking at her in cutscenes. With this one little comment, Ian flips that issue on its head and turns it into a story about invisible disability. She doesn't act like she's in chronic pain, so she must not be, everyone thinks. And this really, really gets to Gerald, as does the pressure from his family. He's dedicating his whole LIFE to saving her, and they think she's faking it?! It's such a small addition, never referenced elsewhere in the journal, but it adds so much flavor to the story, as does the implied family drama. It grounds Gerald and Maria and makes them feel more like real human beings, rather than being pure archetypes. It's just enough info to let my imagination run wild filling in the blanks.

You also get the feeling that Maria being such a walking ray of sunshine was the only real source of joy Gerald had left in his life before Shadow was awakened, and the only thing keeping him from snapping under pressure sooner. All this stuff just keeps piling on, everything's spiraling out of control, but at least Maria is keeping her chin up, right? It makes so much sense that losing her would make him go off the deep end when it's framed like this.

It's just... man, I never thought I'd care so much about Gerald and Maria. But that's the Ian Flynn touch. After years of less than stellar Sonic writing that seemed to be embarrassed of itself, I'm so happy to have new games coming out that fully embrace the history of the series like this, making its world feel so rich and real instead of just serving as an excuse for a string of platforming levels. I don't even like Shadow '05, but I'll be damned if Ian and the rest of Sonic Team didn't make something amazing by "yes, and"-ing Shadow's cringe past here. Sonic has truly reached levels of "we're so back" never thought possible.

[softness-and-shattering]

No but do imagine it a second. Cause hes still innocent till proven guilty.

And Im just a layperson over here but I dont think it was him. The original photo, the guy has very ruddy skin and Mangione is very olive. Their eyebrows are different. I got the impression that under the jacket the shooter has a fairly wide build, in the shoulders, Mangione is more average.

They just found a photo of Mangione in a similar-ish jacket at a similar location, found that he'd been staying under a false name and decided he was as good a candidate as any to pin it on. Why were the cops utterly clueless for multiple days and then suddenly all the evidence had pointed to Mangione all along?

And why would the shooter expertly leave the scene, only trace left behind was a bag with monopoly money and hes gone in the wind, only to be chilling at a mcdonalds with a shitty manifesto in his pocket that says "I cant explain it well, do the reading"? Thats not a coherent manifesto. Thats not the actions of someone willing to go down with the crime to have his message heard. Such a person wouldve waited at the crime scene, would have had a strong coherent message not "do the reading". They did leave a coherent message, they left deny defend depose and the monopoly money, and theyre definitely in another country by now.

Mangione said some of the 'evidence' had been planted. He said 'this is an insult to the intelligence of the american public'.

Abd more than anything else, regardless of his actual guilt, he is legally innocent until declared guilty by court following a fair trial. Until such a time, stop doing the cops and the establishment's job for them. Change your mind in which you have decided that he's guilty. Until AND UNLESS he is declared guilty in court, he IS just some Italian guy youre all cyberstalking having the worst time of his life. Thats probably confronting to realise. Its ok. You can change your beliefs and behaviour moving forward, you dont have to double down, youre not ruined forever for being caught up in a very powerful moment.

But Mangione IS innocent. If he is still legally innocent by the end of the year (how long do these things take?), thats another matter and we'll have to see.

Legally, he's innocent. Personally as not-an-expert I think in reality he's also innocent, the cops just *really* needed a scapegoat. Please try afford him some privacy.

i don’t have anything else to add

[josephscoat]

The Budgerigar Burglars

"A little birdie told me something..."

@professorcalculusstanaccount, thank you for doing the promotional/cover art of the story!! I would also like to thank them for bouncing ideas with me and subsequently proof/beta reading chapter 1 ― they’ve been very supportive and encouraging.

While I was unable to post on the actual dates I set up due to some personal reasons on my end, I will *hopefully* have it out sooner or later.

As a sort of teaser 2, here’s the first 101 words of The Budgerigar Burglars by @professorcalculusstanaccount and me, Jo :> !

Tintin was Bobbie’s most expensive drunken purchase.

He can’t remember much from the night he got the cockatiel, much less how he got his name― he just woke up with a pounding headache one morning, to a bird singing showtunes in his ear, in the dilapidated state of their (once shared) apartment.

Recalling past events, it was the night they’d finally settled for the divorce; his then wife was packing her belongings, planning to head off to who knows where and Bobbie was drinking enough spirits that could turn him into a spirit, if he kept at it for too long.

When the full thing does come out, I plan post it on to AO3 and post a link to the fic here on Tumblr.

For slightly more info on what the story and AU is about, click on to here to visit teaser 1 which is also the current pinned post of my blog!

[mariasont]

I know youre working on a fic right now but can you sometime make a fic where a new agent comes to work at the bau (the reader) and early seasons Spencer catches her interest, to which he's completely oblivious? Like just a cute little fluffy fic where two genius idiots can realise they like each other throughout their case together.

(also a lot of jokes from Morgan lol)

Reading Between the Lines - S.R

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: reader just being in love with dr. reid

wc: 1.2k

The two of you were alone in the police station break room, which had become something of unofficial workspace for the team during the case. You'd been sitting there for a while, mostly pretending to read through a file while Spencer, across the table, actually read his—flipping through pages faster than should be humanly possible.

You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes, trying (and failing) to keep your focus on your own. You couldn't help it. He was enthralling to watch. His long fingers moved smoothly over the paper, turning each page with that ridiculous speed-reading technique of his. And when he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the words so quickly it looked like he was barely reading at all, you were sure you'd never seen anyone more unfairly attractive in your entire life.

And you did mean unfairly in the purest sense. It was undeniably unfair—no, unnatural—for a man to possess such a perfect plethora of qualities, like Spencer Reid did.

You hated how obvious you were being. Every time Spencer glanced up at you, your face grew hot, and you had to fight the urge to duck your head like a nervous schoolgirl. It was absurd. You were a grown adult—a professional in the FBI, for gods' sake. You had no business mooning over someone this hard. But... it was Spencer. How could anyone not?

Eventually, you gave up trying to work and leaned forward on the table, resting your chin on your hand. "How do you do that?"

Spencer glanced up, blinking. "Do what?"

"Read that fast," you said, gesturing toward the file in his hands. "I mean, it's like you're just flipping through the pages for fun, but you're actually... reading them, right? You're not just pretending?"

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smile. "No, I'm not pretending. I'm absorbing the information. It's called speed-reading."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just... taught yourself how to do that?"

He nodded, setting the file down in front of him. "It's not as hard as it looks. Anyone can learn it with enough practice."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," Spencer said, leaning back into his chair. "It's all about training your brain to recognize patterns in the text and absorb information in chunks rather than word by word. It's just a matter of rewiring how you process what you're reading."

You stared at him for a moment, then a grin spread across your face. "Teach me."

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Teach you?"

"Yeah," you said, sitting up straighter. "If anyone can learn it, prove it. Teach me how to speed-read."

For a second, he just stared at you, like he wasn't sure if you were serious. But then his expression morphed into something that looked almost... excited. "Okay. I can teach you."

You tried not to look too pleased as he reached for a book sitting on the nearby counter and slid it across the table toward you. It was some dry academic text about linguistic patterns across extinct languages—typical Spencer reading material—but you figured it didn't really matter what the book was. You weren't here for the content.

"Alright," Spencer said, pulling his chair closer to yours so he could see what you were looking at. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, and every single coherent thought you had ever had evaporated into thin air. You swallowed hard, staring at the page but unable to actually read anything. "The first thing you need to do is stop subvocalizing."

"Sub... what?" you asked, already lost.

"Subvocalizing," he repeated patiently. "It's when you say the words in your head as you're reading them. Most people do it without even realizing it, but it slows you down. If you can train yourself to read without subvocalizing, you'll process the text much faster."

You nodded slowly, though you weren't sure you entirely understood. "Okay. So... how do I stop?"

Spencer smiled. "It takes practice, but one way to start is by using your finger to guide your eyes. Like this."

He reached out and gently took your hand, guiding your index finger to the first line of the text.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. His hand was warm, touch light as he moved your finger along the page. Did he notice the way you tensed up? Did he feel how clammy your palm was? If he did, he didn’t mention it, his focus entirely on the page. Meanwhile, your focus was entirely on him.

"Try to keep your eyes moving with your finger," Spencer said. "Don't focus too much on each individual word—just let your brain take in the whole line."

Every time you inhaled, you caught the faintest hint of soap and coffee—clean, warm, him—and it was becoming impossible to think straight.

"Okay," you said softly, moving your finger along the line as he'd shown you. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Now, try to pick up the pace. Keep your eyes moving."

You tried, but your focus kept slipping—not because of the text, but because of the way Spencer was leaning so close, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watched you. You could feel his breath, soft and even, against the side of your face, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that this was probably the closest you'd ever been to him.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Mostly," Spencer said, his hair brushing his forehead as he leaned even closer to point at a section of the text. His long fingers hovered just above yours, and your heart stuttered at the proximity. "But try not to pause at punctuation. Just keep your eyes moving in one fluid motion."

"Okay," you said again, though honestly, you weren't sure how much you were actually absorbing. Your brain was too busy screaming Spencer Reid is touching me. Spencer Reid is this close to me.

For a few more minutes, Spencer guided you through the process, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he helped you adjust your pace. You couldn’t tell if you were actually improving or if you were just doing your best to survive the moment without completely embarrassing yourself.

"You're doing better already," he said. "It just takes time to get used to."

You smiled back at him, cheeks warm. "Thanks. You're a good teacher."

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and he glanced down, his fingers brushing idly at the edge of the book. "I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. A good teacher, I mean."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"Maybe next time, you can teach me," he said suddenly.

You laughed. "I don’t think there’s anything I could teach you that you don’t already know, Spencer."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, his eyes met yours, before flicking back to the book.

Correction, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling for the next 3-5 business days.

Morgan was leaning against the hallway wall just outside the break room, holding his phone and scrolling casually, when you finally stepped out of the room.

You didn't see him at first—you were too busy floating on a cloud, practically glowing as you replayed the last few minutes with Spencer over and over in your mind. You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt, and you could still feel Spencer's hands on yours.

"Well, well, well," Morgan voice cut through your daydream, startling you so badly you almost tripped. You snapped your head toward him, your heart jumping to your throat. He was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What's got you all smiley? Pretty boy say something sweet, or are you just thinking about those magic hands of his?"

You felt your face burst into flames. "What? No! It's not—"

Morgan held up a hand, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Save it, girl. I know the look of a lovesick rookie when I see one. Trust me—you've got it bad."

You sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a convincing rebuttal, but Morgan was already walking away. "Better make your move before he speed-reads right past you!"

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands as Morgan’s laughter faded down the hall. Lovesick rookie? Was it really that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was.

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[enchantressiren]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐀 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥.❞

Who has their eye on you? (Very detailed)

Masterlist.

Author's note,

I would appreciate if everyone read this -> Boundaries.

Divider.

Pile I.

If you’re into men, then this pile is for you. If not, you picked the wrong pile (an intuitive disclaimer).

There is a tall man who makes sure he takes care of himself and always eyes your body like eye candy. Their smell is rich, it makes your nostril flare up slightly, aching to be beneath him and allowing him to stuff you full. This man knows how to draw you in and likes to play coy around you. Possibility of him manifesting you as their specific person with one sided love (on his side), or you both are manifesting each other unaware you both are looking for the same qualities in each other. He is someone who likes to subtly touch you and apologize gracefully for others when you know damn well he is bullshitting. He is someone who focuses on being the best version of himself for the wealth that streams from his wallet. Meaning, it does not matter who you are, he is going to do everything in his power to take what is his. Even if that means it is you and your private parts.

Some of you actually have already had sex with him and have made him your friend with benefits, or you have somewhat of a situationship. During sex, they absolutely love to grope your ass, always telling you how perfect it is and how it fits right with his dick. How it thrusts nicely into your ass or pussy (depending on your situation). Or how it feels so warm on the tip of his dick as it hits and molds nicely into your sweet spot. He is the epitome of those mafia stories you see in smut stories or Wattpad stories (but very nicely done stories). He reeks of sexy perfume and dark red, adding a bit of dark blue if he were a color. His aura drags you in, which is how the both of you had sex in the bathroom, somewhere with people, whether it was hidden or risky, or how you both met if you don’t have a specific relationship with them. He is someone who will brag about how good his aftercare is but suck painfully with it and need your guide for it. His ego is through the roof, but you make this bastard soft as a puppy. He is aching to be around you, and when he is, he always struggles to hide his boner, or the bulge in his pants. He loves sucking your juices or will if you do decide to have sex or date him.

If you do decide to date him, the relationship will be gorgeous and surprisingly healthy considering how his mind runs. Or how you have seen him with others, the trope “I hate everyone, and I mean everyone but you and my pet” is really it. Key of advice: make sure to give him a blowjob during angry sex so he can become pudding and pamper you. His last lover never gave him oral, so he has been craving it, but also, it is part of a love language for him.

Masterlist.

Pile II.

It’s not a who, more so a what. Now, I know that sounds confusing, but let me make it clear. Do you speak to deities? Spirits, ghosts, and so forth that are associated with sexual energy? Because that is what I am picking up, and their energy is so soothing that you know you can trust them, and they are there to guide you through your journey. I would not say they are like spirit guides, or part of your ancestral guide, but they are similar to a teacher.

They are eyeing you because they want to protect you and make sure you follow their teachings. A lot of you are becoming impatient with your future spouse, lover, fwb, etc., coming to you and assuming every person that feels ‘’right’’ to you, or that you connect well with, is your lover/situationship. None of them that are coming are yours; you are supposed to meet them, and that is what they told you, so listen to them. They are meant to help you despite what others have said about them. Some of the people that you have spoken to were into this and have told you not to trust them because of what they are and the stories about them, but from an energy perspective, they are trustworthy and actually adore you. Now, I am always hesitant to talk about deity energy since I don’t know if the pile you are reading is actually for you or not, but I will give you signs that may help:

Lucifer, Lilith, Nyx, Athena, Zeus, Tlazolteotl, sponge it up, something to do with pain, tears, and breaking his heart, breaking my heart, Apollo is my certain love, and the demons of it’s figure.

Now, if these signs are not fitting with what you have seen, heard, spoken to, etc., then do not trust the deity you speak with. It does not matter if the deity you speak to is not in the sign list, it is only what signs were channeled. and what resonated. And if it does not fit through, please cleanse your energy fast and efficiently since I keep seeing red warning signs and alarms ringing in my head.

Moving on, your deity has spoken to you about the gifts your future person will bring into the relationship, but they have spoken about how you are being ungrateful with the circumstance you have right now. I understand that sometimes trying to figure out who your future person can be draining and exciting, but it can also cause weird paranoia. And that sometimes it feels like those mystery games, but you have to let it go, trust in your deity (and spirit guides for some), and work on yourself. You have to learn to trust your intuition about which deity you speak to, about who you have sex with, and when you masturbate (because intuition tells me you are causing yourself more pain in associating yourself with your trauma kinks/thoughts instead of focusing on what makes you feel good), and ignoring the signs that tell you to leave certain situations surrounding you. Your environment has a lot of toxicity, and you only stay in them so you do not feel lonely, but sometimes it is a good thing to be lonely since you learn a lot about who you are. And that is something you need and what your deities have been telling you. Some of you are ignoring their teachings because you use people to hide away from your pain.

You need to talk to yourself as you would with someone else that you felt close to and get to know yourself as a best friend. Learn to appreciate your behaviors that you find “repulsive,” and understand that it is okay to be different than everyone else. Being different is not repulsive, it is a beautiful and cool thing. Fitting in is what is ruining your relationship with yourself and your future person. So instead of being so impatient about something that can happen within the year, why don’t you use that time to do better for yourself? Because at the end of the day, the only person who is stopping you is you. You are the person who can change your world, even if it is something small. For example, let’s say you are living in a toxic environment, but you have a desire to learn all you can? You can use free resources that allow you to. The internet has the same resources that allow you to learn, you do not need courses to learn or scholarly reports to learn. Everything is available to us now because of how broad the internet is. Now, you could have complained about it, but you did not and decided to do better for yourself and change. One step at something is much better than doing absolutely nothing. Even if you read something for a minute, it can still benefit you.

I felt like something was missing when I was editing your work, but some of you have to understand this fully. You cannot manifest your future person either. Some of you thought about it throughout this pile, and like I mentioned, I understand how desperate you are for love, but this paranoia that is surrounding you and your heart is the problem. I understand that you can manifest anything, and it does not matter how you do it, but you have this belief that it does matter, and you must have emotions in order to manifest. So instead, why don't you have a clear mind and heart for this person, so when you do meet them, you can be better for both yourself and them as well as make it easier for yourself to manifest with a clear conscience? Do not be your own blockage when it comes to this or sabotage yourself through your overwhelming paranoia that surrounds your mind every second of your time.

Masterlist.

Pile III.

Your first kiss back from August when you were either a kid or a teenager. You still keep in touch with them. I wouldn’t say the kiss meant anything between you both, I would say it happened by accident for the both of you until now. Have you noticed their flirty remarks with you, especially when you hang out around others, how they only gaze at you despite others coming to flirt with them, how they pamper you for no reason, or how they are doing it more frequently, how they decided it would be best if they stood next to you where the cars are located rather than the other way around? How they believe it is important for you to suddenly take care of yourself, and though some of you already do, they make it somewhat overbearing, but you push it aside because it is them. Have you also noticed how doting they are with you, how sometimes they coddle you, or how they make sure you have taken your medication when it comes to your body or latest surgery? Have you noticed all of these, or have you been pushing them aside because you would rather stay oblivious instead of admitting your teenage crush has feelings for you, or perhaps has already fallen in love with you? With your ability to be genuine with everyone, with your ability to show people respect and compassion without seeking anything back, with your ability to write efficiently without the need to re-edit your work, with your ability to be smooth when you think you are being geeky and awkward. Have you also noticed how they make somewhat dirty remarks only around you? Have you noticed they do it out of respect for your body and privacy, and yet you still decide to ‘’act’’ oblivious because it is too scary to admit they like you back? The word "back” scares you, it is like your heart is trying to escape, but a strong pull is pushing you back into the same corner. It is not a bad thing to be committed to someone in a relationship, but for you, being stuck in one relationship and not having the ability to explore with others seems suffocating. And for you, all of this stems from trauma, that one memory you are pushing away in hopes it gets pushed away as well.

I am not the person to decide for you whether or not you explore this relationship with them; all I will mention are some things that may change your mind since that is what your heart is begging for you to do. As well as some key things to help you heal.

When things become tough for you, your favorite activity is throwing the relationship away or sabotaging your achievements through disrespecting your honor and then laughing about it. When things become tough, it is easier for you to feel shame or regret rather than deal with the toxicity of your actions. And lastly, when things become tough, it is easier for you to be your own ruthless villain than to take accountability for your wrongdoings. Yet, at the end of the day, there is one person who has always stayed by your side, never changing their mind on who you are because they know how far you can go. They know how much potential you would have if you allowed yourself to deal with your sadness and realize that being sad is not a weakness nor is it a blessing. Our emotions are simply emotions, they come and go. Sometimes they make us realize some things, giving us mental clarity, and other times, they are a reminder of how we feel about the situation, or internally. In short, emotions are subjective and man made, therefore, feeling those emotions should not be the problem when it comes to challenges arising. You should understand that you are the one creating those emotions.

For example, let’s say that I am dealing with a breakup. The usual response would be to cry about it and think about them constantly, be angry and try to seek revenge or be petty, maybe sleep around and brush them out of my mind, etc. But this would stem from how secure I am with who I am and how our relationship was like. Though, if I were secure, then I would understand what had happened, use that sadness as an opportunity to improve, and learn the lessons. Embrace the fond memories, or perhaps use those memories to find someone better for myself. But then again, this is my idea of how a breakup would go if someone was healthy or unhealthy. How do you see it? You have to ask yourself this.

Once you have asked yourself this and finally understood it, ask yourself another question. “Why do I feel the need to distance myself from those that actually care for me? What am I seeking when I do this, and how is it helping me?” Asking this will help you understand if you actually want a relationship in the first place and help trigger those fears in a safe manner instead of you pushing yourself to be someone else when you answer self-aware questions.

Now that you have asked these and fully understood them, allow me to speak about your friend, and then it will be your choice. And if you need to stop this reading and come back after a month, then please read this when you are fully ready.

This person has been by your side when you ruin your past relationships. They are someone who will stop what they are doing to be by your side or help you when your past comes back to you. Sometimes, they will pamper you with fresh fruits or hot meals and hope it can soothe your mind away from those thoughts that have been affecting you lately. They are someone who will soothe your tears with kisses or caress your tears away with pure determination; someone who sees the bright side of things when you think it is better to be realistic and pessimistic. They are someone who texts you faster and makes sure your feelings are taken into consideration, as well as your family (if you are close with them) or your pet that may be sick at the moment, and if not, your pets. They will buy you the things you adore without any expectations or seeking your validation (your exs were like that). They are someone who will be firm with you when you make a mistake but not allow you to walk over them. They are someone who sets boundaries with you and others, and though it does not go well with others, they keep their head high and focus on what is more important to them. They are someone who hates the concept of gossip and makes sure to not engage, and when they are pulled into it, they act oblivious and make sure people see them as ‘dumb’ or ‘silly.’ To them, it is better to be seen as that than engage with something repulsive like that. They are someone who makes sure they uplift people, especially behind their back, and you have seen it multiple times, thus causing your heart to fall for them.

Yeah, you are crushing on them hard since you were young but have been pushing away from your past experiences. Some of you are actually in love with them but keep gaslighting yourselves because it is easier for you. And ironically, ‘Love Someone’ by Lukas Graham popped up. It fits quite well with how they view you and how you view this whole situation. I believe there is nothing else to channel because once you listen to the song, everything will make sense.

Masterlist.

[shytulipghost]

Here's a funny anecdote:

When I was 13, I had an idea for a time travel story which was about a kingdom that had a magical clock tower that was created by a wizard a long time ago. The citizens would heavily rely on said clock to go back in time and fix their problems (the problem though was that they would have to climb up the tower to move the hands of the clock anticlockwise).

An alternative for the citizens was to go up to the wizard's descendants for help. The descendants had a pocket watch that they could use to time travel and it was an object they would pass down from generation to generation (it worked the same way as the clock tower, but they could also move forwards in time and stop time). However, the citizens would take advantage of them and treat them as living tools instead of people.

I ended up abandoning the whole idea 2 or 3 years later because I didn't know how to develop the story and I was starting to lose interest in it.

...

Cut to last year, when I decided to watch the first two episodes of The Little Prince 2010 series out of nostalgia (to be more precise, the "Planet of Time" arc). I was having a good time rewatching it and I was slowly remembering the enjoyment I had for this series when I was a kid (I had only watched the first season). Then, I got to the flashback scene in the second episode, where the viewer is shown and told how the Snake tempted the watchmaker (a very important figure in that planet because he controls all the planet's clocks and how time functions there) to ignore his responsibilities and, unknowingly, slowly destroy his own planet.

Here's the relevant part of the flashback: the Snake basically asks him if he wishes to be a kid again and not be stressed and burned out anymore (the watchmaker had been exhausted lately because of his job). Once he seems interested in the idea, the Snake gives him a "solution". What's that "solution"? To grab a clock and move the hands anticlockwise so he can essentially "go back in time" (he doesn't actually time travel; he just turns into a baby).

The moment I watched that scene, I remembered my abandoned time travel story and thought: "Oh, so that's where I got that idea!" (I also realized that it was very ironic to be watching these two episodes again for nostalgic reasons).

I knew that some childhood shows and movies had a direct influence on my art and writing (for example, the main characters of the novel I'm writing are just the Mane 6 from MLP: you have the nerdy girl, the sporty girl, the girly girl, the silly girl, etc.), but I hadn't considered that "The Little Prince" may have also influenced my work (both the abandoned and non-abandoned ideas). I might have subconsciously taken other elements from it, such as some of its themes and plot details).

I think it also probably had a small influence on some of my antagonists (especially, some of my demon characters). There aren't any demons in the series, but the Snake is depicted as being kinda like Satan, with him tempting people and making deals sometimes. (Funnily enough, when the series came out, I had started catechesis and my mom had read to me an abridged version of the Bible that was made for kids. However, I didn't make the connection at the time that the Snake was acting like the serpent from the Bible).

NOTE: the series isn't a Christian show, but it's something I noticed after rewatching it. There aren't any other similarities to the Bible or Christianity besides that. Also, I'm not very religious, but I find stories with demons interesting.

being an artist and revisiting media you liked when you were 11 is like. oh ok. this shaped my sense of humor and the way I write characters and the way I pace narratives and the tropes I'm drawn to. and I vastly underestimated how much of an impact it had on me because I literally have not thought about it for 15 years. but it was there inside me the whole time. ok. ok cool! c ool

[gffa]

When it comes to Jedi discourse I think a lot depends on the amount of sympathy behind a statement there is. For example, "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war." is something Lucas has said, but it's in the context of how they were drawn into a trap, they were forced into roles that they were never meant to be, there's sympathy there for how the only choices here are shitty ones. "Do they compromise their morals (to fight in this war) or does everyone die and it's pointless anyway?" is basically what he said. I agree with that! But I have seen many people say, "The Jedi became corrupted by the war." and they mean it as the Jedi no longer cared about people, only themselves, they were only looking out for themselves, they were making selfish choices. There's no sympathy for the rock-and-a-hard-place situation the Jedi were in, and I disagree with that and I think that's what a lot of people are arguing back against. "They allied themselves with a corrupt government!" is another one--like, yeah, the Republic government wasn't great! But, when I say that the Separatists were worse, it's not because I'm refusing to admit the Republic had any fault, I'm saying it because that's basically the choice laid out in front of them--either you help the Republic or you let the Separatists take over, who were committing war crimes on screen. I do think the Jedi were hamstrung by their connection to the Republic! I just also think the alternative was worse, that the whole structure of Star Wars as a story was designed to hem them into this impossible choice (in as much as Star Wars is about the Jedi, when they're very much not the core of the story), that they couldn't find better options because the story wasn't set up to allow that. Could the Jedi have handled Anakin better? Ehhh, I think that's hard to say because the story itself doesn't present that, so making hard proclamations about what they did/didn't do wrong is reading into something the story didn't address. The story is about Anakin refusing to emotionally accept Jedi teachings--can we read beyond that and say there were ways the Jedi failed him? I think you can and some of them are fair (and some of them aren't), that it's a fun conversation to have, but that it's not what the narrative intention is, if we're talking about actual narrative intention. The narrative intention is that Anakin, though very human in his failings and Lucas clearly has so much affection for his Blorbo, failed to learn what he needed to learn. But there, too, I think a lot depends so much on how much sympathy comes across for the choices being made. I don't think we're meant to see Anakin as someone we can't relate to, Lucas even says that Anakin is a victim in TPM (of the Hutts and Watto, to be clear), I don't think criticism of Anakin can come without that he was trying, that he did genuinely love people. The ending of ROTJ doesn't work without us wanting for Anakin to find the good in himself! That we knew had to be there all along. So much comes down to how much sympathy there is in the criticism, how much sympathy there is for the reasons why any given character chooses the paths they do, and that's where a lot of disconnect comes from. So much Jedi criticism is done in the vein of saying, "They failed." and meaning it as an accusation of how a better choice was super obvious. But if you say, "They failed." in the sense that there was no way out of the trap that they could have possibly forseen, given the circumstances, that they did their best and they shouldn't have to be perfect to be good, then I'm all the way onboard! It's about how much sympathy there is for the context around a given character's choices and what the story allowed for them. I have no issue with saying the Jedi failed in the war, that they became corrupted by it, that their connection to the Republic led to their genocide, because I don't think the Jedi were bad for it, I think they made the best choices they could in the worst situation.

[peachsayshi]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ when gojo has a crush on geto's childhood best friend (pt. 2)

minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

ೃ⁀➷ notes: please read part one here. my baby boy is so sweet and sincere when he's love, even though it's doesn't always come across that way x

ೃ⁀➷ tags: angst and fluff; unrequited(ish) love; pining; hurt/comfort

♡ satoru gojo was not your type. he was cocky, arrogant, obnoxious, childish and a slew of other things that you found deeply unattractive in a man his age. he somehow always manages to take everything just a little too far for your liking. his extroverted persona a bit too overwhelming for you. suguru went on and on about him, but you really couldn't see the appeal. nor could you understand what drew suguru so deeply to him.

♡ okay, maybe he's just awkward, you think. after watching this tall, muscular man walk directly into a closed door mid-conversation. he banged his face so hard against it, he made a funny noise, and you had to suppress a laugh. "are you okay?" you asked concerned, and the man simply grumbled a yes as his cheeks turned a bright pink. it's the first time you saw him blush, and your heart fluttered at the sight.

♡ "look, I know he can be a lot, but you know he's my best friend. other than you, he's the only person I would give my life for," suguru stated honestly. you were both conversing over a tub of ice cream. you were sitting cross legged on the sofa, digging your spoon into the ice cream angrily. satoru made an inappropriate joke in front of everyone that humiliated you. you did not appreciate it one bit. you rolled your eyes and left in a bitter mood. suguru stopped by your place with the ice cream trying to console you.

♡ satoru's face visibly falls when you reject hanging out with him for a movie. two tickets in his hand that he pinches together. it was his way of apologizing apparently, but you were not going to entertain the idea of spending anytime alone with him. "look," you respond with a sigh, "I forgive you, okay? but I'm busy tonight.". it seems your follow up sparked something inside him. he lifts up his face, a small smile highlighting those annoyingly handsome features. "wait, so we are cool? you aren't mad about what I said?" he asks. you exhale, "yeah, we are cool."

♡ "I think you're being really hard on him," suguru stated casually. your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "the guy is obviously making an effort to get along with you, and you keep shutting him down". you stared at your best friend with accusing eyes. "why are you taking his side?" you replied with frustration. suguru gave you a knowing look. "I am not taking sides. but I will defend either of you if necessary." you reached for your arm and pinched it with slight shame. you didn't realize how difficult you were being. "just go easy on him," suguru added on. "if not for his sake, then at least for mine. I just want you guys to get along..."

♡ surprisingly, things started going really well with satoru after you began making the conscious effort to do so. you could even say that you both were starting to become friends. satoru revealed that he was actually quite smart when you both were alone together and not in front of a crowd. he's also insanely talented but downplayed himself quite frequently and nonchalantly. his confidence, his real confidence, about his talents and wits was always subdued. you wondered if the persona he puts on for people is to simply hide away this part of himself. your heart started to expand and contract tightly when you listened to him spitball on some random scientific fact mid-discussion. satoru's incessant chatter not so annoying to you after all. as a matter of fact, he actually had a really nice voice when he was speaking calmly. at one point, he smiled and mumbled that he needed to learn to shut up. he casually ran his long, slender fingers through his snowy hair and gave you a bashful glance. your heart pattered a little faster. he can be really cute when he wants to be.

♡ you're spending a lot more time alone with him. and it's nice. like really, really nice. he's bloomed into someone unexpected. someone that catches your eye in an entirely different way. you do eventually agree to watch a movie together. the two of you were snuggled close in the theatre, sharing a bowl of popcorn. at one point you both reached for the bucket at the same time, the warmth of satoru's touch grazing over your fingers and making your thighs tremble. "sorry," he whispered as he casually lifts his hand, but his hot breath fans your cheek. you gazed up to see that his face is quite close to yours, your eyes falling to his pretty lips then back up to the sparkling blues. "i-it's okay," you answer, taken aback by the proximity of him in your space. you fold your arms over your belly swimming with butterflies, suddenly too aware of your own emotions to eat anymore.

♡ you're falling for him, when did that start happening?

♡ oh. you like him. you like him more than you should. you haven't even told suguru about it and it's eating you up inside. you haven't even admitted it out loud to yourself and that makes you scared. but you can't stop looking at him. he looks so good in his outfit - dressed to kill, and capturing everyone's attention at the party. "who are you staring at?" shoko asks. you try to brush it off, but utahime points out the obvious. suddenly you're bombarded with questions, your words failing you as you try to give an explanation.

♡ they don't accuse you, but they are curious and their wonder spins into hundreds of questions. everyone knows that you didn't like satoru gojo. what suddenly changed?

♡ "satoru is really sweet, but...he's not my type..." you blurt out in an attempt to save yourself and to give yourself some space from the weight of your realization. but only then do you see the girl's expression drop as both their eyes look above your head.

♡ satoru looks back at you crestfallen, having clearly heard what you just said. no, you think, no no no.

♡ he tugs at his collar, "excuse me-" he states as he spins on his heel. you all watch him disappear, and you're suddenly standing there wishing that the ground will swallow you whole. suguru asks the girls to give you both some privacy. the two of you stand in silence for a bit, and you realize that your best friend is giving you a chance to catch your breath. "I have to go talk to him," you blurt out, a sense of panic in your eyes. suguru just smiles. he knows you so fucking well. he takes the drink from your hand and gestures towards the door with the tilt of his head.

♡ "satoru..." you call out quietly, finding him seated outside. he doesn't react like usual, just stares at the ground before clearing his throat. he wipes his hands on his thighs and stands upright, his broad shoulders slumping. he turns around to face you, and the expression makes your brows furrow with concern. "you don't have to say anything," he explains.

♡ he stands upright, slides both his hands in his pockets and exhales in defeat. "I think it's fairly obvious that I like you. But they're just feelings right? It'll go away. I don't want to keep bothering you or wasting your time..." "satoru..." you interrupt.

"you clearly don't feel the same way, and I-I don't want to come across as a creep or make you feel uncomfortable..." "satoru, please" you beg, taking a step closer. "look, it's fine..." he says with a big grin, his eyes glossy and making you ache. "I'm a big boy, I can take rejection..." "it's not fine," you murmur with a shake of your head. "I have clearly been forcing this, making up stories in my own head. I shouldn't...I shouldn't keep taking up your precious time..." he walks up two steps, ready to bypass you but you quickly loop your arm around his bicep and tug him back. "wait-" you stammer, and he halts. frozen, you gaze at each other in contemplation. your other hand reaches for his jaw, and his body stiffens against your touch. "just...wait..." you softly add on, trying to rationalize your own feelings and what this could all mean. you tilt your head up, your thumb outlining his jaw. your eyes fall to his parted lips, your own seeking him out. you kiss him sweetly, apologetically, affectionately.

satoru is stunned. his eyes fall hazy like he can't believe what just happened. he looks so cute that you can't help but smile, your thumb moves to swipe the lipstick over his bottom lip.

"I-..." he mumbles dreamily, slowly angling his body in your direction. he gulps down the raw hurt. "I thought I'm not your type..."

"you're not," you answer back cheekily, your arms moving to circle around his neck while his own hands find your hips. "but I think that's exactly why I like you. you're everything I didn't expect."

his forehead drops against yours as a wave of relief washes over him. "you like me?"

you nip at your bottom lip, teasing the tip of his nose with yours. "yeah," you answer a little breathlessly, before smiling into another kiss "I really do."

♡ when suguru wakes up the next morning, the first text he receives is from satoru. after you both disappeared from the party last night, he had to follow up.

suguru: let me guess, did you both kiss and make up? satoru: I just left her place, heading back to mine now. suguru: spare me any gross details please. satoru: I feel like I am dreaming. last night wasn't real suguru: pretty real, bud. so, don't fuck it up. satoru: just pinch me when you see me, alright? I need to make sure.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 8 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: How beautiful your life could be, if only you weren't so damaged and he wasn't so deranged. And despite all that, you can't help but want him and submit to his twisted desires. You also can't help but think something about him is more off than usual.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, (rough) oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, degradation kink, mouth-spitting, dom/sub dynamics, daddy, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

You felt a tight knot form in your stomach as you stared down at the blister in front of you.

Of course you knew it was necessary. You couldn’t imagine a more irresponsible thing than to conceive a child of a psychopath like him. And yet, you felt your thoughts wander down a dangerous path again.

He had never explicitly said he wanted you to take them. It was almost like a part of him was keen on getting you pregnant. Like the mere thought of filling you up again and again and again, serving the purpose of knocking you up, turned him on even more. And still, he bought them for you and left them on the kitchen table. It was your decision, you suddenly realized.

How irresponsible of him.

Didn’t he understand you were hardly able to even take care of yourself? Let alone a child.

Let alone birth a child.

There was actually nothing that scared you more. Not your mother, not him, not even the prospect of being sold off into some sick psychopaths’ fangs. Another psychopaths’.

No, the thought of having to bear a child, dying during the delivery or – God forbid, something going wrong and you losing it – was your worst fear.

You didn’t even know where the fear came from. It had simply always been there, even when you were a child.

Even when you thought you’d never have sex.

And now you had had sex. And he bought the pill, because he was considerate like that.

He was twisted and cruel, scary and sadistic and yet he put on this façade, this front, of a perfect man, whenever he wanted to. He paid bills and he owned this beautiful apartment. He was obviously well-read and he knew how to cook. He wasn’t a rapist. A murderer, yes. But not a rapist.

He was many things. One of them was always far more prominent than the others.

He was sick.

You couldn’t tell if he had been born like this or if there were things that happened which made him turn out the way he did. Whatever it was, he was sick now.

So far, you only had a hunch of the things he truly enjoyed. He had briefly mentioned some of them. Others you had guessed. The erection he got whenever he beat you was enough for you to realize he liked to hurt people.

He threatened you with words and objects more than once. A knife, a gun, a belt, a whip.

So far, so good, right? Many people were into pain, either receiving or delivering.

He was also into blood. For some reason, you could tell.

He enjoyed degrading you. Calling you names whenever he got angry, making you crawl around like a dog and drink from a bowl on the floor.

So far, he had always taken care of his insanity on his own. Treated the bulge in his pants with silence, ignoring it skillfully like it wasn’t there. But you saw it, felt its’ presence like a specter.

The one time you had sex had been nothing like you expected. The gentleness in his touch, his kisses on your neck and body and God, the sinful things he did with his tongue.

You remembered the feeling vividly and it immediately sent a shiver through your body. You took a soft breath and tried to focus back on the pill, but somehow your mind didn’t comply. You kept asking yourself, if you had somehow signed a death warrant when you agreed to be his girl.

You did it to survive, surely, but you slowly felt your resolve crumble. There was more to it, you acknowledged it. But you didn’t allow yourself to think about the things you felt, while you had sex. You blamed his gentle touch. His ardent kiss. The way he subtly threatened all the people who had ever wronged you.

You closed your eyes. God, what was going on in your head?

All you needed was a breath of fresh air to clear out your head.

Would you ever breathe real air again?

You wanted a family one day, didn’t you?

Now you couldn’t tell if you would ever get that. Looking back, it hadn’t been all too sure before he abducted you either. After all, all you ever did was hide yourself behind computer screens and book pages. But now you were here and he had taken that chance from you.

Or had he?

Would he ever let you go?

No. You remembered his words like the lyrics of a song you hated, yet it kept playing on the radio day and night.

I’ll never let you go.

And for some reason, you knew he didn’t just say that. He meant it. And you remembered what you thought when you first came here.

You wouldn’t ever leave this place. At least not alive.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard the front door open. Your head perked up and before he had the chance to enter the kitchen, you choked down the plan-b-pill with half a glass of water. You swallowed and stared down at the empty blister with wide eyes.

You had to play along, yes. But you couldn’t give him some foolish, twisted hope for something that just wasn’t an option.

The kitchen door opened and he came inside, his briefcase still in his hand. He looked down at you, taking in your flushed expression and his gaze wandered down to the empty blister. A faint hint of recognition flashed over his handsome features, followed by something you were sure was disappointment. But he schooled his expression so quickly, it immediately reminded you of the instability of his mind.

He tilted his head to the side and smiled at you. You couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind the smile. It most likely wasn’t genuine. When had it ever been?

“Darling”, he said in a soft tone. Then he did something that made your chest ache. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You felt like throwing up. You were sure you were stuck in some kind of cruel video game, a sick simulation of yet another psychopath who enjoyed torturing poor, deranged girls. Girls who never had a chance anyway.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to smile back, but it was indeed a failed attempt.

Things were somewhat less tense between you, since you had sex. Sometimes he let you speak your mind without hurting you in return. And sometimes, like that day, he came home and kissed you. Like you were a normal couple.

Like you were a couple at all.

It was painful. Because, no matter how hard you tried to shut the dangerous thoughts out, they always snuck their way back into your head.

He would have made the perfect man, if only he was normal.

If only he was human.

And if only you were, too.

He turned away from you and set the briefcase down on a chair, before he washed his hands. You couldn’t help but stare. It looked so normal, almost innocent.

A man who came home and the first thing he did was to wash his hands.

A man to fall in love with.

You forced your gaze away.

“Did you eat anything today?” He asked matter-of-factly, without even looking at you.

You still nodded. “There were a few of these things left. You know, the ones that look like sushi, but aren’t.”

“Gimbap.”

“Gimbap.” You repeated and he smirked.

He dried his hands and turned to look at you. “That’s all you ate today?”

You shrugged and he sighed. “How did you even survive up until now?”

You thought about it. Breakfast was easy. Back in England even. But lunch was where it got hard. You either ate leftovers or nothing. It was like you were unable to cook if it was for you only.

As if you were unable to exist properly when you were alone.

It made you realize how empty your days were whenever he left. You spent most of your time waiting for him, reading or crying and brooding over the horror that was your life.

But even before that, even before him, you had barely functioned on your own.

It was like your depression got worse, the longer you were alone.

It didn’t matter that your mother was the devil in human form, at least you ate when she was around.

Whenever she’d let you.

At some point in your life, you learned to really appreciate food, especially when it was homecooked. You weren’t good at this. You didn’t doubt that you could cook and all that, you just didn’t know how to really live.

A part of you appreciated the numbness even more for that exact reason. Your sadness was your solace, your darkness your shelter.

You didn’t need to worry about existing, when you weren’t really there. It was just a body trying to keep itself alive, while your soul floated around in non-existence.

A small frown formed on his face and he stepped closer, resting his hands on your shoulders. You had almost grown accustomed to his touch by now.

You could tell when to expect a blow and when not.

In most cases.

Was now the time?

“Go, take a bath.” He purred in your ear. “I’ll make dinner.”

You closed your eyes and suddenly you were all too aware again. The thought you had so skillfully avoided since that night.

Today was the day.

The night, actually.

And he’d finally get to have his way with you.

The thought equally sent a warm shiver as well as cold sweat spiraling down your skin.

“Alright.” You murmured and got up. You exhaled a soft sigh and before you left turned back to face him once more. He was still looking at you, the soft, seductive smile on his lips. But his eyes were narrowed in a way that told you there was indeed more on his mind than he let on.

You forced yourself to look away and leave the room. Within a few minutes, you prepared yourself a bath and with a soft sigh sank into the warm water. It felt like a gentle embrace, which was so very needed after everything you went through every day.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and try to relax for once.

He had kindly repaired the door and put it back in its place to give you a semblance of privacy, but he didn’t restore the lock.

You didn’t get the privilege of ultimate privacy.

You kept your eyes closed as you tried to imagine what tonight would bring.

Mostly, you dreaded it.

He’d be cruel.

He’d be selfish.

You’d wake up the next morning, feeling battered and bruised.

So not much different from how it had been so far. Except for that one night. But as much as you loved to think back at it and revel in the memory, you knew it would be more clever to try and erase it from your mind.

That had never happened.

He had never kissed your neck or the inside of your thighs.

He had never called you princess.

Never taken your virginity with such gentleness and care.

Your brows furrowed and you felt your hand itch to move down your body, when you heard the faint knock on the bathroom door. Your eyes shot open and your first reaction was to cover yourself.

What a ridiculous thought, but you still fumbled for a towel. When he came in and witnessed that, you all wet and reaching for a towel you would never reach in time, he raised a brow and smirked. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves again in that way that made you weak.

When you finally realized you wouldn’t reach the towel without breaking your neck, you instead delved back down into the water, keeping your gaze on him.

“You’re still shy around me. How cute.”

You attempted to shoot him a glare, but that worked about as good as your smile did earlier.

“Did you want something?”

He hummed and slowly inched closer, as he let his gaze shamelessly rake over your body in a way that made you feel hot and cold all the same.

“Actually, yes.” He purred as he slowly leaned down to get a better look at your wet, shivering form. The warm water didn’t prevent him from staring at you and it didn’t prevent you from feeling exposed and excited under his gaze.

“You looked so miserable earlier. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

You immediately frowned. That was hardly the reason. As gentle as he happened to be sometimes, he wasn’t caring or soft like that. Or even genuine.

He was cold and cruel and psychotic.

“I’m-“

Your words died on your tongue when suddenly he slid his hand under the water surface. It didn’t take him two seconds to force your legs apart and slide his fingers over your already slick core.

You inhaled sharply and your brows furrowed in a mixture of surprise, embarrassment and arousal. You looked up at him with half-lidded, confused eyes.

“I thought…after dinner”, was all you managed to gasp out.

He hummed in response. No muscle on his face moved as he slowly slid his index finger inside you, curling it torturously.

“Oh God.”

It didn’t take him longer than a few seconds to have you writhe and moan. You had quickly noticed that he was good at what he was doing. He knew where to touch you, how to move his fingers and when to use his tongue instead. He knew exactly how to roll his hips. When to be rough and when gentle.

The thought filled you with as much relief as it filled you with jealousy.

There had been others before. That was all you could think about.

It wasn’t the fact that he barged into the bathroom and took control of your body whenever he pleased, that bothered you. It was the thought that he might have done this to someone else before he met you.

And the thought made you feel nauseous with jealousy.

You almost wanted to be angry at him, for being able to, for having the audacity to have had someone else before you.

While he was the only one who ever took you.

The only one who ever parted your lips with his tongue.

The only one who had ever felt you around him, envelop him and take him in like he belonged there.

You wanted to stay angry, but his fingers did things to you that clouded your mind. Your eyes rolled back and you were nearly there.

“Please-“

But the next moment, you let out a desperate whine, when you felt him swiftly withdraw his hand.

“Please…”

He smirked.

“Please what, sweet girl?”

Your face flushed furiously and you looked down at the bath water.

The spell was intact again. And you were unable to speak your wicked mind.

“Look at me.” He said in a rather firm tone. You immediately did. His eyes were a mixture of curiosity and wariness. He narrowed them slightly.

“Say it.”

You wanted to bite your lip and avert your gaze, but the way he stared down at you with such an intensity made you reconsider.

“Please let me cum.” You whispered in a voice that was hardly your own.

He hummed. He was obviously pleased and the smirk was back.

“Please let you cum, what?”

Since he didn’t have a name, he made you choose between Daddy and Sir, whenever one felt like it made any sense in the situation.

Daddy was far more embarrassing, but also more intimate.

Calling him Sir felt more degrading though. Which was something he probably liked.

You didn’t know which one was worse, so you always went for the one that fit the aesthetic of the moment best.

“Please let me cum, daddy.” You whispered, your face red.

He chuckled. A horrible sound.

A beautiful sound.

“Good girl.”

He slid his hand back down and instantly you felt his finger back inside you, before he slowly added a second one. It was enough to let you release a soft sigh and lean your head against the edge of the tub.

It was so easy to relax when he had you like this.

You could always count on him to make you cum.

And that was exactly what he did. He moved his fingers inside you in such a pleasurable and skilled way, that he had you writhing and begging within a few more seconds. An explosive wave of warmth and bliss filled you, while you arched your hips up against his hand, desperately seeking the friction and the release that only he could give to you.

You had never felt anything close to this before.

Once you slowly came down from your high, you took a moment to regain your ability to breathe and then you slowly opened your eyes.

You looked up at him and the way he smirked down at you with such smugness. It made you want to punch and kiss him.

“Thank me.” He whispered.

You swallowed. It was always far more embarrassing afterwards. “Thank you for making me cum, daddy.”

He bared his teeth in a grin. “Good girl. Now, open your mouth for me.”

You didn’t even have the time to digest his words, when you already felt him push his fingers in your mouth. A soft gasp came over your lips as he parted them and rubbed his fingers over your tongue, making you taste yourself on him.

Were you supposed to be embarrassed or repulsed? Probably. But all you truly felt was how the arousal slowly began to build again. The heat pooled between your legs whenever he got like this. Demanding, rough, but also gracious enough to let you cum.

You moaned when he pushed his fingers deeper in, all the while he had his eyes fixed on your face. His lips were slightly parted and there was a thoughtful frown on his face, as he began to fuck your mouth with his fingers, making saliva drip down your chin.

You choked back the gag that threatened to escape and forced yourself to keep looking at him, despite the way your eyes watered and slowly got more and more red.

“Come out.” He whispered. “Come out of the tub. On your knees.”

You withdrew your mouth from his hand, only to hold onto his arm and get up in a hurry, not caring that you got everything wet.

It was what he did to you all the time, anyway.

You knelt down on the cold bathroom floor, ignoring the ache between your legs. Had you just released? You couldn’t tell. You already felt desperate for him again.

He made you do this every so often, kneel and look up at him like an obedient little doll. Suck on his fingers and look into his eyes.

But he’d never gone further than that. Until now. You could tell. Now was different.

And it made you as nervous, as it turned you on.

“Take my belt off.” He whispered.

You forced your gaze away from his face just long enough to slowly unbuckle his belt. Your fingers were shaking against the leather. The nervousness won.

When you kept fidgeting with it restlessly, he gently stopped you and pushed your hands down and instead, did it himself. He got rid of the belt within seconds and it landed on the ground with a soft click. His slacks followed in a swift movement, until all there was left separating you was the thin material of his boxers.

His hardness strained against them and you found yourself aching to free him of them.

You had never known you were so terribly wicked.

And you were sure you hadn’t been, until you met him.

You hadn’t had any form of sex aside from the way he sometimes teased you and fingered you to oblivion ever since that night. He wanted to give you some time to adjust to your new role as his girl.

His princess. His fucktoy.

And now here you were. On your knees, wet as hell and desperate to feel him.

The memory of that night shot back into your head and it made you ache again. You remembered how you had expected him to send you back to your room. To just be finished with you and get rid of you like you were nothing more than a toy he’d use whenever he felt like it.

But instead he let you stay. You had spent the night curled up against his side, feeling his heart beat next to yours.

He was so terribly confusing.

Of course you didn’t find any sleep that night. And he probably didn’t either. You were unable to fully trust him, despite your gentle and considerate encounter. And he was probably unsure if he had broken you enough to not try and slit his throat in the middle of the night.

Maybe he’d trust you fully one day.

You liked to think that.

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts again. “Kiss me.”

You licked your lips in a desperate attempt to fight the dryness of your mouth, but nothing worked. So instead you took a shaky breath and slowly leaned in. You brushed your lips over the waistband of his boxers and slowly, so very slowly, moved them further down. By the time they reached his arousal, you felt him breathe out a moan.

“Take them off.” He murmured. “And I don’t want to see your hands for the time being.”

You could imagine what that meant. With a shaky breath, you slowly brought your hands behind your back and dug your nails into your wrists.

Oh God, he would ravage you.

And oh God, you wanted him to.

You bit down on the material and tried to carefully pull the boxers down. It took you two more attempts, but eventually you managed to pull them down to his knees and then they slid off of him on their own. You pulled your head back and were greeted by the sight of his hardened cock, throbbing and waiting to ruin you even more.

Your heart skipped a beat and your chest heaved rapidly under the weight of your nervous breaths. You licked your lips again. This time, they weren’t dry.

You slowly looked up at him, your eyes wide and nervous.

He didn’t mock or tease you this time. He seemed more focused and stern than ever before.

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair and gently curl up in it.

“Worship me.”

The words were enough to draw a soft whimper from your lips.

“I’m not sure, how.” You murmured.

He shook his head. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swallowed again and nodded before you slowly let your gaze wander down again.

Even his cock was perfect.

You took a deep breath and leaned in. The moment you brushed your lips over the tip, he exhaled a soft moan. You closed your eyes.

Fucking hell.

You slowly moved your lips down his length and back up again, unsure how to start and where.

The feeling of him on your lips was enough to drive you insane and you caught yourself wanting more. You were nervous, but also eager.

You wanted to watch him throw his head back in pleasure and call out your…well, however he would call you.

When he got a little impatient, he bucked his hips and you felt him press forward and slowly part your lips on his own. A moan came over your lips when you felt him slowly press further and further forward, until he bumped against the warm wetness of your tongue.

“Ah, yes.”

The sounds he made were enough to motivate you further. You opened your mouth wider and coated him in your saliva, feeling him go slick and throb against your tongue. His hand in your hair tightened and he pulled you closer against him.

You hummed against him and slowly wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently and moving up and down like you’d seen in countless videos.

His grip only ever got tighter and God, the sounds he made.

You tried to glance up at him as he moved. The reaction to your touch was written on his face. He bit down on his lip and stared down at you with a focused frown.

You felt so dirty and sinful, naughty and wicked and every time he bucked his hips up, you were sure you felt yourself get close without even being touched.

“Good girl.” He breathed out. “My good girl. My dirty girl. Let me fuck your pretty mouth.”

His hand tightened even more in your hair, until his grip was bordering on painful. He held your head in place as he began to move his hips, thrusting against your mouth like a madman. You found yourself in a chokehold, gagging against him and desperately gasping for air. All the while you were sure you felt your own arousal slowly drip down your thighs. You had a hard time keeping your hands behind your back.

All you wanted was to touch yourself. But you knew better than to try that.

He roughly pulled your head back by your hair and you had to suppress a wince of pain. You were about to ask what the hell was going on, when he gritted out: “Open your mouth.”

You immediately obeyed, parting your swollen, aching lips for him. You knew what was coming, you knew he would degrade you and you didn’t mind.

You would probably hate yourself afterwards, like you normally did when you fantasized about such things. But in that moment, you didn’t care the least bit. You wanted to make him feel good. You wanted to make him cum. You wanted to please him.

You opened your mouth and just a second later you felt his saliva slide past your lips, gliding down your tongue. An involuntary moan came over your lips and your brows furrowed as you stared up at him, feeling a myriad of emotions.

“Good girl. Swallow.”

Your mouth fell shut and you obeyed. You swallowed his spit like a good girl.

His good girl.

His girl.

The sound he made was torturous. A moan mixed with a sigh.

“Yes, just like that.” He murmured. “Fuck, yes. Suck me off, baby. Make me cum.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You parted your lips and took him back in. He kept bucking his hips against you, but you were determined to meet him halfway.

Fighting against the gagging and the small scare you got whenever you felt like you couldn’t breathe, you kept moving. Again and again, flicking your tongue against him and moaning against him, until you felt him tense up. His grip on your hair became so hard, it felt like he was trying to rip your hair out. All the while his painfully hard cock throbbed against your tongue.

And then he came.

You felt him coat your mouth and throat with his seed, causing you to moan at the intensity and surprise of it.

He was shaking and grunting in pleasure, keeping himself pressed against you as tight as possible, until the throbbing began to subside slowly.

He licked his lips, since his own mouth seemed to be pretty dry by now and finally released his tight grip on your hair. Instead he soothingly rubbed his fingertips along your scalp and sighed deeply.

“Fuck.” He breathed out. “Show me your mouth.”

It took you a moment, but you swallowed the evidence of his lustful outburst and eventually opened your mouth to show him it was empty.

He hummed in approval and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. You found yourself leaning into his touch like a cat craving attention.

“My good girl.” He praised in a soft whisper. “God, you’re so good for me. I-“

He frowned deeply and stopped himself. You quickly looked up at him.

Oh God, you had done something wrong.

Oh, no, no, no, not right now, damn it.

But the dreaded yell never came and he also didn’t attempt to push you back or slap you. Instead he cleared his throat and gently pulled you back up to your feet.

“You enjoy being my girl, don’t you?”

You stared at him speachlessly. What were you supposed to say to that? And why was he asking that right now?

Despite the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts you had, you found yourself nodding.

“Good.” He said quietly and gently caressed your cheek.

Something was off. Something was always off, but now, you were sure you had no connection to his thoughts whatsoever. You could never really tell what he was thinking, but sometimes you got lucky and got a glimpse of whatever it was he hid behind nonchalance and psychopathy.

Or was that truly all that there was to him?

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Come. We have a bath to finish.”

He got rid of his shirt and within seconds submerged under the water. You watched him with a thoughtful expression, before you quietly followed him. You sat with your back pressed against his chest.

He would say something cruel.

He couldn’t be gentle, without having a cruel jab follow. He just couldn’t.

But all you felt was how he slowly poured some warm water over your hair, before he gently massaged the shampoo into your scalp.

The same scalp he had just bruised while he used you like a doll.

He washed the water out and it felt like a piece of Heaven. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and lean back against him.

If only every moment of your life could be like this.

“I never knew you could be so wicked.” He whispered as he began to gently massage your shoulders. You sighed at the touch. Another thing he was so skilled at.

Another thing to get jealous over.

His words made your face flush and you suddenly remembered how you had writhed in agony while he used your mouth, how your fingers had ached to touch yourself.

“I…”

“I like that side of you.” He murmured without taking his hands off you. “When you let go, I mean. I can tell you’re enjoying it. You’re just too ashamed to think about it.”

When you didn’t respond, he leaned closer and his breath tickled your ear when he whispered.

He was indeed the devil.

Beautiful, dangerous and manipulative.

“Don’t worry, my sweet girl. I’ll make you overcome that, too.”

_____________________________________________________

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[farfromstrange]

“He was doing the Roman salute!” this “He was just giving his heart to the people” that. I don’t know about you, but this makes me extremely uncomfortable, and we should be!

Let me give you a little history lesson.

As far as my knowledge goes, the ‘Roman salute’ originates from a painting in the 1700s (?), then was used by the Italian Fascist regime. Yes, you read that right. Fascist. And guess who adapted the so-called ‘Roman salute’ to greet his followers?

Adolf Hitler.

You know, the Austrian guy who managed to gain power over the German government in just 3 months once he got to power through a series of political and economic crises (that) helped him rise to power legally (“Hitler Comes to Power”), and destroyed the democracy that was established in the Weimar Republic? The Weimar Republic, for those of you who don’t cover it in school, was the thing that was established in 1918 because people did this other thing called the November Revolution.

People were unhappy after WWI, the government faced a lot of problems, and radical political parties tried to overtake the government. Both the far right and left, mind you. In 1923, the Nazis staged a coup, but that didn’t work. So, they changed tactics. They were resilient bastards, let me tell you. They still are, unfortunately.

Instead of violence, they focused their efforts on winning elections. They did not succeed, at first, because they were small and unpopular. However, the economic and political crisis in 1930 gained them more votes because the government at the time failed to solve the problems caused by that crisis. People started to lose their faith in the power of democracy. Sound familiar?

Some of the things they promised were to fix the economy and put people back to work; return Germany to the status of a great European or rather, a world-power; regain territory Germany had lost in World War I, and create a strong authoritarian German government. But they also played on people’s fears and prejudices, like blaming Jews and migrants and Communists for everything.

Sounds familiar too, doesn’t it?

Long story short, the Nazi party got more votes than any other party and made it into parliament. They refused to work with other political parties. Hitler demanded to be appointed chancellor, and the president gave in. He didn’t transform Germany into a dictatorship right away (because Germany still had a constitution, duh), so he started manipulating the system instead. They used existing laws to destroy democracy, and the whole thing only took 3 months. When the president died, Hitler declared himself the ‘Führer’ of Germany, and you know how that story panned out.

The ‘Roman salute’—Musk is guilty of using it, you can’t change my mind—is called the ‘Hitlergruß’ for a reason. Because Adolf Hitler was using it to greet his Nazi followers, and it quickly became the salute all Nazis used. It was actually mandatory for civilians. Now, it is illegal to use in Germany, Austria, Slovakia, and I think Poland, too.

As a German who had to see pictures of people doing that salute for most of her school years, there a difference between ‘giving your heart to the people’ and that. Elon Musk definitely knew what he was doing. Someone who’s probably had more media training than most celebrities.

Look at Germany’s history and think about what Donald Trump has been doing. Or as ABBA once said, the history book on the shelf is always repeating itself. But do we really want that? My country’s going on the same direction, and it’s scary, but that’s why we have to stand up. Do our part. Fight back. Change in history has always happened through protests and revolutions—through coming together instead of dividing over the smallest things while trying to fight against the far right and fascism—and we have to do the same.

Works cited:

“Hitler Comes To Power.” Holocaust Encyclopedia, 14. Nov. 2024, encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/hitler-comes-to-power. Accessed 22 Jan. 2025.

what do you mean elon musk did a nazi salute on live tv at the united states presidential inauguration twice and is now erasing the evidence off the internet by replacing the footage with the crowd cheering instead?

would be a shame if people reblogged this, wouldn’t it?

[megamindsecretlair]

Said I Wouldn't, Part 1

Pairing: Dad!Terry Richmond x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Cursing, teasing (fem receiving), fingering (female receiving), All consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: Babysitting for Terry had its perks. You were able to see his gorgeous ass every night before heading off to your own house next door. And because he went to the gym on Wednesday nights, you had extra time to explore his room and live in your delusions. But when Terry catches you, you are unprepared for what comes next. 

Word Count: 7,608k

AO3 Link

A/N: I...am just going to be honest. I am a WEAK woman when it comes to Aaron and since he's hellbent on killing me, I may as well surrender. Need that man. That full sleeve turned me FERAL. This should be a two-parter. I also fucked around and caught a bug, ugh. Pray for me. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

“Will you marry me?” 

You gasped as you turned to Mr. Terry’s son, Troy, as he looked at you with the sweetest expression on his little face. His eyes were wide and pleading, a shy smile on his face, as he glanced at you like you hung the moon. 

Aww, how come there were no guys your age who wanted to marry you? Then again, you’d actually have to go out with someone for all that and well, you had better things to do. Like get your degree, find a better job, and actually do the whole adult thing before you brought a man into that.

You licked your lips to give yourself time to think of a proper answer. Though you didn’t know how you were supposed to navigate something like this. Mr. Terry hadn’t given you a laundry list of what was appropriate for you to handle and you were a bit out of your depth.

“That is really sweet of you to ask and you’re very brave. But I am entirely too old for you, buddy,” you said. 

Troy tucked his legs beneath him and sidled closer to you. His shoulder knocked into the coffee table disrupting his homework and you fought a smile at the eagerness in his little body. “I’ll be a great husband! I’ll open doors for you and make you chicken nuggets!” He persisted. 

See, the definition of romance. Who didn’t want their doors opened for them and chicken nuggets on demand? You put your pen down on the coffee table next to your own abandoned homework. You faced Troy and fought hard to keep the smile from your face. He was being serious so you’d respond in kind.

“That is a very tempting offer, Troy. But I’m very sorry. I have to say no,” you said.

His face crumpled but to his credit, he didn’t cry. He only scrunched up his face like he was lost in thought. He looked so much like Mr. Terry, it was frightening. 

“But you’re so pretty! Like Dad said. And you’re a good person. Dad always said to find the prettiest, smartiest, good person and marry them. Not like bad girls,” Troy said. 

“What makes a girl bad?” You asked. Out of all the things Troy said, your mind stuck on the fact that Mr. Terry thought you were pretty. It shouldn’t. It was wildly inappropriate, not to mention a cliche and a half, but…Mr. Terry was drop dead fuckin’ gorgeous. If someone like that called someone like you pretty, then…maybe…

“Dad said when they’re ma-man,” Troy said. He scrunched up his face again and then dug a small notebook from his pocket. He flipped a few pages before poking out his bottom lip. “Ma-mani-pu.” Troy sounded out the word, badly, but you knew better than to try and help him. 

“Manipulative,” Troy finally pushed out. 

You smiled and nodded your head. “That’s very good. You should stay away from those girls. In fact, the only thing on your mind should be those books you stopped paying attention to,” you said and tapped his math homework. 

“I can do both,” he said, giving you a grin. 

You chuckled. Just like his damn daddy… You rolled your eyes and tapped on his homework again. “Math homework, young man,” you said. 

Troy sighed but you could already tell this would be an uphill battle. He sat back on the floor and tucked his legs under the table to complete his homework. He was a bit too small to really manage, but he wanted to be next to you while you did yours.

You worked in silence, working on your own homework, and when Troy was finished you looked over his answers. This new way of doing math was beyond you and that was without struggling from the old way. It looked about right. Hell, Troy needed to look over your homework with how smart he was. 

“Great job, buddy. This goes straight to your backpack so you don’t lose it. And then it’s bath time,” you said.

Troy groaned, dropping his head dramatically to the coffee table. Your shoulders danced with silent laughter. What was it about kids avoiding the bath like the plague? Or maybe you were just a weird child all around. You loved taking baths and taking your Bratz dolls with you so they could go “swimming”. 

“You know, if you want to make a great husband, there’s nothing girls like more than a boy who has good hygiene,” you said. 

“Really?” Troy asked, popping his head up to look at you. “Even you?” After you nodded, Troy packed up his homework into his binder and then rushed to his room. This kid had your entire heart. You’d be sad to stop babysitting for him when Mr. Terry finally figured out what he’d do with the separation from his horrible wife. There would probably be a more permanent, vetted babysitter.

You were absolutely biased against Alivia, Mr. Terry’s wife. After moving in next door about a year ago, you had a front row seat to the awful way she treated Mr. Terry and Troy. Constantly shrieking and belittling them, no matter what they did. Keeping both virtually locked up in the house.

You could count on one hand the amount of times Mr. Terry or Troy had friends over. Or hell, a grandmother or cousin or something. When there were visitors, it was short lived. You were also witness to the screaming match when Mr. Terry finally threw her ass out of the house with nothing but a suitcase a few months back. 

How anyone could treat those two like that was beyond you. But you didn’t know all of it. Only what you were able to see and be nosy about. Since you had no real life of your own, you spent your free time making up scenarios about other people. It was fun…until Mr. Terry invited you into their world to be a babysitter.

And since then, your severe crush only grew more ridiculous. Bordering on creepy really. But you just couldn’t help it. You’d have killed to have a life like this. A stable home, a wonderful kid, and a husband who was good and provided. You didn’t think this life was perfect, no life was perfect, but dammit…you yearned. 

Troy started the bath and you stood up from behind the coffee table to stretch your legs. You fixed the deep rose colored bodycon dress you wore. Not entirely appropriate, but you skipped laundry day and who knows when you’d get another chance considering one of your roommates was a hog. 

You walked down the short hallway to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “I’m in here!” Troy called out.

“Good, make sure you wash behind your ears, please!” You said.

“I will!” Troy called back.

You had about twenty minutes before Troy would be done. So you looked around the house, knowing full well you were alone, and then snuck off to Mr. Terry’s room. Yes, you knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help it.

You managed to swipe an old T-shirt of Mr. Terry’s a month ago and so far, he hadn’t noticed. Or if he did, he just hadn’t mentioned it to you. It was the stupidest, boldest thing you’d ever done, but you couldn’t muster the energy to feel guilty about it. It was an old MCMAP shirt that you slept in nearly every night. It still smelled like him, years of his natural scent soaked into the fabric. 

You did a deep dive on Mr. Terry after that, justifying it by telling yourself that you had to know who you were dealing with. Mr. Terry found you on a babysitting app but since you were right next door and a little friendly already, he bypassed all that to pay you directly. You appreciated the extra cash, but people were sick these days. 

But every piece of information you managed to find out only made you fall in love with him that much more. He was on the freakin’ Wikipedia page, like…how could you not fall in love? You loved when people were really good at what they did. You were sure there was a name for it, but fuck if you knew it. You only knew that when someone was exceptionally good at something, it got you all hot and bothered.

Slipping into Mr. Terry’s room, you took a deep breath. This was where he laid his head at night. The rustic decor somehow fit the image you had of him in your mind. He had a dark, rustic walnut headboard that stretched to the ceiling. On it were two lamps that pointed to the bed. 

On his nightstand, he had the same historical novel he started a month or so ago. He had a simple, thin brown blanket on his neatly made up bed. That was point one in why you would never actually work with someone like him. He was too neat for your blood. He’d probably have a heart attack seeing the state of your bedroom. 

You tried, you really did, but well. You were grown enough to admit you just hated picking up after yourself. Not when you had better things to do like binge anime and go down Google rabbit holes for random things you thought about. 

His furniture was simple, functional, much like the man himself but there was something so alluring about being in a man’s personal space. And you did mean a MAN. All capital letters included. You made sure to never touch anything. You just liked getting a peek behind that stoic exterior. 

You glanced at your watch, still making good time, as you looked at the small bottles of cologne. They were nearly filled to the top so maybe he didn’t use it as much? Maybe he naturally smelled that damn delicious. 

On his dresser, he had a few pictures thrown about of Troy and Alivia. You sucked your teeth looking at the batshit woman he married. Why did guys tend to go for the crazy, loud women? Were they allergic to peace? To a quiet night at home, basking in gooey love? 

As your therapist put it, the world was not a stage and no, you couldn’t direct people’s actions. You were not that powerful. What Mr. Terry decided to do in his own bed was his own business. Speaking of…

You sat down on the edge of the bed and cast your eyes about the room. You didn’t always come in here. You weren’t that big of a pervert. Just on Wednesday nights. That was when he stopped by the gym after work. And he always came home sweaty and out of breath. If he were a bit closer, you were sure that he would jog or bike to the gym rather than taking his car.

As you sat there, you let your mind wander. What would it be like coming home to someone of his caliber? Someone able to carry a damn conversation beyond wondering what you were doing every two seconds. Someone to discuss books and themes with. Someone to binge anime with you and discuss the power scaling. Fun stuff. 

An engine pulled up outside the house and you scrambled to get out of the man’s room as quickly as possible. The car door slammed outside and your heart pounded in your chest. Okay, he was a little too early tonight. You closed the door behind you just as his keys turned the lock. You jogged to the kitchen and opened a cabinet, grabbing a cup just as Mr. Terry’s keys hit the key bowl beside the door. 

“Mr. Terry, hi,” you said, closing the cabinet door. You walked over to the fridge and poured a glass of water that you clearly needed. 

Mr. Terry walked further into the kitchen and then gave you a small smile, putting his hands into his gym shorts pockets. He wore a simple gray T-shirt soaked through with sweat and damn, damn, damn, he looked good. His arms bulged underneath the short sleeved shirt, deep veins running along his arm. Delicious. 

“Dad!” Troy barreled into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Whoa, okay,” you said and turned around with a chuckle.

“Troy, we have company. You can’t run around naked like that,” Terry said. You heard movement but refused to turn around. 

“I asked her to marry me, but she said no. But I was able to say manipulative,” Troy said, slowing down around the big word. 

“Is that right?” Terry asked.

“Uh-huh. She said girls like when boys have good hygiene. So you should probably bathe too,” Troy said.

Terry laughed and you heard wrestling. “Is that your way of saying I stink?” Mr. Terry asked.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything…” you chimed in, not wanting to be left out. 

“Oh that’s cold, you both got jokes. You, put some lotion and clothes on. And brush your teeth,” Mr. Terry said. 

“Good night, Troy!” You called after the little boy as he took off towards the bathroom. 

���Good night! See you tomorrow!” He yelled.

“It’s safe to turn around,” Mr. Terry said.

Naw, it really wasn’t. But you took a deep breath and turned around anyway. Somehow, the second time seeing him in all his sweaty glory was just as heart-stopping as the first time. You forgot all about your guilty activities as you openly stared at him in the kitchen.

It was by no means a small kitchen, but it felt claustrophobic standing there. As if his presence was a physical force field pressing into you from all sides. It was your stupid crush on the man that made you all tongue tied when you got around him. 

“I hope he didn’t bug too much. I know he has a big crush on you,” Mr. Terry said. 

You waved your hand. “He’ll grow out of it,” you said. They always do. But you kept that little tidbit to yourself. Though…you did want to ask about the pretty comment Troy mentioned earlier. But you were too chicken. Instead, you stood there awkwardly in this man’s kitchen for no reason. Other than to count the drops of drool pooling in your mouth.

“I should get going,” you said. Your chest was still beating rapidly and you needed to get out of his immediate vicinity. Like right now. You washed out the cup you used.

“You didn’t have to,” he said.

You giggled. “Now, what kind of guest would I be if I didn’t clean up after myself?” You could clean up for other people but when it came to yourself, you lost all motivation to do so. It was the ass-backwards manners you were brought up on, but hey. It wasn’t like anyone was coming to visit your messy bedroom anyway. 

“Let me walk you home then,” Mr. Terry said. 

“I’m just next door,” you said. You dried off the cup and replaced it in the cabinet. He stepped out of the way so that you could walk past him. His eyes tracked you as you moved through the living room, collecting your homework and pens. 

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?” Mr. Terry asked.

“Oh, you’re a gentleman now,” you said and giggled. Did you have a flashing neon sign professing your guilt? Or did your guilt make you suspicious of everything? Because right now, it seemed like Mr. Terry was employing high level interrogation tactics, staying cool and calm while he let your guilt do the talking for you. 

“I’ve always been a gentleman,” he said. 

You could only giggle, too nervous to say anything else as you loaded up your backpack and threw on your cut off jean jacket. Terry’s mesmerizing hazel eyes followed each movement. Were you that bad at acting? Was he about to tell you that he had cameras in his room and knew exactly what you did on Wednesday nights? 

You needed to get a life and a half. Because the thought of getting caught only made it that much naughtier. Your imagination ran wild thinking of ways he could punish you for it. Preferably with a spanking. You bet those beefy hands would give a good one. 

“H-How was work?” You asked. Damn, that sounded nervous, didn’t it?

“Same old story, different day,” he said.

You nodded. You sucked at conversation so you promptly shut your trap and walked with him outside of the door. The night air was crisp, the late January night so frigid that you could see clouds of your breath escape with each exhale. Dew collected on the blades of grass outside of Mr. Terry’s house and it soaked into your flat sandals, tickling your toes.

“How’s your degree goin’?” Mr. Terry asked, breaking the silence.

“Good. Though I think one of the professors hates me,” you said. You sucked your teeth, thinking of Mr. Shoop, your English teacher. If you didn’t have a comma in the right place, he marked you down for one reason or another.

“I’m sure it’s impossible to hate you,” Mr. Terry said.

You snorted with laughter, immediately censoring yourself as you released the ugly laugh. He didn’t need to hear all that. You cleared your throat and shrugged, telling him about the latest run in with Mr. Shoop. You made one little comment about the current book you were studying in class, and now he had it in his head that you were an uppity Negro. 

“Fuck him, then. You’re supposed to challenge the status quo in college,” Mr. Terry said.

You giggled and crossed the low cement border to your own place. The grass was less green, more brittle and dead because no one in the house fucking cared about aesthetics. This was not your forever home. Once you graduated, you were getting the fuck out of here as if your pants were on fire.

“You ever go to college?” You asked.

“Naw. Enlisted as soon as I turned 18,” he said. His voice was like sweet honey in the middle of spring. It didn’t belong on this cold, quiet night in the ‘burbs. “It’s why I want Troy to focus on his grades. Make sure he has every opportunity I didn’t.”

The automatic porch light turned on bathing you both in its warm, yellow glow. It also highlighted your ugly brick porch with the mailbox half hanging off of the wall. You cringed as you climbed the steps but focused on the conversation. 

“You’re doing an amazing job with him, Mr. Terry,” you said.

He scrunched his face, most definitely like Troy, and shook his head. “It’s just Terry,” he said. 

“Yeah but –”

Mr. Terry stepped closer to you, drawing up to his full 6’3 height and looked down at you. You hoped he couldn’t hear your painful gulp.

“No buts. I’m not stepping down until you agree. We’re damn near the same age,” he said. 

You opened your mouth to argue the point but his fierce eyebrows drew down in a challenge. You reared back with a grin and Mr. Terry’s eyebrow shot up in a dare. You licked your lips and nodded. Okay, touché. 

“Terry,” you said, trying it out. It still sounded so wrong. 

“Say it again,” Terry said, his eyes drooping lower. 

“Terry,” you nearly whispered. Terry - gah, that was still so weird - leaned forward and for half a second, you thought he would kiss you. That he would plant those gorgeous pink lips on yours and kiss your sandals right off your feet. 

Instead, he chuckled and then looked down. He shook his head and then stepped back. “My job isn’t done until you’re safe inside,” he said.

“You take this pretty seriously, huh?” You asked. Stupid. Why the hell would a man like that kiss his babysitter? Probably saw you as some teenager next door, even though he was correct. You were almost the same age. But he was more mature and put together than you could ever hope to be. 

“Very seriously,” he agreed. 

You dug in your jacket pocket for your keys, the tips of your ears aflame as you continued to berate yourself. To be clear, you knew you were pretty but you got tongue tied around gorgeous men. Regular men you could deal with. They were the regular, easy pickin’s off of any vine. But Terry was like a fully baked apple pie sitting in a window somewhere. Mouth watering, steamy, and sinfully tempting.

Men like that went for super thin fashion models or apparently, screaming harpies who liked to belittle men. And just like that, you remembered that he was technically married. There was no way that an upstanding man like Terry would step out on his wife, separation or no. 

“Well, the neighborhood is safe since we have a man like you to keep watch,” you said. You turned the lock and opened the door, waving goodbye over your shoulder. Terry waved to you and then took off down the porch, clapping his hands together as he went back to his own house.

You closed and locked the door behind you, leaning your back against it as you sighed. That was entirely too close. But in your defense, he typically showed up after Troy was done with his bath. You’d have to get your snooping down to a more manageable time. 

You groaned and headed to your room, bypassing the discarded clothing on the floor and random water bottles thrown about the foyer area. Pigs. 

Living with two guys and another girl was the bane of your fucking existence. You and Gia had to put your foot down and explain that you weren’t their mothers or sisters or maids and you would not pick up after them. In rebellion, the two men, Andre and Malcolm, doubled down by not picking up after themselves either. 

So if one of them slipped on their own shirts or didn’t have clean dishes, that was on them. Money was tight as you went through grad school, but you had enough to eat out and find alternatives to cooking. To each their own in this fucking house.

You made it to your room and closed the door, turning on lights and getting ready for bed. You settled in for your third watch of Jujutsu Kaisen, sitting comfortably in Terry’s MCMAP shirt but your mind raced as you played tonight over and over in your mind. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Troy asked, the following Wednesday night. 

“Of course,” you said. 

“I like when you’re around. My dad doesn’t seem so sad,” Troy said.

Cue your heart breaking in three, two, one…you sighed and put your pen down on the coffee table. Right back in your regular seats, Troy continued with his social studies homework as if he didn’t just say the saddest thing ever. 

“What do you mean?” You asked. 

Troy stopped writing but didn’t look up from his homework. “Dad was sad a lot when Mom was here. But he smiles more when you’re around. So that means you can’t leave, okay?” He asked and looked back at you with a shy, sad smile on his face. 

“Troy, is that why you asked me to marry you? So I wouldn’t leave?” You asked. 

Troy nodded. “Plus you’re really pretty. And soooo smart,” he said.

Kids. You smiled and hugged him, bringing him closer to you. “You don’t ever have to worry about these things, okay? Your job is to do your homework and listen to your dad. I’m right next door. If you ever need anything, you come get me, okay?” You asked. 

Troy nodded but didn’t seem much convinced by your assurances. He was a kid but old enough to recognize when shit wasn’t sweet at home. With a mom like his, it was a wonder he stayed so innocent. 

You were playing fast and loose with semantics, but Troy didn’t technically ask you to keep the secret. Only if he could tell you one. You’d have to talk to Terry when he got home and make sure the man talked to his son. 

It couldn’t be easy trying to raise a kid in a broken home. The good Lord knew your own parents had a rough go of it. But Troy’s only concern should be which yogurt was in his lunchbox. Not his dad’s happiness or lack thereof. 

You helped look over his answers and helped him in the few areas he got wrong. You helped him solve the problem on his own, not just hand him the answers. “Alright buddy, bath time,” you said.

“Because girls like boys with good hygiene,” he recited.

“Exactly,” you said and nodded your head. 

Troy grabbed his homework and stuffed it into his binder. Then he turned to you with a serious expression on his face, entirely too much like his dad. He was eight. What eight year old needed to be so serious? 

“One day, I’ll be old enough to marry you,” he promised. 

You giggled. “You are going to meet the love of your life and forget all about little ole me,” you said. 

Troy shook his head and grinned. “I could never forget you.”

“You know what, you sweet talker. Bath time, now. You’re too young to think about marriage anyway,” you said with a giggle. 

Troy skipped into his room to put up his homework and then he trudged to the bathroom with a change of clothes and a fresh towel. You heard the bath water running while Troy hummed to some song you didn’t know. 

You checked your watch. After such a close call last time…you really shouldn’t. But it had become a ritual at this point. Your body compelled you to move, to go to his room and pretend for twenty minutes that he was coming home to you.

You didn’t actually want this type of domestic life but…well, who were you fooling? This was exactly what you had planned for your life. But as a nerdy, thickum Black girl with too much time on her hands, no one was exactly beating down your door for your hand in marriage. 

Let alone anything resembling sex. You’d become an expert at handling things yourself but you didn’t know what the actual act was like. And it was too embarrassing to tell grown ass men that you were a virgin and waiting on an actual connection before hopping in bed. 

Sue you, sex meant something to you. And you weren’t going to give up the cookies because some egg head batted his eyes at you and took you on one date. 

You spun around in Terry’s room trying to determine if he moved anything. Added anything. Removed anything. You just liked knowing him. Knowing a side of him that most didn’t get to see. It was what kept you going, something silly to keep your mind busy when school got too tough or the roommate situation sucked hot marbles. 

Your eyes caught on the book on his nightstand. He finally finished the historical novel. The new book he was reading was a crime novel and from the blurb on the back, it sounded pretty interesting. 

You were so caught up in the blurb and the first page, taking care not to disturb too much, that you didn’t notice Terry’s car pull up. Or his keys in the doorway, or him calling your name. You were so absorbed in it, that you dropped the book when Terry entered his room. 

“Oh,” you gasped. 

Your heart jumped to your throat as Terry smirked and tilted his head. “What are you doing in here? Where’s Troy?” He asked.

“Bath time,” you croaked out. Your throat turned dry and scratchy, pulling each word out as if it were being dragged over jagged glass. You had no good excuse for why you were in this man’s room, picking up his book, when you were supposed to be watching his son. 

What if Troy had drowned? What if he suddenly lit the house on fire? Shame made your stomach gurgle as your mind raced for any type of excuse or reason to be in his room. Babysitting 101 was watching your damn kid. 

Terry stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. You were frozen, rooted to the spot, heart beating rapidly and your fingers started to shake. What was he going to do? 

Terry walked closer until he bent down to pick up the discarded book. He flipped it over and dusted it off, being entirely too casual for your tastes. “What were you doing in here?” He asked, his voice too, too calm. 

You backed away towards the wall and shook your head. When your back collided with it, you were out of space. So you began to move to the side, sliding against the wall and trying to create some distance.

Terry turned with you, stepping in time with you, not letting you out of his sight. It was his right. It was his house after all. And you were the creepy pervert in his room. “I didn’t steal anything, I swear,” you said, your voice too small. 

“That’s not what I asked,” he said. He smirked as if this was all a funny misunderstanding. Like it was normal to find you being a creep in his room. 

“You don’t have to call the cops, I promise. I’ll leave and…I won’t come back,” you said. God, you didn’t even want to try and explain this to the cops or your family. You were completely mortified and disgusted with yourself. You knew you should have left it alone. 

“I didn’t say anything about the cops,” he said. He stepped closer to you and you smelled the sweat and overall male scent wafting off of him in waves. He wore a red shirt this time, soaked through with sweat and clinging to his well honed chest. 

He was tall as hell, looming over you whether he wanted to or not. You didn’t know this game he was playing and you just wanted to leave. You were at a loss of what to say or do. He blocked the exit with his body. There was just him. His broad shoulders, his wide chest, his hypnotizing eyes. 

“What were you doing in here?” He asked softly. 

“I just wanted to know you,” you said just as softly. It was a pathetic excuse but at least it was honest. 

“Why didn’t you ask me?” He asked.

You snorted with laughter before clicking your mouth shut. Terry’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached out to cup your cheek. You looked from his hand to his face. Was this man okay? Shouldn’t he be…angry? Upset? Confused? You’d broken his trust in the worst possible way. Got yourself plum fired over something so stupid. This wasn’t going the way you thought it would in your mind. 

“Why do you do that?” He asked. 

“Laugh?” You asked. God, you felt like an idiot. 

Terry smirked. “Stop yourself from laughing. It drives me nuts,” he said. 

“Oh,” you said. You shook your head and shrugged. “I have a weird laugh.” 

Terry leaned closer so that his nose rubbed against yours. “I keep waiting to hear it but you don’t ever let yourself laugh out loud,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes but you were slowly calming down from the threat of discovery. For the time being, it looked like Terry wasn’t going to smack you to kingdom come. This…you didn’t know what this was but you weren’t about to stop him either. This was the closest you’d ever been to him. Ever. You were going to soak up every detail before he kicked you out flat on your ass. 

“I didn’t know you were waiting to hear it,” you said. 

Terry leaned away so that he could look into your eyes. Fuck, he was so pretty. With his ever changing eyes, one of your favorite past times was trying to figure out what color they were. Sometimes they were so blue it would make the ocean jealous. Sometimes they were a stormy gray. Other times, they were a pale brown. It was insane but kept your mind busy. 

“You drive me crazy,” he said, the words slowly spilling from his lips with that subtle drawl. 

“Me?” You asked and snorted. Oh, if he only fucking knew… He drove you to distraction without even trying. One look, one sound from him and you were ready to bend over, ass up, and let him have his wicked way with you. 

“Is that surprising?” He asked. 

“Um…yeah,” you said and giggled. This was like the statue of David coming to life and asking a painting on a date. The mediums were both gorgeous but one was more lauded than the other. 

“I know I can be…serious,” Terry said. You snorted again and he tapped your nose. “But I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Like I was some creep, you know?” He asked.

“Yeah, well. I’m the one who was in your room, being inappropriate. I completely understand if you want to fire me…”

“Troy would kill me if I did,” he said and smirked. 

You giggled. “You’d still have the right to. I am really, really sorry,” you said. 

Terry’s hand moved from your cheek, down the sides of your body before landing on your hips. You gasped, your body tingling in areas you didn’t know you could tingle. Like his hands were a live wire and your body responded in the most unusual ways. 

“You always seemed so nervous around me. I thought I scared you,” he said.

“The opposite actually,” you admitted. Hell, at this point, you might as well lay it all out. Put yourself on a silver platter, ready to be served up to Terry’s mercy. His thumbs pressed into your tummy and you gasped, shivering. 

“The way you respond…have you ever been with anyone?” He asked. 

You shook your head. You didn’t have the words to say you were a virgin. Didn’t want to be even more of a loser in his eyes. Terry cursed softly under his breath and shook his head. 

“So no one’s ever touched you? Why not?” He asked. 

You licked your lips and shrugged. “Guys just don’t like me like that.” It was the only answer you had to give. You were the in-between friend. You were the holdover friend people had before they found their forever person. Without fail, any man you were interested in went on one or two dates with you before suddenly finding the light of their fucking lives. 

After the last guy literally went to the bathroom on your date and came back with someone else’s number, you swore off any hunt for a partner. What was the point? You wasted outfit after outfit, faced disappointment after disappointment, and well, you just wanted off of the merry-go-round. 

Terry tilted his head before stepping away. He pulled you towards his dresser and made you face the mirror. He pressed in behind you and you sighed, feeling a bulge rub against your ass. 

You stared at his face in the mirror and watched as his face ran through a gauntlet of emotions. Like he was fighting with himself and losing the battle, fast. He placed his chin on your shoulder and then sighed.

“What do you see?” He asked.

“Me…and you…” You said. You weren’t trying to be a dumb ass, but it seemed like he was playing chess while you were playing Bingo. 

Terry smirked. “What do you see when you look at yourself?” 

You took a deep breath. You began to describe the features that you saw in the mirror. The way you did your hair, the way you did your makeup, the jewelry that you wore. Terry shook his head. 

“I see a sexy, beautiful woman. I see someone that drives me fuckin’ nuts. A woman that makes me want to do awful, disgusting things to,” he said.

“Ahh,” you said and shivered from the intense look in his hazel eyes. 

Terry’s hands moved up to cup your breasts over the top of your bodycon dress. You chose the burnished orange one today, once again at the mercy of Malcolm who acted like he was the only one who could use the fucking washing machine.

You moaned and bowed forward but Terry’s hands kept you upright. No one ever told you how different it was for someone to touch you as opposed to touching yourself. Everything seemed more intense, more lively, more electric. 

“And I just can’t hold myself back anymore. Tell me to stop,” Terry said. He moved his head to kiss your neck, your jaw, and behind your ear. 

You moaned, body shivering from how good he felt. How right his hands felt on your body. He pulled the top of your dress down, cupping your bare titties in his hands and pinching your nipples.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, knees getting weaker the more he tugged and pinched and pulled. Your pussy responded, throbbed, and you grew wet instantly soaking your panties. 

“Tell me to stop,” Terry said, near begging as he continued to kiss and lick on your skin. 

“I-I can’t,” you sighed. How could you tell him to stop when this was the only thing you ever wanted? The only thing you ever dreamed of? 

“If you don’t tell me to stop, we’re going to cross a line. I need you to say it, please,” Terry said. As he spoke, his hands gripped the sides of your dress and pulled until your dress pooled around your hips.

You moaned as his fingers touched your thighs, fingers digging in and massaging you. His hands moved towards your panties, cupping you over the flimsy fabric. There was a thin layer separating you from what you most wanted. 

“I can’t say it. You have to be the stronger one,” you said. He had to be. Because at this moment, there was nothing you would deny him. If he wanted a star from the Hollywood Walk of Fame, you’d be there the next day with a jackhammer and crow bar. 

Terry dropped his head to your shoulder and groaned, his fingers moving closer to the seat of your panties. “I need you to say it,” he said.

You shook your head. You leaned forward and planted your hands on the dresser top, no longer able to support yourself standing. You were absolutely weak in the knees, ready to collapse at any given moment. 

Terry’s left hand snaked around yours and grasped yours, fingers tangling. His right hand finally pushed your panties aside and he groaned, finding you soaking wet. “Fuck,” he moaned. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned. 

It was wildly different for his fingers to be there instead of your own. He moved expertly, soaking his fingers with your essence and playing with your clit. You shook violently on his fingers, too in your head to enjoy what he was doing.

“Breathe,” he whispered. 

You sucked in deep pulls of air, your breathing returning to a normal rhythm. You nodded though you were out of your mind with pleasure. With feeling. His fingers plunged into your pussy and you cried out. 

“Shh, shh,” he whispered.

Right. Right. There was an entire kid taking a bath at the moment. And here you were letting his dad play with you like a damn fiddle. You couldn’t find one ounce of regret. One ounce of shame. 

His fingers helped you find heaven, light exploding behind your eyelids as your stomach twisted and caved from the pleasure he was delivering. His left hand tightened on yours as you got closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“Fuck, fuck me. Please,” you begged. You needed to know what it felt like. Needed to know right this second what he felt like getting inside you. Your pussy was empty, aching, begging for his dick and you pushed your ass into his bulge to get him to cave. 

Terry groaned and pushed into you, pushing your hips against the edge of his dresser. He moaned as he dry humped against you, timing his wrist movements with his strokes. 

“No condom,” he panted in your ear.

“Please,” you begged. You whined, you cried. You didn’t have a fucking clue what you were saying, only that you needed that bulge inside you. NOW. 

Terry bit your ear. “I’m not gonna endanger you,” he said. 

You collapsed forward. He leaned against your back and then got down to business. Rubbing your clit in circles until you leaned up on your tip toes and bit your lip as you came, flooding his fingers with your slick as the orgasm rocked you on the spot. 

Your world quaked, cracked in half, and then was brought back together by Terry’s grunts and groans. As you came down, you panted and huffed, no energy left in your body. Terry withdrew his fingers and then brought his fingers to his mouth and suckled.

You watched him in the mirror as he closed his eyes. “Fuck,” you huffed. 

Terry winked at you as he adjusted your panties and your dress. You opened your mouth plenty of times but there were no words to be found. What could you say? What could you do? 

“Helllooooooooo,” Troy called out. He sounded as if he had been calling out for a minute. 

Terry adjusted himself and then kissed your neck. “Don’t move,” he said.

He left the room and you heard him talking to Troy. He told the boy to brush his teeth and Troy tried to argue until Terry threatened to check his toothbrush. Troy laughed and his footfalls ran back to the bathroom. 

You were still stuck in the same position you were before, hands planted on Terry’s dresser as if his command not to move had to be followed to the letter. You looked down at the pictures on his dresser, of his smiling wife and son. 

Yet somehow…fuck her. You didn’t feel any guilt fucking her man in what used to be her bedroom. You didn’t know where she was or if she was even coming back. You didn’t hold any expectations. Only that you wanted what you wanted and you weren’t going to apologize for it. If this was the only thing you got from Terry, then so be it. Because it was…life changing. 

Terry re-entered the room and closed the door behind him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder. “We’re going to talk about this.” 

You nodded. Yes, there definitely needed to be a discussion about this. “Not tonight,” you said.

Terry tilted his head at you. “I mean…we both need to cool down and Troy needs you. We’ll talk tomorrow? When you get home?”

Terry looked as if he wanted to argue. He rubbed his goatee and sighed heavily. But he had to know you were right. The last thing you wanted to do was interrupt Troy’s routine. Doubly so now that his mom wasn’t home. God, that poor kid had enough to deal with. 

Terry nodded but turned you around to look at him. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eyes. “We’re going to talk about this. Tomorrow. When I get home.” 

You nodded. Terry pulled you close, giving you a tender, beautiful but way too quick kiss and then let you go. You gathered your nerves and then left his room, looking out for Troy. Not seeing him, you hurried over to your homework and gathered it up, stuffing it into your backpack haphazardly. 

You were ten kinds of turned around. You needed to freak out about this before you could have an adult conversation about what happened between you. Time to lock down your emotions and feelings so that when Terry gave you “that talk”, the one about how this couldn’t happen again, you would be prepared. You wouldn’t embarrass yourself by begging, screaming, throwing up for not having another chance to explore more. 

But…you said you’d be happy with this. And you would be. You so would be. This was…honestly the best outcome you never planned for. You finished and pulled on your sweater and walked towards the front door.

Terry called out to Troy that he was walking you next door and you said goodbye to Troy. The night didn’t seem quite so cold this time around. Perhaps your body was still flushed, reliving the best orgasm of your life. 

Your shoes crunched beneath your dead lawn as you hopped up the porch. Terry stopped you with a hand on your arm. He rubbed his thumb back and forth but didn’t say anything.

What was there to say? He rocked your world? He shifted your axis? Up was down and down was up thanks to the power of his fingers? His fingers. Lordy lordy. Maybe you wouldn’t survive getting fucked by him. You were glad one of you had the presence of mind to be safe and not fuck without a condom. 

“Tomorrow,” you promised.

Terry nodded and then waited for you to get inside before trudging back to his place. And no matter how many times you tried to feel bad, the only thing you could think of was his face as he moaned and his fingers buried to the knuckle in your pussy.

I just ain't slowing down any time sooooon. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist:

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@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

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[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Ruined

Player 001 x reader [SMUT]

Masterist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Note: takes place during season 1, bc the marble games seemed so prefect for him. Also remember that Korea currency is LESS than American currency.

“Come on (y/n)” young il pulled at your jacket sleeve. You asked him to wake you right as you had to get up for the next game.

“Ughhh, I don’t wanna” you whined.

“(Y/n)(l/n), get out of this fucking bed or I swear to all things earthly, I will drag you by your fucking hair”

“Mmm, you’re gonna pull my hair?” You smile.

“(Y/n) let’s go, come on” he says. You reluctantly get up, dragging your feet as you did so. Scowling at him as he scowled back at you. “Don’t look at me like that”

“Like what?” You yawn and stretch

“Like you hate me. I’m your husband, you like having me around.” You and In Ho joined the games as an opportunity to have fun. Fortunately, this was right before the VIPs formally arrived. You and In Ho were just having some fun.

You passed Oh il Nam, remembering that he also joined the game, he was the that extended the invitation to you. The 3 of you had a one way ticket to freedom town after this game, as the next one was surely a matter of actual life or death (it was the glass bridge).

You and Young il split up to find 2 other players to be partnered with, as it would validate your ’deaths’ following il Nams steps.

You faked a loss at marbles, allowing yourself to get “shot”. You were allowed out of the game room and into the hallways on the outside of the isolated room. Tracking through the hallways you walked into yours and In Hos shared room.

Jumping into the shower and letting the past few days wash off of your skin. You took care of your basic needs, scrubbing your face and hair, removing the dried blood that was caked to your neck. Sighing with relief that you were finally clean. You put on your black silk robe and roamed your way into bed, setting up your skin care routine as tea boiled.

You comfortably sat reading your book, face mask on, tea setting to a perfect temperature when In Ho walked in.

“Hi honey” you said as he threw himself onto your thighs. “How’d your game go?”

“I hate my job.” He declared loudly. You played with his hair as he gripped your thighs, tightly. “You know not having you these past few days has been driving me crazy…” he trails.

“Shower first. I do not want 5 day old ball sweat anywhere near me. You’ll screw up my Ph balance” you say, eyeing him. He sighed dramatically. “Don’t be such an actor, go shower. You can indulge in me later.” Another dramatic sigh.

“Fine.” He said before kissing both of your thighs and getting up “You are so spoiled” he told you as he looked down at you. You smiled widely.

“Oh am I?”

“Yes, you are. Laying in silk sheets, in a silk robe, a ₩50,000 face mask, I bet, reading a book sighed personally by the author that I got you, and probably the most expensive tea someone in Korea could buy, laying in a ₩20,000,000 bed in a trillion won building” he lists. “With me, a man whose net worth is over ₩6 billion.”

“Ohhh my goodness, yes I’m so expensive” you feigned sadness.

“I’m gonna go shower. Care to watch me?” He teased, holding your dainty hand in his.

“Only if carry me to the bathroom” you say. He drops his head with a smile.

“Of course” he picked slid the blanket back, and picked you up, carrying you to the bathroom and gently setting you on the counter. He stood off to the side so he could look in the mirror, some blood was caked onto his collar and he had a streak that ran down his neck and onto his shirt.

He stripped as you watched him, his bare body being scanned by your calculated stare. He chuckled as he stepped out of his boxers.

“Like what you see?” He said with a cocky smirk. He stood between your thigh coming in for a kiss.

“I will after you shower” you say laughing as you pushed him back. He held your hand to his chest and kissed you quickly. Smiling as he moved away before you could slap his shoulder. He entered the shower, you could deny, he was gorgeous. The way water dripped down his abs, and how his hair stuck to his head.

“Use the exfoliation scrub, In Ho” you remind him. “You haven’t showered in like a week.”

“Yes, my love, I’m aware.” He replied, grabbing the container and showing you. The water turned off and he opened the glass door, wrapping a black towel marked ‘his’ on it. A wedding gift from your cousin. You stared at his body, his cock slightly hard and visible through his towel.

“Now, I love what I see” you say as he wraps his arms around, pulling you toward the end of the counter. He lays a kiss on your lips as he presses himself against you. A light hum left your lips. He chuckled into the kiss. Trailing down your neck to your collarbone, sucking and marking you as his.

“Am I allowed to indulge in you now?” He whispered, playing with your clit. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. Not having him for days was driving both of you insane, you were surprised you both made it that far without running off and fucking in a corner.

“Please do, Mr. Front man” you moaned, moving your hand to drop his towel. He wasted no time in pressing his cock into you. You moaned loudly as he did, he groaned into your mouth as your tongues danced together.

“God, I needed this” he says between kisses. He thrusted inside you, but differently than you expected. Not rushed, not rough, but in a love making, I miss you sort of way. “Fuck I love you” he said in your ear before attacking your neck.

“In Ho, I’m close” you whined.

“So am I. I’m so close (y/n)” he replies breathlessly fucking into you. He sped up, racing towards your climax, his threatening to burst. You heard a voice in your room.

“Oh, In Ho. Where are you?”

“Fuck, fuckkkk” he drawled quietly. His orgasm ruined, he looked at you before looking away wanting to avoid your of obvious frustration. Denied an orgasm, and it wasn’t even apart of the sex. He pulled his dick from you, a whine of dissatisfaction left you.

“Babygirl, don’t be upset with me” he said pulling on his towel. Grabbing his mask on the counter. “It’s my boss” he said leaving the bathroom. You followed behind him to see Il Nam standing in the center of your room.

“Ah, Ms. (L/n)” il Nam bowed. You retuned the bow.

“How are today, sir?” You ask. You had already seen him, but you knew better than to interact, you could see that he had a poor soul on the hook for failure.

“very well today, I am getting ready to go to the hospital and live my final days.” He exclaimed. There was no evidence of sadness in his voice, almost like he was happy to be gone. “Watch of Player 456, he has goodness in his heart. I hope he wins.” He says to you before turning to your husband. You turned away from the an walked towards the big screen on the far end of the room, turning it on to watch the rest of the players, Player 456 was shedding tears as he walked back to the common room. You faintly heard conversation:

“I am ready to go, In Ho.” The old man said. “Please meet me in my quarters when it is time to leave” you walked over and said good bye to il nam, vowing to visit him at the hospital when he was all settled in. he gave a gentle kiss on the cheek. In Ho held onto your waist, allowing you to remove his mask.

“I’m assuming there isn’t time now to finish what we started.” You stated lovingly.

“No, my dear, im afraid not. We are officially interrupted and our pleasure for the moment is ruined. I have to work” he says looking deeply into your eyes. You could tell he wanted nothing more than to continue the love making you were both so excited for, but work called.

“Come say good bye before you leave, wont you” you tell him, kissing his shoulder. He placed a kiss on your forehead.

“ I will. And, I’ll be back to finish what I started with you” he winked before letting go of you and disappearing into the closet.

[linddzz]

Sat here and combed through all your jayvik analysis posts giggling and kicking my feet but PLEASE tell me more about the whole dom/sub thing, especially the whole “they have absolutely not discussed that this is the dynamic, it just happens and neither of them acknowledge it” because that is genuinely so interesting. Like I could already tell Viktor had hella ‘quiet calm collected dom’ vibes especially compared to jayce’s ‘excited protective puppy who would FOLD at being called a good boy’ energy…

But the whole bit on the bridge where Viktor smacks his hand away without even looking? And Jayce EARNS BACK TOUCHING PRIVELEGES? Fucking scrumptious please tell me more.

god i need to get to writing my fic bc I feel like "talk more about it" would be solved just by me dropping the link This ended up being TOO LONG so I split it between me going feral about that bridge scene and then me going feral at other moments of nonverbal communication that I use to feed my Dom/sub "oh you two are just LIKE THAT" interpretation. So. here's part one

That bridge scene tho...im so normal about it

hhhggg god that bridge scene is one that I rotate in my brain so much because it is such a small moment that makes so much of their dynamic click. For me, specifically, it clicks the "submissive like a guard dog is submissive" dynamic, where Jayce is, on a surface level, the stronger and more forceful of the two while Viktor is the one actually holding the leash (until he's too tired to because he's dying, and I only half joke when I say that their issues at the end of season 1 are because Jayce is suddenly the equivalent of a dog holding it's own leash and getting stressed out about it.

Jayce's touching before the bridge come across as pretty overbearing honestly. He's holding his hand out to keep Viktor from speaking out...

Heck, while the still screenshot doesn't show it too well, Jayce slings an arm around Viktor with enough force that it knocks Viktor off balance for a second and shoves him forward a little.

Viktor got dragged to the hexgate when Jayce is looking into shipping discrepancies happening there, even though it obviously doesn't involve him and he does NOT want to be there.

(In hindsight this is a hilarious bit of showing that it did not occur to either of them that there's no goddamn reason for Viktor to be here. This is council business, Jayce outright says "I'm a councilor now Viktor" which does not answer why tf Viktor needs to be there. these twits just handle all problems as a unit lmao. The tragic flip is that this is could then be a breaking moment when Viktor goes back to the lab, realizing that him and Jayce are not, in actuality, a single unit anymore. because Jayce got a second job that is not Lab With Viktor oh my god you codependent dweebs)

Up until that point it would be really easy to see Jayce as being presumptive and unintentionally overpowering Viktor in personality. Heck, it's what I thought the dynamic was as I was watching Season 1, though even as I thought that it seemed somehow...not quite correct.

And then the bridge scene.

Even before the hand-smack, there's a flip on the reading up to this point that Jayce has been accidentally bowling over Viktor by force of personality/physicality. Jayce comes in hot, upset, angrily standing over Viktor and chewing him out, and Viktor is just like "....and??"

Viktor is calm if baffled and annoyed at Jayce's frustration (also; Viktor just rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the actual riot happening a few yards away? hilarious. i love him.) His almost nonchalantly confused tone when he asks "what difference does that make?" always gets me. the entire back and forth says, to me anyway, that Jayce may be more brash and socially competent, but he's not overpowering Viktor at all, actually.

Viktor is going to do whatever the fuck Viktor wants.

This is immediately made clear by the much beloved hand smack. Viktor doesn't even look up, and his smack shows that he is perfectly capable of setting a hard boundary on Jayce's touching, and that Jayce will IMMEDIATELY fold and apologize when that boundary is set. That smack makes it suddenly clear that when Jayce goes for the shoulder touch right after apologizing, Viktor consciously allows it.

idk WHY but I also love this little tiniest moment when Jayce is going for the second touch. Viktor glances back as Jayce approaches him (looking like a cat with its ears pinned back lmao), then looks away as he accepts the second touch and they move on. It's such a tiny detail of showing Viktor, who is still pretty pissed at Jayce, seeing the touch as it comes in and then deciding to let it happen. im rotating them in my mind. please send help

In my framing of them being a guard dog/handler dynamic, the bridge scene is us seeing a moment of the leash getting a sudden sharp tug to bring the guard dog to heel. It resets all the earlier instances as being ones that Viktor allows to happen, because he doesn't see a need to correct it.

fuck man this doesn't even get into the bridge scene as a major crack between them as the moment Viktor loses his trust that Jayce will understand his decision. i am unwell

[local-ghoul12]

Okay so I don’t post a lot I will admit it.

But I’ve been OBSESSED with disneys the hunch back of Notre dame recently, and I may or may not have taking a serious liking to Quasimodo lol

So I might have drawn some things and might have caved and made a self insert for it

[keferon]

Don’t mind me I just like to see him go bananas about cartoonish Autobot rules

Maaan…..if Prowl was in tfp he would spontaneously combust at least once a day

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

Wait, do people actually expect to read fanfictions that are 100% canon accurate? Like . . . if none of the chatacters are at least a little bit ooc, then it wouldn't be a fanfiction anymore, it'd just be a rewrite of what already happened. Do people not go looking for niche little scenarios where the characters do act ooc? Are they not aware of what the foundation that fanworks are based on? To change canon? Or to expand on it?

Are they not aware that Dante's Inferno and that Le Morte d'Arthur are fanfictions? Literary classics describing the seven layers of hell of the death of King Arthur (a Welsh mythology) are fanfictions. Lancelot (not introduced in Le Morte d'Arthur) is practically a self insert because his creator was a French poet (Chretien de Troyes). Lancelot du Lac is French btw. That also set a precedent for the Romance Era too

But yeah, fanworks aren't going to be 100% canon and as clearly seen by classics today, it's okay to write them ooc. When Dante published Dante's Inferno he was treated as laughing stock for writing such an extravagant tale that clearly didn't happen, he was treated badly for it afterwards as well, but now look at the status his fanfiction of the bible has. And the two authors who wrote fanfiction for King Arthur? They are now so intertwined with Athurian Legend that the wider public can't imagine of a time where Lancelot wasn't real, and that King Arthur

So anyone who gets upset at people writing characters ooc hasn't paid attention to their literature and history classes. Write your blorbos and fuckos in those silly little situations. The only one who has any true say over what you dk with your fanworks is you, not them.

ppl will be like i don’t want to read ooc fics and not realise fans have so many personal interpretations of canon that ooc means a different thing to different ppl. like my favourite fics i’ve ever read all have slightly different characterisations and yet i devour them all with hunger. what makes a fic great, to me, maybe has more to do with consistency of voice than with a consensus on what ‘in character’ means, more to do with the quality of writing and the strength of the premise and whether my heart gets shattered and healed or not