#and from the sheer number of them and their nature

[sectumsempraaa]

Send Him My Regards

Pairing: fem!reader x idk they’re all in love with you LOL, but Draco's down bad

Summary: You aren’t one to provoke the aggressive nature of your closest friend group (a bunch of reckless Slytherin boys) but when the new hire at your favorite bookstore makes you uncomfortable, you’re forced to ask for their… “help.”

Word Count: 2.5k

Featuring: The whole damn crew. Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Pansy, Blaise, Lorenzo

TW: Implied non-consensual touching/comments, implied violence, panic/mental distress, cursing, disgustingly fluffy

Notes: This is based on something I recently experienced, as many of you have, too. I tried my best to convey my very real thoughts on this matter. Avoiding threatening men is a constant, everyday struggle. If you can relate, this is for you.

“Love, you already own every book in the world.” Draco proclaims, staggering behind you with his pack of Slytherin watch dogs.

Whenever you go anywhere as a group, they always let you lead so they can keep an eye on your surroundings. You think it’s silly, but it’s their thing, and you secretly appreciate the protection, so you let them be. It makes them feel important, and you find it endearing.

“I most certainly do not! Only like… two hundred.” You respond, muttering the number under your breath.

“Then I’ll buy you every book in the world. Must we come here every weekend?” he groans. Of course, Mattheo interrupts, shooting Draco a furrowed brow.

“Mate, for the love of god, either stop coming on these trips, or use some of that fancy cash you love to go on about to take us elsewhere. Pick one.” Mattheo sneers. Naturally, he’s carrying your bag and coat, making sure you never lift a finger. His response earns a smirk from you.

You’re not really listening though, more so taking in the beauty of Hogsmeade. You love escaping the castle for the little town on perfect, brisk days like this one, hitting everyone’s favorite shops and downing a couple of butterbeers.

The boys continue arguing in the background as you make your way down the cobblestone street, your hair blowing softly in the chill of the November breeze. Blaise and Theo share an eye roll with each other before coming to your side, leaving the two to bicker as they trail behind. Theo steps in, heaving a dramatic sigh and throwing an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. His words drip with that rich Italian accent.

“Ignore them, bella. We’ll wait for you outside.” You smile at him and he gives you a wink. A man of few words, but oozing with charm. He will occasionally act as a grounding force when the others get rowdy. You hear Draco drag on about how he “earned” his money or whatever.

“Oh wow, a real rags to riches story!” Mattheo shouts, lunging at Draco. You shake your head laughing with Blaise, sending you a look that reads as “I’ll take care of them.” You enter the bookshop, making the bell ring as the door opens.

The first thing you notice is the shiny new display of fantasy books you’ve been dying to get your hands on. You make your way towards it, not being able to contain the thrill on your face. You’ve been waiting for this series to restock and here they are, all of them, ready to be yours. You touch the smooth covers, tracing your fingers over the author’s name on each one.

The second thing you notice is… him. Your heart drops as your sheer excitement instantly morphs into dread.

Please, not again. 

The new hire at this bookstore has ruined the last couple of trips for you. You were hoping he would stop working weekends but… there he is. And he eyes you right away, like you’re on his radar.

The first time you came in, it was the comments. Calling you pet names, pointing out his favorite features on you, and it was relentless. You somehow got through it and attempted to shake it off, praying he would quit or just get fired before your next trip.

The second time, it was the touching. Brushing against your back when trying to “get through”, his hand grabbing your arm too tightly while he led you down an aisle. You tripped on your way out while trying to make a swift escape, and of course he was there to “catch you��, only giving him an excuse to grip both hands around your waist, hesitant to release you.

Your eyes go between the book display and his movements as he starts creeping his way out from behind the counter. You have to make a split-second decision to either stay and endure, or leave safely and empty handed. It pains you but your nerves heighten as he gets closer. Panic sets in as colors blur and sounds become muffled. Your brain and your body and your heart scream together in unison: “danger.”

You burst through the door back outside with a speed and force that could only be conjured by your anxiety. Facing the door, you stumble backwards and let out a gasp when you land in someone’s familiar arms. You recognize the brown suede material of Theo’s jacket as you attempt to catch your breath. It seems no amount of oxygen could suffice at the moment.

“Bella, bella, what’s wrong?” He asks urgently, hoisting you back up to your feet. The others notice the incident and immediately stride their way over. Draco, always leading the pack, puts his hands on your shoulders and lowers his eyes to your level.

“Hey, look at me,” he coos, forcing you out of your episode. He speaks with a tenderness that is almost heartbreaking. “What happened, love? Are you quite alright?”

There’s too many thoughts and feelings swimming around in your head to give an honest answer. Everything is moving in slow motion and you need time to regroup. Swallowing your fear, you decide to lie, at least for now. The last thing you want to do is impulsively encourage their hostility.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you respond, avoiding his gaze. He looks at you, deciding whether to believe you. “Really, I am.” You add. He glances down to your empty hands.

“You left without a book. You always buy a book.” He says, speaking with suspicion in his voice. The others stay back, knowing when to give Draco his space. They all adore you, but Draco would do things you’d rather not think about in order to keep you happy and safe. And he has. It’s been like this since you can remember. 

“Just didn’t have what I wanted, is all.” You explained. The doubt on his face is evident. He speaks just above a whisper.

“Y/N, you know we would take care of anyone that so much as breathes near you wrong, yeah? It’s important to me that you know this.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Mattheo ditching his cigarette and cracking his knuckles. You give a small nod and a shrug, releasing yourself from his hands and walking back in the direction of the castle. Your head is still reeling, but not enough to block out the boys’ debriefing behind you.

First, Mattheo. “She rarely ever gets like that.”

Then Theo. “Only when she panics.” And Blaise. “Her face was almost as pale as Malfoy’s.”

And Draco, but with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “She barely looked at me.” He glances in your direction, contemplating. “Give her time. We’ll look after her tonight. Someone tell Pansy.”

The rest you don’t hear, feeling embarrassment creeping in. You wish they’d just let it go and forget about it, cowering from the attention it’s bringing to you. Your pace quickens as the heat spreads across your cheeks, eager to be alone in your hideout at the castle.

Too focused on your path, you slam into someone’s chest as they’re coming out of the bakery you’re passing.

“Ugh, Lorenzo, I’m so sorry,” you say frantically, smoothing out his jacket and moving past him, never meeting his gaze. His face contorts with confusion and concern. He watches you take off then turns back to the group.

“Something off with that one...” The boys give him a knowing look.

“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo sneers.

—

After what felt like an eternity, you had reached the castle and darted to your hideout: a corner balcony high up in one of the towers facing the pitch. Leaning your elbows on the edge of the balcony, you watch the sun slowly descend into its eventual bed of twilight. Then, the spiraling begins.

Thinking back, you’ve never really dealt with something like this because of who your friends were. No one dared to even step too close to you, aware of what the consequences would be. But you weren’t on school grounds this time. You felt… unprepared. Lost. Violated. Guilty.

Does running away make me weak?

Why can’t I stand up for myself?

How did he gain control so quickly?

Did I ask for it? Did I do something wrong?

This is too much. It feels ridiculous and quite frankly enraging that you considered this being your fault. The stress is exhausting.

You let yourself relax, laying down on a stone bench and staring up at the black night sky. You start to mentally identify the stars in view, something Draco taught you to do when you’d get anxious. It always worked, as evident by the many hours you fell asleep. Upon awakening, you gasp as your watch reads 1AM.

You hear footsteps rustling around nearby, and echoing voices calling your name. Shit. They’re looking for me.

Sneaking around corners, you tiptoe around, trying not to get yourself noticed. Maybe, just maybe you can get back to the dungeons without getting caught. Until you hear the voice of your best friend, who admittedly, you could really use right now.

“Pans?” You whisper, catching a glimpse of her shadow down the corridor. Her head whips around before running to you urgently.

“Where the hell have you been?! The boys are going mad looking for-” She stops abruptly when you force yourself into her arms, hugging her tight and burying your face in her shoulder. Her tone softens to that of an older sister. “Oh, Y/N,” She rubs your back while your eyes well up.

“Fuck, Pans, I don’t know what to do.” You say through subtle sobs, holding back as much as you can for her sake. She looks at you with a questioning look before your words stumble out, caked in distress.

“There’s a boy at the bookstore, MY bookstore, and-and, and he’s there all the time now, following me around, and…”

“Y/N, calm down. You’re okay. It’s just me, sweetie.” She says, running a hand through your hair as her eyes shift to someone behind you; their voice deep, slow, and filled with angst.

“There’s… a… what?” He asks, the voice you recognize as Draco’s ringing off the walls. Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise walk into frame behind him when they realize he found you. The sight of them strikes you; your fiercely loyal group of friends that would go to the ends of the earth for you. To your surprise, you are relieved to see them.

But their anger is palpable. Draco’s jaws clenched tight. Theo’s heavy eyes claiming the darkness. Blaise’s hands rolled into fists. Lorenzo steps forward, eyes soft, holding out a gentle hand. 

“Let’s get you to the common room, and you can tell us-” he turns to the other boys before emphasizing his next words, “-what you’re comfortable with, if you want to talk at all.”

You nod in agreement, taking his hand while Pansy takes your other one. In your head, you’re thanking whatever higher power put Lorenzo on this planet. The voice of reason amidst all chaos.

—

It’s nearly 2AM now. You’re sat on the common room couch in front of the blazing fireplace under a mess of blankets, warming up after your frigid nap. Theo on your left, Lorenzo on your right holding your tea, Draco and Mattheo sitting on the coffee table facing you, with Blaise and Pansy on the floor. All with mixed looks of curiosity, empathy, and sheer rage.

After thinking it over, you decided to prioritize yourself for once. A lot of people don’t realize how hard a decision that can be. This is a risky favor to ask for. But there’s only a couple truly precious things in the world you can’t live without, and this is one of them. You want your fucking bookstore back.

So, you tell them. Everything.

As you recall the events of the last few weeks, you feel the air become tense. Blaise looks like he’s about to combust. Theo reaches for your hand, letting you fiddle with the bracelet on his wrist. You hear Pansy call this boy every name in the book under her breath, your favorite being “bastardly filth”. Draco and Mattheo listen, periodically looking at each other with knowing stares, having their own wordless conversation. You know those looks. Plotting looks.

When you finish, you’re briefly met with silence, temporarily paralyzing you. Do they believe me?

You break the stillness. “I suppose I’m making a big deal out of something quite trivial.” You say to them, diminishing your story, and for what?

Mattheo stands up, ushering Blaise and Pansy out of the way as he kneels in front of you. He rests a comforting hand on your knee, his eyes glowing with brutal honesty.

“It’s really very simple, little dove. You’re in danger, we take down the threat. I can assure you we all agree that your safety is anything but trivial.” He states. He gives your knee a squeeze. “Gonna be honest though, Y/N. It’s going to be ugly for him when he meets us.”

You look up to Draco, who’s been oddly quiet since you all got back. You hold his gaze as you respond.

“Good. Send him my regards.” You reply, earning a wicked grin from him, his eyes suddenly crinkled and brimming with pride. Everyone shifts a bit in their seats, wrapping up the late night discussion.

Draco strides over to you, taking the teacup from your hands and setting it down on a side table. He looks so handsome like this, facing you on the couch with his hair disheveled and the top of his shirt buttons undone. The glow from the fire accenting his features, so sharp yet yearning for sleep. He takes your face in his warm hands.

“I need you to hear me right now. Listening?” he asks. You give an unconvincing nod as his thumb caresses your cheek. Yes, but damn you make it hard to.

His stare intensifies, pulling you from your trance and forcing you to dial in to his statement.

“Never feel bad for wanting them to pay for the pain and discomfort they inflict on you. Their reasons were senseless, yours are justified.”

For the first time tonight, just for a moment, you feel sure of yourself. You wrap your arms around him, pulling yourself closer, his body becoming your safe haven. His hands nestle you to his chest as you feel him place a kiss on the top of your head.

He loves you and you know it. He’ll wait for this to pass, for things to be right. He’ll wait for you to feel whole and secure again. And he’ll do whatever it takes to help you get you there, even if that means giving you space.

As Pansy sees the two of you off to bed, you repeat his sentiment to her. “My god, that bloody boy is down bad, and I mean bad, for you Y/N.”

Ascending the staircase to your dorm, you faintly hear Draco informing the boys of the plan.

“Tomorrow. Noon.” He demands. The boys nod. He pauses before adding another instruction.

“Oh, and we’re gonna need a bag. We’ve got books to bring home.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[swampjawn]

Dungeon Meshi Episode 18 is the second episode of the season to rely heavily on outsourcing, and it bears a resemblance to the other one (6) in that it adapts the source material economically, allowing the comedy of the source material to speak for itself, before suddenly going fucking batshit out of nowhere in the second half with high quality animation and strong stylistic choices.

But weirdly, the moment that stood out to me the most was this innocuous bit from the first half; Leviathan Laios turning his head back and forth:

This is 30 frames of animation, animated FULLY ON ONES, a treatment that would often be reserved for only the most important action moments, but for this bit of simple character acting, the sheer number of frames are used to make this version of Laios look uncomfortably real, like he's out of place within the very medium of the scene.

In fact, it would have saved some time to take at least a few of the frames from the head turn to the right and reuse them on the return journey, but if you look closely, you can see that they didn't even do that, each frame is unique to preserve the natural, subtle arc of his gaze.

This is such a wild production decision to allow so much energy to be put into this tiny character acting moment, and it's super jarring right after the very simple scenes that lead up to it! And it's thanks to smart scheduling and resource management from series director Yoshihiro Miyajima and his producers that they're able to make such wacky decisions like this and play with the very format of animation for what amounts to a little background gag.

But of course the true stand-out bit of the episode is Laios going doggy-mode, which the animators also went insane with, and which I also broke down, along with the rest of the episode in this video here!

Thanks for reading.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

DOWN BAD- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Jock! Peter x Nerd! Reader (enemies to… lovers?)

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Peter Parker constantly nags you, and you hate his guts (naturally). So what better way to mellow the hate by being paired together for a class project? And why, if you hate his guts, do you want to touch him so bad?

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing etc…

Notes: It’s been a while, I apologize if my writing is a bit rusty! I hope you enjoy nonetheless, I had a fun time writing, and I really did miss it (Taylor Swifts new album really inspired me too!) I am using my phone to post for the first time, I hope to go back and format/ edit if need be when I can use my laptop again. Thank you for all the support :)

“Don’t look at me like that.” You huffed, eyes sharp as daggers as your cool gaze slid over to your target and struck its mark.

Peter Parker. Bullseye.

You could feel his lingering attention solely focused on you, a coy smirk upon his lips as he tapped his pencil against the wooden desk, its dull echo like nails on a chalkboard. A taunting metronome in the back of your mark as he leaned over to tower over you in his seat.

It was too close to yours for your liking.

“Like what pipsqueak?” he murmured, drowning out the professor's droning voice as he dragged on. You wished you could hit him with the textbook in your bag. Both of them, honestly.

“Like you’re thrilled for this. Don’t act like you like me.”

“Well I do like you.” He smiled, beaming ear to ear.

For him, it was the best day of his life. Getting randomly paired with “whoever you’re sitting next to, I don’t care.” (the professor's words, not yours), was a thrill for him, he got to pick on the quiet, shy girl more than usual.

Which would be a shock, considering the sheer amount he did already, always finding his way next to you to tease you, especially with and to his stupid jockey friends. This project was worth thirty percent of your grade. You couldn’t afford this.

“Well I don’t like you. So fuck off.” You heard a low whistle from behind you, a chuck alongside it from his friends. “Kitty has claws?” Peter whistled, eyebrow raising in mock surprise as you shifted your legs to the other side of the chair, angling away from him.

“Oh you’re in for it now Parker” Bucky laughed as you covered your ears in an attempt to drown them out. You felt like you were in middle school again, the way they mocked you. And what made it worse was that it got to you. Not that the jokes and remarks meant anything much, but it was just the sheer annoyance of it all.

You had thrived to be a straight A student your entire life, and in this class… you could feel them slipping. Taking a deep breath, you clenched your pen harder in your hand, pressing so hard the page snagged as you wrote.

You could still feel his eyes on you, flickering over from under his glasses ,his muscles flexing subtly under his blue t-shirt. You pretended not to look, and to not focus on the fact he was extremely attractive. You spent the rest of the hour doing just that, scolding yourself for any indecent thought you had ever had about him, ever. By the time the professor had snapped his laptop shut, the projector turning dark as students started to talk amongst themselves as they packed up, you had half a page of notes, max.

“I’ll be in touch.” he leaned down and whispered, hand lingering by your chair as he slipped by. “Fuck you.”

He just threw his head back and laughed, his friend group joining him as he looked back. And winked. You groaned. This was going to be three weeks of hell.

—————————————————————————

It was a Thursday when you got a text from him. An unknown number flashed on your screen as you lay face down on your bed, contemplating life and if this class was seriously worth it or not.

The buzz of the phone had your head snapping up, confused until it suddenly dawned on you.

Unknown: Think we should start brainstorming for this thing pipsqueak?

Well fuck, you thought, wanting to throw your phone across the room. This class wasn’t that important, right? (It was).

Taking a deep breath, you sat up as your thumbs started to fly across the screen.

You: Who is this?

Unknown: I’m hurt, pips. Truly.

You: I think you have the wrong number.

You smirked. Okay, who were you kidding… this was kind of fun. Kind of.

Peter: It’s Peter, you jerk. Are you really going to make me spell it out for you?

You: Peter who? Doesn’t ring a bell.

Good. Knock him down a few pegs. You giggled to yourself, quickly stopping once you realised why exactly you were kicking your feet like a school girl, for who exactly. You layed back down, head muddled with meaningless thoughts that jumbled as you waited for his response. Grabbing a stuffie, you hugged it close to your chest, feeling it rise and fall as you caught your breath, grounding yourself. Why on earth did this mean so much to you? Why did his texts, something so easily ignorable- suddenly a waiting game?

Peter: Ha ha, very funny pips.

You: How did you even get my number anyways?

Peter: Long story, I had to go on a bit of a hunt. A friend, of a friend of a friend, you get the point. I can be very persuasive ;)

Nope. You thought. Don’t give into this.

You: I’m sure.

Peter: You wanna come over on the weekend or meet at Braxston’s to start… brainstorming?

You: I don’t want to do anything of the sort, but if that gets this over with as soon as possible- then sure. Only one of us has a brain to storm anyways.

Peter: You’ll regret that pips.

You clicked off your phone, a ghost of a smirk on your face. His threat surprisingly didn’t seem like a real threat, but actual light hearted teasing, not the kind he often did.

Fuck. You were supposed to be hating him. You did hate him. It was only three weeks with him. You weren’t sure if you meant that with relief or disappointment.

————————————————————————————

It was disappointment.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you rubbed your creased temple. It was nearly midnight , and your books were still scattered across the desk you occupied, the library a ghost town considering it was a Friday night. Braxston library tended to be on the empiter side, which is why you preferred it. It was the oldest library on campus, smelling of old pages and cedarwood.

Sometimes, when you needed a break you would get up and run your fingers across the leather spines, or climb the ladder for a change of view of the stained glass windows. But tonight, you lacked the motivation to even bother standing. It had been a long night, filled with cramming and stress. Pen and highlighter stained your hands as you shook them out, cramped and aching. For the last hour you had solely focused on the final you and Peter had to pull out your ass, coming up with backup plans with the worry he would abandon you completely.

Topics, ideas, theories- god you didn’t even know anymore. Your body lacked caffeine, your iced coffee long gone. You grew tired of this mindless work, sliding off your headphones to admire the near empty room around you.

Suddenly, you wished it was completely empty.

Peter looked just as shocked to see you, eyes widening in surprise, backpack slung over his shoulder, hair ruffled and eyebags prominent as if he had fallen asleep and been startled awake.

“Pips? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until tomorrow?” He made his way over to you, inviting himself to lean over you, on your desk. You stared up at him with a look of amusement.

“We don’t have to meet at all. It’s very bold you assume I’m here to see you, of all people.” you snorted. His eyebrow raised. “So who are you here to meet?”

“Two papers and exam prep. You?”

“More or less the same” he smirked, and you felt butterflies start to churn in your stomach. “Sounds like great fun. I’m sure they’re lovely.” you said, snarky comment slipping out before you could stop it, turning in your seat as you often did around him so he wouldn’t see the fluster and nerves in your demeanour whenever you were near him.

He leaned down, breath warm against the column of your neck. You couldn't breathe. You could not fucking breathe with him this close to you. The rich scent of his cologne made you dizzy, it intoxicated you as you stared at your laptop screen, as if it possessed the knowledge of the entire universe.

“You know, you can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about” you snarled softly, staring at the coy, cockly little smirk you wanted to wipe off his face as he stood. “Sure you don’t.” He nodded his head towards your screen, with a wink.

“Good song.” he smiled, before he was off. You continued to stare at him as he walked out the door, not looking back once. Not a care in the world as he slipped on his own headphones, and around the corner.

Eyes moved down to stare at the pause button of your song, lyrics burning into your ears at the thought of him listening to it- and enjoying it.

Down bad, waking up in blood, staring at the sky, come back over and pick me up- fuck it if I can’t have us, I might just not get up, I might stay down bad.

You were so incredibly fucked.

———————————————————

You took a deep breath. Then another.

You let the crisp, cool night air wash over your burning skin, the faint smell of weed tickling your senses, probably from a house down the street. It was a pretty busy neighbourhood, full of students you recognized from afar on campus. You didn’t associate with the more ‘popular’ kids, if that could even be considered a thing past high school.

You tried to shake off the uneasiness that stuck with you, cracking your knuckles as you tried to prepare yourself to not only see Peter, but to interact with him- in his house. Most likely for hours. You knew you probably looked like a complete idiot out on the sidewalk, just near his house but you had to muster some form of courage.

All you could see was a faint light from what looked like the living room, and a light upstairs- you presumed his room. No sign of life other than that.

You thought of his words, how twisted they sounded. You can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.

Fuck it.

You slipped from your hiding spot (from Peter, you were placed behind a large tree in his front yard, but god knows what people driving by thought), and mentally prepared yourself for his roommates to answer the door, making fun of you before he put the cherry on top. Practically leaping up the porch stairs, you raced to the door, knocking quickly.

You wanted this over and done with. Your palms were clammy and your stomach churned viciously as you heard footsteps near the door. It took everything in you to stay rooted to the ground and to not flee, and when Peter appeared, you feared the opposite.

How the hell you were supposed to move with him in that slutty little fit, a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his waist, his v-line and happy trail on full display… his toned abs and arms in a little white muscle shirt… gods you didn’t know. You were sure your tongue fully hung out of your mouth like some cartoon character as you took him in.

“Took you long enough” he said with a snort, adjusting his glasses, sliding them further up his nose. You didn’t even know he had glasses. Did he wear contacts? Had he worn them and you just didn’t notice? No, surely that wasn’t the case, you noticed everything he did. It was like he sucked all of the air out of the atmosphere whenever he walked in a room. It was suffocating, in a way. Of course you had to look at him, and you were sure you weren't the only one.

“I was admiring the greenery.”

“I saw that. I wasn’t sure the maple needed to be examined that long.” he smirked, and your felt your fists instinctively clench.

He had saw you- so you were fucked and now the only logical thing to do was to run into a brick wall. Perfect, got it.

“I enjoy living in the moment, and I don’t take nature for granted.’ you huffed, attempting to compose yourself as he stepped aside, motioning for you to enter. “I’m sure. Don’t worry it was cute.” he smiled, running a hand through his tosseled hair.

You slid off your shoes, setting them next to his worn in converse you always saw him wear. You noticed the other pairs were missing, not even a missing lace to be found.

“Where are your roommates?” you asked as entered, surveying the open space. It was surprisingly tidy for a boys place, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Peter rushing around attempting to clean up before you came (though you doubted he would ever do that). Still, it was nice to think about.

Little traces of “boy” still lingered, silly little signs scattered across the walls, flags and such, empty, crushed beer and poking out from the recycling bins. “I kicked them out, because I figured you would want to contentrate.” he said.

Yeah like I’m going to be able to conetrate with you looking that fucking fine. Ha.

“That’s considerate. I’m surprised you even know what that is, Parker. I’m impressed.”

He snorted, throwing a little look back your way as he lead you up the stairs, presumably to his room. “I’m surprised you know how to walk up stairs. You have Bambi legs.” he teased, mocking your clumsiness. You cursed him internally. Maybe out loud too, judging by his laugh.

You tried to stifle down the butterflies. You were not about to flirt with him. You were not about to let your developing feelings expand. You hated him. He was mean and he was an asshole.

You were simply here to get this project done. That’s it.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” was all he said, turning down a hall to an open door, light glowing faintly- beckoning to you. You appreciated his refusal to use the overhead light- not that you’d tell him that. He’d probably look at you like you were insane.

“I see you clean for girls you bring over.” you noted, observing his (surprisingly) decently clean room.

“Bold of you to assume I cleaned. Maybe I’m always this tidy.” he smirked, arms flexing over and behind his head as he sat down in his office chair, man-spreading as he stretched.

You tried so hard not to stare. And failed miserably.

“I would’ve thought you cleaned up for ladies you bring to bed.”

His eyebrows arched. “Should I have prepared then?”

Something like churning fire burned in your belly, slithering lower and lower.

“Don’t start with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it pip.” he smiled coyly, knowing he had gotten you flustered. “May I?” you nodded to his bed, trying to ignore your feelings as you sat down. Fanning your skirt out, you tucked your legs in before opening your bag, attempting to cover your thighs with your bag as much as you could- his cool gaze staring lasers into your bare skin.

“So… if we have to base this on a creature in the wild…”

“Jumping straight to the point aren’t we?” he asked and you frowned in confusion.

“What did you want me to do foreplay or something beforehand?” you asked, your word choice more than intentional. You swore a little pink tinted his cheeks as he swiveled around.

“Right to it then. Okay, I was thinking spiders. Specifically their venom and social behaviours.”

You blinked. Jesus okay he had thought about this. This was not what you were expected.

“Elaborate Parker.”

He smiled. “ From what I’ve seen, not a lot is known about the venom entirely. From a predator-prey aspect.. I’ve mainly seen stuff on specific components evolving to target specific sites on cell membrains of prey tissue, we could work with that to start. Maybe expand on the social aspect and evolution.”

You were stunned. This was… more than you could’ve hoped for. Suddenly you felt bad for all the doubt aimed towards him over the few days leading up to this meeting.

“Hmm. I like it.”

“Did you have any ideas you had brewing in that genius brain of yours?” he asked, making you blush internally.

“I had some stuff just in case, but it was just random jots I’m not too proud of.”

He scoffed. “You came prepared with backup stuff?!”

You just shrugged. “Do you blame me?”

“Kinda.” he laughed. “Start thinking of me more highly pips. I even have access to a brown widow, we could do some experiments.”

You winced at the thought of actually studying a spider up close, but it was part of the job. Whatever could get this done the fastest, and you had to applaud him for providing some of your own evidence you could actually showcase.

He caught your wince, and you could feel the teasing start to start. It was like bait for him, he loved it. “The spider may bite, but I won’t. That is, unless you want me too.” he winked, and you fought the urge not to chuck your laptop at his handsome face.

“You’re gross Parker.”

“Oh I’m sure you think I am. Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You were going to strangle him. “Let’s just focus and get this project done as soon as we can, yeah? Please.”

You riffled through your bag, grabbing different coloured pens and your notebook, skimming through your random thoughts and jots.

“Whatever you say pip.”

“Start researching Parker.” And that was that.

—————————————————————

A few hours had passed, and so far you were quite impressed with how much the two of you had gotten done. For the most part, the two of you had stayed on opposite sides of the room. If he wanted to make a move, he wasn’t physically doing it, and his roommates still hadn’t come home yet.

Though as the hours passed, he had made his way closer to you- ever so slightly. From his desk he nudged over closer and closer, his laptop landing in his lap as he worked.

“What source are you working from right now?” you asked, not bothering to cast your gaze up as you continued to type, fingers flying over the keyboard as you bit your lip in concentration. You failed to notice his eyes darting between your lips and your breasts that poked out slightly as you slouched over, licking his lips hungrily.

“Some research paper. Here.”

You let out a little oomph in surprise as he plopped down beside you, sprawled across his bed as he enveloped you in his makeshift fortress. He stared at you with such longing you felt faint, having to stop your work to pull yourself together.

Fuck.

He nodded towards it, and you realized you had been staring at him longer than you intended, forgetting about the paper completely. “Oh, yeah okay let me look.” you murmured, taking the laptop from his hand to slide it across your lap, the fan whirling softly, the warmth of it adding more coals to the fire you felt already.

He was still staring.

Please look away before I want to kiss you. Or do more then kiss you. I’m supposed to be hating you, stop please.

You tried your best to read and concentrate, but it was next to no use. All you could focus on was him, his fingers drumming on the comforter near your thigh (what man has a comforter anyways?!), and his gaze on you, that was heavy with something. Want, perhaps? Lust? Or you were delusional. Very possible.

“It’s um, it’s good. I like it, I think there’s lots of good… stuff here.”

“Good stuff huh?” he asked sarcastically, a smirk plastered across his face.

He knew. The fucker knew you were down bad.

“Yeah. You know what I mean.” you grumbled, staring back down at your screen.

“I do know what you mean. Do you know what I mean?” he asked, hand inching closer and closer to your thigh- teasing you. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself.

You could push your hatred aside for just a few minutes. It was okay, just this once. Right?

You bit your lip, and fuck if that didn’t turn him on even more. Nodding to him, as if he could speak to you telepathically.

Yes, this is okay. Please touch me. Just a little, even is fine.

“Maybe you should explain a little more, Parker.”

His fingers skimmed the edge of your skirt, warm to the touch as they stroked your skin softly, just a whisper of him lingering. Goosebumps lingered in their wake, and you pushed your laptop off to the side, not caring where it landed on the bed. Just not next to him.

“How much more?”

His voice was low. Deep. Needing. You wanted more.

Another stroke of his fingers on your thigh, closer to where you wanted him the most made you shiver, toes curling. His gaze never left yours, never faultered. Instead of its usual lightness, his teasing and bullying- his eyes were dark with lust. Nothing but his full attention was on you, and you couldn’t help but shudder as he leaned in closer.

Another hand landed on your thigh. “Yeah?” he asked, voice rough as you nodded quickly. “Mhmmm..- oh!” you let out a little gasp as he swiftly grabbed you, swinging you over to straddle his lap, tossing you as if you weighed nothing.

You hated that you found it hot.

He smirked, leaning forward- so close you could feel his thudding heart with a small hand gesture sliding across his chest, could feel his breath catching. Just a small little gap between his lips and yours.

“You’re going to regret this.” you murdered, fingers curling into his shirt, twisting the soft fabric.

“I won’t. Will you?”

“I might.”

His smile grew.

“ I still hate you, you know.”

“I know. And you look so damn hot when you do.” He pulled you closer, fingers digging into your skin, needing you closer and closer despite the two of you practically forming one being.

A clash of teeth and tongue happened, rough and harsh- full of hate and need. A hatred for your need for him. Why did you need him? Of all people?

Because he was so fucking fine.

A hand slipped under your skirt to cup your ass, squeezing it slightly. You ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it as your hips moved on their own account- causing a groan to slip from his lips.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

“This is so wrong.” was all you could moan as his lips worked their way down your neck, tracing your jaw before nipping at your earlobe.

“I don’t do right, pips. You know this.”

“Mhm. But you hate me.”

He laughed against your skin, and you rocked your hips again, a little slap to your asscheek making you jolt.

“Whatever makes you sleep better at night, pips. Whatever you want to think.” he sighed, massaging the skin as you toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

You needed his lips on yours. You didn’t want to even try to decipher what his words meant, your head was foggy with want. You were slipping into a puddle of bliss, finally letting the restraint you held on a tight leash go- freeing the want and pure desire.

Yes, you wanted him. Yes, you hated him. And yes, he teased you. It hurt- but this didn’t. This was a soothe to his constant jabs, a salve to the wounds he caused.

“You feel so good. I want you so bad.” you confessed, causing him to moan again.

Yes. Yes, please.

“You’re killing me.”

“Good. It’s payback for the way you treat me.” you smirked, kissing him again. Hard, fast, rough. Mean.

Until he just… stopped.

Pulled away slightly, making you raise an eyebrow with confusion. His cheeks tinted slightly pink, hair messy and eyes wide with excitement, eager to keep going. To go further. So why did he just- stop?

“Parker?”

He smiled coyly.

“Don’t we have work we need to be doing?” he asked sarcastically- and you felt your stomach drop. He was teasing you. He was doing this just to get under your skin, to leave you high and dry and needing. Knowing damn well nothing could possibly get done now but him.

“You- you just want to get back to work? After that?”

“I want to do the dirtiest things imaginable to you, pips. I want to do so many things. But if we keep going and get nothing done, you’ll regret it and hate me. If we get work done, you’ll hate me too. I rather you hate me but feel secure with this, at least.” he murmured, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

It was tender, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “So you just, want to work? Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

“Gods no. But it’s too easy if I just give it to you like that. You know me, pips- I tease. Maybe if you’re good and get more work done we can have some harmless, regretless fun.” he winked, sliding his hands down to your hips, picking you up again to toss you gently on his pillows, kissing your hand with a wink as he stood to go back to his desk.

Oh you were fucked. So, so fucked.

“I heard that.” he laughed, and you buried your head in your hands. This was going to be a long three weeks indeed.

[blasphemousclaw]

ok I keep seeing takes that shadow of the erdtree fumbled the hornsent because they made them too unlikeable and unsympathetic and enabled all those “total hornsent death” weirdos but I wholeheartedly believe that the writers have been portraying the hornsent sympathetically from the very beginning. like just because the story spends time on the darker aspects of hornsent society doesn’t mean that it’s arguing that Marika and Messmer were in the right? in fact I think it’s pretty obviously arguing the opposite? 

some of the first sights you’ll see in the Shadow Lands are the scorched ruins, which are surrounded by hornsent grave markers — wooden stakes each with a horn affixed to it, horns being seen as sacred objects in hornsent society. the victims’ shades (by the look of them, ordinary people; farmers, merchants, and laborers) can be found wandering around the Shadow Lands and are often non-hostile; they can be found kneeling, weeping, stacking small stones, or clasping their hands in silent prayer.

there’s a courtyard in Belurat completely filled with hornsent graves, and it’s also the place where Queelign invades you… the sheer number of graves here is horribly sad, and the fact that Queelign attacks here even after all those people were killed honestly makes him seem like an absolute monster

just look at this menace. knocking over the graves of the people he murdered. shame on you Queelign

further into Belurat there’s a very small, missable room where you can pick up the Dried Bouquet talisman: 

“A quaint bouquet of dried flowers, offered to a small grave. Raises attack power when a spirit you have summoned dies. The sorrow that flows from the untimely demise of a loved one is a tenderness shared by all, regardless of birthplace.” 

this description is pretty directly saying like, “hey, these people are human beings just like you who grieved the loved ones they lost, who couldn’t sympathize with that?”

my personal favorite examples here are the scorpion stews, which are given to you by Hornsent Grandam after defeating Divine Beast and wearing its head: 

Scorpion Stew: “Scorpion simmered in a black soup. Traditional meal of the hornsent. Boosts physical damage negation temporarily and gradually restores HP. Once made with love by a certain elderly woman for the family table. Having long gone cold, this soup gives off a rank, sour smell.” 

Gourmet Scorpion Stew: “Scorpion simmered in a black soup. An exquisite dish chock-full of mouth-watering scorpion claws. Boosts physical damage negation temporarily and gradually restores a great amount of HP. The thoughts and feelings of the cook melt and blend into the stew, but those who can distinguish the taste of love are few and far between. "Partake, partake, until thou art sated.”” 

how can you claim that the hornsent are dehumanized when grandma literally cooks you a traditional hornsent meal made with love!!! how heartbreakingly sweet is that!!! especially with the dialogue you get from Hornsent if you share the stew with him:

“What’s this? Do you think me in need of alms? Ah… but this dish. Tis fare o’ the tower. I remember fondly this kin-clad scent. …Brings back memories I’d all but forgot. This, by my troth, is but a dismal copy. Indeed, I think it rather plain to see… things once broken can never be the same.”

we’re presented with the image of a delicious traditional meal that hornsent families used to cook and eat together, and then we remember, Hornsent Grandam is all alone, she has no one but us to cook stew for, and Hornsent has no family anymore to share his stew with. 

before wrapping this up I want to mention Leda’s dialogue about the hornsent because I think it describes the situation pretty well (surprisingly well maybe, given what she’s like): 

“Long ago, Queen Marika commanded Sir Messmer to purge the tower folk. A cleansing by fire. It’s no wonder the hornsent holds the Erdtree in contempt. That aside, man is by nature a creature of conquest. And in this regard, the tower folk are no different. They were never saints. They just happened to be on the losing side of a war. But it’s still a wretched shame.”

the hornsent were not a perfect society. far from it. but no society is perfect, and the hornsent need not have all been saints for what happened to them to have been wrong. no person has the right to act as judge, jury, and executioner for an entire civilization of human beings. if people want to take the very worst of hornsent society as representative of their entire population and argue that every single one of them deserved to die then I’m afraid that’s their problem, because the game absolutely does not agree with them

[pathologicalreid]

Hi, I was hoping you could please write a Spencer x fem!reader where they're hanging out as friends but they get separated and she gets aggressively hit on and is uncomfy. He sees this, realizes he likes her in that way, gets jealous, and steps in to protect her? Please oh please!!!

red flags | S.R.

spencer steps in to protect you from a drunkard

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: protective!spencer, bars, alcohol, reader gets very aggressively hit on and is called a bitch and baby doll, reader is explicitly referred to as female (girl, lady, woman), kissing, spencer makes the first move (ooc?), the guy at the bar should be arrested ngl word count: 1.17k a/n: i fear i may have verged from the request, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! thank you so very much for requesting!!!!! <333

Shaking your head, you stood up from the table, “It’s fine, I’ll go up to the bar.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer asked from his seat, looking up at you with big brown eyes.

Smiling softly at him, you grabbed your purse off of the booth seat and walked across the restaurant to the bar. Neither you nor Spencer were really “bar” people, but this place was close enough to Marbury University’s campus that it felt worth your while.

That, and it had been deemed a “townie” bar by your students, so there was a low probability of running into any pupils here.

Dinner with your colleague had eventually turned into your entire night spent in that very booth, now that the kitchen had closed and the waitstaff clocked out for the night, you had to go to the bar to get water.

As you waited for the bartender to notice you, you turned your head back and shot Spencer a reassuring smile. You weren’t sure either of you had been in this situation before – no one wanted the night to end.

Next to you, a man nudged you with his arm, “I’ll pay for the lady’s drink.” Judging by the smell of him, he’d had enough drinks for the entire bar.

“I’m just getting water,” you brushed the man off, holding up the number two to let the bartender know that you wanted two glasses of water.

Naturally, the drunkard next to you didn’t get the message, he continued to pester you, “We can’t have that, let me get you a drink, little lady.”

Demeaning nickname aside, you had no interest in drinking anything this man purchased. Crinkling your nose, you responded, “Thanks, but I’m really not interested.”

He leaned over the bar and looked at you, bright green eyes and salt and pepper hair – your unwelcome companion was probably old enough to be your father. “In me or the drink?” He asked as you tried not to gag at the sheer stench of whiskey on his breath.

Resolutely, you decided not to answer the man’s questions. Your attempts at placating him were obviously not turning out the way you had wanted them to.

“Hey,” he interrupted your thoughts. “I asked you a question,” he prodded.

He was persistent. Persistent men were bothersome, but persistent drunk men were dangerous. Red flags were appearing in your head as you looked over at him, “Neither, I suppose.” Glancing back at your table, you hoped to shoot a ‘help me’ look to Spencer, but he was nowhere to be found.

The man seemed offended at your answer, reaching out to set a hand on your arm. The red flags quickly morphed into sirens. “What, are you some kind of prude or something?”

Despite your attempts to remain stone-faced, your lips parted in shock.

Lowering his head so it was level with yours, he whispered, “I can fuck the prude out of a girl, you know?”

Had he really just said that to you? In a public place?

“She said she’s not interested,” a familiar voice said from behind you as you flicked the man’s hand off of your upper arm.

Your harasser looked outraged as if he was viewing Spencer stepping in as a personal attack. Scoffing, the older man shook his head, “Do you usually butt into other people’s conversations?”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in response to the challenge, “Do you usually harass women at bars?”

“Fuck off, dude,” he said. You held back a laugh in response to this man calling Spencer ‘dude.’

Shrugging, Spencer reached out a pulled you away from the man, familiarly setting his hand on your waist. You weren’t sure how long had had been standing behind you, but you were glad he was there. “Why didn’t you?” Spencer retorted easily, you supposed he worked with people like this often when he worked with the FBI.

A confused look contorted the man’s features, “What the fuck do you mean?” He obviously wasn’t used to being stood up to.

“When she asked to be left alone, you didn’t. What makes you more deserving of having your wish granted?” Spencer impugned easily, never moving his hand from where it rested on your waist. Without meaning to, you had backed into him, leaning your back into his chest.

What looked like realization dawned on the man’s face as he nodded. “Oh,” he said, the gravel in his voice causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up.

You peered up at Spencer, “Can we just go, please?” You implored. The bill was paid, you just needed to walk out the door.

“You’re already screwing her,” the man said – far too confidently.

Flinching at his crude language, this time you tugged at Spencer’s jacket to try and get his attention, “Spencer, let’s just go.”

The drunk man shook his head, “No, baby doll. Don’t go. I want to know what he thinks he’s gonna do. Are you gonna stop me from getting to your bitch?”

Before Spencer even had the opportunity to react to his words, you had instinctively grabbed one of the ice waters that the bartender had placed on the mat and tossed it in his face. Maybe it would help him sober up, but it felt good either way.

Reinvigorated, you grabbed Spencer’s hand and dragged him out of the restaurant, not stopping until you were up the street and away from the bar. “What was that?” You mumbled to yourself; you had never lashed out against someone like that.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said from behind you, causing you to spin on your heel. You peered up at him through mascara-covered lashes as you waited for him to continue his thoughts. “It wasn’t my intention to make him think you couldn’t stand up for yourself, but you looked so uncomfortable out there that I had to step in. Believe me, I’ve seen situations where that exact situation has gone south very quickly.”

You did believe him. Timidly, you nodded in acknowledgment “Thank you, Spencer. I was uncomfortable,” you admitted, “I’m glad you were there.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped away from him, looking at the street signs and trying to acclimate yourself to your location.

“Do you mind if we take the long way around Third Street? I don’t really want to have to oh-“ You were cut off by the feeling of soft lips on yours.

All night, you had been thinking of ways to make the first move. It hadn’t occurred to you that he would be the one to make the first move.

Slowly, Spencer pushed you back against the brick wall, moving the both of you so you weren’t in the middle of the sidewalk. Shyly, you reached up and wove your fingers in his hair as he kissed you as if his life depended on it.

Leaving you breathless, he pulled away. “As it turns out, I don’t mind taking the long way around. At all.”

[paarksunghoon]

hyung line requestttttt

Getting high with Sunghoon but he has an oral fixation — 🦔

u get me.

***

“Open up.”

Sunghoon’s deep, raw voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Your body feels heavy as you sit on the couch, almost as if you were a magnet drawn to a surface. He’s holding a joint between his fingers as you turn your head to look at him and his eyes focus on your mouth. You do as he says.

The joint between your lips feels natural. He lights the end until smoke is visible and watches the way you inhale while keeping eye contact. When your lungs breathe in the euphoric property, you avert your head to look at the ceiling and blow the smoke away from him.

“You get hotter every time.” That makes you laugh.

“Are you turned on watching me smoke, baby?”

Sunghoon nods and takes a small drag for himself and puts his palm on your thigh. “Makes me wanna fuck you.”

“O-Oh yeah?” The smoothness of his hand slides up and down slowly like he’s trying to hold himself back. His fingertips toy with the hem of his shirt on your chest and dips his fingers until they’ve disappeared just a little.

Sunghoon didn’t get high much before meeting you. It was more of a casual thing, maybe once in a blue moon if someone else offered and if he felt good enough to do it. There was partial curiosity in marijuana but Sunghoon panicked at the thought of trying it by himself.

Meeting you happened by chance at a party two months ago. It was mildly chilly as winter turned into spring when he stood next to you in Heeseung’s basement, leaning his back against a wall with your mixed friend groups standing in a circle.

Something about your quick whips tugged at his heartstrings. He laughed at your jokes and didn’t mind it when your shoulder bumped against his when you talked. It almost felt intimate in that way. You were two strangers who met each other an hour prior and there he was, looking at your lips every chance he got.

Sunghoon doesn’t quite know how he did it, but he managed to score your number by the end of the night. You called him cute and made his ears flush. When he confided in you about wanting to get high but being afraid to do so, you told Sunghoon to be with people who make him feel safe.

He grew infatuated with you and the way you encouraged him to be more outspoken if he wanted something. You were so cool in a way he wish he was but he chalks it up to the confidence you’ve built for yourself. So carefree and lighthearted, you took life’s challenges with stride and refused to let yourself get knocked down. It was inspiring to see you be unapologetic about yourself. There wasn’t anyone in the world who could push you down because you wouldn’t let them.

Two weeks into knowing you, the two of you hooked up for the first time in the backseat of his car after a night of banter and sexual tension. He pulled over the side of the road in the dead of night and beckoned you to the backseat. Too horny to think, he gave you one chance to pass on him before pulling his dick out of his pants.

There was little foreplay because of the angle and the sheer urgency since you were in public. But that wasn’t a problem because you became extreme aroused when Sunghoon started to manhandle you with the kind of confidence he’d never shown you before. He pulled your panties off of your body and spread your legs with his strength and watched you ooze out your arousal and pushed his dry tip against you.

He let it glide up and down with rushed hips until he was dipping the tip inside. He felt so good even with just this taste. Sunghoon moans and felt your pussy clench around him when he pulled out to put a condom on. He fucked you so hard the car shook with vigor until the two of you lay together well spent, and you had wondered how you could get him to be so forward with you again.

That moment began your friends-with-benefits arrangement with him. Somehow, as he got closer to you, Sunghoon felt enough with you to get truly high for the first time.

It was cute, the way he coughed the first time smoking a joint. You kissed his cheek and told him to take a small breath and hold it in longer than he thinks he needed to. He followed your instructions and you praised him for being so good at listening.

The two of you don’t go anywhere farther than grinding when you’re both inebriated. The thrill of it all is euphoric to Sunghoon no matter if it seems unconventional. You’ve talked about it—having sex while high is on a bucket list for the two of you—and agreed that if it felt right, why not try it?

So now you sit facing Sunghoon as you watch him expertly inhale a puff of smoke and push his lips against yours. It travels into your mouth and the proximity of his lips makes you shudder. Sunghoon keeps his hand on you and pries your legs open slowly.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers as he pecks your mouth. His plump lips feel like pillows. Sunghoon drags his fingers across the hem of your panties, tracing the fabric before sliding his fingers up and down your slit. “God, you’re so wet, too.”

His soft touch tingles in a way that travels to your toes. Sunghoon comes closer to lick your neck before pressing small kisses over it. The sensation is astounding. Every nerve in your body is alert and you’ve never felt more aroused in your entire life.

“I’m so lucky to get to fuck you,” he says against your neck. “I’ve never had anyone better.”

And, well, that’s true. You knew he had a girlfriend before you but when you both started to open up about sexual history and preferences, you learned that Sunghoon’s ex girlfriend didn’t quite meet him halfway.

His confession makes you clench but your words get stuck in your throat with his sudden confession. It turns you on more than you’d like to admit. Sunghoon pulls your panties off completely and kneels on the floor until his face hovers over you.

“Can I?”

Within a fraction of a second of you nodding, Sunghoon’s sticking his tongue out and licking a fat stripe up your core. It’s astonishing the way he maintains being anywhere between dominant and desperate when he’s high. It’s like his brain can’t choose how he wants to act and so his desires come out without abandon. His typically hesitant self is replaced by someone who isn’t afraid to show you how badly he wants you.

Sunghoon lets his spit drip down his tongue until your pussy’s wet enough to glisten. He licks it all up and pushes his tongue harder against you until he feels your toes pressing against his back as you arch yourself into his mouth.

You can tell he’s into it when he allows you to suffocate him. Sunghoon doesn’t resist much when your legs close around his head. In fact, you think he might enjoy being restricted like this because his tongue pushes into you like he’s trying to memorize what you feel like against his wet muscle. In and out does he move his mouth and every pass makes your legs feel like they’re about to fall apart.

He moans into you when he feels your fingers carding through his hair and tugging on the strands whenever he pushes his tongue into you harder. Sunghoon doesnt care that his mouth and chin have become sopping wet with your arousal and his spit. He welcomes the mess, even.

Sunghoon pulls his head back just a little to see the way you look down at him. The eye contact makes you clench and he chuckles straight into your pussy, which makes your toes curl and back arch even higher from the couch beneath you.

He looks like a sex god at this angle and you’re sure some divine power from above must’ve loved you enough to give you someone as handsome and as caring as Sunghoon. His hands are so gentle on your thighs, caressing your soft skin while his tongue licks your slit like you’re his favorite treat he’s trying to savor.

Sunghoon always brings you across the finish line and it’s something you appreciate about him. He moves his tongue with precision, even if patterns he draws feel random at best. In the time he’s gotten to know you intimately, you’ve been wondering if he’s learning about your body every time he sees you naked.

He coaxes you into an orgasm when you push your hands into his. Sunghoon immediately clasps his fingers in yours and eases the pressure on your core once your release hits his tongue. He laps it up like he hasn’t had a sip of water in days and cleans you up to the best of his ability. Sunghoon’s tongue feels so soft and gentle as you come down from your orgasm but the high from the marijuana is still a lingering presence, aiding in your euphoric come down.

The two of you look at each other like you know there’s an unspoken presence between the two of you. For now, Sunghoon smiles at you in the way he does when he’s trying to figure out a way to tell you he likes you without directly saying it.

You silence him with a kiss and hope he knows you like him too.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[anantaru]

do you think capitano has a bunch of scars? how would he react when you trace them? :3

synopsis. it turns capitano on when you trace the scars on his back as he fucks you ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ fem! reader

warnings. tw scars (on his back), size kink & size difference (he's very big n beefy, as we know <3)

grabbing a fistful of your ass, capitano groans against your wet cheek, his voice on the verge of breaking.

"my dear..." he huffs out breathlessly, "i have no control when I'm with you," before he finds you wincing at the rough texture of his skin buzzing within your walls, roaming freely and sliding his throbbing sensation over your soft insides.

you swallow down a cry as you took him, your legs burning as he stretches your cunt— his hunted, dark gaze always casted on yours, watching you with thrill in his eyes as he started to thrust into you a little deeper.

the harbinger was exploring the pure and surreal nature of your intimacy as your body weeps into his chest, your cheeks beginning to burn due to overstimulation and the aching stretch of his cock, "fuck— so… big," you hiccup, "aah, you're so warm," as he pounds his thick cock into you, completely overthrowing the natural strength of your body without even trying.

it wasn't really difficult for capitano to send chills down your body, or coax out each little, pathetic moan from your throat— in fact, he had to hold himself back in order to not hurt you with his enormous strength. each thrust he added would multiply in precision and intensity, making you shudder out a hefty rush of air through your chest, once, twice, as a pleasurable tear teases light-heartedly around your lashes.

air enters your lungs and you arch your back, letting him take control over you as your fingers trace along the bulging scars on his defined back— which some of them felt fresher than the others, not to mention that quite a few didn't heal properly and left behind swelling, bumps of skin.

the man was known to be the strongest, unable to be defeated yet encountering himself in his current setting, he finds himself utterly defeated by the pure trace of you— and your soft digits embracing the countless scars covering his back weakened his mind.

capitano cherishes them, his marks and blemishes were a part of him, in fact, they multiply from battle to battle, burning into his skin as he wears them with pride. the man looks at them like trophies to remind himself of his true, never ending victory, and his brutal strength making the cryo nation petrifying to the outside eye.

your hands were planted against his flexing back as he fills you to the brim. shortly after, you're resuming to take care of his scars, gently brushing across the alarming number of them and awaiting his pebbly whines, urging him on to inch his face closer so you could kiss him.

the tip of his cock drags through the slopes of your walls as your body clenches beneath his larger one. he's so big— a little freak in the sheets if he wants, but capitano was also soft at the same time, vulnerable and entirely differentiating from his outside self, like you're the only person he could be vulnerable with.

your legs trembled as they dangled against his shoulders, your hips twitching and beginning to burn from how hard he was rolling his hips into your sensitive hole.

careful and sultry thrusts of his shaft send numerous tremors surging right through you, racking through your brain as the sheer size of him numbs you out— as do your feathery touches, embraces and exploring of his damaged skin add depth to his means of experiencing true love.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

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Y/n Nolan & Drew Starkey | Actors on Actors

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Y/n and Drew sit down for variety's actors on actors for a candid conversation to reflect on their careers, their personal journeys through Hollywood

Y/n Nolan & Drew Starkey | Actors on Actors

50M views 1 month ago Actors on Actors | Variety - The PodcastY/n Nolan  (‘Anora’) and Drew Starkey (‘Queer’) sit down for a candid conversation to reflect on their careers, their personal journeys through Hollywood, and the roles that have defined them. The discussion touches on y/n’s breakthrough at a young age and the vast array of work she has accomplished, including playing some of the most iconic characters in contemporary horror films. At the same time, Drew opens up about his experience working with legendary actor Daniel Craig, along with his struggle to avoid being pigeonholed into a particular role.

Intro

“Blimey hell, Drew, did you ask him about James Bond?” Y/n says, her voice rich with a classic English lilt, so natural and effortless that it feels like the words are floating out with ease. Her eyes, framed by her signature striking features, twinkle with mischief. “Knowing Daniel, I’m sure he loved it.”

Drew looks slightly amused, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He just kind of started talking about it,” he says, as though it was a conversation that naturally rolled into place—nothing forced, just genuine moments spilling out.

“That sounds like Daniel,” Y/n replies knowingly, her tone dripping with a fondness that only comes from knowing someone for years. Her voice softens as she adds, “He’s very much like that. A bit of a showman, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Some were fake,” Drew quips with a grin, half-joking, half-posing it as an inside joke.

“Just say they’re real,” she teases, a playful glint in her eyes. Her smile is wide and charming, her tone teasing but warm.

“They’re all real,” Drew responds with a smile that broadens into a full, cheeky grin. “Everything. Everything’s real.”

Jazzy, upbeat music plays briefly as they both settle into the conversation, the camera cutting back to them with soft light casting a flattering glow on their faces.

Drew leans in slightly, his tone sincere as he admires Y/n. “Wow, you’re even more beautiful in person. I must say, I am such a big fan of your work. I mean, you’re only 25, have 5 Oscars, 9 Emmys, and you just won a Golden Globe—that’s incredible.”

Her laughter rings out, clear and melodic, as she blushes at the lavish compliment. She tucks a strand of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear, clearly caught off guard by the sheer number of accolades he listed. “Wow, all this flattery—thank you so much. Truly, it means so much,” she says, the sincerity of her words tempered by a humble laugh. Her eyes shine with appreciation but also with a touch of disbelief that all these accolades are being attributed to her.

“Drew Starkey,” she continues, her tone shifting slightly to more familiar ground, “it is a pleasure to see you again.” Y/n extends her hand toward him, her touch elegant and graceful. There’s no pretense, just an open gesture of respect and camaraderie.

“Likewise, Miss Nolan,” Drew replies with equal warmth. His voice, smooth and composed, betrays a deep level of respect for the woman in front of him. He meets her eyes with a hint of admiration, which speaks volumes about the genuine rapport they share.

“This is funny to me,” she starts, her expression turning playful again. “I was talking to Daniel the other day, we ran into eachother at some coffee shop, about how we’re doing this interview, and he’s like, ‘Drew cannot talk to women to save his life, especially pretty ones like yourself.’ But you seem fine,” she says, teasing Drew with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment of light-hearted banter.

Drew bursts out laughing, the sound filling the air around them. “Well, it is good to see you. We met, what, a couple of weeks ago?” He flashes a grin, clearly enjoying the opportunity to revisit their brief encounter.

“Yes, we did—quite briefly though,” y/n answers, her voice dipping slightly as she recalls their first interaction. “We stopped mid-conversation because you were like, ‘Let’s save it, but it was in a respectful way since i also had to go.’”

“Yeah,” Drew agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “’Cause we knew we were talking here. Well, at least I… knew,” he says, laughing again, a little sheepishly as he recalls how the timing of their first conversation worked out.

“In all honesty,” y/n adds with a laugh, “you told me, and I just looked at you funny because I had not been aware of that at all yet.” She tilts her head, her eyes wide with playful disbelief. Her laughter is contagious, and the moment feels entirely spontaneous and genuine, like two friends catching up after a long time apart.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I could tell that was your first time hearing about it, so I paused our conversation,” Drew says, shaking his head slightly, as if amused by how little he was able to prepare her for the interview. His voice has a smooth cadence, almost as if he’s recalling a funny memory.

“How are you doing?” Drew asks, his voice softer now, shifting from the playful banter to a more grounded, sincere tone. He leans in slightly, interested in how she has  been feeling lately, his warm gaze making it clear that the question is about more than just small talk.

she smiles warmly, her posture softening as she responds. “I’m doing quite well, love. I had a lovely iced latte this morning,” she starts, almost savoring the memory of a peaceful morning moment. She gestures as if bringing Drew into the picture, sharing the simple pleasure of the experience.

“What did you get, honey?” Drew asks, the nickname rolling off his lips effortlessly. It’s both sweet and casual, the kind of endearing phrase one uses for close friends.

she lets out a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling as she recalls her morning ritual. “Well, I got coffee with my dearest friend, Elle Fanning, and we went to our favorite coffee shop in LA, i will tell you the name later because i would like to keep it priavate. I love a good iced latte, but I got a Maple Sea Salt Latte. It had Vermont maple syrup simmered with sea salt, and it was just lovely,” she says, her words painting a vivid picture. Her voice is warm and relaxed, and as she describes the drink, it feels as though she’s sharing a secret joy—something small yet meaningful that anchored her day.

Drew, listening intently, can’t help but admire her ability to convey even the smallest moments with such grace. “That sounds amazing,” he responds, a note of awe in his voice. He’s caught up in the moment, picturing the maple syrup and sea salt melding together, and the sense of peace Abbie must’ve felt.

“How about you? How has everything been going for you?” y/n asks, her voice turning softer now, laced with genuine curiosity. She leans in a little closer, her eyes searching his face, not just as a co-worker but as someone who truly cares.

“It’s good. It’s good,” Drew replies, his tone calm but content. “I’m here in LA, which is nice. Have a little break for a little while.” He leans back in his chair, allowing the conversation to breathe, a small smile forming on his lips as he speaks about the rare respite. He looks at her as if he’s grateful for the moment of stillness amidst his busy schedule.

Y/n nods understandingly, her eyes glinting with empathy. “I can imagine,” she says. “A break must feel like a gift in this crazy world.”

The warmth between them is palpable, an ease that only comes from two people who understand the delicate balance of life in the industry—the highs, the lows, and everything in between. The conversation feels like a dance, full of humor, sincerity, and the kind of bond that only two actors who’ve lived through similar experiences can share.

As they continue, the camera zooms out slightly, capturing the intimate yet casual nature of their conversation, the kind of dialogue that could easily stretch on for hours, full of laughter, reflection, and shared understanding.

“You’re from North Carolina, correct?” y/n asks, her eyes narrowing slightly as she recalls a conversation they had before.

“yes I’m from North Carolina, yeah,” Drew answers casually, his tone easy and open, as though he’s prepared to dive deeper into his past.

“What’s that like? Tell me, because I’m actually going to be shooting a film out there quite soon that’s supposed to be set in North Carolina,” she says, her curiosity piqued. The excitement in her voice is genuine—she’s always had an affinity for learning about the places people call home.

“Yes. I’m not from the coast,” Drew begins, the words rolling out slowly as he paints the picture of his roots. “I’m from up in the mountains, kind of… Appalachia—like Southern Appalachia, in the Blue Ridge Mountains,” he continues, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. He pauses for a second, taking in the magnitude of where he’s from.

Just then, a phone starts to ring loudly in the background. Both her and Drew burst out laughing, the sound infectious. The video cuts briefly to black, then cuts back in, a moment of light-heartedness shared between them.

“So, North Carolina,” Y/n picks up again, smiling at the minor distraction, her voice still warm with interest. “Yeah, Southern Appalachia, like up in the mountains. Asheville, North Carolina area. It’s beautiful up there. Very different, though,” Drew finishes, nodding thoughtfully.

She  leans forward slightly, her interest clearly piqued. “Tell me a little bit more about Asheville because, in terms of the arts and our world, what does that mean for you growing up?” she asks, her tone sincere. She’s eager to hear how his environment influenced his journey into acting.

Drew smiles, the memories flooding back as he continues. “Strangely, it’s kind of a strange… you know, it’s, I grew up in a very rural area. There’s not a lot around. Kind of these little communities up in the mountains are very… the arts are everywhere,” he begins, the words coming slowly as he reflects on how his hometown shaped him.

“I grew up going to—there was theater, and…” He trails off for a moment, searching for the right words, but y/n quickly picks up on the thread.

“Oh,” she interjects, her face lighting up with recognition.

“Live music, and yeah, it’s strange, you know,” Drew continues, his eyes lighting up as he recalls his childhood. “And then, of course, you’re kind of smack dab in the middle of a national forest. Like, there’s nothing going on. But yeah, I was constantly surrounded by art and artists growing up. Without, like, any… any… you know, there was no kind of accessibility to doing it professionally. It wasn’t like that. It was just—it was kind of around us,” he finishes, his voice trailing off as he reflects on the seemingly paradoxical nature of his upbringing.

y/n  nods in understanding, her expression thoughtful. “I get that,” she says, empathizing with Drew’s description of growing up in an environment full of artistic influence but without the means to pursue it professionally.

“But you grew up in… are you from London?” Drew asks curios, picking up hints of an accenet, shifting gears a bit, intrigued by her background.

“No, I’m actually from Nantucket,” she replies, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It’s actually quite an interesting story. So, my dad was from London, but his family  moved to chicago but still went back and forth from there to london. He  then moved to San Diego met my mom, and then they moved to Nantucket and had me,” she explains, the story rolling off her tongue effortlessly. She seems content, even amused, by the twist of fate that brought her into the world.

Drew, intrigued, leans in slightly, his expression warm. “Wow, that’s a lot of moving around,” he says, the tone of his voice more reflective.

“Yeah,” she continues, her smile softening. “When I was five, things happened,so its just been him and i since then i guess , but i have an accent because i picked it up from my dad’s family , I guess. It’s sort of faded over time,” she adds, a small chuckle escaping her lips. There’s no bitterness in her voice—just an acknowledgment of the path her life took.

“Tell me more about yourself, beautiful,” Drew says, his voice sincere, but also filled with curiosity. His admiration for her is palpable, but there’s a warmth that speaks of genuine interest.

Y/n  lets out a soft laugh, her cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment. “I’m what you call a ‘nepo baby,’ I presume,” she begins, her voice light but honest. “Means I’ve been acting since I was around four or five. My dad is a director, but, um, well, when my mom left, he sort of took a step back and raised me all by himself—taking me to everything I was shooting or my dance classes. But we were still living in Nantucket,” she shares, her eyes glimmering with a quiet vulnerability as she recounts her childhood.

“You were a dancer?” Drew asks, his voice filled with genuine interest.

“Yes, oh my gosh, I loved ballet,” she responds, her face lighting up at the thought of it. “If I wasn’t an actress, I would want to be a ballerina. I take classes occasionally for fun when I’m on breaks, but haven’t lately,” she adds wistfully, as if she misses the discipline and art form of ballet.

Drew grins, clearly delighted by her enthusiasm. “I love that. It’s always so cool to see someone so passionate about something.”

“How was school for you while doing all of this?” Drew asks, his curiosity continuing as he leans forward, intrigued by how she balanced everything as a child.

“I actually… my nan, my dad’s mum, she taught me—or I was taught on set ,” y/n answers, her expression softening at the thought of her grandmother. “Sort of well homeschooled in my elementary age. Then when we moved to California I started going to the same high school as Elle , but it was not easy  because everyone was constantly harassing me, and it just was trying to get something from me, but Elle never did. i di dnot end up going to college, clearly” she explains, her voice tinged with the fatigue of that early experience.

Drew nods sympathetically. “That must’ve been tough,” he says quietly, understanding the pressure that comes with growing up in the public eye.

“What about you? Did you finish school or even college?” she asks Drew, her voice curious, switching the focus back onto him.

“I did, I did. I finished college,” Drew answers, the tone of his voice indicating that this part of his life was a bit more straightforward. “I spent probably, I mean, three out of the four years trying to leave as much as I could,” he adds with a rueful chuckle, the humor in his voice undeniable.

“You know, I mean, what—you know, I think everybody has stuff that they look back on. They’re like, ‘Oh, my God,’” Drew continues, his voice light but reflective. “But yes, I mean, school—it offered me, I don’t know, ways on how to operate, and test yourself within a bubble, and then kind of go out into the world. To me, it was pretty invaluable, but my younger sister Brooke would say she learned a lot and liked it,” he finishes, his smile widening slightly as he thinks about his sister’s perspective on their shared experience.

Y/n  listens intently, her expression softening with understanding. “I get that,” she says. “You find value in everything, even the things you think you wouldn’t.”

“Tell me about Anora. How was that? How was that transition since you’ve been deemed the queen of horror movies?” Drew asks, his voice laced with genuine curiosity as he leans forward, eager to learn more about her latest project.

She  smiles, the excitement in her eyes matching Drew’s. “Well, I’m so lucky to be in a film like this,” she begins, her tone soft and grateful. “And I’m so lucky to have had such guidance from someone like my dad, and the Fanning sisters. They’ve been my biggest supporters, having become best friends with Elle on set when I was little, because she was working with my dad. We became inseparable. I was four, she was five,” y/n continues, a slight nostalgia coloring her voice as she reflects on her childhood friendship with Elle Fanning.

“But to be in the place that I am right now… it does feel… it feels surreal. I don’t know, some of it doesn’t quite feel real at times,” she admits, her smile bittersweet as she reflects on the magnitude of her career.

Drew nods, understanding the surreal nature of being in the spotlight for so long. “Filming Anora, oh my gosh,” she adds, her voice tinged with excitement. “I mean, it was completely different for me. You would think by now, in the 20 years I’ve been doing this, I would’ve been in a film like this before, but my genres never aligned with this film—mostly horror or mystery. So being in a drama/rom-com, whatever you want to classify it as, is quite new to me,” she laughs, the sound light and full of joy.

Drew chuckles along with her. “I mean, you worked for Quentin Tarantino and Sean Baker. So, did they pursue you? Did you see the script? Did you audition? How was that jump after working on Maxine?” he asks, genuinely fascinated by how these big-name directors came to cast her.

Y/n’s expression shifts, her thoughts going back to how she got involved with Anora. “So for Anora, Sean had gone and seen Pearl,” she begins, her tone steady, almost like she’s recounting a well-known story.

Drew looks intrigued. “And he went and saw it?” he asks, seeking clarification.

“Yes, he was invited to the premiere. And I think he was already sort of thinking about the plot for Anora,” she  responds, her smile growing a little as she recalls the moment. “And he cast me in it just from the film. So, it was the easiest casting process I’ve ever had to go through. I’ve never had to not audition for something before, which to me was absurd, but I was also working on Maxxine already, so I made him aware that I would have to be jumping around from set to set,” she explains, a hint of pride in her voice. “But he was pretty adamant on wanting me to play Ani.”

Drew’s interest piques further, and he asks, “So I’m curious to know, what was your preparation like physically for that?”

Y/n  considers his question carefully before answering. “Honestly, going into it because I was also filming Maxxine, I could use some of the things I had already learned from shooting Maxxine and incorporate it into Anora,” she begins. “And there were pole tricks that I wanted to learn, so I started developing my skills with that. It was an exciting process because I was getting to know a new character, but since i have a dance background already it helped shape her in a way. With Maxxine, it was following the storyline of Pearl, and I had already been immersed in her from playing her in X and Pearl, so it was so fun for me to get to understand and dive into a new character,” she says, her enthusiasm growing as she describes her deep commitment to her craft.

She  pauses for a moment, reflecting more on her preparation. “Really trying to get to immerse myself in who she is, understand her morals,” she continues. “I asked myself lots of questions about her. I wanted to really go into depth and more detail than I ever have before. So, like, I would know everything about her—like what cigarettes she smokes, what her school life was like, what her relationship with her parents is.”

Drew watches her intently, clearly impressed by the depth of her process. “Wow, that’s so in-depth,” he says.

Y/m  smiles and continues, “So when I got to Sean’s set, because he’s such an organic filmmaker, I wanted someone to ask me a question about my character and me always be able to answer it. And so I feel like I got to a place where I got there, and then obviously, I had to learn as much Russian as possible and the dialect.”

She lets out a small laugh. “So I just did little things at a time. And I think it sort of, over the course of five months, built up to this fully formed character.”

Drew laughs softly. “I bet your dad was relieved that you finally got a break since you’re the queen of horror,” he teases, enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment.

She  laughs along, nodding. “Oh gosh, when I told him about X, he was like, ‘Oh wow, that’s a big leap,’ especially since my childhood and high school years, I was in like, more family-friendly, teeny-bopper things. Then when I hit 18, everyone was like, ‘She looks made for horror movies,’ and I just sort of rolled with it.”

She pauses, her smile growing warmer as she reflects on her father’s support. “But he has always been my biggest supporter. He always gives me pointers, and I don’t know, he just never really had an issue with any role that I have done thus far,” she says, her voice soft and sincere. “I mean, he was like, ‘You’re a grown adult, you know your limits, I’m just going to be here every step of the way cheering you on.’ Even when he was filming and just directing, he was supporting me in some way, so that always meant so much to me,” she tells Drew, her voice full of gratitude.

Drew nods appreciatively, touched by the deep bond she shares with her father. “That’s amazing,” he says. “Having that kind of support makes all the difference in the world.”

Y/m  smiles, her eyes softening with affection as she recalls the unwavering encouragement she’s always received from her dad. “Yeah, it really does,” she agrees, her voice full of warmth.

What about you? This was such a big leap for you. How was filming something so different?” She asks Drew, her voice filled with excitement, eager to hear about his experience. Her curiosity radiates as she leans in, ready to listen.

Drew nods thoughtfully before answering, “You know, Luca and I talked a lot, and then I didn’t meet Daniel until we were in New York, probably a month before we shot. I met him at the table read, and so it was kind of the meeting, and then we just jumped into reading it out loud.” He pauses, reflecting on the atmosphere. “Luca does a good job of fully painting a picture for you. We also shot it in Rome at Cinecittà,” Drew adds, the excitement in his eyes evident as he recalls the legendary filming location.

She  smiles, clearly impressed. “It’s absolutely darling there,” she says, her enthusiasm matching his as she imagines the stunning backdrop. “Walking through the different stages that the movie is set in. So you kind of walk in, you’re in, you know, these incredible clothes,” Drew continues, his tone animated as he describes the experience. “But we were only there for a bit.”

, intrigued she , leans forward. “Where was the rest of it?” she asks, eager to know more. “Were you actually in the jungle?”

Drew laughs, nodding. “Like a week in Sicily on the coast. They built the set. They brought all these—Luca was like, ‘I want these plants.’ And they brought in, like, I don’t know how many thousands of pounds of whatever, of dirt. And they built a jungle.”

She raises her eyebrows, clearly fascinated. “Well, so they’re real plants?” she asks, wanting the full details.

Drew thinks for a moment before responding, “I think some were real; I think some were fake.” He looks at her with a grin. “Just say they’re real,” she teases, her smile wide as she playfully suggests an easy fix.

“They’re all real. Everything, everything’s real,” Drew says, laughing, caught up in the lighthearted moment.

Y/n  laughs too, enjoying their banter. “But yeah. So that Cinecittà Studios is like—it’s famous. Yeah,” Drew says, proud to have been part of such a historic location.

“This is so intriguing,” she  says, her eyes shining with interest. ��It’s always so interesting to hear someone else’s experiences with films and everything.”

Drew nods, his expression reflective. “God, it’s wild. I think walking into that, like, the setting of it was like I knew I was walking into this kind of elevated type of feel in terms of tone. And it’s also not a direct period piece. It’s this kind of Mexico City and South America within the imagination of William S. Burroughs, you know, kind of. There’s something very absurd about it. It’s incredibly surreal and absurd,” he finishes, his voice filled with the intensity of the film’s atmosphere.

, intrigued, she presses further. “How did you understand that, from what, from the way Luca spoke about it? Or from just…” Her curiosity is evident, her expression leaning forward, wanting to grasp every bit of the creative process he’s revealing.

Drew smiles as he thinks about it. “Yeah, I think, I think so. Yeah. In conversations with Luca. I mean, he was very specific about how he wanted the world to feel,” he says, pausing for a moment. Abbie listens intently, clearly drawn to his words.

“He also gave me some visual references, some photography. There are these paintings by Francis Bacon that we looked at. Kinda two lovers. And yeah, so there were all these kinds of visual references, so that was helpful,” Drew continues, watching Abbie as she gets lost in the imagery he’s painting. She seems almost hypnotized by his description, imagining the world he was immersed in.

Y/n  nods slowly, appreciating the thoughtfulness of Drew’s preparation. “But yeah, then Daniel, I think kind of a similar situation,” Drew adds, his voice becoming more reflective. “Daniel and I, there wasn’t a lot of conversation about how we wanted it to feel or, you know, the dirty word—the chemistry between the two of us. It was just kind of exercising it and going for it. So there wasn’t a ton of rehearsal. It was a lot of talking, you know, we did like chatting two weeks prior. Just table reads. ‘Will you be around?’ ‘Yes.’ I think so, yeah,” Drew says, a shrug in his tone as he describes the informal nature of their preparation.

She looks at him, her eyes full of understanding. “Do you like rehearsing?” she asks, shifting the conversation to their own processes.

“I do, especially having worked with so many different people in that way; it allows me to become a lot more comfortable with them in that sense,” she says, her voice soft and thoughtful as she reflects on the role rehearsal plays in her own work.

Drew nods, considering her words. “What about you?” she asks the 31-year-old actor, curious about his own preferences.

“For some things, I don’t,” Drew admits. “I think I get scared of it.” He pauses, trying to put his feelings into words. “Oh, you don't? Tell me about that. How do you navigate it?” She  asks, leaning forward again, her genuine curiosity evident.

Drew looks down for a moment, his voice a little quieter. “I get—I get shy,” he confesses, the vulnerability of the moment hanging between them. She  watches him, her expression one of empathy.

“Yeah?” she asks gently.

“I get shy of saying, ‘Oh, I’ll just do it on the…’ I’ll just, yeah. And then I wouldn’t ever be like, ‘I’m saving it for the take,’ but I’m like, there’s a part of me that’s like, I can’t fully let go until I’m on doing a thing and—there’s something like when you hear ‘action’ or the cameras roll that you’re like, ‘Okay.’” Drew finishes, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he acknowledges the thrill that comes with the real take.

Y//n  laughs softly, understanding exactly what he means. “That is completely understandable. You can kind of hide behind it a little more,” she says with a knowing smile. “As a performer in general, like for me, I mean…” she starts, her voice taking on a more serious tone. She shifts slightly in her seat, crossing her legs, clearly about to share something more personal. “When I was filming X, Pearl, and Maxxine, Pearl was basically an adult film star. So learning how to be comfortable with that—especially having finished the black coat’s daughter —it was weird,” she says, her voice trailing off as she reflects on the challenges she’s faced in her own work.

Drew listens intently, his expression softening as he connects with her openness. “Yeah, that’s got to be a lot,” he responds thoughtfully.

She nods, grateful for the understanding. “It was, but you learn to adapt and grow through the process,” she says, a hint of strength in her voice as she embraces the complexity of her roles. In Anora, you have such a presence always about you,” Drew begins, his voice filled with admiration. “And I think there’s a stillness, confidence, and danger about, like, the way you present yourself on screen always. So I look at you on screen, like, damn, this girl is the most amazing actress I’ve ever…” Drew’s words are warm and genuine, but before he can finish, she laughs, cutting him off.

“Please, all these compliments. You’re making me nervous. Stop looking at me like that,” she says, playfully brushing her hair back and trying to hide the flattery she feels from his compliment. Her voice is light and teasing, but there’s an unmistakable sincerity behind it.

Drew laughs softly, clearly enjoying the playful exchange. “Do you get nervous on set? Do you get nervous working?” he asks, his curiosity genuine as he turns the conversation to something more personal.

She  thinks for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “When I first got cast for X, I was nervous. I mean, I had never really filmed anything that warranted me being a fucking adult film star,” she begins, her voice calm but laced with the vulnerability of recalling a significant moment in her career. “And I was 22, having just finished my first horror film’s back to back , and pearl ,then infinity pool . So having to navigate that aspect, along with how it would intertwine with horror, made me nervous. Because at the end of the day, everyone was going to see me and my body, then oversexualize it, which I had been dealing with since I was 15.”

She  pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “But it has gotten a lot worse over the years, so that is why I was nervous at first,” she adds, the weight of her experiences evident in her voice.

She looks at Drew, smiling a bit as she continues. “But I don’t so much anymore. I think once you understand, and once you feel safe with a crew, and you get, you’re in a rhythm, it all feels like everyone’s on the same path to get the same thing. And so the fear for me goes. If it’s a good environment, the fear goes for me. Because I feel like comfortable and I’m, you know, I can make a fool of myself. If you understand what I’m saying?”

Drew listens intently, appreciating her openness. “What about you, love? Do you?” she asks him, genuinely curious, a warm smile on her face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do,” Drew responds after a pause. He laughs lightly, the honesty in his voice cutting through the conversation. “That’s why they call it baked Alaska, I imagine. You know, I mean, my, like, heart was racing on the first day.”

Y/n nods, empathizing with him. “Right,” she says, her voice soft but encouraging as she listens to him continue.

Drew leans back slightly, his tone becoming more reflective. “And I usually, I’m usually good about it. I like having a lot of pressure and I like working within that type of environment,” he admits, the intensity in his eyes showing how much he thrives under challenge.

“How so?” She  asks, intrigued.

Drew seems to think about it for a moment, trying to explain a feeling that’s hard to put into words. “It’s like, I don’t know. I think it’s kind of like when you have some expectations, or, or there’s something, you know, there’s—it’s a feeling of like, there’s nothing to lose. Who cares? I love kind of working within a pressure cooker in a way. But, this one, like first day I was like, I bet—like first take, like my heart is like pounding through my chest. Like, I’m not gonna be able to do this.” He laughs a bit at his own admission, looking over at Abbie with a bit of disbelief at how much pressure he’d felt.

“Well, you’ve got Daniel and Luca, these two formidable forces,” she says to him, offering a bit of reassurance with a knowing smile.

Drew chuckles, nodding, but still feeling the weight of the situation. “And so, like, come in and, and, and be like, they’re gonna—they’re gonna know, man. Like, first day they’re gonna, like, find me out. This is not the right—what do we do? We made a mistake,” Drew says sincerely, the anxiety still clear in his voice despite his lighthearted attempt at self-deprecation.

Y/n , however, doesn’t miss a beat, her affection for Drew and his talents apparent. “First of all, Drew, you are so talented,” she says warmly. ���I mean, for starters, I should have said this before, but welcome to A24 films—that in itself is groundbreaking,” she adds with a genuine, almost reverent tone. She pauses, her voice filled with admiration. “One thing I love is how attentive they are, and they just, when they see talent, they see it. And you’re so relatable. I mean, look at how far you’ve come. I completely understand. I mean, my first A24 film I was with a Skarsgård, and I was what 17 turning 18 I was terrified. But like, to be able to be cast alongside Daniel Craig as a main lead, holy hell, love, that’s so amazing.”

Drew laughs, clearly touched by her kind words, but still slightly in awe of the situation himself. “Did you ask him about James Bond?” she asks, a playful glint in her eye as she reminisces about the experience.

“He just kind of started talking about it,” Drew laughs, a bit sheepish but also amused by how casually Daniel Craig had approached the iconic role.

“That sounds like him,” y/n says, laughing along with him. “That’s so typical of Daniel,” she adds with a smile, as if recalling a thousand stories about the actor’s laid-back personality.

Drew nods, shaking his head a bit in disbelief. “Yeah, it was great. He’s just so chill about it all,” he says, both in awe and admiration.

“So, pretty girl, any new projects for you?” Drew asks with a playful smile, his tone light but full of curiosity as he watches her.

She chuckles, clearly enjoying the attention. “The way you keep calling me pet names, people are going to think we’re together,” she teases, her voice playful and full of warmth.

Drew grins mischievously. “Just trying to be sweet,” he replies, shrugging in mock innocence.

Y/n  glances to the side at her team, a mischievous glint in her eye. “But I was told I am allowed to share this, since it will most likely come out before this does, i can't remember who is playing the lead though” she says, nodding toward her team, missing drew's knowing smirk. “My team is also staring at me smiling right now,” she adds with a smile, causing both her and Drew to burst into laughter.

The mood shifts slightly as Abbie asks, “Have you watched anything or read anything by Nicholas Sparks?”

Drew’s eyes light up. “Yes, I have! The Notebook is a classic,” he responds with a fond smile, clearly a fan of Sparks’ work, while acting oblivious to the fact that he is playing the lead.

Y/n nods enthusiastically. “Well, he has this book, Two by Two, which is my favorite book ever,” she says, her eyes lighting up as she shares her passion. “It follows this father and his 5 or 6-year-old daughter as he navigates life, newly divorced from his wife who had spent their daughter’s whole life being a stay-at-home mom. But then she decides she wants to find a job, making him a stay-at-home dad while he’s running his own business. He finds out she cheats on him with her boss, and basically, he has to raise their daughter mostly on his own. The story is beautiful, and I have the honor of getting to play the girl he falls back in love with—Emily, who is a painter with her own gallery. She also happens to be his high school sweetheart. She’s also newly divorced, but they reconnect because his daughter, London, and her son, Bohdi, become best friends.”

Drew listens intently, utterly captivated by her description. “That sounds incredible,” he says, his voice full of admiration. “I can see why you’re so excited about it.”

Her face softens with genuine enthusiasm. “I don’t think I’ve been this excited for a project. I mean, I’ve been excited before, but this one is so different than what I’m used to since it’s more of an emotional and romantic movie,” she says, her tone growing reflective.

She pauses for a moment before adding, “I mean, I’ve been deemed the queen of horror since I was 18, so I feel like it’s going to be so refreshing to have a break from only doing horror movies.” She laughs lightly at the thought.

Drew chuckles and nods. “I mean, you wouldn’t have 16 different awards if you weren’t good at what you do,” he says with a sincere smile, causing y/n to blush modestly.

“Thank you,” she responds, her voice barely above a whisper, clearly touched by the compliment.

After a brief pause, Drew asks, “You said it resonates with you a lot. May I ask how so, seeing as though you haven’t been married or have kids… or have you?” His tone is gentle, as he clearly recognizes the vulnerability of the question.

Y/n  hesitates for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I unfortunately am quite single,” she says, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “But, umm… sorry, I feel like I’m going to cry,” she admits, her voice faltering slightly. “But you know, transparency is great, and that’s something I strive for.”

Drew’s expression softens in sympathy. “Hey, no, it’s okay. Take your time,” he says with genuine care. “I’m just curious, you don’t have to answer it.”

She  nods, wiping her hands nervously on her lap before speaking again. “No, it’s okay,” she reassures him. “I feel like people know bits and pieces, but…” she begins, shifting her posture as if bracing herself. “As I said earlier, it’s been me and my dad since I was five years old. Well, that’s because my mom cheated on him right when I turned five. So a lot of what Russ and London lived, I did too.”

She pauses briefly, collecting her emotions. “After that, my dad took a big step back from the industry and began to focus on raising me and guiding me through my career at that age. Taking me to all my shoots and my dance classes,” she adds softly.

Drew’s smile softens with understanding as he imagines young y/n . his expression tender, clearly picturing her as a little ballerina.

“ when I wasn’t acting, I was doing ballet,” she  responds, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she reminisces. “I mean, I still take classes occasionally for fun when I’m not shooting any movies or shows. If I wasn’t doing this, I would have totally gone to Juilliard,” she says with a bittersweet laugh.

“Wait, you wanted to go to Juilliard?” Drew asks, his surprise evident.

“Yeah,” she replies with a nod. “But then I realized I loved acting a lot more. But like, it was truly an honor to meet with Nicholas, and he personally asked how I would feel about being in the adaptation for this book. And I sobbed because it means so much to me,” she says, her voice wavering with emotion. “I still don’t know who’s playing Russ, but I am so excited to be able to revisit the book. That’s why I said I’m filming in North Carolina soon.”

Drew looks at her with admiration. “Y/n, that’s truly beautiful,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “It’s amazing that you get to be in an adaptation of something you love so much. It just means you’ll put your all into it.”

She  smiles through the emotion, a tear welling up at the corner of her eye. Drew, noticing the tear, rises from his seat, moving in front of her. Gently, he places his hands on her knees, wiping away the tear with his thumb.

“Your mom doesn’t know how much she missed being able to love and know such a beautiful human being,” Drew whispers softly, his words full of compassion. “You’re so talented, and even though you grew up in this industry because of your dad, you’ve proven you have a right to be here. And about who is casted as russ, i found out last week that i was cast as lead alongside you, so we will for sure be seeing a lot of one another ”

The camera captures this tender moment, the rawness of the emotion hanging in the air. Her  eyes well with more tears, but she mouths a quiet “oh my gosh that's amazing, and thank you” to him. Drew smiles warmly, stands up, and walks back to his seat, leaving a sense of peace and admiration between them. The atmosphere is quieter now, a sense of intimacy settling in. Drew, ever curious and willing to delve deeper, leans in slightly. “Not to keep it on an emotional level, but like… what’s your biggest fear?” His voice is steady, but the question feels weighty, more than just idle conversation.

Y/n , still drying her eyes, lets out a soft chuckle, trying to mask the rawness of the moment with humor. “Oh gosh, Drew. Take me out to dinner at least if you’re going to ask me these questions,” she laughs, wiping away the last traces of her tears. The attempt at levity lingers in the air, but it’s clear the underlying tension is palpable.

Drew’s smile is kind, but there’s an undeniable sincerity in his response. “Seeing how this is going, I plan to afterwards,” he says, his tone warm but not overly flirtatious. He’s just being sincere, which makes Abbie pause for a moment, her eyes meeting his with a blend of curiosity and hesitation.

She stares at him, her wide eyes blinking several times as if grappling with how much of herself she is willing to reveal in this vulnerable moment. It’s a rare pause, almost as if she’s debating whether to give the “safe” response or speak from a place of true honesty. Finally, after a long moment, she speaks, her voice still gentle but marked with an emotional undertone.

“Do you want a generic answer or a sincere one?” she asks, her head tilting slightly, her eyes narrowing with the effort of weighing her options. It’s clear she’s giving him permission to choose how deep this will go.

Drew, understanding the gravity of the question, leans back in his seat a little and responds in a voice full of care, “Sweet girl, make it a real one; but again you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” His words are an invitation for authenticity, not just an attempt to dig deeper. His respect for her boundaries is evident, but the warmth in his tone makes it clear that whatever she decides to share, he’s there for it.

Y/n  hesitates for a moment, as though she needs to ground herself, but then, she nods. “No, it’s okay,” she says with newfound resolve. “Again, want to be the most authentic and real for people.” There’s a slight quiver in her voice, betraying how much this question stirs inside her. Her lips part as if she’s about to say something difficult, something not just for the camera but for herself, too.

She takes a deep breath, clearly preparing to dive into a painful memory. “I mean, when he found out that my mom cheated on him… that was the saddest I’ve ever seen him,” she begins, her voice soft but heavy with the weight of the past. She looks down briefly, perhaps to gather strength before continuing. “To me, I didn’t understand it at first. How could someone hurt a man who showed them nothing but love and support, dropping huge projects to be by her side, he truley was the epitome of a man in love? It’s mind-blowing to me. I mean, I’m his daughter. I grew up seeing how hard he worked for me, how he sacrificed everything for me. And then to have that… betrayal, to see him devastated like that—it broke me. But he just kept going. He kept showing up for me. Even though I couldn’t fully understand it, he kept being my dad. And that’s what I admire about him the most—his ability to continue, despite everything.”

There’s a pause as she  gathers herself, blinking away tears, though she’s holding it together. She takes another steadying breath, looking up at Drew with eyes that now glisten with unspoken emotion. The silence between them is thick, heavy with empathy, and Drew listens without interrupting, letting the words sink in.

After a moment, she  continues, her voice still slightly shaky. “I also just hate it when people call me a ‘nepo baby,’ but they’re right, you know?” she admits, her tone raw. “At my core, that’s really what I am. And it’s scary, because every day, I’ve had to prove myself. I feel like I’m always fighting against that label, trying to show that I’m not just here because of who my dad is, but because I deserve to be here.”

Her voice trembles slightly as she presses on, her gaze unwavering. “And sometimes, it feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s always going to be about him. And that’s terrifying. I want to build my own path, not just walk in his shadow,even though i am so proud to get the honor of calling him dad. But that’s the burden, isn’t it? You’re expected to be something great, and when you don’t feel like you measure up, it’s hard not to worry you’ll disappoint them.”

The vulnerability in y/n’s voice is palpable, but she doesn’t falter, holding herself together as she speaks her truth. Drew nods slightly, his expression filled with understanding, the kind of silent support that encourages her to continue.

Her words hang in the air, and Drew quietly responds, “I get that. That pressure is no joke, and it never really goes away. You’re not alone in feeling that.” His voice is filled with warmth and empathy, and there’s a deep resonance in what he says, as if he knows exactly what that pressure feels like. Drew gives her a reassuring smile, but it’s the kind of smile that’s heavy with shared experience, a subtle acknowledgment of how difficult the road she walks truly is.

She  takes a breath, wiping the final traces of tears from her face, and then shifts the conversation back to him, her tone gentle but inquisitive. “What about you, love? What’s your biggest fear?” she asks, her voice quiet but full of curiosity.

Drew pauses, rubbing the back of his neck—a familiar gesture that signals a shift in tone. His expression softens as he reflects on the question, and there’s a moment of tension as he searches for the right words. He leans forward, as if ready to share something personal, but still weighing how much of himself he wants to expose.

“You know, it’s funny,” Drew starts, his voice taking on a thoughtful cadence. “Because on the surface, everything’s great. People see the success, the roles, the recognition. But, if I’m being honest, my biggest fear is being typecast. Getting stuck in one role, one type of character. Like, they see me as rafe cameron, the coked out killer, you know?” He smirks as he says this, but the edge to his voice reveals how deep the fear runs.

“Rafe Cameron was a turning point for me,” Drew admits, his tone becoming more animated. “I got attention, sure—but with it came a box. And I’m scared I’m gonna be stuck in that box forever.”

She  listens intently, her gaze steady and knowing. She can relate—she’s seen it in her own career, how quickly an actor can be defined by one character or one image. Drew’s voice picks up, the words flowing faster now, the urgency clear in his expression.

“It’s like I’m constantly fighting against this image of being the rebellious, troubled guy,” he continues, frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m grateful for Outer Banks—I love playing Rafe, but I want to show people more than that. I want to do things that challenge me, roles that let me push my limits. But I’m afraid Hollywood will just see me as that one thing, and I’ll never get the chance to grow.”

Drew’s vulnerability is laid bare in this moment, his fear of being confined to a single role evident in every word. “It feels like there’s this pressure to break away from that and show that I can do more. But sometimes I think… I could end up being one of those actors who only gets cast for their ‘type.’ And that’s just—ugh. It’s a slow death for me, artistically. I want to do more than just ‘play a part.’ I want to create something that people remember me for, something that’s not just one-dimensional.”

He pauses, rubbing his temples, letting the weight of his thoughts settle. “And on top of that, there’s the whole ‘persona’ thing. Being in the public eye, being known for a certain thing—it’s all part of the game, but I worry that it’ll overshadow my work. Like, what if the person people see isn’t really who I am? And if I keep chasing roles that push me outside of what people expect, I might lose sight of what really matters. Who I really am, outside of the character, outside of the fame.”

Drew shrugs slightly, the unease still lingering in his words, but there’s an honesty in his self-reflection. “It’s not just about missing out on opportunities—it’s about losing myself in the process. I don’t want to become something that I’m not. I want my work to not define me as an individual , not the image the industry creates.”

She  leans in, a soft but understanding look on her face. “I get that,” she says quietly, her voice full of empathy. “That fear of being seen only for what they want to see. It’s a lot. But you’re not alone in feeling that, Drew. I think… we both understand that pressure in different ways.”

Drew looks at her, the vulnerability still visible in his eyes. But now, there’s also a quiet reassurance in the space between them. For a brief moment, they sit together, both actors—both people—unmasked in their shared understanding of the pressure to fit into the mold created for them by others. There is no judgment here, just the unspoken knowledge that they’re not alone in the complex, often isolating experience of being seen in ways they never intended.

The atmosphere has shifted. The heavy emotions from their earlier conversation are still lingering in the air, but now there’s an undercurrent of lightheartedness, an invitation to relax. Drew stands up, stretching slightly as he looks at her. He smiles, his expression softening with sincerity, but there’s a certain playfulness that has returned to his demeanor.

“Well, beautiful, this was definitely, may I say, the highlight of my year,” he says, his voice warm and genuine. There’s a slight twinkle in his eyes, and though the comment might seem like a simple compliment, it carries the weight of an unspoken connection between the two of them. “And I wasn’t joking about taking you out to dinner,” he adds, the promise of a follow-up hanging in the air. It’s not just an offer—there’s intention behind his words, and she can sense it.

Y/n  looks up at him, the slight blush on her cheeks betraying the genuine sincerity of his words. She lets out a small laugh, more because of how unguarded he’s been throughout their conversation than anything else. “I’ll hold you to that, Starkey,” she says, her voice teasing but also tender. There’s a newfound warmth in her tone, the kind that comes from having shared something personal with someone who isn’t just listening, but truly understanding. The bond between them, though still in its early stages, is unmistakable.

With a smile, Drew takes a step forward, the distance between them closing as they meet in the middle. There’s a natural ease to their movements, and without a word, they each open their arms to embrace one another. The hug is brief but meaningful—a moment where both seem to realize that what has just transpired between them is something more than just an interview or a casual conversation. It’s the beginning of something new, something that neither of them fully understands yet, but both are undeniably intrigued by.

As they pull away, Drew chuckles, clearly feeling lighter than before. “Not going to lie, my mom would adore you,” he says, his voice filled with affection, but also with a certain vulnerability that shows he’s being real with her. The mention of his family is telling—a subtle way of indicating that he’s not just seeing her as a professional acquaintance, but as someone who might be important enough to bring into his personal life.

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile as she eyes him with mock suspicion. “Already thinking about taking me home to meet your parents?” she asks, her tone light but filled with curiosity. The question isn’t just one of jest; it’s also an acknowledgment of the connection they’ve built. She’s not only acknowledging the intimacy of the moment but subtly suggesting that she’s open to seeing where this could go.

Drew grins, his eyes lighting up as he gives her a quick, knowing look. “Maybe,” he replies, though his voice carries the hint of possibility. His answer isn’t a definitive yes, but it’s clear that the idea of her meeting his family is not out of the question. There’s something more here, something that feels both promising and delicate, like the early stages of a relationship that could grow into something more substantial.

As they walk toward the exit together, their steps in sync, there’s a sense of ease between them that wasn’t there before—an ease that only comes after sharing something deeply personal. They move with the kind of familiarity that suggests a budding friendship, the kind where even the smallest gestures or words hold meaning. The conversation has shifted, but the connection remains.

The video starts to fade out, the final frame capturing them walking side by side, their laughter trailing behind them as they exit the scene. The last words spoken—those lighthearted, yet telling comments about dinner and family—linger in the air, like a promise of something that could develop further.

The scene closes on the image of the two of them, a quiet promise hanging between them: the possibility of dinner, of getting to know each other better, and of exploring where this newfound bond could take them. They both thought, for a fleeting moment, that maybe this was just the start of something beautiful. It wasn’t just about the conversation they’d shared, but about what might come after—what was unfolding in the quiet spaces between their words and actions.

|previous| next|

ABBIE'S CORNER

this has been my favorite written chapter by far. i watched both videios a few times and used elements from both but also added my own things ( y/n's backstory, and them both being casted in the movie adapataion of one of my favorite Nicholas Sparks book) Don't forget to reblogg and let me know what you guys think.

[raysrays]

Hashira boyfriends in Squid Games with You

A/n: I’m sorry this is so random and I’m sure someone’s already done this idea but I just finished season two and I’ve had horrible writers block. Please ignore any grammar or typos.

Hashira men find you stuck in the games with them.

Gyomei Himegima:

* Gyomei agreed to participate in the games. Despite being blind, he successfully got through Red Light, Green Light using his heightened senses and incredible mental stability.

* The games penalties greatly upset Gyomei, he could bare to let you or anyone else get hurt just for something like money.

* He holds your hand most if not all the time. He can’t see, so it reassures him to have you close.

* Voting to leave (X): Gyomei would never want to stay in the games, especially after hearing the screams of those eliminated in the first round.

* He is deeply concerned for your safety. As his lover, you’re his top priority, and he would protect you with unwavering dedication. He is also worried about the others, as he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt either.

* During nights or just calm moments after the games, he enjoys braiding and playing with your hair, it just gives him something to do and takes his mind off everything.

* Gyomei’s kind and nurturing nature makes him open to alliances. He would be okay with you both befriending other players and he would act as their protector, his sheer size and presence offering a sense of security.

* During the second round of the mini games, Gyomei would effortlessly complete Flying Stone, he’d succeed on the first try thanks to his precision and strength.

* He prays for you both and often meditates with you to keep a level head.

* During the game mingle he would stick to you like glue using his size as an advantage to make sure you both stay together the whole time no matter what number of people was chosen.

* No one dares to mess with you or even approach you recklessly, knowing your boyfriend is a towering, intimidating figure. While gentle at heart, his imposing demeanor keeps trouble at bay.

* Gyomei would undoubtedly join an alliance focused on taking down the creators of the games, determined to put an end to the suffering and injustice. As much as he hates bloodshed, he thinks of you and how unsafe it is for you both to be stuck in there.

“Try not to worry so much my dear, we will be out soon.”

Sanemi Shinzazugawa:

* Once the first game of red light, green light started, he would immediately lock in and make sure you stayed behind him at all times.

* Sanemi would be furious and defiant upon realizing the deadly stakes of the games. He’d see it as a messed up joke at first but quickly adapt, relying on his survival instincts. He’d remain sharp eyed and alert, constantly scanning for threats and potential alliances, though his trust in others would be non-existent.

* Voting to stay (O): Though he was shocked at first, he knows the both of need the money, and he’s so confident in his own abilities he believes he could easily win all while keeping you safe.

* Sanemi’s aggressive and no-nonsense attitude would make him a formidable player. He’d Approach each game with calculated brutality, ensuring the both of you survive.

* Even though the other players refer to him as a “hot head” or “cocky bastard” you know the real sanemi. You can tell deep down he’s scared too.

* During the second round of mini games he had chosen to take on the role of Ddakji, it took him a couple tries because he was so tense but eventually he got it without wasting too much time.

* He would gladly Intimidate competitors who posed a threat, his aura alone warding off most challengers. He isn’t afraid to engage in physical confrontation if necessary, especially if anyone tried to harm you.

* He gives you almost all his food insisting you need to eat more.

* When it comes to you Sanemi’s protective instincts would kick into overdrive. He would protect you from any form of physical harm, even at the risk of his own life.

* If anyone even looks at you in a way he doesn’t like he’s got hands on you immediately not just in a possessive manor, but in a protective one.

* He would make sure to share strategies, ensure you conserved your strength, and keep your spirits up in quieter moments.

* during the game “mingle” Sanemi would keep you close and if for some reason you got separated he would be a wreck until he got his eyes on you again.

* In situations requiring teamwork, Sanemi would rely only on himself and you. He’d distrust alliances, expecting betrayal, but might reluctantly cooperate if the games forced it.

* Sanemi’s temper and blunt demeanor might cause friction, but you would likely be his rock, grounding him in moments of despair or frustration. The chaos of the games might bring out his more vulnerable side, revealing how deeply he cares for his you and how far he’d go to protect you.

“Shut up and stop trying to act tough. I’m not losing you in here, got it?”

Giyu Tomioka:

* During the first game of Red light, green light Giyu would handle this game with calm precision. He’d keep a close eye on you, subtly guiding you with hand signals or quiet encouragement to make sure you both survive.

* Giyu’s initial reaction to the stakes of the games would likely be stoic and measured. He wouldn’t waste time panicking, instead focusing on understanding the rules. His natural wariness would make him suspicious of the organizers and other players, but he’d keep his thoughts to himself, silently observing everyone’s behavior.

* Voting to leave (X): Giyu’s decision during the vote would be to go home, he needed money but not at the risk of losing his life and especially with you here as well. In his mind nothing matters more than you.

* Giyu’s calm and logical demeanor would be his greatest asset. He’d Focus on surviving the games with as little conflict as possible, using his intelligence and foresight to navigate challenges.

* while keeping up this stoic facade he’d take comfort in your small quiet moments. Wether it’s just laying in each others arms for the night or a slight touch as you pass one another on the way to the game hall.

* He’d Avoid drawing attention to himself or to you, preferring that you both try blending into the background and observing the competition.

* He often takes your hand rubbing it in his, you think it’s to calm you down but truthfully it’s to calm himself.

* When the second round of mini games starts Giyu would choose to play gongi he recalls his sister playing it with him when he was younger and he did extremely well.

* Giyu’s devotion to you would shine through in quiet but impactful ways: He’d protect you from emotional and physical stress, ensuring you were prepared for each game and providing reassurance when the tensions grew.

* In physical challenges, he’d act as your personal shield, taking risks to ensure your survival. He’d subtly guide you through the games requiring strategy, using his analytical mind to predict outcomes and plan their moves together.

* in the game “mingle” Giyu and you both trust each other enough to let one another get split up, confident in the other’s ability to group up and stay alive.

* Giyu would also keep a close eye on potential threats, ready to intervene if anyone targeted you or him. While he wouldn’t seek out confrontation, his quiet intensity would be enough to deter most aggressors.

* Though Giyu rarely expresses his emotions openly, the stress of the games and the danger to you would weigh heavily on him. His love for you would serve as both a source of strength and vulnerability, pushing him to make sacrifices he might not otherwise consider. He’d likely blame himself for any close calls or mistakes, but your presence would help him stay grounded.

“Stay vigilant, and be careful who you trust. We have each other, we really don’t need anyone else.”

Iguro Obanai:

* During the first game Obanai’s precise movements and calm demeanor would make this game relatively straightforward for him. He would carefully time his movements, advancing only when the doll’s voice and head movements were predictable. He’d ensure you moved at the same speed as him, keeping you calm and signaling when it was safe to advance. If you struggled, he’d guide you verbally or physically.

* Obanai would likely remain composed but tense, his mistrustful nature making him hyper vigilant. He’d quickly assess the situation, recognizing the seriousness of the games. His immediate focus would be on ensuring your safety while trying to find weaknesses in other players and the game’s structure.

* Against your wishes he’s already sorting out the weak from the strong.

* Voting to stay (O): Like Sanemi, Obanai recalls he’s here for a reason, and that reason is to win money and get out of debt, and he’s confident he can get you both to the end alive.

* Obanai’s sharp intellect, agility, and stealth would make him an great player. He’d approach each game with precision, treating it as a battlefield where strategy and timing were key.

* He insists you sleep in the same bed, he can’t sleep unless you are there with him.

* In the mini games he’d choose to do Gongi, The gongi game’s reliance on timing would be a strong suit for Obanai. He’d use his quick reflexes to scoop and catch the pieces efficiently, keeping control.

* during your chosen mini game he’d keep encouraging you softly, giving subtle touches on your back and shoulder just to let you know he’s there with you.

* He’d keep a low profile, avoiding unnecessary attention and conflicts while carefully observing other players for potential threats.

* He has a sharp tongue, it’s just his nature. Whenever he hears other players say something he finds stupid he can’t help but make a sarcastic remark almost landing him in many fights until you swoop in and break it up.

* His snake companion, Kaburamaru, could provide subtle advantages, like scouting or detecting traps, depending on the game.

* during the game “mingle” He’d struggle to pair with others but would rely on you to help navigate social dynamics. He’d observe players carefully, seeking out those who seemed trustworthy or capable, though he’d approach alliances cautiously.

* Obanai’s devotion to you would drive all his decisions. He’d stay physically close to you during games, positioning himself between you and danger and offer quiet advice or encouragement, helping you remain calm and focused.

* His mistrust of others would mean he’d avoid alliances unless absolutely necessary. Even then, he’d be wary, ensuring that no one could exploit or harm you.

* The games would take a toll on Obanai emotionally. His deep love for you, combined with the high stakes, would amplify his anxiety. He’d likely internalize his fears, appearing stoic outwardly while silently carrying the weight of your survival.

“Stay close to me and don’t go wondering off, we don’t know these people. We can’t trust them.”

Tengen Uzui:

* During the first game, Tengen’s exceptional reflexes would make this game almost effortless for him. He’d move confidently even using the opportunity to scout potential threats among the players. He’d keep you close, making sure you are always behind him and offering encouragement or assistance if you started to feel afraid or discouraged.

* Lays with you in bed and runs his fingers through your hair to calm you down.

* Tengen would unfortunately view the chaos of the games as a flashy spectacle, He’d immediately assess the situation with his usual composure, quickly figuring out strategies to navigate the games.

* While outwardly flamboyant and seemingly unbothered, Tengen would be hyper-focused on analyzing the games and players, ensuring you both stayed ahead.

* He’d hide any fear or anxiety to keep you calm, using his charisma and humor to ease the tension.

* Voting to stay (O): Tengen is a flashy man, and he definitely has the over confidence to think he’s taking all that money home with you both no issue. He insures you he will protect you and that You both are making it out alive.

* When choosing a mini game Tengen goes for spinning top, he thinks it’s simple, and he truthfully just thought the top looked the “most flashy” in his opinion.

* Tengen’s combination of physical strength, strategic thinking, and charm would make him one of the strongest players. His ability to adapt to any situation and use his theatrical personality to manipulate others would set him apart.

* During mingle Tengen’s got a constant hold on you, he would tear people out of a room if it meant keeping you both safe.

* Tengen would ensure your survival above all else, using his strength, speed, and charm to shield you both from danger. His confidence and playful demeanor would help you stay calm and focused, even in the direst situations.

“Don’t cry Angel, I’m a god remember? I’ll keep you safe.”

Kyojuro Rengoku:

* During the first game, Kyojuro’s sharp reflexes and discipline would make this game pretty easy. He’d move confidently, never doubting his ability to stop in time.

* His hand is not leaving your wrist. You will be next to him for this game and all the others.

* Kyojuro is a lover before he’s anything, his whole reason for being here was to make up for all his debt so he could care for you.

* He would genuinely be shocked and angered by the brutality of the games, he’s kind hearted and this all feels so unfair. He’d keep his head up and try to encourage others and protect you at all costs.

* Voting to leave (X): Kyojuro is getting you both out of there. Watching other people die playing games for money is messed up, but you being in there is too much for him.

* Out of the mini games he’s pick Ddakji. Kyojuro’s physical strength and precision would give him an edge. He’d approach the game with enthusiasm, treating it like a test of his skill.

* During Mingle you can forget about splitting up. As stated before he’s always got a hand on you.

* He’d form alliances with trustworthy players, ensuring the both of you were part of a strong group. He’d use his persuasive nature to protect you from being left out or targeted.

* Kyojuro’s combination of physical strength, strategic thinking, and unshakable optimism would make him one of the strongest participants in the games. He’s genuinely kind and would definitely earn allies, while his determination and strength would keep you both safe.

“Stay calm little flame, we are going to be okay. Stay behind me, I’m going to keep you safe.”

[kingkunigami]

— Kunigami Rensuke

Masterlist.

Keeping every other player on their toes was the true goal. Reminding them that he deserved his place— that he was meant to be here. But Kunigami wouldn’t deny that obtaining a prize that every other man on the field coveted was a good enough reward. He really was the wildcard, in every sense of the word.

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, spit, Kunigami’s got an oral fixation, blow jobs, no prep, unprotected sex, light choking, squirting, creampie.

Pairing: Kunigami Rensuke x f!reader.

Word Count: 2.8k.

If there was ever a man who didn’t appear to want the prize he’d rightfully won, it would be Kunigami Rensuke. Lingering in the doorway as you felt the cool chill seep into the room from behind him, prickling against your form as goosebumps began to appear against your forearms. The sheer lingerie doing little to hide your exposed skin as you shuffled on your knees against the soft sheets, your nipples hardening against pretty lace as you watched his tongue slip out to wet his lips.

It was as though this prize wasn’t good enough, that he was still searching for more. Every trophy and accolade he rightfully stole from every other player put on the field would never matter until his name was positioned at number one.

Keeping every other player on their toes was the true goal. Reminding them that he deserved his place— that he was meant to be here. But Kunigami wouldn’t deny that obtaining a prize that every other man on the field coveted was a good enough reward for now, stealing a last minute shot at goal instead of passing to Chigiri to land the ball in the top left corner— barely an inch from the post. A chance that had paid off well now that he was standing where the other twenty-one men on the field wished they could be.

No one would deny that he’d been through a lot to get this far— probably far more than most. A man that had tasted the disgusting bile of failure rise in his throat, the defeat one he promised himself he would never feel again. Arguably working far harder than his teammates to reclaim his position at the top, biting at the ankles of his competitors as he allowed natural selection to take place.

And Kunigami couldn’t lie, it felt good to be victorious. So used to the pack mentality of victory, succeeding at the hands of others. But this one? It was his. You were his. And he would return to the rest of his team with a story to prove it.

He took four long strides to meet you at the foot of the bed, like a lion stalking its prey as he towered over you. His hand was gentle when he cupped your cheek, leaning into his touch as you grasped onto the warmth of it. Feeling a rush of blood pump through your veins when you looked up to meet his burning gaze, enough to scorch your skin as you felt it set fire to you all the way down to your core.

“They were right,” He murmurs, “You are really pretty.”

Your heart jumped at his words, thinking about what sort of things the footballers said about you. Picturing them crowded around in their changing room at half-time, doused in dirt and sweat as they spilled their pure depravity. Talking about every filthy thought they had about you, or the lewd opinions of those who’d had a taste. Your clit pulsing in response as you swallowed thickly, wondering what Kunigami’s role had been in the conversation.

“So,” He hummed, tracing the calloused pad of his thumb over your glossy lips, the stickiness tacking you to him, “What can I do to you?”

“Anything.”

“Shit,” A groan rumbled from deep in his chest, his eyes fluttering as he felt his cock pulse beneath his shorts, “Anything?”

“Yeah—” Kunigami pushed his thumb past your lips as soon as he felt you part them to speak, pressing down on the pad of your tongue as your lips closed around it. Staring up at him obediently through thick lashes as you hollowed your cheeks, causing a deep blazing heat to burn in his pelvis.

“Fuck,” He growled, pumping his thumb slowly as his palm caged your jaw. Tilting your head as he used his strong grip you open your mouth, pursing his lips as he spat into your open mouth, “Hold it.”

You felt the moisture collect at the back of your throat from the way your head was tilted, your tongue wobbles as he draws back to dip his thumbs into the hem of his shorts. Pulling them down enough to free his heady cock, the tip swollen and bruised deep crimson as a a pearlescent glob of pre beads at the tip. You whimpered at the debauched sight, his spit gargling at the back of your throat as you squeezed your thighs together in a feeble attempt to alleviate the ache throbbing between them.

“Fu-uck,” Kunigami groaned as he felt the warmth of your mouth engulf him when he guided his cock inside you, deliberately smearing his pre against your pouty lips as he watched you begin to bob your head obediently.

The sordid stories he’d heard in the showers after practise were nothing compared to the sight of you in front of him like this now. His cock disappearing inside your wet mouth as his hips stilled to watch the way you leaned forward to try and take more of him.

“Cute,” He hummed when the confidence grew inside you as you tried to take a little too much of him, feeling his swollen tip hit the back of your throat as you pulled back with a gag. Spluttering as spit began to drool down your chin, landing on your chest as you regained your breath. Kunigami couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward to tug at the straps of your bra, tugging them along your shoulders as he pulled the cups down enough to free your round tits.

He sucked a hiss through gritted teeth when you tried again, your spit drying against his length as you engulfed him in warmth once more. His slender fingers reached down to toy with your stiffened peaks as he tugged one between his thumb and forefinger, “You like that?”

You tried to speak around him, slurring your words as he smirked in satisfaction. Pulling your nipple away from your body to let it go, your breast bouncing back into place in favour of him reaching his palm around the back of your neck. Cradling your head at the base of your skull as he begun to thrust his hips forward into your mouth, deliberately trying to press his leaking tip against the back of your mouth with each forward motion. Drawing more debauched noises from your throat, as more spit pooled down onto your bare breasts.

“You’re such a mess,” He groaned, his hand tight at the back of your head as he held you down on his length. Watching as pearly tears begun to clump in your lashes as they blurred your vision, gagging as his thick tip pressed against your throat. Cutting off your oxygen supply as he continued to hold you firm and steady, jaw locked with intent as he pushed you further. Your nose buried in the messy nest of hair at the base of his cock as you took in every inch of him; Cutting off any chance of breathing, thick tears now streaming down the apples of your cheeks as your hands came up to claw at his muscular thighs. Leaving dark, crimson lines against the skin as you clawed at him for relief.

“That’s it, you got it—” The lack of oxygen how had your eyes rolling back into your skull as Kunigami finally took pity on you, easing his grip with a sharp hiss as you marked him, “Good girl.”

Glistening strings of spit and pre snapped off between your bodies, sticking to your chin as you looked at the deep gashes you’d left against his skin. Low enough on his thighs to be seen when he was wearing his shorts out on the pitch, and that’s exactly what Kunigami wanted— his teammates would probably think him far too much of a prude to do anything with you, but he’d show them. A cocky, knowing smirk on his lips when he prepared in the locker room before practise.

You squealed when he bent down to curl his palms around your thighs. His heavy cock glistening with your spit as it bobbed from the sudden motion, pulling your legs out from beneath you as your back met the satin sheets. Pulling you to the edge of the bed as though you weighed nothing until your ass was practically hanging off the edge of it. Thighs either side of his muscular frame as he was gifted the perfect view between your thighs, noticing the dark stain on the fabric as he brushed his knuckles against it. Smirking when your sensitive body jolted upon contact.

“So you said I can do anything,” Kunigami mused, pressing his thumb down against your clothed clit, “That mean I can fuck this pussy raw?”

“Yes,” You gasped, shamelessly spreading your legs wider to give him more access as he began to trace his fingers along the apex of your thighs, dangerously close to the hem of your panties.

The position he had you in left you nowhere to plant your feet, almost uncomfortable as you fought to hold your legs in the air, pressing your legs against his hips as Kunigami pulled your panties to the side to reveal your lustrous cunt to his eager gaze.

“Shit,” He shook his head, darkened eyes hidden behind his messy mop of ginger hair, “Is there anything I can’t do?”

“No,” You answered truthfully. So desperate for some kind of relief you truly would’ve allowed him to do anything to you in this moment, to use your body in any sick and twisted way he deemed fit.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else,” Kunigami snarled, roughly pushing your thighs back towards your chest as he curled his tall body over you. His rigid cock laid flat along the length of your creamy slit as you felt his weighty balls press against the curve of your ass, “And you’re gonna take it.”

The thick veins that forked along the length of him grazed your clit as he smoothed himself in your slick, the swollen tip of his cock catching against your tight ill-prepped hole as he pressed two fingers inside you crudely. A debauched squelch sounding around the room from how wet you are, as he began to scissor them roughly in a feeble attempt at prepping you for the sheer length of him.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the feeling of him breaching your tight heat, stealing the wind from your lungs as the length to his cock immediately had him spearing your insides. What he made up for in girth, he compensated for when his swollen tip nudged your cervix.

“Oh, fuck.”

With his feet still poised on the ground, Kunigami hovered over you and began to fuck into you hard and precise. Determined to have you remembering him over all of his competition— Wanting to be your number one.

You felt the weight behind his thrusts as his full balls slapped against your ass with each forward motion, echoing in your ears but drowned out by the sultry moans that escaped past your parted lips. His darkened eyes almost black as they stare down at you with such scrutiny that you can’t match his gaze, letting your head lull to the side as he keeps himself folded over you. Your tits bouncing with the ferocity of his thrusts.

No longer the prized golden boy you’d once seen at the start of the program, now a tainted man with the weight of the world on his shoulders as he let every ounce of emotion pour out into his pace.

Kunigami pressed his palm flat against your sternum before sliding along your clavicle, weaving his fingers around the column of your neck as you felt the tips of his fingers press into your jaw. Turning your head back to face him as you met his gaze, clenching around him in response as his palm began to tighten around your windpipe.

The head of his cock kissed your cervix with each forward motion, and he was so deep inside you were certain you could feel him in your lungs. The constricting of air only increased the sensation as your walls pulsed around him, squeezing his length as you began to feel the telltale signs of your release. Far too pent up to try and fight it as you lay helpless beneath him, feeble attempts at his name spilling from between your parted lips.

“They didn’t fuck you like this, did they?” Kunigami was eager to prove himself to you. Hungry and desperate for this sick source of validation that would hold him above all the others, to place him at number one, “They didn’t make you feel as good as me?”

And you couldn’t answer even if you’d wanted to. The pleasure building inside you made it difficult to think of anything other than the way he managed to keep you dangling on the edge of your release. Desperate for something that would have you tumbling over the edge, to have you coming undone for him.

Sacrificing his grip around your neck in favour of pressing a palm flat against your pelvis, pulling back the hood of your clit as his calloused thumb pressed messy circles against it. The weight of him enough to increase the pressure to breaking point as you began to writhe beneath him, trying to ignore the dull throb from your bladder as you fought back the relief. Your pliant walls tightening around him in response as he sneered down at you through bared teeth.

“I can’t, I’m gonna pee!” You flushed, wide panicked eyes staring up at him.

“Don’t fight it, just let go.” He pressed down harder, strumming your puffy clit as your toes began to curl. Crying out his name as you felt a warm, wet stream of squirt begin to gush against his pelvis. His hand quick to intercept it and have it flying in all directions. Soaking his palm and the sheets beneath you as he grinned in satisfaction.

“That’s it—” He groaned, ignoring your pleas for him to give you a moments respite, “Just like that.”

You weren’t sure you had anything left to give as your climax hit you like a freight train, trembling around him as Kunigami still managed to coax more streams out of your willing body. Almost as wet as the tears that streaked down your temples from overstimulation as your body trembled beneath him.

“Bet no one else has made you do that, hm?” He groaned, the crude squelch echoed in your ears as the heat boiled inside you.

Kunigami pressed his hands against the back of your thighs as he resumed his frantic pace, the muscles in his body constricting as he used you for his own release. Working himself towards his climax as he leaned his weight over you to smash his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss that was all tongue and teeth, feeling you clench around him at the sensation as he found his release. Groaning against your lips as his warm breath fanned your skin and he spilled his release into your velvety walls. His hips still rutting as he fucked his cum deep inside you, reluctantly pulling away when he had nothing left to give.

He kept his grip on your thighs when he pulled out of your spent cunt, watching your fluttering hole slowly start to push his spend out in thick white globs as it drooled down your slit towards your asshole. He wished he’d brought a phone in to document the scene, a filthy snapshot to share in the lockerroom the next day to prove his worth. His fingers quick to collect his spunk as he scooped it up with his fingers to push it back inside you, cherishing the final tremors of you around him as he pulled your panties back in place. Giving a final pat to the crotch as he pulled away from you, staring down at you with a shy smile.

It was like he was a different man now, smooth hands stroking along your aching thighs as he pressed a kiss to your knee.

“I— uh, can I get you anything?” He mumbled shyly, the powerful intense man gone as he finally revealed the soft glow in his auburn eyes.

“You don’t have to,” You smiled, letting your fingers run through his hair as your nails grazed his scalp. Letting his cheek rest against your inner thigh as he stared up at you.

“Well— do you want to cuddle?” He seemed nervous to even ask.

“Isn’t that a waste of your time?” You whispered, knowing the real reason for why each man was really here.

“It would never be a waste of time,” Kunigami moved to hover above you, his sticky cock pressed against your inner thigh, “And besides, I’ll be back again tomorrow.”

[urdreamydoodles]

Bat-Family x Fem!OC

How they handle your relationship with your dog

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne (aged up), Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, Selina Kyle & Kate Kane

The return of the great, the beautiful, the unique... Mr. Pickles!

Jason Todd aka. Red Hood

- Jason was initially skeptical about your small, fluffy dog, Mr. Pickles. He wasn’t the kind of man who saw himself as the “cute dog” type, and the idea of having a pet that couldn’t fend for itself felt foreign to him. Yet, the moment he met Mr. Pickles, his gruff exterior cracked. The little fluff ball waddled up to him with wide, trusting eyes, and Jason, against all odds, melted. He let out a grumbled “You’re lucky you’re cute,” as the dog pawed at his boots, earning a chuckle from you.

- Over time, Jason became surprisingly attached to Mr. Pickles. He’d grumble about how ridiculous it was that the dog needed sweaters in winter and would roll his eyes at the sheer number of toys you’d bought. But you’d catch him sneaking pieces of his dinner to Mr. Pickles when he thought you weren’t looking, or lying on the couch with the tiny dog curled up on his chest while he read.

- Jason found humor in Mr. Pickles' lack of brightness. He’d mutter under his breath about how the dog walked into walls or barked at his own reflection, but you noticed the fond smile that tugged at his lips every time. “He’s not the smartest, but he’s got heart,” Jason would say, scratching behind Mr. Pickles' ears, his rough hands gentler than you’d ever seen.

- With you, Jason handled the balance between teasing and indulgence. He pretended to groan when you insisted on bringing Mr. Pickles on outings, but he’d always make sure to carry an extra bottle of water and snacks for the dog. “You spoil him,” he’d tease, but he was no better—making sure Mr. Pickles’ leash was securely fastened and standing protectively between him and any potential danger.

- On quiet nights, Jason would sometimes watch you and Mr. Pickles with an almost wistful expression. Seeing the two of you together softened the jagged edges of his life. “You two,” he’d murmur, pulling you close, “make me believe in good things.” And with Mr. Pickles snoring softly between you both, Jason found a rare kind of peace.

Dick Grayson aka. Nightwing

- Dick was utterly delighted when he first met Mr. Pickles. “This is the fluffiest dog I’ve ever seen!” he exclaimed, crouching down immediately to introduce himself. The dog responded with enthusiastic tail wagging and jumped into Dick’s lap without hesitation. “Looks like we’re already best friends,” he grinned, flashing that signature charm that made your heart flutter.

- He had a natural knack for handling Mr. Pickles, easily matching the dog’s playful energy. Whether it was throwing a toy across the room or initiating a game of tug-of-war, Dick seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with the little fluff ball. He’d even create obstacle courses in your living room, guiding Mr. Pickles through them with patience and encouragement, clapping like a proud dad whenever the dog completed a “challenge.”

- Dick adored how much joy Mr. Pickles brought into your life. He’d often catch you giggling at your dog’s antics—whether it was the way he tumbled over his own paws or barked at a falling leaf—and join in your laughter. “He’s got your energy,” Dick would tease, pressing a kiss to your temple while the dog rolled around on the carpet, blissfully unaware.

- Despite his easygoing nature, Dick was fiercely protective of both you and Mr. Pickles. He’d instinctively pick the dog up when crossing a busy street or shield him from larger, more boisterous dogs at the park. “What?” he’d say when you teased him about it. “He’s family.” That simple statement warmed your heart more than you could express.

- On lazy mornings, you’d often wake to find Dick sprawled across the bed, Mr. Pickles snuggled into his side. He’d glance at you, sleepy but content, and say, “I think he likes me more than you.” You’d roll your eyes, but the sight of the two of them—your energetic, kind-hearted partner and your adorably clueless dog—made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

Tim Drake aka. Red Robin

- Tim’s reaction to Mr. Pickles was a mix of curiosity and mild awkwardness. “He’s…very fluffy,” he said when you first introduced them, his hand hovering hesitantly over the dog’s head before finally giving him a gentle pat. Mr. Pickles wagged his tail enthusiastically, oblivious to Tim’s initial uncertainty. “Does he do tricks?” Tim asked, trying to find some common ground with the little dog.

- It didn’t take long for Tim to warm up to Mr. Pickles, though. His analytical mind led him to research everything there was to know about small dogs. “Did you know their sense of smell is 40 times stronger than ours?” he’d say, sharing random facts as Mr. Pickles sprawled across his lap during one of your late-night movie marathons.

- Tim’s patience with Mr. Pickles was one of the things you loved most. Whether it was dealing with the dog’s clumsiness or his tendency to bark at inanimate objects, Tim never lost his calm. “He’s just trying to protect you,” Tim would say, crouching down to reassure Mr. Pickles after a particularly loud outburst at the vacuum cleaner.

- With you, Tim’s interactions around Mr. Pickles were quietly endearing. He’d bring home small toys or treats he thought the dog might like, and he always made sure Mr. Pickles had a comfortable spot when you were all relaxing together. “He’s part of the team,” Tim would say with a shy smile, and you’d feel your heart swell with affection.

- Late at night, when the world felt still and quiet, you’d find Tim at his desk, working on a case. Mr. Pickles would often be curled up on his feet, a tiny, fluffy sentinel keeping him company. “He’s a good dog,” Tim would say when you came to check on them, and in those moments, you realized just how seamlessly the two of them had fit into your life.

Damian Wayne aka. Robin (Aged up)

- Damian was, predictably, unimpressed when he first met Mr. Pickles. “What is this…creature?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as the fluffy dog sniffed curiously at his shoes. Despite his initial disdain, you noticed the slight softening in his expression when Mr. Pickles wagged his tail and licked Damian’s hand. “Tt. It’s not very intelligent, is it?”

- Despite his aloofness, Damian couldn’t help but form a bond with Mr. Pickles. You’d often catch him sneaking small pieces of food to the dog under the table or letting him sit in his lap during quieter moments. “It’s merely tolerable,” Damian insisted whenever you teased him, but the way he gently scratched behind Mr. Pickles’ ears told a different story.

- Damian approached caring for Mr. Pickles with the same precision and discipline he applied to everything in his life. He insisted on taking the dog for walks, ensuring that Mr. Pickles received proper exercise. “If he is to remain under our care, he must be healthy,” Damian explained, but you knew he secretly enjoyed their outings together.

- When it came to you, Damian’s interactions around Mr. Pickles were surprisingly tender. He respected how much the dog meant to you and went out of his way to accommodate him in your shared life. Whether it was ensuring Mr. Pickles had his favorite spot on the couch or making sure his water bowl was always full, Damian’s subtle acts of care melted your heart.

- Over time, Damian began to regard Mr. Pickles as more than just a pet. He’d occasionally refer to the dog as “our little knight” and even crafted a tiny, makeshift cape for him. Watching Damian interact with Mr. Pickles—his guarded nature giving way to moments of unguarded affection—only made you fall for him even more.

Barbara Gordon aka. Oracle / Batgirl

- Barbara’s face lit up the moment she saw Mr. Pickles. “Oh my gosh, he’s adorable!” she exclaimed, crouching down to let the dog sniff her hand before scratching behind his ears. Mr. Pickles responded with an enthusiastic bark and an attempt to climb into her lap. “Looks like I’ve got a new best friend,” she teased, winking at you.

- Barbara was a natural with Mr. Pickles, effortlessly balancing playfulness and care. She’d create little games to keep him entertained, laughing as the dog chased after a toy or tried (and failed) to catch his own tail. “He’s like a tiny tornado,” she said one evening, watching as Mr. Pickles zoomed around the living room.

- Her warmth extended to both you and Mr. Pickles in equal measure. Barbara loved how much joy the dog brought into your life and always made sure to include him in your plans. Whether it was finding dog-friendly cafes or suggesting walks in the park, she embraced Mr. Pickles as part of your relationship.

- Barbara’s tech-savvy nature even came into play. She designed a custom GPS tracker for Mr. Pickles' collar, “just in case,” she said with a smile. You couldn’t help but marvel at how thoughtful she was, always going the extra mile to ensure the dog’s safety and your peace of mind.

- On quiet evenings, Barbara loved curling up with you and Mr. Pickles on the couch, a warm blanket draped over the three of you. “This,” she’d say, her voice soft as she rested her head against your shoulder, “is my favorite kind of night.” And with Mr. Pickles snuggled between you, his little snores filling the room, you couldn’t have agreed more.

Stephanie Brown aka. Spoiler

- Stephanie instantly fell head over heels for Mr. Pickles. The moment you introduced them, she squealed, scooped up the tiny fluff ball, and spun around the room with him in her arms. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen! How did I not know about him sooner?” she gushed, her bright energy matching your dog’s boundless enthusiasm. From that moment on, Stephanie declared herself Mr. Pickles’ honorary co-parent.

- She treated Mr. Pickles like he was her little sidekick, even going so far as to create a tiny “Spoiler” mask for him out of purple felt. “He’s ready for action now,” she announced proudly, setting him down to watch him stumble adorably over the mask that partially blocked his vision. “Okay, maybe not crime-fighting material, but he’s got the spirit!”

- Stephanie loved to narrate Mr. Pickles’ every move, often giving him a dramatic inner monologue as he wandered aimlessly around the house or barked at nothing in particular. “Oh no, the vacuum is attacking again! Must defend my humans at all costs!” she’d say, mock-seriously, while you laughed at her antics. Her playful approach brought endless joy to both you and your not-so-bright dog.

- Her bond with Mr. Pickles only deepened because of how much he loved you. Stephanie often teased you about how Mr. Pickles followed you around like a little shadow, but she found it endearing. “I don’t blame him; you’re pretty lovable,” she’d say with a wink, curling up next to you and pulling Mr. Pickles into her lap.

- On your lazy days together, you’d often find Stephanie lying on the floor, nose-to-nose with Mr. Pickles, whispering secrets only they seemed to understand. “He’s telling me he wants more treats,” she’d say, feigning innocence when you caught her slipping him an extra snack. Watching her interact so lovingly with your dog only made you love her more.

Cassandra Cain aka. Orphan

- Cassandra’s first interaction with Mr. Pickles was cautious but curious. She approached the tiny fluff ball with quiet grace, kneeling down and extending her hand for him to sniff. Mr. Pickles wagged his tail enthusiastically, and when he licked her fingers, a small smile crept onto her face. “He likes me,” she said softly, as if surprised by the dog’s instant affection.

- Cass quickly grew attached to Mr. Pickles in her own understated way. While she wasn’t as outwardly playful as others, she showed her affection through gentle gestures—carrying him when he got tired on walks, petting him in slow, deliberate strokes, and sitting cross-legged on the floor so he could curl up in her lap.

- She had a knack for understanding Mr. Pickles’ needs, almost as if she could read his body language. Whether it was realizing he wanted a belly rub or sensing he was anxious during a thunderstorm, Cass was always there to comfort him. “He’s brave,” she once said, cradling the trembling dog in her arms during a storm. “Like you.”

- Cassandra adored watching you interact with Mr. Pickles. She often sat quietly nearby, her dark eyes soft with affection as you played or cuddled with your dog. “You’re good with him,” she’d say, her voice filled with quiet admiration. Seeing your kindness with Mr. Pickles deepened her love for you in ways she couldn’t always put into words.

- On peaceful nights, the three of you would sit together in serene companionship. Mr. Pickles would curl up between you and Cass as she leaned against your shoulder. “He’s family,” she’d whisper, her fingers brushing against yours, and in those moments, you felt an unspoken bond between the three of you that words could never capture.

Duke Thomas aka. Signal

- Duke was instantly charmed by Mr. Pickles’ fluffy, carefree demeanor. “Okay, I wasn’t prepared for this level of cuteness,” he admitted, crouching down to pet the dog. Mr. Pickles responded by jumping on Duke and licking his face, earning a laugh that made your heart skip a beat. From then on, Duke was completely on board with having a small, slightly clueless dog as part of his life.

- Duke was a natural when it came to keeping Mr. Pickles entertained. He’d play fetch with boundless energy, chase the dog around the yard, and even teach him a few basic tricks—though Mr. Pickles’ limited intelligence made it a bit of a challenge. “He’s trying his best,” Duke would say with a grin as Mr. Pickles spun in circles instead of sitting.

- He often used his downtime to bond with both you and Mr. Pickles. Whether it was watching movies with the dog sprawled across his lap or taking long walks with the three of you together, Duke treasured those simple moments of connection. “This is nice,” he’d say, his arm around you while Mr. Pickles sniffed happily at every blade of grass in sight.

- Duke loved how happy Mr. Pickles made you. He’d often point out how your face lit up when your dog did something particularly silly, like chasing his tail or barking at a shadow. “He’s a reflection of you, you know,” Duke teased, nudging you playfully. “Adorable and a little ridiculous.”

- On quiet evenings, you’d often find Duke lying on the floor with Mr. Pickles curled up against his chest. He’d glance up at you with a warm smile and say, “I think he’s claimed me as his favorite.” You’d laugh, but deep down, you knew Duke had a special way of making everyone—dogs and humans alike—feel loved and safe.

Selina Kyle aka. Catwoman

- Selina’s first reaction to Mr. Pickles was a mix of amusement and mild disbelief. “You have a dog? And this is it?” she asked with a smirk, crouching down to inspect the fluffy little creature. Mr. Pickles barked excitedly and pawed at her, and to your surprise, Selina scooped him up with practiced ease. “Well, aren’t you a little charmer?”

- Selina’s bond with Mr. Pickles was as playful and mischievous as she was. She’d dangle toys just out of his reach, encouraging him to leap and spin in an attempt to catch them. “He’s got spirit,” she said with a grin, watching as the dog tumbled over himself in his excitement.

- Despite her teasing, Selina was fiercely protective of Mr. Pickles. She’d glare at anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way during walks and once threatened a stray cat that hissed at him. “No one messes with what’s mine,” she declared, scooping Mr. Pickles into her arms and stroking his fur to calm him down.

- Selina loved to spoil both you and Mr. Pickles. She’d return from errands with fancy dog treats and designer accessories, joking that “even the fluffiest member of the family deserves to look good.” Seeing Mr. Pickles prance around in a tiny leather collar she’d picked out always brought a smile to her face.

- At night, Selina loved to lounge with you on the couch, Mr. Pickles nestled comfortably between you. “He’s got good taste,” she’d say with a sly grin, watching the dog drift off to sleep in your lap. “But then again, so do I.” And as she leaned in to kiss you, you couldn’t help but agree.

Kate Kane aka. Batwoman

- Kate was initially indifferent about Mr. Pickles, more focused on you than the small ball of fluff at your feet. “He’s…cute,” she said diplomatically, her sharp eyes softening slightly as Mr. Pickles sniffed at her boots. When the dog barked happily and wagged his tail, Kate let out a reluctant laugh. “Okay, maybe a little more than cute.”

- Her affection for Mr. Pickles grew quickly, though she’d never admit it outright. You’d catch her sneaking him treats when she thought you weren’t looking or giving him gentle pats while pretending not to care. “He’s your dog,” she’d insist, though the sight of him curled up at her side told a different story.

- Kate’s protective nature extended to Mr. Pickles in surprising ways. She’d insist on accompanying you to the vet, making sure his leash was secure during walks, and standing between him and any potential threats. “He’s small; someone’s gotta look out for him,” she said gruffly, though her soft smile betrayed her.

- With you, Kate loved to tease about how spoiled Mr. Pickles was. “You know he owns this house now, right?” she joked, watching as the dog sprawled across your bed without a care in the world. But her playful remarks were always accompanied by a warmth that made you feel like your little family was complete.

- On nights when the world felt too heavy, Kate would sit with you and Mr. Pickles in comfortable silence, her arm wrapped around you and her hand resting lightly on the dog’s fur. “This,” she’d say softly, her voice low and steady, “is what makes it all worth it.” And in those moments, you knew she meant every word.

[apteryxparvus]

AITA for exposing my pro volleyball player boyfriend's monster addiction on r/fridgedetective?

Pairing — Suna Rintarou / Reader

Word count — 2,046

Content warning — none

Summary — When you accidentally expose your boyfriend for hoarding an ungodly amount of Monster energy drinks in his mini fridge, the internet takes it and runs wild.

You don’t think twice when you head to your boyfriend’s mini-fridge. Suna always keeps a stash of snacks and drinks in there for late-night movie marathons, and you’re desperately craving a fizzy hit of Ramune soda. But when you open the fridge…

Monster Energy. 

Monster Energy everywhere.

You don’t even spot the soda you’re looking for. Just rows upon rows of neon cans stacked like Tetris blocks, along with an alarming number of Chuupets squished in the corners. Who needs this much caffeine and sugar?

The fridge hums ominously, as if judging you for your surprise.

Naturally, you take a picture and post it.

For science.

You don’t expect much. Maybe 10 or 20 upvotes, and a couple of comments from bored strangers confirming that, yes, Suna’s energy drink consumption is borderline criminal. After all, it’s just a silly post on a silly subreddit, nothing to lose sleep over.

But when you groggily check your Reddit account the next morning, your notifications are wild. It’s not just a handful of upvotes—it’s thousands. Your post isn’t just trending on r/fridgedetective; it’s made the Reddit front page.

There’s an overwhelming flood of comments, many of them calling out your boyfriend by name. A part of you wants to laugh—because, really, how did they guess so fast?—but another part of you is too scared to even open Twitter or any other social media platform. You just know someone has screenshotted it and blasted it across the internet; probably with a wild caption like: “Suna Rintarou EXPOSED by his own partner”.

The sheer absurdity hits you like a train. Your boyfriend’s unhealthy obsession with energy drinks and frozen treats has gone viral. Your boyfriend has gone viral.

And, at this point, you’re not sure if you should wake him up to warn him, or just quietly pack your things and go into witness protection.

Among the chaos of Reddit notifications, your phone buzzes with a few messages. A quick glance tells you it’s from two very predictable sources.

Kita: Just empty the fridge and restock it with healthy food. He’ll grumble, but it’s for the best.

Atsumu: WOW I CAN’T BELIEVE U TATTLED ON MY BOY LIKE THAT 💀💀💀

You sigh, rubbing your temples. Against your better judgement, you open the Inarizaki High alumni group chat—and immediately regret it.

Atsumu is clearly living for this. You should’ve known better.

He’s on a rampage, flooding the chat with screenshots from Twitter.

"Suna's fridge contents have NO BUSINESS being this cursed."

"Suna Rintarou EXPOSED for his crimes against hydration."

"Monster sponsorship when???"

It’s one caption after another, each one wilder than the last. You groan, burying your face in your pillow, as if that could block out the chaos unfolding on your screen. You can practically hear Atsumu’s wheezy cackles through the text, and his twin brother, Osamu, is doing nothing to help—just spamming the chat with popcorn emojis like he’s front row at the circus.

You sigh, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you prepare to grill Atsumu for being the absolute worst at 7 AM. But before you can type a single word, the bed shifts.

Suna groans softly, stirring beside you. His arm slides over your waist, pulling you closer as he burrows his face into the crook of your neck.

“Mm, what’s with all the buzzing?” he mumbles, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Nothing,” you lie, way too quickly, throwing your phone across the bed like it’s radioactive. You lean in to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry, just go back to sleep.”

It almost works. Almost. But your phone keeps vibrating obnoxiously—no doubt Atsumu is still spamming the group chat with screenshots and whatever unhinged commentary he’s decided to add. You curse yourself for not muting him earlier, but now it’s far too late.

Suna groans again, this time with the exasperation of someone who just wants five more minutes of peace. He shifts, reaching for the phone you so desperately tried to avoid.

“Why’s Atsumu spamming the group chat so early?” he asks groggily, his thumb already swiping across the screen.

“No reason!” you blurt out, sitting up too quickly. “You don’t need to check—”

But it’s too late. The moment Suna opens the chat, his expression shifts. His sleepy indifference hardens into something sharper. 

Betrayal.

Two days later, you’re settled into your couch, blanket wrapped snug around your shoulders, laptop propped up on your knees. Kodzuken’s stream is set to start in fifteen minutes, and if you’re going to survive whatever chaos the streamer’s chat is inevitably bound to bring, you’re going to need a heavy caffeine boost.

Your eyes slowly drift to the mini fridge in the corner.

You’ve been trying to avoid it ever since the whole incident. But you cannot deny the itch for something cold and fizzy to keep you awake. There’s a moment of hesitation as you chew on your lip, before you finally stand up and pad over.

“Okay… alright,” you mumble to yourself, hand hovering over the handle. “It’s just a fridge. How bad can it be?”

You pull it open.

And the sight nearly makes you drop to your knees.

Gone is the chaotic hoard of neon green Monster Energy cans and suspicious, almost-melted chuupets. Instead, the shelves are pristine, almost squeaky white, gleaming as if the fridge belongs to some sort of soda commercial. And every single slot has been replaced with your favorite soda flavor.

Each glass bottle has a sticky note attached to it, the handwriting unmistakably Suna’s—slightly tilted to the right and a little lazy, like he couldn’t quite be bothered but also cared just enough.

The first note you pick you reads: “I’m doing this for you, even though it hurts 💔💔.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you pick up another bottle, the condensation slick against your palm. This note reads: “Please don’t post me online again 😔💔.”

A third one in the far back reads: “I hope you’re happy. My dignity is in shambles.”

You choke back a laugh, clutching the bottle to your chest like it’s some sort of love letter.

Everything is just absurd. Dramatic. Completely unnecessary.

But so him.

Kenma’s notification pings from your laptop, reminding you his stream is starting soon. But for a moment, you just stand there, bathed in the soft glow of the fridge light, staring at the ridiculous display of Ramune bottles and heartfelt stickies.

Dinner is a quiet affair, save for the occasional clink of chopsticks against bowls and the soft fizz that Suna’s Ramune soda makes as he takes a long, dramatic sip. You can’t help but glance at him as your phone buzzes with another notification from the group chat.

The #monstersmvp hashtag Atsumu created is still going strong.

You unlock your phone, and cover your mouth trying to stifle a laugh—Atsumu’s latest spamming spree is a trainwreck you cannot look away from.

“What now?” Suna asks, voice flat as he picks at his food.

“‘tsumu keeps sending the eulogies from the hashtag. Ready to hear the best of the best?”

 “No,” your boyfriend deadpans, taking another slow, deliberate sip of the fizzy drink.

Ignoring him, you start reading anyway. “Okay, here goes,” you clear your throat, holding the phone up dramatically. “Rest in power: Gone but never forgotten. Suna’s energy drink hoard was a beacon of poor nutritional choices and excessive caffeine addiction. Taken from us far too soon by the merciless hand of justice (a.k.a. his girlfriend). May its legacy live on in vending machines and gas station coolers everywhere.”

Suna rolls his eyes, but you can see the corners of his mouth subtly twitching, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Wait, wait,” you say, scrolling further. “It wasn’t Suna’s blocks that made him a true legend. No, it was his fridge full of Monsters. The stash stood as a tall, proud monument to his dedication to caffeine and chaos, but alas, all good things must come to an end. In lieu of flowers, please send Ramune soda.”

He takes another slow sip of his soda, gaze fixed on you over the rim of the bottle. “These people are unhinged.”

“You mean your fans are unhinged,” you correct, waving your phone at him. “You brought this on yourself, you know.”

He sets the bottle down, resting his chin in his hand as he smirks at you, that lazy, infuriating smirk that makes your heart skip a beat even when you’re annoyed with him. “You’re awfully invested in this for someone who caused the whole mess.”

“Excuse me, you’re the one who kept a hoard of energy drinks like some kind of cryptid!”

“And you’re the one who made it go viral.”

Suna shakes his head, clicking his chopsticks. “If I ever get my stash back, I’m putting a padlock on that fridge.”

“Sure,” you tease, scrolling through the wall of text messages. “But you’ll have to bribe me first.”

The morning after starts with the doorbell buzzing like it’s got a personal grudge against your sleep. You groan, burrowing deeper into the blankets as Suna mumbles incoherently beside you.

“Are you gonna get that?” you ask, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Nope,” he replies, eyes still closed.

The buzzing continues, persistent and annoying, until you finally throw the blankets off with a groan. “Fine, I’ll do it. But if it’s Atsumu, I’m kicking him.”

Shuffling to the door in your pajamas, you swing it open, ready to give whoever it is a piece of your mind. Instead, you’re greeted by two delivery people dressed in head-to-toe Monster Energy attire. Hats, shirts, gloves—even their shoes have the Monster logo.

“Delivery for Suna Rintarou?” one of them says, all too chipper for this ungodly hour.

Behind them is a massive, industrial-sized fridge wrapped in black and neon green, the Monster Energy logo glowing ominously on the front.

You blink. “You’re joking.”

“We’re not,” the other delivery person says, already wheeling the monstrosity closer.

You stand frozen as they maneuver the fridge through the door, parking it in the middle of your living room like it belongs there. By the time Suna wanders out from your bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the delivery people are gone, and the fridge looms like some sort of otherworldly deity.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Your consequences, clearly,” you grumble.

“You think it comes pre-stocked?”

You stay quiet, keeping your distance from the fridge as if your glare alone might short-circuit the thing. If you got too close, you’d be tempted to whack it with something—like the baseball bat you keep by the door in case of emergencies.

Suna, unbothered by your lack of answer, wanders closer, hand lazily brushing against the neon logo before gripping the handle. He looks back at you with a smirk.

The door creaks open.

Even though the fridge isn’t even on, it’s packed to the brim with dozens upon dozens of Monster cans. Shelves sag under the weight of every imaginable flavor—there are classics, tropical blends, tea-infused hybrids, even some cans with foreign text that scream exclusive import.

“How is this fridge even stocked? It’s not on.” You can’t hold back the groan. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Look at this,” Suna says, picking up a can with a holographic label. He holds it up like it’s some kind of treasure. “I didn’t even know this flavor existed.”

“Put it back,” you say, your voice sharp. “I’m gonna set it on fire, I swear."

He doesn’t listen. Instead, he grabs another can, then another. “They’ve got the white pineapple, the tea blend... oh, and the zero-calorie peach! This is insane.”

“I’m gonna lose my mind.” You bury your face in your hands, trying to process the sheer audacity of the situation. “Who does this?!”

“There, there,” Suna teases, patting your back. “Want a sip?” he asks, cracking open a random can.

You glare at him, contemplating the consequences of slamming the door shut on both the cans and his smug face. Instead, you stomp to the couch, plopping down, and muttering, “I’m calling ‘tsumu. This has his name written all over it.”

Suna’s laughter echoes through the living room, followed by the distinct hiss of him opening yet another can.

Author's note: phew, editing the Reddit posts took ages 🤧 please ignore any discrepancies between the profile pictures of the users pls

i’ll marry whoever buys me a fully stocked redbull fridge, no questions asked

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Lining up the Pieces

A few years ago I saw a video that changed the way I design combat encounters, using chess pieces and 4th edition monster roles as a handy way of conceptualizing the enemy roster and making better combat.

I’ve wanted to refer back to it for ages now, but I can’t seem to find it.  As such, I’m going to reproduce it’s wisdom here for everyone’s benefit and hope I can find the source one day.  ( I feel like it was a Matt Coville video, but my searches have turned up nothing. Seriously, if you can find it I will be extra grateful).

TLDR:  You can break down enemy combatants into six (ish) roles represented by different kinds of chess pieces, and you can mix and match them when designing encounter to create fun tactical scenarios. You can also use this as an alternative to CR picking a “budget” of these enemy roles based on how many players are in the fight.  Check out the types below the cut: 

Infantry (pawn):   Generally weaker and mechanically simpler than any other type of combatant, the infantry uses teamwork or sheer numbers to overwhelm the party. This can be anything from rank and file soldiers to a necromancer’s skeletal minions to a pack of wolves, anything that takes up space on the battlefield and prevents the party from targeting who they want or generally getting their way in a fight. 5e combat is a numbers game, and the infantry is there to swing the numbers in the enemy’s favour (until the party cut through them to even the odds).  Infantry likes battlemaps with chokepoints they can hold and crossroads they can use to outflank opponents. When budgeting they’ll have a balance of 2 infantry per 1 player they’re matched against , but the weaker they are, the thinner you can spread them.

Brute (rook): High defence, high offence, the brute is an outright threat that the party should not want to take in a head to head fight. Giants, beasts, constructs, and heavy armoured warriors are your traditional brutes, but you could also go with a buffed to hell battlemage getting all up in the party’s face. Conversely, every brute has some kind of weakness that the party can exploit. They might be slow, or be unable to maneuver as easily, or like a werewolf, fiend, or troll, have particular weapons or damage types that overcome their natural resilience. Their job is to force confrontation, blunder into the middle of combat and force the party to act defensively rather than proactively. They soak up the party’s frontline’s attention while forcing the mid/backlines to scatter under the threat of too much raw damage.  The brute Likes open spaces where they can have a direct path to the party and dead ends they can corner their targets against. Budget: Around 1 per 3 players

Skirmisher (knight):  A very broad type of opponent, the skirmisher’s job is to bully  the party’s weapsots whenever they’re exposed. They can do this by being ranged fighters ( traditional archers, magic users) or by being highly mobile (stealthy, mounted, flying, teleporting). They’re the bane of the party’s backline, generally targeting whoever has the lowest armour/or least health, then using their evasiveness to deny any kind of retaliation when the group rallies to protect their squishy friends. Skirmishers have great offence but are generally pretty weak, made helpless when you can deny them their movement/terrain advantages.  Skirmishers like unfair fights, terrain that gives them a movement advantage, cover, or allows them the highground over their foes.  Budgeting: 1 per 1-2 players. 

Controller (bishop):  The controller’s job is to fuck with the party, Either by locking down some of their stronger options (counterspelling, mind control, status effects, grapples),  by manipulating the battlefield in some way that disrupts planning (aoe spells to prevent grouping together, summoning to reinforce numbers,  barriers and banishment to single targets out), Or by advancing the baddies’ goal while the party is otherwise occupied (the cult priest finishing the disastrous ritual, the master thief making off with the mcguffin) forcing them to split their attention. The controller likes to distinctly be away from combat, and will usually be on the otherside of some kind of hazardous/hard to bypass barrier, sometimes of their own making. Budgeting:  1 per 2-3  players: 

Support (king): Usually a healer, bodyguard, or some kind of buff-bot, the support wants to piggyback on other sorts of units or make them better at doing their jobs. Generally this means they’ll ignore whatever the party is doing to focus on staying with effective range of those who most benefit from their abilities. Supports will stay back in safety while throwing out buffs, bodyguards will put themselves between the party and their designated defendee. They tend to prefer whatever type of terrain most benefits their partners. 1- 2-3 players

Elite (queen): Something to be reckoned with, an Elite mixies the strength and abilities of two other kinds of combatants and uses both to devastating effect. Combine a brute and a support for an unstoppable frontline commander, or infantry and a skirmisher for an elite striketeam that attacks in perfect coordination before fading back into the shadows.  Mix and match for whatever combination you think would be most interesting for a situation, then supplement it with a different unit or two for contrast.  Elites make up your traditional “big bad and minions” bossfight, without escalating to the full party challenge of “solo” monsters. Budgeting: 1 per 3-4 players. 

Picking the right Pieces:

Generally what you're going to want to do when planning a combat is to first think of what the baddies are trying to acomplish with the fight then pick 2-3 different types of baddie that you think would work well in concert to achieve that goal. "Kill the party" is an all too common goal, but you could easily imagine others that provide for dynamic stakes:

A group of forest bandits intend to rob a caravan, so they unleash a captive warbeast as a distraction while their archers rain chaos from above (Infantry, brute, skirmisher)

A villain abducts an important npc into a carriage while their dutiful muscle run interference (controller, brutes)

A necromancer hurls curses from behind a barricade of gravestones while their undead minions pour from surrounding tombs ( Controller/infantry)

While the party is ambushed by an archer in a tower, a cloaked figure waits in the underbrush, waiting for them to thin out and begin picking them off one by one (paired skirmishers of different types)

After the fighter is tricked into single combat against the mounted arena champion, the rest of the party will have to search the crowd for the caster secretly channeling healing magic to their opponent. ( combined brute/skirmisher elite, support)

Once you've got your pieces picked out, you can start designing the battle arena taking the desires of each combatant into account while also throwing in any environmental flourishes you'd like to enjoy.

As an added benefit for DMs like me who don't have the inclination or budget to collect huge batches of minis, it's SUPER easy to pick up a second hand chess set or two and use them as stand ins. Your players will have an instinctive understanding of what each piece does which will help them understand the roles outlined above.

Artsource

[rosedustdreams]

Eyes on You PT2

pt1,

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Your mind kept replaying the moment Walker’s eyes met yours, the warmth in his smile, and the way he’d seemed genuinely interested in every word you said. It was probably nothing just an actor being nice to a fan. But the comments on your Instagram post kept poking at the tiny spark of doubt in your head.

Could there be something more?

You scrolled through your notifications, overwhelmed by the sheer number of likes and comments. Even people you didn’t know were chiming in:

“Why does he look like he’s about to write you a poem?” “Y’all better get married so I can say I shipped it from the start.” “Imagine meeting Percy Jackson and he looks like that at you.”

You laughed at some of them, rolling your eyes at the absurdity, but a part of you felt... flustered. The way Walker was looking at you in the photo wasn’t something you could easily brush off.

Meanwhile, across the city, Walker was sitting on his hotel bed, phone in hand. His team had insisted he stay off social media for the night something about staying focused and avoiding distractions but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

He’d spent the past half hour scrolling through Instagram, his account logged into a private alt that only a few close friends knew about. When your post popped up, he stopped. His thumb hovered over the screen as he stared at the photo.

There you were, standing next to him with the brightest smile, and all he could think about was how his gaze had betrayed him. He hadn’t meant to be so obvious. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, especially at events like this. But there was something about you—your genuine enthusiasm, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about Percy Jackson, and the way you seemed equally nervous and excited all at once.

The comments under your post weren’t helping his resolve to forget about it. His favorite: “Bro, Walker’s out here looking at her like shes hung the stars. Good luck recovering from this one.”

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head, but the grin on his face lingered.

-----

The next morning, you woke up to find your post had gone semi-viral. The caption was still innocent enough, but people were dissecting every pixel of the photo, reading into things you’d never even noticed.

In your DMs, one message stood out. It was from an account with no profile picture and only a few followers. Normally, you’d ignore something like that, but the first line caught your attention:

“Hey, I hope this doesn’t seem weird, but it’s Walker.”

Your heart practically stopped. There was no way, right? Someone had to be messing with you. But when you clicked on the account, the bio read something along the lines of: “Just a guy who loves movies and occasionally plays a demigod.”

Oh. My. Gods.

“Hi!” you replied, your fingers trembling as you typed. “If this is a prank, it’s a very convincing one.”

Within seconds, you saw the three little dots indicating he was typing.

“It’s really me, I swear. I just... wanted to thank you again for coming yesterday. It was great meeting you.”

You stared at the message, your mind racing. Walker Scobell—the Walker Scobell—was messaging you? Thanking you? What universe had you stumbled into?

“Wow, uh, thank you,” you replied, trying to sound casual even though your heart was pounding out of your chest. “It was amazing meeting you too. I’m still trying to process it all.”

His response came quickly: “Yeah, same here, honestly.”

What did that mean? Same here? Did he mean he was trying to process meeting you? You didn’t want to read too much into it, but the idea alone made your cheeks flush.

The two of you messaged back and forth for hours, the conversation flowing so naturally it felt surreal. He asked about your favorite PJO book, your favorite characters, and what you thought of the trailer. You found yourself laughing at his jokes about filming and how nervous he’d been to live up to fans’ expectations.

At one point, he said, “You were one of the coolest people I met yesterday. Just thought you should know.”

You stared at the message, rereading it a dozen times before replying: “That’s really sweet of you to say. Honestly, meeting you made my whole year.”

Somehow, you ended up exchanging phone numbers. Walker insisted it would be easier to talk there, and you didn’t argue. The idea of having his number saved in your phone felt both exhilarating and completely insane.

Over the next few weeks, you kept in touch. At first, it was small things memes about Percy Jackson, updates on his filming schedule, and random stuff about your day. But as time went on, the conversations grew deeper.

He asked about your life, your dreams, and what had drawn you to the series in the first place. You found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, and he did the same.

One night, he sent you a selfie just him in his trailer, holding up a peace sign with the caption: “Long day, but this made it better.”

“This” clearly referred to your latest text, a long-winded rant about how the gods in Greek mythology needed better communication skills.

You responded with a picture of your PJO book collection stacked neatly on your desk. “This is the shrine I’ve built in your honor,” you joked.

Walker replied, “Pretty sure you’re the only person I’d be okay with building a shrine for me.”

And just like that, the line between casual fan and something more began to blur.

A/N: pt3?????

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092, @shellsarepretty, @cheoriemoawa

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied kidnapping, possessive behavior, slight stalking, delusional thoughts.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

Like most tailors, Chiori often finds herself preoccupied with the concept of preservation.

It’s as inevitable as it is unreasonable, for those who work through mediums as impermanent as fabric and textile. To make a piece of clothing is to make something that, by its very definition, cannot last. No matter how fine the silk, no matter how strong the thread, no matter how sturdy her design – colors will fade and stitches will run and eventually, the only thing left of her masterpiece will be a pile of scraps left to rot underneath a bed or among the cobwebs in a forgotten attic corner. Fashion is an even more unforgiving mistress. What does it mean to try and capture the beauty of a single moment in a world that stood for a thousand years before she ever thought to pick up a needle and will stand for a thousand more, when she’s no longer able to? What does it mean that she keeps trying, regardless?

Inevitably, when Chriori thinks about herself and her craft, she thinks about preservation. And, when she thinks about preservation, she thinks about you.

You, in the most generous of sentiments, are the enemy of permanence. Her designs may eventually fall apart, but you seem to tear and shatter all that you touch, to rend the very fabric of reality without ever dropping that achingly oblivious smile. Your first visit to her shop ended with a shattered teacup, your second with a chip to the blade of her favorite pair of sheers, your tenth with a pot of her darkest, blackest dye splattered across an otherwise untouched skein of dove-white silk. Calling you clumsy would be an understatement – you’re a vehicle of pure destruction, an entity of the type of chaos that so often reduces her finest creations to rags. If it wasn’t for the way you apologize so wholeheartedly after each and every offense, the bright optimism written across your expression each time you step through the door of her boutique, she might mistake your drastic lack of coordination for a deliberate act of sabotage. At least, if that were the case, she may be able to find the strength to banish you entirely from her domain.

Her frequent gifts to you – unpaid orders, she assures, items that would just go to waste if left to gather dust on her shelves – are demolished with a similar haste. That, you can blame on the needs of your trade, claim that the clothes of the noble class don’t mix with the work of laborers, but as often as she tries, she fails to see what’s so dangerous about hauling spools of ribbon and crates of lace from one boutique to another. You do your best to mend torn sleeves, to find replacements for missing buttons, but she almost wishes you wouldn’t – that you’d let her claims to you die a swift death rather than defacing them so humiliatingly. In her weakest moments, she considers that being more blatant with her intentions, speaking to you in something other than cutting innuendo and being more transparent in her attempts to carve her name into you, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Your nature, so quick and brash and thoughtless, is contradictory to hers. No number of signatures stitched into the hems of undercollars and lipstick stains pressed into the lining between layers of material can change that.

Certainly, none of it can change the trait Chiori finds most troubling in you – your willing inability to preserve even the most precious of things, yourself. Fontaine is a much more gentle land than Inazuma, but no part of Teyvat is completely free from risk. You brag worryingly often about your run-ins with local monsters, go on at length about having to guard the embroideries she had commissioned from the finest thread-painters in Liyue from fabric-eating slimes and especially fashionable thieves, but all your levity can’t seem to draw your attention from the bruises blossoming upward from your shirt collar, the bandages so often wrapped around knuckles and plastered over your cheeks. Mortality is a concept you seemed to have considered briefly and ultimately discarded, leaving Chiori to try to make something redeemable out of the scraps. It’d be enough to drive anyone mad. It’d be enough to drive any good tailor to extremes.

You are not a delicate fabric. Satin can be properly hemmed and handled with gloves, embroidery glazed over with perfumes and resins, lace held to a candle and burnt into a more sustainable form, but you are not so easily changed. Gowns have no regard for safety or the lack thereof, but you – frustrating, impossible you – seem to actively detest the very idea of it.

You are the enemy of permeance. It’s a thought Chiori often considers, lingers on, obsess over, as she would the safe keeping of any of her proudest works.

But, she finds herself thinking, as she feels the reassuring chill of iron chains again her palm and weighs it against two matching twin cuffs, there’s a chance she may just be pairing you with the wrong materials.

[kookyburrowing]

Different Languages AU Part 1: Wait, Fuck, They Don't Speak Basic?

First things first motherfuckers, let’s get one thing straight: Basic as a language does exist in this AU!  It’s just less common outside of the Core/Mid Rim.  SO.  What does that give us?  Well, it gives us way more interesting conflict, for one thing, and for another, so many languages.  Let’s get crackalackin! 

In the Outer Rim, Huttese is largely The Language To Speak.  If you don’t speak Huttese, you might as well just hurl yourself into the nearest bottomless pit now and save yourself the time and trouble.  Even in the Core and Mid Rim, Huttese is a very common language just because of how useful it is if you ever find yourself in the Outer Rim.  Most bounty hunters (i.e. Jango Fett, just for one completely random example) speak Huttese fluently, alongside their native languages.  Naturally, then, this is a language Anakin is very familiar with.  In fact, when he became a Jedi, it was the language he knew the best, and most people thought his speech was stilted in Basic because of this.  He spoke Basic maybe once every month on Tatooine—can you blame him?  

In the Mid Rim, each planet has their own language and conversations between diplomats are typically done as they are on Earth—via interpreters, to avoid any misunderstandings.  Padmé, for instance, does speak Basic, but that is the language she would use in the Senate, not on Naboo.  The same goes for Palpatine, but we’ll get to him in a minute, because he sucks and I want to not talk about him for as long as I feasibly can.  

The Core means Basic, Basic, Basic, because of just the sheer number of people making it necessary.  Coruscant is a weird case because of how communities develop there.  Since it’s kind of like a gigantic version of a modern city (I’ll use NYC as an example because I know it the best), it’s broken up into enclaves.  Cultures clump—it’s a thing.  Some neighborhoods in NYC are predominantly Jewish, some are predominantly Italian, the list goes on.  The same goes for Coruscant, although on a supersized scale.  There’s some areas where non-Mandalorians need not apply, some where everyone is a Twi’lek or Togruta, some where everyone is a Mirialan, et cetera.  Also, Coruscant dialects of certain languages are very much a thing.

Anyway.  Let’s talk Kamino, because that’s why I started this to begin with!  

Jango Fett is a Mandalorian.  He’s also a bounty hunter.  He’s from Concord Dawn and was a True Mandalorian.  Therefore we can guess he probably at the bare minimum speaks two dialects of Mando’a (Concord Dawn, True Mandalorian) Huttese, and has at least passing Basic.  He probably speaks more than that given how well-traveled he is, but those are the ones I can name for sure.  So Jango Fett, who speaks Mando’a and Huttese and Basic, encounters Count Dooku.  Count Dooku is from Serenno, but he was also a Jedi, so he probably speaks Serennese, Basic, Huttese, and a few more.  He may even speak Mando’a, but his dialects wouldn’t be likely to overlap with Jango’s.  Count Dooku tells Jango to go to Kamino and let them clone him in exchange for an exorbitant amount of money.  Jango does, because Jango is a thinking human being and thinking human beings under capitalism do not turn down exorbitant amounts of money in exchange for what amounts to (at most) being a three or four-time sperm donor.  

And on Kamino, our intrepid Mandalorian encounters something a bit weird.  The Kaminoans, being that they are an extremely isolated species and thus have absolutely no reason to have developed humanoid vocal chords, have to rely on droid translators.  Cool!  This means Jango can speak to them exclusively in his native language (Concord Dawn Mando’a), and they can speka to him exclusively in theirs, and everyone’s largely happy.  Jango negotiates the finer points of the contract, acquires an infant who he names Boba, and calls up some old friends (and acquaintances) to teach the clones to kick ass.  He informs them they don’t have to worry about speaking Basic, so they don’t bother speaking Basic.  

Thus, we have our setup.  The Kaminoans have no reason to make the clones speak Basic because literally none of these outsiders are bothering to inform that oh yeah there’s this whole common language thing going on, and said outsiders have no reason whatsoever to tell them because it would ultimately just be an inconvenience.  They’ve got a good thing going, and Jedi are required to speak more than one language anyway.  The clones can definitely find at least one in common!

So the clones learn to speak Mando’a, understand Kaminoan, and speak and/or understand one extra elective language.  Most pick something weird because they can—everyone around them speaks either Mando’a or Kaminoan so why would they bother with languages they don’t care about, like Basic?  Unfortunately for the Kaminoans and the trainers in equal measure, they do also realize that in order to express themselves in private they need their own universal language, so they acquire one.  They just call it clonespeak to keep things simple, and for most of them, that’s their native language.  They feel most comfortable speaking in it because that’s the language they associate with safety and with their siblings/parents.  

Thus: the predicament.  

Obi-Wan arrives on Kamino.  Obi-Wan is a Jedi.  Obi-Wan speaks Basic. 

Uh-oh.  See, Jango is out of practice—the Kaminoans can’t make those noises.  Boba’s language skills begin and end with Mando’a and some random bits of clonespeak right now—he’s kind of conversational with Huttese but every once in a while he just throws in a Mando’a word or an idiom in clonespeak and Jango has to take a minute to breathe lest he slam his head straight through the wall in frustration because he doesn’t understand clonespeak.  And so much performing of charades, many awkward moments, and exactly one sentence in Basic later, Obi-Wan is heading back to Coruscant with several questions. 

First: why the fuck did Sifo-Dyas order an army who didn’t speak Basic?  No one knows.  No one can find any records of this order, for one thing.  No one knows who Tyrannus is, for another.  

And second: what languages do the clones speak?  Obviously, Mando’a is amongst them, but Jango’s extremely intensely staring son also spoke another, infinitely weird language and no one can find any record of it, and not even Jango seemed to understand him.  Do they understand the Kaminoans’ clicking noises?  Are they just mute?  Is it constantly Shut The Fuck Up Friday up in there?  What is going on?  

The Council loses their collective minds.  Shaak Ti is about ready to haul ass across the galaxy to collect these poor, lost young men—Plo Koon is right there with her.  Yoda is—well, Yoda is swearing loudly in several dead languages right now.  Mace Windu, ever the voice of reason, just has one thing to say: how about they meet the clones, first.  Before they panic.

In the face of this intense, all-consuming, glorious sensibility, the Council collectively shuts the fuck up.  They decide to let things run their course.  

And then Geonosis.  Quickly, Yoda collects several hundred clones, manages to communicate to one of them—who speaks a really weird, ancient, and fucked up dialect of Basic that could basically scan to Elizabethan English, and whose name is probably Kowalski—what he needs, and that one tells an older, larger and more intimidating one.  Then that one yells a lot in a language Yoda has never heard before, and several hundred clones are suddenly hauling ass into gunships.  

Enter one Anakin Skywalker and one Padmé Amidala, who are about to acquire some friends, none of whom understand a word they’re saying.  They fuck some things up, get strapped to some poles to be devoured by Space Beasts of some sort, and then escape.  

Battle of Geonosis happens.  Mace Windu quickly discovers that the answer to the question what do the clones speak is effectively every language except Basic, and the answer is also supremely inconsistent.  He is Suffering.  He is Experiencing The Horrors.  Obi-Wan is likewise fighting for his life because he speaks a fancy-ass dialect of Mando’a that the clones don’t understand.  This is because they, like normal people, don’t talk like dignitaries on diplomatic missions.  

Moving on!  Obi-Wan gets assigned Alpha-17.  Alpha-17 is a demon.  Actually.  He probably speaks Basic but refuses to out of spite.  This is the biggest asshole to ever stomp his way into a Venator and terrify Anakin Skywalker into cowering submission.  (He may even be why Anakin behaved like that as Vader.  We will never know!)  Like most clones, Alpha-17 speaks four languages.  Clonespeak, Mando’a, Kaminoan, and Huttese.  In that order.  So he has no real trouble communicating with either Anakin or Obi-Wan.  

What he does have, though, is a surplus of kids.  Like it or not (he insists he doesn’t) they are his kids, and he wants them to have a shot at having a moderately tolerable existence.  Enter everyone’s favorite group of six weirdos: Wolffe, Ponds, Fox, Bly, Cody, and Rex.  

Wolffe is easy.  He’s horrible with languages, and so gets sent to Plo Koon, who speaks through a translator anyway.  Add Mando’a to the translator, and bang!  Easy.  Done.  They understand each other perfectly.  

Ponds is also easy.  He, being sensible, learned Basic, so he goes to Mace Windu, who is equally sensible (and grateful for the easy transition).  

Fox, who is a scheming little shit and also just so happens to speak Naboo, get sent to Coruscant.  The Chancellor can’t get one over on him if Fox can understand every word he says, and most Senators have protocol droids with them for translation anyway.  

Bly speaks Ryll, so she gets Aayla Secura.  Again, easy.  

Cody, on the other hand?  Cody speaks the same languages as 17.  Cody has a favorite younger brother who needs guidance.  Cody, therefore, gets deposited with Obi-Wan, and Rex?  Rex gets Anakin.  

But the issue with Rex is he and Anakin have no language in common.  Rex’s elective language was Togruti, and like the rest of his batch he also speaks Tusken sign.  Because his batch are a bunch of assholes who wanted an extremely private way to talk.  

So.  Anakin and Rex start off the war with no way to communicate!  None!  Literally not one language in common!  

And they do try to communicate—via charades, via text, et cetera—but they don’t really have access to translation software on a regular basis and thus things become complicated.  

Things are made even more complicated by the fact that Rex, like Wolffe, is shit at language learning.  Anakin, who isn’t, could try to learn clonespeak, and does!  But when you can’t communicate with the person teaching you it is immensely slow going.  

And thus, our premise is complete.  How do you run a war with someone you can’t talk to?  

Well, it depends.  If you’re Anakin, you say, maybe I can figure a way around this.  

If you’re Pong Krell?  

I dunno man.  Yell?  Yeah, that sounds about right.