#and hear other people compliment me (specifically at my job)

[starsstuddedsky]

imposter syndrome is so wild actually

[lib-to-conned]

Hello. I’m a 26-year-old white liberal, physically disabled, gay, and gender-queer community advocate. My job right now is entirely focused on community outreach so the town government can better understand and assist those in town who are struggling the most but refusing any assistance. So I reached out and contacted my former now Trump voting, culturally conservative, macho, manly, ultra-masculine , high testosterone, red-pill, MAGA, redneck, and traditionalist friends from high school to ask them what it is about the government that makes them so distrustful of our help, and how and what do I specifically need to change about my approach and attitude to be acceptable to their values now that MAGA conservative values are soaring in popularity after the presidential election. The only thing my old school acquaintances and estranged family members sent me back in response to my genuine outreach was a link to this website I have never heard of. #RedWaveRapture

Can you tell what would happen if I click this link?

You’ve always believed that hope is an action. Maybe that’s naive. Maybe it’s the one thing you cling to, even when your hands tremble and your jaw aches from clenching. Even now, midnight crawling toward morning, your fingers glow in the blue-white light of your laptop, the screen painting tired half-moons under your eyes. Your apartment is a lived-in cave of city council handouts, rainbow pins, commemorative mugs, and empty soda cans. The radiator chugs and ticks as if grumbling along with the storm outside, a backdrop to another night where your mind refuses to shut down.

You stare at the city beyond your window, orange sodium lights reflected in glass streaked with rain. Somewhere, a siren wails, low and distant, and you remember how, as a child, you’d watch police cars fly down these streets and feel safe. Now, every time you hear that sound, your chest tightens and your palms sweat. You know the statistics. You know who’s on the wrong side of the badge these days. But you still hope (maybe foolishly) that this place can be better, that you can be a part of that.

You’re a lifer here. Born in the city hospital, raised three blocks from the courthouse, you’ve watched the skyline change, old diners close, new condos rise, and the sense of community fracture year by year. The town was never utopia, but you remember neighbors who brought casseroles when your dad got sick, the barbershop that doubled as a polling place, the way people used to talk—face to face, even if they didn’t agree. The old men at the corner store would argue for hours about politics and then share a bag of pretzels on the curb, grumbling but grinning.

Now, everything is brittle and sharp. People cross the street to avoid each other. Arguments escalate into threats, and sometimes into violence. Yard signs are torn up, or worse, booby-trapped with nails. You’ve seen friendships dissolve on Facebook over a meme or a campaign sticker. You know kids who won’t come out to their families, elders who stay silent about their politics, parents who keep their heads down at PTA meetings. You see the fear. You feel it too.

You’re the only openly queer, nonbinary, physically disabled employee at city hall, and most days, that’s a badge of pride. Some days, it feels like a target on your back. You’re a “face” for the town’s PR materials, the “heart” of every outreach campaign, a symbol that makes people feel better about themselves. But you know how they look at you, how they talk when the microphones are off. At the grocery store, someone will compliment your courage, then whisper that the world’s gone mad when they think you’re out of earshot.

You took this job because you believe in bridges. Not the literal bridges crumbling over the river, though you care about those too, but the metaphorical ones - connections, trust, understanding. You want to be the person who makes a difference. Sometimes you convince yourself you’re making headway: an angry parent calls back to thank you, a protest wraps up peacefully, a neighbor offers to drive someone to a clinic. But the victories are small, fragile, and drowned out by the endless churn of outrage. Some nights, like tonight, it feels like the city’s barely holding together.

Tonight, your dread is sharper than usual. Overnight, you've found that the town now has the phrases “red wave” plastered everywhere - news, memes, even scrawled in Sharpie on the bathroom wall at the library. People say it like it’s inevitable. You worry what it means: more bans, more hate, more lives quietly snuffed out. You worry that there will be riots, or mass celebrations, or both. You fear for your friends, your elders, the teens who DM you at two a.m. begging for advice, the families you see clinging to hope and guidance at every city meeting. You worry for yourself, that someday someone will decide you’re a symbol that needs to be erased.

And still, you hope. You hope that talking - real talking, with people you don’t agree with - might soften some edge, slow the violence, remind people what it means to be neighbors. Maybe that’s all outreach is, now: a plea not to go down swinging.

Tonight, in the glow of your desk lamp, you draft a Facebook post, weighing every word. You rewrite it a dozen times, reading it aloud, wincing at how earnest you sound:

“Why are so many Republican voters distrustful of the government, and why do you think Trump was the solution? What can someone like me, who doesn’t share your values, do to better understand and accept them?”

You almost delete it. But if you can’t ask the question, what’s the point of this job? What’s the point of any of it? You hit “Post,” heart thudding like you’ve just leapt from a precipice.

The replies come fast. Some are jokes - memes, “cry harder,” someone pasting your face on a melting snowman. Others are worse. Your cousin Greg, always the family clown, posts a video of drag queens with a barf emoji. You try to laugh it off, but it lands hard. These are people you’ve known your whole life. You keep scrolling, desperate for sincerity.

That’s when the private messages start - first from old classmates, then from strangers, all sending the same link: RedWaveRapture.com. The name is a punchline. Or a threat. “You want to know what we think?” “You want a real bridge?” “This is what you need to see.” It’s almost mechanical, but each message is just different enough that you know they wrote them themselves. You hesitate, but the links pile up, insistent. You copy it into a new tab, finger hovering, pulse fluttering.

You try to talk yourself out of it. What if it’s a virus, or worse? What if you end up on a list? But you can’t help yourself. You need to understand, even if you hate everything about their politics. You don’t get how anyone can believe in policies that punish the vulnerable, that roll back rights, that punish difference instead of celebrating it. Isn’t the whole point of society to progress? To move forward, to learn, to open doors? You can’t imagine why anyone would fight for the opposite.

You think about your city, about the kids and elders and neighbors who still believe things can change, about the fragile peace you try to hold together. You remember being told, “You can’t fight hate with hate.” You hope that’s still true. That’s why you keep going. That’s why you reach across the aisle, even if your hand gets slapped away.

You return to your desk. You stare at your reflection in the dark screen - a face tired but defiant, jaw set, eyes searching for answers, for hope. You take a slow breath, copy the link, and press Enter.

You hit Enter, expecting maybe a clunky homepage, a wall of text, or some pixelated right-wing meme hell. Instead, the moment you press the key, the room is swallowed in sound and color. The laptop’s speakers burst to life with an overdriven, looping national anthem—so loud, so full of static, you have to physically flinch away. Red, white, and blue explode across the screen in jagged strobes, like emergency lights pulsing in your skull. For a split second, you swear the radiator hum, the tick of your wall clock, even the city’s faint nighttime growl, all vanish. There’s nothing but the throb of your heart and the relentless surge of the website’s “patriotic” chaos.

Your cursor vanishes. The window force-maximizes itself, swallowing every other tab. The RedWaveRapture logo splinters and reforms in the center of the page, all gothic fonts and American flags fluttering in slow motion behind it. Underneath, a ticker scrolls by at lightning speed: “Faith. Freedom. Family. Firearms. Power. Order. Restore.” Each word hammers at you—short, final, absolute. You try to blink the glare away, but it’s everywhere - even the afterimage is burned red and blue behind your eyelids.

Pop-up windows spiral outward, overlaying one another: police badges, squad cars barreling down highways, men in uniform with squared jaws and arms folded. In one corner, an endless slideshow of American muscle cars, pickup trucks, gym bros flexing, AR-15s gleaming on velvet, the glossy shine of a bald eagle’s wing. Another window streams a parade of beauty queens in flag bikinis, waving and blowing kisses to an unseen crowd. In the center, a countdown timer begins - ominous, digital, faceless. “Preparing True American Experience. Please remain seated.”

Your jaw sets. This is a caricature, you think, half in disbelief, half in contempt. It’s like someone scraped the bottom of every Fox News segment and squeezed it into a fever dream. Your stomach churns at the sight of so many guns, all those hard-faced men staring out of the screen with smug certainty. You catch yourself muttering, “Jesus, it’s all just violence and muscle and—” but the sentence fizzles, the sound swallowed by the anthem and the noise.

You reach for the trackpad but your hand feels numb, like you’ve slept on it wrong, nerves slow and rubbery. No matter where you press, nothing closes, nothing responds. The audio shifts - the anthem into crowd noise, then to a deep, staticky voice that you can’t quite place: “If you want to know what makes this country strong…if you want to belong…open your eyes. Let yourself see what’s REAL.”

That line sticks. Something inside you bristles, a reflexive rejection - real? You want to snort, but as you stare at the parade of muscle and order, you feel a weird little spark in your chest. A stray, insistent thought flickers across your mind - No, maybe this is what men should want. This is power. This is respect. Isn’t this the kind of life you always admired, somewhere deep down? You try to squash it, horrified, but it’s there now, persistent and faintly thrilling.

Your chest is tight, your mouth gone dry. You try to steady your breathing, but the lights flicker and warp, the entire room seeming to pulse in time with the music. The scrolling ticker now flashes phrases like “Obey,” “Serve,” “Join,” interspersed with video loops of people cheering, cops tackling protestors, flags unfurling in slow, almost hypnotic motion.

You grip the edge of your desk, anger mixing with a kind of morbid curiosity. This is what they want the world to be? This is what passes for strength? The stray voice, quieter now, pipes up again: Better than weakness. Better than all that whining and softness. You blink, shaking your head, but the words leave a greasy aftertaste, clinging even as you try to push them out.

There’s a part of you - buried under years of training, self-defense, online etiquette - that starts to panic. This can’t be just a website. It feels like a virus, a hypnosis, something actively crawling into your brain. You want to scream, to reach for the power button, to look away, but your eyes are pinned to the screen. You think of those warnings about brainwashing and “psychotronic” ads, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re really safe in your own room.

But your curiosity is still there, tangled with fear. Maybe, you think, this is just the price of understanding. Maybe you need to let yourself feel the discomfort. Maybe you have to step into the storm if you want to help anyone out of it.

Then the lights intensify. The countdown reaches zero. The anthem blares again. And for a heartbeat, you feel something click deep in your chest - a thump, a ripple, the sense that you’re about to be changed by what comes next.

For a few seconds after the countdown, nothing happens, just the flicker of the flag, the echo of the anthem, and the faint burn of colors behind your eyelids. You try to move, to close the lid or wheel yourself away, but your limbs refuse. Even your breathing is shallow, as if the air in the room is heavier now. The screen pulses, and with each surge, you feel your pulse syncing, heart thumping to some silent, insistent rhythm you can’t escape.

Then the website comes alive, its code unspooling in new, unsettling ways. Text scrolls across the banner: “Welcome, True American. Prepare for your Realignment.” Below that, a video window expands, swallowing the cursor, the browser bar, the clock. There’s nowhere to look but forward.

The feed is a dizzying, fast-cut montage - grainy home movies of backyard barbecues, Fourth of July parades, gleaming patrol cars, and sunburned men wrestling on football fields. The images flicker so quickly you can’t focus on one before the next slams into your vision: a squad of cops posed in front of a courthouse, fireworks, a mother weeping with pride as her uniformed son hugs her, a shirtless man deadlifting in an iron gym, his muscles corded and shining. Each image lands like a slap, too raw, too forceful, almost parodic in its testosterone-soaked Americana.

The soundtrack is a relentless assault: the national anthem gives way to the roar of engines, the static crackle of police radios, the boom of fireworks, the echo of a coach shouting, “Push it, son! Make us proud!” The volume dips and swells, a wave of adrenaline that worms its way into your skull. You grit your teeth, trying to filter out the worst of it, but there’s no reprieve. Every sound feels surgically chosen to jar you, to summon up memories you don’t want: your dad’s voice at Little League games, the sermons you half-listened to in your aunt’s church, that stifling, masculine pride you always resented.

As you watch, your disgust boils. The muscle, the guns, the flags, the smug grins - they’re a weapon meant to bludgeon you into submission. You try to remind yourself it’s all an act, a performance, a digital shrine to some lost world that never existed. But it’s hard to hold on to that certainty when the images move this fast, when the website’s algorithm seems to know exactly what you fear and despise. A scroll of headlines flashes by: “Family Is Everything,” “Respect Is Earned in Blood, Not Words,” “Strength Over Sensitivity.” The words burn, crawling behind your eyes.

You try to laugh, but your mouth is dry. What is this, brainwashing for dummies? The joke falters before it reaches your lips. There’s an ache starting at the back of your skull, a cold, coiled pressure that grows with every second. In the pit of your chest, something else stirs - something darker and heavier. A seed of envy? Admiration? You don’t want to name it.

On the margins of your mind, that other voice returns. Quiet, but sharper now, slicing through your skepticism: Isn’t this what men are supposed to be? Strong, proud, respected. Not whining. Not apologizing. Just… in control. You try to shove the thought away, but the next montage lands - a cop dragging a protester in cuffs, a stadium packed with roaring fans, a thick-armed man holding up a “World’s Best Dad” trophy, flanked by adoring blond children and a wife in stars-and-stripes denim. Your skin prickles, both in anger and something you don’t want to admit - longing for simplicity, maybe. Or to be the one cheered instead of the one jeered.

The feed shifts again, now focusing on the rituals of the job: uniform pressed and buttoned, boots polished, badge glinting in the sunlight. Over and over, hands holster guns, slap backs, hoist beers, shove suspects against walls. For every image of camaraderie, there’s a punchline - a weakling ridiculed, a protester mocked, a rainbow flag trampled into the mud. The website’s cruelty is casual, practiced, precise.

The ticker at the bottom starts to include your name, as if the website knows you: “You could be stronger, [Your Name]. You could be proud. You could be respected.” You blink, a chill running up your spine. You try to wheel away again, but your body is stiff, heavy. You clench the armrests, nails biting into the vinyl.

Every muscle in your body is tense now, the pressure in your head building with each frame. You try to focus on your own beliefs, to recall your friends, your city, your reason for doing all this. But the images keep coming, faster now: hazing rituals, police graduations, more flag-wrapped women, more flexing, more men standing tall and smirking. Every second, the voice in your mind grows bolder, more insistent: Wouldn’t it be easier? Wouldn’t it feel good to stop fighting and just… belong? Just be strong?

You want to scream, to curse, but the words catch in your throat. The anthem starts up again, a low, reverberating growl, and the screen pulses with every beat. The website’s colors leak into the room - red and blue glowing on your walls, your skin, your reflection. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to scrub the sound from your head.

As the barrage intensifies, you realize with a spike of dread that this isn’t persuasion. It’s programming. It’s preparing you for something you can’t fight. And in the darkness between images, the alien thought finally whispers, low and eager: Let go. Let us show you how much better life can be… on the other side.

You barely register the shift at first - a twitch in your fingers, a pulse in your temple, the odd pressure of blood pounding through veins you never used to notice. But then the sensation blooms, hot and alien, as if the very air has thickened into syrup, pushing against your skin. Your spine tingles. Your grip on the armrests tightens as your palms start to itch and swell, bones popping with a series of sharp, relentless cracks. You stare at your hands, blinking, willing the hallucination to fade - but your fingers start thickening and lengthening, knuckles are ballooning out, and your skin is roughening and growing callused as if you’ve spent years gripping iron.

Your breath goes shallow. A sudden, wrenching spasm ripples up both arms at once. You gasp, clutching the armrests as your biceps knot and swell beneath your sleeves, veins surfacing and writhing, muscle growing with a slow, perverse logic. The transformation snakes up into your shoulders, the fabric pulling tight as your deltoids swell and broaden, upper arms ballooning in mass and definition. You feel the seams of your shirt protest, cotton stretching across a new, thick upper body you don’t recognize. Both forearms thicken, tendons surging up like steel cables, wrists beefing up to match hands that are now too big, too blunt, too powerful.

The burning pressure rolls across your chest. Your ribs creak, spreading, as your torso widens, pecs surging forward. The shirt you wear feels suddenly several sizes too small, seams groaning as your body stretches the limits of what cotton can take. Your sternum aches, bones shifting and locking into a broader, more masculine shape. Your lungs feel huge - each breath flooding you with oxygen, making your vision swim. For a second you glimpse your reflection in the black glass of the laptop and don’t recognize the barrel chest, the heavy, athletic shoulders, the thick column of neck rising from between monstrous traps.

Then comes the heat in your face - a tingling along your jaw, as if invisible hands are molding you like clay. Your chin juts out, jawline hardening, cheekbones lifting. You hear a faint grinding sound from inside your own skull. Your teeth clench, and suddenly your cheeks feel hollowed, your whole face sharpening and maturing into something angular, handsome, and unyielding. A shadow grows along your jawline - at first just a stubble, but then a dense, rough pelt of blond bristles that itch maddeningly, demanding to be touched. You rake your hand over your chin, and the sensation is electric: your skin is no longer smooth, but covered in golden, wiry stubble, thick and masculine, catching the light in ways that make you look older and tougher than you ever were.

There’s a fizzing, almost pleasant warmth on your scalp. Your hair thickens, lightening shade by shade, roots bleeding from brown to gold. Strands multiply, shifting in weight and texture, sliding into a classic, professionally styled wave - sides cut short, top swept perfectly back, just unruly enough to scream virility and styled just enough to command a room. You realize, dimly, that it matches the hair of one of those men you saw flashing across the site - a cop, maybe, or a model of authority. Your old self would never bother, but this new hair, this uncanny new look, feels inevitable - like it’s always been yours.

Your eyes sting and water, irises shifting, blue blooming outward until your gaze in the monitor is sharp, commanding, cold. You blink, but your own reflection holds steady: not the tired city worker, not the battered activist, but a mid-30s man built to intimidate, to protect, to control. Your face is almost unrecognizable - handsome, mature, unyielding. You stare, wide-eyed, both appalled and fascinated.

The change moves lower. Your stomach tightens, abdominal muscles stacking beneath your skin, forming not just a six-pack but a thick, armored core. Your hips shift and flare, thighs bulging, calves hardening, the disability in your legs dissolving beneath new strength. Your knees crackle, bones resetting. For the first time in years, you feel your feet solid on the ground—powerful, stable, hungry for action.

You try to stand, but your body does it for you. You rise with a smooth, predatory grace, six inches taller, shoulders squared, back straight, every muscle flexing in a silent boast. Your old clothes strain, seams biting into your flesh, but nothing tears... yet. You stare down at yourself, at the breadth of your chest, the swelling of your arms, the sheer physical weight you now command.

You stagger to the mirror, jaw slack. Every step sends a wave of muscle and mass rolling through you. Your legs, once spindly and unreliable, are now tree trunks, with thighs bursting with sinew and calves roped and solid. Your glutes swell behind you, denim stretched to the limit. You flex, just to feel it, and watch in awe as your shirt fills with muscle, pecs rounding out, biceps peaking, stubble glinting gold. You don’t look like you; you don’t even look possible.

But there’s a hunger now - a restless, animal urge that surges with every heartbeat. Your hands ball into fists, your lips curl into a smirk. You catch yourself swaggering just a bit, with hips rolling forward and shoulders wide. For the first time, you feel the want to be seen, to be admired, to be feared.

You try to call out for help, but your voice cracks, then deepens, a booming, masculine growl. The sound is obscene—raw power, pride, and contempt for anything weak. The old part of you recoils, but the new part flexes, delighted.

Fuck, look at you. Finally built like a real man, whispers the voice in your head. It’s less foreign now, more like a memory you forgot, or a hunger you buried. This is what power feels like. This is what respect feels like. You can take whatever you want - nobody laughs, nobody doubts, nobody dares.

You close your eyes, chest heaving, every nerve on fire. The last of your old body - old pain, old shame - melts away in a flood of heat and pride. You are changed. You are ready for whatever comes next.

You then stare at the mirror, panting, hands shaking as you try to process the brute masculinity staring back at you. But even as you reel, another wave of change hits - less painful, more insidious. It starts with your shirt: you feel the fabric constrict and thicken, cotton toughening and blending into a heavy, woven synthetic. The seams pull tight, reshaping themselves with eerie efficiency, until buttons pop into existence down the front - gleaming, metallic, each one stamped with an unfamiliar insignia.

A dark navy blue spreads across your chest and arms, swallowing up any sign of your old life. The collar stiffens and sharpens, growing up around your throat with suffocating authority. Epaulettes bulge onto your shoulders, pressed with crisp creases and bearing shining pins that you don’t recognize, but that feel right. You try to peel the shirt off, fingers clawing at buttons, but your hands are thick and clumsy, every move hampered by the growing bulk of muscle. You fumble, but the shirt wins, swallowing your protests and locking itself in place.

A patch swells into being on your left shoulder—a badge-shaped emblem with a shield and eagle, gold thread catching the light. You blink and rub your eyes, but the embroidery remains. Lower, a white rectangle shimmers to life above your left pec, the letters resolving one by one in fat, stenciled embroidery: SMITH. It’s as if the name is being branded onto you, final and brutal and unmistakable. You don’t know a Smith, no one in your family, none of your friends, but you can feel it burrowing into your mind, crowding out whatever your name used to be. You try to mouth your real name, but it’s foggy, scrambled, unreachable. All that’s left is the blank, bland confidence of this brand new Mr. Smith, the kind of name that fits in everywhere and never needs to explain itself.

Your pants follow, denim liquefying into something stiffer, darker. A thick black belt winds itself around your waist, notched perfectly to your new size, bristling with pouches and loops that fill themselves: a chunky flashlight, a pair of cuffs, a fat ring of keys, a radio crackling to life at your hip. The weight is oddly comforting, as if it belongs there - as if you’ve carried it for years. You pat each item, stunned by the familiarity of it all, a chill running through your gut as you realize your hands move with mechanical certainty, unbuckling and rebuckling, checking the gear by rote.

Your shoes squeeze, heels rising, soles hardening into the uncompromising grip of police boots. The floor feels different beneath you - slick, institutional linoleum instead of warped old hardwood. For a moment, you think you smell antiseptic and cheap aftershave.

A heavy badge appears above your heart, cold at first, then burning with pride. You stare at it, breath hitching. You can’t help but trace the engraved number with your finger, feeling its reality. Officer, the thought surfaces, unexpected, almost comforting. The word echoes in your skull, bouncing off memories that shouldn’t be there - patrols, roll calls, late-night fast food, hot coffee in a paper cup, the idle banter of men who trust you. You try to shake it off, but every new detail - the badge, the gear, the pressed creases - sends another pulse of confidence up your spine.

But now, the real onslaught begins. Sudden, alien memories erupt in your mind with sickening force: storming into apartments behind a shield, barking orders, the crack of a baton against a car hood, the adrenaline rush of grabbing a squirming kid by the wrist. You hear yourself reciting Miranda rights in a voice so cold and practiced it frightens you. It's muscle memory you shouldn’t have and words you’ve never spoken before. Locker room laughter, rough shoves, cheap jokes at the expense of “perps” and “prissy punks.” A memory flashes - shoving someone smaller against a brick wall, feeling nothing but a blank satisfaction as they cry out. You recoil, but the scene loops, clearer each time.

With every shift, new instincts and impulses slip in. You stand taller, square your shoulders. Your jaw sets with casual authority. Your face in the mirror looks back at you now with an expression you never wore - a cool, appraising smirk, a glimmer of amusement at how small the world looks from this height. The old you - soft, self-conscious, compassionate - scrabbles desperately for purchase. You think of your job, your friends, your beliefs, your self. “No, no, no, this isn’t me,” you mumble, voice trembling and deep. “I don’t want this. I’m not-” But the words don’t fit in your mouth anymore. Even as you say them, they feel childish, weak. A part of you scoffs, hearing the petulance in your protest.

Don’t be pathetic, the new voice snaps. You’re not some limp-wristed charity case. You’re built for command. You’re what this city needs: strong, decisive, respected. No more hiding, no more whining, no more bleeding-heart bullshit. You enforce the rules, you don’t beg for acceptance.

A memory crashes into you - shouting over a police radio, boots pounding on concrete, adrenaline spiking as you chase a perp through a rain-soaked alley. The pride when you catch him, slam him against the hood, cuff him one-handed while your partner laughs, “Damn, you’re an animal, man!” You gasp, staggering back from the mirror. The memory is real. You can feel the rain on your skin, the thrill of control, the exultant rush of being cheered by your own. In a sickening twist, part of you likes it - likes the power, the awe, the certainty.

You clutch at your head, teeth gritted. “I’m not like them. I’m not like you,” you mutter, but the words come out stilted, alien. The new thoughts are relentless, flooding your mind with rules, tactics, locker room banter, crude jokes, a thousand ways to dominate a room or a street. Your old sense of compassion feels pale and far away, like the memory of a dream.

The badge glints, the gear weighs heavy on your hips. Every time you blink, the face in the mirror looks less like you, more like a man you’ve only ever feared or resented. And still, a flicker of pride tugs at the corner of your mouth - a cruel, satisfied little smile that you can’t quite hide.

You brace your fists on the counter, chest heaving. The fracture inside you widens, old self and new locked in a vicious, uneven struggle. You are becoming something else, and you can feel yourself beginning to want it.

You never even see it coming. One moment you’re bracing yourself at the counter, fighting the tide of memories and foreign muscle and the shame of that ugly white bread name. The next, the website erupts to life once more, now depicting flashing women in star-spangled bikinis, sunbaked skin, glistening cleavage, hips twisting, tongues flicking at glossed lips. The slideshow accelerates, every frame designed to trigger hunger. The air is thick with the imagined perfume of cheap body spray, suntan oil, and sweat. Each image lingers, burning into your retinas, until the only thing you can see is soft, jiggling flesh, perfect teeth, asses bouncing, hands running down tanned bellies.

You try to close your eyes but it’s hopeless—the images pulse on the inside of your eyelids, bright as lightning, impossible to banish. Every time you squeeze your lids shut, the parade just gets more intense, like the slideshow is beaming itself right into the animal part of your brain. You gag, desperate for the flood to stop, for your mind to stay yours. “No, no, I don’t want this, I’m not-” The thought is cut off as a molten bolt of arousal sears down your spine, straight to your groin. You feel your cock stiffen, the heat so sudden and intense it steals your breath. You want to cry, to scream, to protest - but your hips twitch forward, your new muscles flex, and your hand finds your crotch on its own.

It’s obscene, how hungry you feel. Every frame is a trigger - cleavage, tanned thighs, lips parted around popsicles, girls grinding against sweaty jocks. You’re drooling, pulse pounding, so hard it hurts. The old voice in your head tries to shriek "You’re gay, you love men, you never wanted any of this" but it comes out a faint, pathetic whimper lost in a tidal wave of brutal, masculine need. The images keep hammering you, and the new stench of your body rises around you - thick, musky, sharp, sweat pouring down your stubble and over your pecs, your whole body reeking of testosterone and animal hunger. You’re leaning forward, lips parted, panting, practically salivating at the sight of a pair of bouncing tits on the screen.

A crude new voice barrels over your resistance, deep and cocky: Yeah fuckin’ right, you’re not gay. Faggots don’t get hard for tits like that. You see those bimbos, Smith? That’s what you were born to fuck. Pussy and power, that’s all a man like you needs. Another frame: girls laughing, pouring beer over their chests, tugging at bikini bottoms, their eyes sparkling with challenge and mockery.

You gasp as your package throbs, impossibly sensitive, and a nasty, amused snort bubbles up inside your skull. Your fingers squeeze your crotch and you realize it’s not just swelling with lust - there’s something wrong, something changing. You watch in horror and awe as your cock gets rock hard, then begins to tingle, the sensation crawling up from the base. It pulses once, twice, then starts to shrink, the shaft drawing back, the head softening and tightening even as the pleasure spikes. It’s humiliating, obscene, degrading, and your body just loves it - every lost inch is like a little electric reward zapping through your spine.

You want to scream "No, this isn’t right, I’m not supposed to feel like this, I love men, I never wanted to be like this," but your hips just roll, your new core flexing, and your hand is working your now pathetic cock with a mind of its own. “Shit, fuck yeah, this has me so fuckin' bricked right now,” you hear yourself mutter in a voice you barely recognize—husky, arrogant, dripping with lechery and pride. The new voice sneers: Who cares how big it is, loser? It ain’t about the size - it’s how you use it. Besides, chicks love a guy with a little dick and a lotta attitude. Give ‘em a quick fuck and send ‘em home, just like a real man. Let ‘em fake it while you get your rocks off. Who gives a shit?

You squeeze again, your now-pathetic cock twitching and shriveling in your grip, until you’re left with a stubby, throbbing three-incher. The sight would have destroyed you before. Now, it’s just another joke - another reminder that you’re not here for connection, for intimacy, for anything but the power trip of getting off. You huff, a nasty little laugh. Let those bimbos fake it. You’re Officer Smith now. You don’t need to please anybody but yourself.

The slideshow pounds you with more women - hot tub scenes, drunken hookups, girls moaning fake, porn-star moans. It's all for you, all for your cock and your hands and your power. Fantasies burst behind your eyes: yanking a girl onto your lap at the bar, pushing her head down, bragging to the boys in the locker room about how fast you scored. You want to own every body, every bedroom, every pair of tits and ass in the city. If they don’t like it, too bad - there’s a hundred more lined up waiting for a taste of a real man.

And beneath it all, the last shreds of your old self try desperately to cling to anything - some memory of love, of wanting to be held, of softness. But every time you try to speak, your mouth spits out filth and bravado: “Yeah, fuck, look at you, Smith. A stud like you could fuck anything you want. These bitches want it so bad, you barely even have to try.” You’re panting, glistening, grinning like a predator.

No, this isn’t me, I’m not like this, please stop— But your body drowns you out, the crude laughter, the dirty jokes, the hunger, the joy in conquest. You imagine ghosting them, shaming them, boasting about it, owning the world with your cock and your sneer. It feels inevitable. It feels like home.

You lean in to the mirror, flexing, admiring the sneer that now comes so easily. “Goddamn, you look good, Smith,” you grunt. “Fuckin’ stud. You could have anyone you want - hell, take two, three at a time. Show ‘em what a real man does.” The last echoes of your old self try to protest—No, I’m not like this, I’m not like you, please— but your body drowns them out in a flood of cruel laughter and heat. You spit on the floor, the gesture so instinctual it shocks you, and then you smile, wide and leering. It feels good. It feels inevitable.

The website flashes one last time: “Welcome to the Brotherhood.”

And you know, with savage certainty, that you belong here now... or at least, the new part of you does. The rest is fading, fast.

You feel the switch flip before you even realize it’s happening. A cold, thrilling surge of power snaps through your body - something so pure and physical it’s almost electrical, a raw wave of pride and hunger that crests and crashes and leaves you gasping. The website’s anthem booms in your ears, the pulse of drums and horns and crowd noise blending into a wall of sound, a victory march. Your reflection in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable now: golden stubble, sculpted jaw, every muscle pumped and veined, eyes sharp and blue with a cruel sort of humor. You flash your teeth - bigger, brighter, made for smirking and grinning and chewing out the weak.

You flex, just to watch your pecs swell and your arms bulge, rolling your shoulders and letting your hands roam across your own torso. Every touch is an affirmation. The fabric of your shirt strains across your chest and back, showing off every ridge, every thick rope of strength. You find yourself posing, admiring the cocky way you fill out the uniform, how the badge gleams against your pec, how the name “SMITH” sits proud and eternal over your heart. The air smells different - spicy, clean, charged with testosterone and aftershave and the kind of sweat that drives women wild.

Your body feels even better than it looks. Your senses are so sharp—every whiff of your own musk, every ripple of muscle beneath your skin, the scratch of your stubble, the way your boots bite into the floor, the weight of your gun and cuffs and keys. You shift your stance, shoulders squared, cock jutting forward, so much larger than life you want to grab yourself and moan with pride. You know anyone would want you: want to fear you, want to fuck you, want to be you.

A new, glorious flood of memories pours in, so intense and bright you almost shiver. You remember locker room laughs, slapping asses, joking with the boys about last night’s conquests. You remember your first arrest: muscles burning, adrenaline surging, the moment you slammed a punk onto the hood and felt the crowd’s eyes on you, all awe and envy. You remember strutting through bars, eyes following you everywhere, girls giggling as you grabbed them and spun them against you. You remember the cheers at the station when you won a bet, the way your partner looked at you with worship, the way your own voice sounded so right calling out orders, threatening, charming, winning.

That’s right, bitch, you think at the last ghost of your old self, who is barely hanging on by a thread. Look at you... Pathetic! You were always meant to disappear, to let a real man take your place. Who’d ever want you now, anyway? The old self tries to whimper, tries to raise an argument about love or gentleness or being seen, but it’s met with a roar of laughter from the new Smith. You are the joke now - just a faded, broken echo, so weak that even remembering your old name feels like a chore. Smith grins at your pain and presses his advantage: Get lost, loser. You had your chance. Now it’s my world.

Every moment is pure, liquid pleasure. You want to show off: to strut, to preen, to let the world see what a real man looks like. You want to break things and claim things and fuck things. Your hand drifts to your crotch, palming the stunted, rock-hard little dick, and you almost laugh. Who cares how small you are? You make them beg anyway. You leave them aching, crying, hungry for another shot at your attention. That’s power. That’s what matters. You stroke yourself with greedy pride, hips rolling, flexing for the mirror, muscles standing out in hard relief. The sight alone nearly makes you cum right there.

The world grows hotter, brighter, richer - colors popping, sounds sharper, your own breath a growl in your ears. Every muscle feels like it could split your skin. The memory of a hundred victories, a thousand fucks, a lifetime of domination lights you up from inside. You squeeze your cock harder, laughing, spitting on the floor, every sense at the redline. Your heart pounds. Your voice, when it comes, is a bark, a boast, a moan of conquest. “Fuck, look at me. I’m fucking perfect.”

That’s when it hits: the final, shuddering wave. Your body tenses, flexes, and you explode, eyes rolling back as a white-hot pleasure tears through you. The world blurs out in a haze of sensation: every sound a roar, every sight a smear of color, every feeling magnified a thousand times. For a heartbeat, you are only pleasure and pride, animal and god.

When your vision clears, you blink, breath still ragged, your muscles singing with afterglow. The mirror is gone. The world is different - harder, realer, yet exactly where you're meant to be...

You’re now sitting in your cop car. Your uniform hugs your new body like a second skin, and every inch of you radiates power, authority, and cocky satisfaction. In the passenger seat, you turn to see your rookie partner - young, clean-shaven, eager - grinning over at you. Clearly, the kid idolized you... which you weren't surprised about in the slightest. After all, you're the best cop in the damn county.

“Nice work on that last collar, Sarge,” he says, handing you a file. “You think the conversion program is really going to fix all of this hostility?”

You grin, rolling your shoulders, letting your arm drape out the window. “Trust me, rookie,” you say, voice deep and sure, “it’s the best thing that ever happened to this country. The world’s gone soft, now we get to toughen it up, one whiny liberal at a time.”

A call crackles in on the radio: “Suspect - blue hair, protest sign - causing a disturbance downtown.” You catch your own reflection in the rearview, eyes flashing with pride and hunger.

You peel out, siren blaring, your rookie laughing in excitement beside you. When you pull up to the curb, the twink barely has time to protest before you’re out of the car, grabbing him, manhandling him into the backseat. “Hey! What are you... Let me go, I didn’t do anything!” he shouts, voice shrill and desperate.

You just smirk, settling behind the wheel, flipping on the in-car TV as your rookie secures the door. “You’re about to get a real education,” you drawl, thumbing the website’s app open. “Don’t worry, you’ll thank us when you’re done.”

As the screen starts to flash, you stretch, cocky and satisfied, already looking forward to seeing another convert step out strong, proud, and right.

While your attention returns to the radio as it spits static and coded chatter, the blue-haired kid continues to struggle in the backseat - attempting to do whatever he can to escape and prevent the fate that's fast approaching. Your rookie is all nerves and excitement, glancing between you and the backseat, where the RedWaveRapture website flickers to life, ready to work its magic once again.

You can feel the afterglow from your earlier transformation still thrumming through your veins, your muscles buzzing with power, your skin sticky with sweat and pride. The world outside is crisp and clear - streets straight, no-nonsense, every building flying a fresh American flag, not a protest sign in sight. It’s like the city itself has sobered up, straightened its back, embraced its new order. You breathe deep, letting the smell of asphalt and summer and your own body fill your lungs. Everything is sharp, clean, right.

Your rookie checks the cuffs on the twink, then slides into the passenger seat, all wide-eyed and eager for approval. “Man, I still can’t believe how easy it is now. They just go in whiny and come out ready to serve. The program’s a game-changer.”

You grin, teeth flashing in the rearview, feeling bigger than ever. “It’s about time the world stopped listening to all that bullshit. Give ‘em a little discipline, a little structure, and they remember how to act. Weakness is a choice. All they needed was a push.”

You crank the volume on the screen as the slideshow begins, the same relentless stream of women and flags and muscle and grinning authority that claimed you. The twink’s protests quickly fade into moans, gasps, then silence - eyes locked, face slack, his features already starting to harden, hair shifting shade by shade toward a respectable brown. You can’t help but laugh. “Look at that, rookie. One less pain in the ass for us to babysit.”

The rookie laughs, emboldened, tossing you a wink. “Bet he’ll thank you before the day’s over. They always do. Last guy brought in coffee for the whole shift and saluted everyone on the way out.”

“Fuck yeah,” you bark, slapping the dash. “We’re making real men again. Making this country proud. No more losers, no more snowflakes. Just the strong, the loyal, the fuckin’ backbone.” You catch a glimpse of yourself in the side mirror - blond, broad, beard stubble sharp, eyes cold and unblinking. You look every inch the part: a leader, a lawman, a conqueror.

The rookie looks at you with naked admiration, eager to match your bravado. “So, what do we do with him when he’s done? Drop him off at the precinct?”

“Nah. Let him see his old friends first. Nothing wakes you up like seeing what you left behind. Gives ‘em a reason to keep the faith.” You stretch, savoring the pop of your new, stronger joints, the way your uniform hugs your biceps and chest. It’s easy, natural even, to talk like this, to dismiss the past and see only strength and victory ahead.

Outside, the city rolls by - orderly, almost eerily serene. A few protest stickers remain, faded and peeling, relics of a softer time. Everywhere else, it’s red, white, and blue, men and women walking straighter, heads high, eyes on the prize. You nod at your reflection, pride swelling until it threatens to burst.

Behind you, the twink starts to grunt, his voice dropping an octave, hands flexing as his wrists thicken. His body’s already bulking, shirt riding up as abs push through. You watch with lazy approval, a thrill running through you as his face sets in a new, rugged cast.

Just then, your phone buzzes - it's a text from the captain, he has a new list of suspects flagged for “adjustment.” You smirk. Plenty more work to do. The world won’t fix itself, but with men like you behind the wheel, there’s hope yet.

As the rookie flips on the lights for your next call, you roll down the window and let the city’s heat and noise pour in. You catch sight of your badge, “SMITH,” gleaming in the afternoon sun. Every inch of you radiates power, pride, certainty. You reach down, give yourself a squeeze, and laugh - a deep, easy sound, free of doubt, full of promise.

This is your city. Your time. The weak are fading, the strong are rising, and you - Officer Smith - are right where you belong.

[weirdsht]

Hi! Good day/evening to you. Would it be alright if we get more of yan!cale? 😽 I read ur yan!cale stories and I deeply stand by you.

Overboard

notes: i'm not experienced with writing yanderes and I couldn't think of a specific scenarios so i went with this a short fic instead. If you have any scenarios in mind feel free to send them and i'll do my best to deliver!

tags: subtle yandere cale (tbh you have to squint huhu), established relationship, vague novel spoilers

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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Navigation Masterlist

The clock strikes just after midnight. It was quiet as everyone had gone to their designated rooms to sleep.

Almost everyone that is.

Cale and Ron are still awake and talking. With the young master sitting on the couch and the servant standing up beside him as he reads the documents he has been given.

Usually, Cale would have been asleep long ago. At this time he would be cuddling with his significant other and the children averaging nine years old. In fact, he can hear the bed that’s just 10 steps away calling him already.

But alas he still has something to do.

“A viscount’s son huh? Where does he get the audacity to try and touch what’s mine?”

Ron stayed silent at his young master’s calm voice. Instead, he peeked at the document in Cale’s hand.

The document was something the servant had written himself. It consisted of every detail that happened when Cale’s significant other was away. Getting a much-needed vacation after being cooped up at the underground villa during the entirety of the war.

It consisted of places they went to. Things they bought. People they talked to. Even things they looked at for more than 30 seconds.

Every move they made was written in that document.

“Ron, everyone knows that the Henituse is a duchy now right?”

“Of course young master.”

“And everyone knows who my significant other is right?”

“Yes, young master. You are a famous figure in both continents, your significant other is bound to be known too.”

Usually, Cale would grimace at the thought of him being famous. But not right now.

“Then why would such a lowly noble like this trash here dare make a move on _____?”

“Some rabbits just don’t know the value of their lives, young master.”

Cale could feel his anger rising. However, he held it in. He can’t raise his voice right now. Not only was it late but _____ and the children were already asleep on the bed a few steps away from him.

Huuu

“I wanted for _____ to relax for once. The war was quite detrimental to their health.”

The young master sighed once more before fully calming down.

“You did a good job not letting that bastard go near them again after the 2nd time it happened.”

Ron flashed his usual benign smile at the compliment. Despite that, Cale could see in the old man’s eyes that he was not yet satisfied.

“Was _____ bothered that much?”

“Yes, young master. They felt distraught during the first two days of their vacation because of him.”

Ah, so that’s why Ron was still angry.

“Then I guess looting him dry won’t be enough. I’ll you handle the rest. Go do whatever will ease your heart. Just make sure to clean up afterwards.”

Molan’s last patriarch only bowed before going out of Cale’s room. The documents that Cale had been reading are in his hands, ready to be burned at the fireplace. Despite the lack of verbal response from the benign old man, Cale knows he will follow the orders given to him.

Which was why he could go back to bed with a lighter heart.

Meanwhile, the documents are now successfully fueling the fireplace of the villa. Ron watches the paper turn to ash. He oversees how the last thing that was burned was the description of the viscount’s son. Written below that was his offence.

His crime?

Trying to flirt with _____. Twice.

Even had the nerve to say a pickup line.

“Maybe I’ll let Choi Han handle him instead.”

[minus-plus-zer0]

The Bakusquad Gaming Group - Ch. 2 - Appearing on His Stream

| Masterlist | The Bakusquad Gaming Group Masterlist | | Previous | Next | ♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Gamer!Bakugou x Gamer!Reader ♡ Tags: Crossover (MHA x multiple franchises), gaming AU, Quirkless AU, aged up

You were still reeling from your first ever collaboration event with Dynamight, one of the more recent gaming channels to hit the big leagues. After the event ended, you went to bed and rolled around from pure giddiness. It wasn't just about the increase in views and exposure that mattered to you and your own gaming channel. No, what you really cared about was him.

You couldn't really explain these odd feelings in your chest as you cuddled up with your gaming plushie, but you knew it was his damn fault. Maybe it was his handsome face, or maybe it was the way he seemingly flirted with you, but something about him drew you ever closer.

But you had never heard any rumors about him dating, so you had no idea what to expect from a guy like him. You hoped he liked you as much as you thought he did.

You knew you had to keep the ball rolling. Your viewers on your channel kept asking for more videos between you two. And Bakugou specifically said he wanted you more in his life (or at least in his career). So you had to give them more.

You checked your viewer count and other related statistics. The stream garnered increased attention for both of you, but Bakugou still had the higher follower count. Given your channels had almost entirely different content save for some occasional overlap, you didn't really know how to compare yourself to him or how to overtake him. Bakugou's fans stuck around for his sheer skill and his determination to beat any level, no matter how difficult. You didn't really feel you could compete with that, given your cozy game aesthetic.

But you had to try.

Over your sugary breakfast cereal, you mulled over whether to text Bakugou then and there. You hemmed and hawed over it for several minutes before finally sending a text.

"Morning! Did you check your stats? Both of us went up, I think."

"Yeah I noticed."

"You think that was more due to you or to me?"

"Don't even ask me that. I'd say it's more due to me, 'cause I clearly got the bigger bump."

You knew he was an arrogant guy on his videos and streams, but it still kinda hurt to hear that. You hoped you had proven yourself to him already.

He continued texting. "But you still did a great job last stream. It pisses me off. That's the first time somebody's kicked my ass that badly."

You hummed to yourself happily, doing a tiny dance in your dining chair. You knew he didn't give out those compliments that easily.

"Now that I know what you're capable of," Bakugou texted, "you better get ready when I surpass you and your channel."

You bit your lip. You knew what Bakugou was capable of. But you wanted to show him you were capable of something great too. Cozy gamers like you were looked down upon as not real gamers, and you wanted to prove everyone wrong. You just needed the confidence to know that you even could.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you, of all people," you texted. "But I am up to the challenge!"

"Come over to my next stream," Bakugou texted. "A fan sent me some weird anime game that's more your style than mine. We'll play the main co-op storyline and we'll show the viewers who's really the best."

Your heart swelled. He was inviting you back! He saw you as a threat!

"Yes of course I'll come over! I'll show your chat who's boss. The cozy gamers will win!"

Somehow, you landed yourself at Bakugou's apartment for the first time ever.

The window views were almost always beautiful, the garden was well-groomed, the gorgeous pool out back was ready to use, and the location was in a great spot. Your apartment wasn't bad but it certainly wasn't as good.

Of course he'd live in a place like this. And of course he could afford it. Bakugou's parents were well-known fashion designers and his own channel probably made enough income to get by. None of the other Bakusquad streamers lived like this (in fact, most streamers generally didn't).

You tried to ignore how much his mere apartment complex intimidated you. You knocked on his door, a plate of sugar cookies in tow as you fixed your adorable outfit.

Bakugou opened the door seconds later, looking sharp in his black jacket and orange shirt. You gave him the cutest tiny wave of your hand.

"Hey!" you said. "I brought cookies! It's just a thanks that I always give when people invite me over. I didn't want us getting hungry during the stream."

"Cookies, huh?"

He took a cookie and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully.

"Well? What do you think?"

"...It's good." He sounded surprised. "Text me that recipe later. Can't believe this shit." He pointed at you accusingly. "This is the second time I've felt outdone by you."

Your heart swelled. You followed him inside his apartment as he kept munching on your cookies.

"Do you really mean it? I'm so happy! Now you're seeing what I'm truly made of."

He took your plate of cookies and set it down on the kitchen counter nearby. "I already kinda knew not to underestimate ya. I've also heard you talking about baking in your videos."

"You saw my cozy lunch stream two weeks ago?" You gasped, acting flattered like you were a superstar. "Were you eating lunch with me? Were you in the chat?"

Bakugou crossed his arms and leaned against his kitchen counter. "I never talk in your chats. Your chat members are too freaking weird. I'd rather listen."

"So you're one of the lurkers," you said, walking around him all coy. "I appreciate all my viewers, even if they don't talk. But I didn't realize you were so shy."

"I'm not shy." His eyes narrowed into slits. "And quit teasing me. You probably watch my videos the same way."

You couldn't wipe that cocky expression off his face because he was right. Your mildly offended face told him that much and he just chuckled.

Bakugou showed you around the rest of his house, and you were more than eager to poke your head around every corner. The place had a brilliantly modern feel to it, leaning into darker wooden colors to give it a mature feel. There wasn't a pillow out of place on the living room couch, the dining room table had a brilliant shine, and you noticed that the kitchen counter was even still wet from cleaning.

Wait, still wet?

"Did you clean just before I got here?" you asked, dabbing your index finger upon the surface. Bakugou looked at the offending spot like he wanted to smash it and buy a new counter entirely. "You didn't have to do that for me, Bakugou!"

He stomped over to you and ushered you away from the spot. "It's only normal to clean up before guests arrive! Of course I would! Next room!"

But of course, you soon noticed more things on his extremely short tour. When you threw something away, you saw that his trash can was still filled with used paper towels and even an empty cleaning spray. His bathroom also still smelled lightly of fresh cleaning products. You didn't even have to look hard to find these clues once you realized it.

Bakugou still tried to drag you away from it. He led you to his bedroom, where his gaming setup was. You didn't really understand what he was getting so worked up for.

You stopped him before you entered his bedroom. "Bakugou, it's okay! You don't have to be so insecure about this. It's normal to do an early spring cleaning before somebody visits. Were you worried about impressing me? Don't worry, I'm super impressed!"

Your cheery face tried to convince him just as much. His more serious face examined yours.

"''Course I want to fucking impress ya," he said, leaning against his closed bedroom door. "Do you even know who you are? You're a celebrity. I've watched a ton of your damn videos. And now you're here. With me. I thought you'd feel the same pressure, since you're my fan too."

His words warmed your heart. "Of course I feel the same! I wanted you to think I was cool too. Honestly, I would've been a little heartbroken if you didn't like my cookies." You laughed, rubbing your arm awkwardly. "But I also can't believe you're intimidated by me. You don't have to worry, because I love everything that I am seeing!"

"You're always such a sap," he said. Then, he leaned closer to you. "But thanks."

Bakugou turned and opened his bedroom door, walking inside and gesturing you to follow. It was a bit of a random thought, but you really liked the look of his broad shoulders from behind. You followed him, blaming his earlier behavior for getting you to think of him like this. You couldn't space out here thinking about his body, he might notice!

And he did notice. Bakugou briefly caught you staring and raised an eyebrow before you trailed over to him in his bedroom.

"Wow, so this is where the magic happens," you said, desperately trying to distract him.

Bakugou's bed had a nice, slick black spread and his gaming setup was set a decent distance away from the area, ensuring that nobody would ever see where he slept. In fact, you've never seen that part of his room from his videos. His closet and drawers were closed, but you didn't really want to peep into them anyways. His shelves were filled to the brim with video games and some books, and there were heavy weights around the corner. Bakugou had a few choice gaming posters above his bed and a few figurines around his computer. No raunchy anime figurines were ever displayed, that was more Kaminari's and Midoriya's style.

"Done ogling?" Bakugou asked, his arms crossed. You didn't know if he was referring to his bedroom or himself, but his smug face made you not want to test him on his true meaning.

"You'd do the same if you visited my apartment," you said, shrugging like you were voice positively innocent. You both knew better.

"You really sure of that?" He moved just a bit closer.

"I know you're just as curious as me."

"Well I wouldn't have invited you over if I wasn't."

"Awww. You really just say the randomly cutest things, huh?"

He scoffed and turned his head away, but he couldn't hide his smile from that angle.

You helped him with setting up before the stream started. With the two of you working hard, you got through the setup process quicker than he would've done alone. You chatted here and there in the mean time, and eventually you caught him laughing at a few of your goofy jokes. At first he tried to hide it, but he soon stopped and you got to hear a full bark of laughter, which was rare even throughout his videos.

During the setup, you occasionally caught Bakugou staring at you. Every time, he sharply turned away and pretended to be overly invested in his computer again. He was like a little school boy around you sometimes.

Once you two finished, both of you posted on social media to alert your viewers that the stream would start soon. You both got into your seats in front of the computer and his moderators rolled into the chat. Eventually, the game started. Your shared face cam turned on and you beamed at your viewers.

"Hey guys!" you chirped. "I'm joining Dynamight today on his stream again and we're gonna be playing an old favorite of mine! It's super nice to see you all here. I hope some of you remember me from our last collab. In fact, I think I see a few familiar faces here in the chat from my own fanbase..."

"You don't gotta be that nice to them, you know," Bakugou said, leaning on one arm of his gaming chair towards you. "She may find you guys sweet and stuff, but I don't. I've seen how you guys post. You people are total dicks."

"Well, too late!" you said. "I can't take back my kindness, now can I?"

Some of his viewers remarked they were shocked to see somebody else on his face cam, let alone in his house.

"isnt that his bedroom?" said one viewer. "did they break in?"

"are you guys dating?" asked another. "also did they break in?"

"See what I fucking mean?" Bakugou said, gesturing to the chat displayed on the computer screen. He slapped the hand to his forehead and groaned.

"Come on guys," you said. "It's not like that... It's just easier to play the game when we're together like this. Local play is better than online play for this game."

But the commenters still kept going. "theyre dating! dynamight liked her social media posts before this and we have evidence!"

You highlighted that comment with Bakugou's mouse and keyboard and poked him in the shoulder. "Wait, is this one true? You've liked my posts?" You poked him repeatedly in the sides. "You're giving me social media engagement?"

Bakugou glanced at the computer screen. "Ugh. They're reading too much into everything. Ignore them and move on."

"Fine, fine," you said. "Settle down chat. We're here for the game, not to gossip. You can do that on my streams instead and next time, it won't involve my life..."

"It better not!" Bakugou cried.

You grabbed your controller and proceeded through the game's main menu. The game's intro played out before you two, something you'd seen a hundred times. You read the text out loud for the chat's sake.

The game was an anime-styled fantasy beat 'em up. You'd play co-op with Bakugou to traverse through varied fantasy lands in order to defeat a dragon that was summoning monsters all over the kingdom. The commenters described your voice as soothing, and Bakugou paid rapt attention to you as you spoke.

The character selection screen popped up. Bakugou chose to play as a barbarian, while you played as a white mage. The first level took place in a castle overrun with monsters and you two got to work on cleaning up.

You were hit with all sorts of nostalgia upon fighting the first waves of castle monsters. You recounted some of your old memories of this game to Bakugou and the chat. Bakugou was much more critical of the game than you ever were with your nostalgia goggles, but you liked hearing his perspective because it was so different from yours. Some of the viewers even agreed with him.

"These controls are really fucking unintuitive," Bakugou said, his fingers smashing rapidly on his controller. "Shit! I didn't want my stupid character to fucking do that! No wonder your kid self struggled with this game."

"It's an older game so it's not super robust," you said, while your white mage killed the castle monsters much more smoothly. "It's not so bad once you get used to it. Here, let me show you the ropes."

"I can handle it!" Bakugou said, not tearing his eyes from the screen.

"Pretty please? It'll only take a second. I promise it won't be that long."

"Tch... Fine."

You guided him through killing the castle monsters, giving him several tips and pointers until he got the hang of things. Once he got over the learning curve, he started killing things just as well as you did. You knew he'd only get better than you if you underestimated him. You cleared the first level together and proceeded to the huge town outside of the castle.

"...Guess this game isn't that dumb," Bakugou said, looking over at you. "You see how good I did there? Your advice wasn't half-bad."

"Yes, yes, I saw. You did very well!" You clapped your hands together excitedly, your gaming chair swiveling slightly because of it. "Oh it's so rare to see a game redeem itself in your eyes!"

"I never said it was redeemed," Bakugou retorted. "I'm just giving it a fucking chance, that's all."

"That's all it needs, actually."

Sure enough, Bakugou started to enjoy himself more as you continued to explore the town. He still snarked at some of the monsters' anime-inspired designs (which you reluctantly found funny, despite his mean-spiritedness) and he still raged a bit when things didn't go his way, but you were there to calm him down, killing off any monsters that were giving him trouble. You had never seen his rage die down like this on his other streams, and it was a little unnerving! You felt the need to rile him up all over again, just for fun. So you challenged him to see who could kill the most enemies, and he accepted.

The viewers enjoyed seeing you two pull off complex combos as you competed to see who could kill the most enemies level after level. The chat tried to keep tally of how many monsters you both killed per level, but it was clear you were mostly neck-and-neck. You were essentially enemies on the same team. You both cleared several levels pretty soundly with how eagerly you two steamrolled the competition.

Hours passed as you two explored new maps and defeated various mini-bosses, all the while taking a few breaks during the stream. Even though you and Bakugou fought almost the entire time, you loved spending time with him since his reactions were always funny. You always knew how to get a rise out of him.

Finally, you both traveled to the top of the mountain where the dragon rested. The dragon summoned multiple enemies to distract you, and this was your final chance to get ahead of Bakugou. For most of the game you had focused on avoiding as much damage as possible and being overly cautious, but now you attacked without regards to your health. Near the end of the battle, you were almost dead.

Once the dragon was near low health, it collapsed to the ground and both of you wailed on it repeatedly. You feared that Bakugou's barbarian would be faster than you, but you spammed your fastest attack even though it dealt the least amount of damage. Through sheer luck and button mashing, you ended up getting the final blow in. The game showed off your attack in slow motion as the dragon died.

"Chat, who won?" Bakugou said, his eyes shooting to the monitor. "Who fucking won?"

"Give them space, Bakugou," you said, holding him back from the monitor he was currently trying to terrorize. "Yelling isn't gonna make them work faster."

"Tch. You'd be surprised. Wait--WHAT?!"

You barely came out on top. Multiple chat members were able to corroborate each other's numbers. You cried out in happiness. Bakugou threw his controller down onto the table, groaning. The story's outro rolled, showing that you saved the kingdom. The credits showed the aftermath and your characters being celebrated, but Bakugou looked none too happy at this development.

"That was SO much fun," you said, kicking your feet. "I can't believe I won!" You poked Bakugou's ribs again and he simply looked away from you, shaking his head. "Oh I hope chat enjoyed our playthrough. Did you guys like the game? The plot twists were super awesome. Gosh, the story and the gameplay still hold up. Don't you agree, Bakugou?"

Bakugou still refused to look at you. "...Guess it's not that bad..."

"Ohhh?" You got up into his face, forcing him to look at your disgustingly cute smile. "That's a different answer from before! You came into this game hating it."

Bakugou frowned. "That's--ugh... Fine. It was good." You squealed. "Hey! I said it was good. I didn't say I fucking loved it to death. Don't get all cocky and smug with me just because you got me to admit that. This game's learning curve's still a bitch."

"You say that but you did soooo well once you got the hang of things, so I disagree!"

"That's only 'cause I'm me. And also 'cause you literally taught me everything 'cause you've been playing it for years. This is first and foremost a kid's game and most kids would've hated these controls." Bakugou sighed and then leaned back in his chair, looking up to think. "Anyways, the plot's cliche as fuck. The anime art style's hit or miss. The animation could be better. And the game poses this shit as a happy fucking ending even though the townspeople are all probably dead 'cause we couldn't save them in time."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Even some of the chat members were agreeing.

"...But in the credits," you said, "we see everyone happy and alive!"

"I don't buy it. That's only the survivors."

"You're just seeing what you want to see," you said, patting him on the head to accentuate your point.

He sharply turned to you, defensive and afraid of your soft, loving pets. You could almost hear the chat members gossiping about it now.

"Oh, and another thing!" you said. "Did you know they're coming up with a sequel?"

"WHAT?!" Bakugou sat straight up. "No. We're NOT playing it! Stream's over."

"But thanks so much to all of you for watching! Thank you! Love you!" You sent Bakugou's face cam all of your kisses, to which he observed without any sense of joy. "And don't forget to follow me on social media!"

"Don't add that last part!"

Bakugou stopped the stream. You put your hands on your hips. "Don't end the stream on a grumpy note! Bet you're just jealous that the camera got more love from me than you."

"WHAT?!" Bakugou looked like he could pop a vein. You laughed lightly in the face of his predicament as he muttered complaints and protests under his breath.

It was a daring proposal that you had to suggest. But secretly, you hoped you weren't wrong!

Bakugou went through his typical stream outro routine, such as posting on social media and downloading the video file for later. Once you two finally shut everything off, you relaxed back in Bakugou's extra gaming chair, gawking at the silly boy while he towered above.

"I really had a fun time today," you said, tugging on his black jacket. "Thanks again for inviting me over. I know I give you grief, but I really mean it."

"You're coming back over again," Bakugou said, pointing at you. "...Right? Couldn't tell who the chat loved more, me or you."

"I think they loved us both," you said, lightly spinning in his extra gaming chair. "They said they've 'never seen someone take verbal pot shots at you and get away with it.'"

"You didn't get away with it," he said, stopping your spinning with one hand on your chair and then coming up to you, face-to-face. "I almost won, remember? Despite this being your game."

"Oh, yeah..." You hung your head.

Bakugou looked concerned. "...The hell's wrong?"

"...I'm just a little bummed at myself for not doing as well as I'd thought. Maybe I'm a bit rusty, but I really wanted to be better than you at this game since I've spent so many years on this. Especially since this is gonna be saved on your channel forever."

He patted you on the head and you looked up at him with your pretty doe-eyes.

"Quit worrying," Bakugou said. "You did good. In fact, you're real fucking tough, just like I expected. But do better next time, I wanna see you at your strongest."

You gave him a small smile. "Of course."

He chuckled. "Didn't expect you to get all insecure on me. You're really worrying for nothing, again. I've wanted to meet ya for a long time and I got to see your skills firsthand. I'm not gonna complain about those results."

You felt silly upon realizing that much, and maybe that was a good thing.

"I'm gonna upload this to YouTube later," Bakugou said, sitting back in his own seat. "And--well... I need a good thumbnail. Do you wanna be in it? If... if that's okay with you."

His face looked so innocent. The biggest, brightest, dorkiest grin appeared on your face. He immediately grew apprehensive at the mere sight of such a thing.

"You are sooooooo shy sometimes!" you said, giving a fully belly laugh. Bakugou looked terribly distraught, but you snuffed that feeling out of him real quick with your next response. "And yes, of course I'd love to be on your thumbnail. The viewers will be so happy to see you've made a new friend! But you have to be there with me!"

"FUCKING SERIOUSLY?!"

With your approval, Bakugou would place both of your beaming smiles on the thumbnail of his video when he uploaded it later. The Bakusquad better not tease him for this, because you wanted all the opportunities to yourself.

After the stream ended, Bakugou invited you out to eat ramen with him at a nearby restaurant. You agreed, not wanting the night to end. You both rode on his orange motorcycle, your arms tight around his waist as you clung to his back the entire ride. When you arrived at the restaurant, he removed his helmet, his head facing away from you with pink dusting his cheeks. He appeared effortlessly beautiful under the street lamp glow. Perhaps because of this, he wouldn't face you.

"C'mon, let's go," he said, and he headed into the restaurant with his helmet in tow. You followed after with your own.

You sat down in a booth and surprisingly, Bakugou sat down next to you instead of across the table. You got your menus and the waiter walked away.

Bakugou briefly stood to dump both your helmets on the seat across from you two. Once he sat back down, he addressed you directly. "I'm paying this time. So choose whatever ya want."

"What?!" You put the menu down like it offended you. "No, no, no! You invited me over to your stream, the least I could do is pay you back!"

"You being on my stream benefits both of us, dummy. There's nothing to pay back. Plus, you brought me cookies earlier, so I've gotta pay you back for that."

"Bakugou, that's really not--"

"Pick something!" Bakugou handed you back your menu. "It's not that big of a deal. You know I'm loaded."

That arrogant grin of his always knew how to get under your skin, one way or another.

"Thank you," you said, as you held your menu. "You really are too sweet to me sometimes."

"Well we're friends now, ain't we?"

You both examined the various dishes on the menu, with Bakugou already moving on to check the drinks. You tried to look for the cheapest yet yummiest items, but you mentally shrunk back at the sight of how spicy some of these dishes could get.

"I didn't bring you here for nothing," Bakugou said, seemingly reading your mind. He peered over your shoulder, checking out your menu. "I brought ya because I wanted ya to try some of these hotter dishes. It'd be a waste if you didn't try 'em. You're always vlogging about going to those cute damn cafes. Bet they don't got nothing like this."

"I don't know..." You frowned. "I don't want to end a good day with a stomach ache... And it'd waste your money too..."

"There's normal versions if you really can't handle it," Bakugou said, setting his menu down on the table. "But you should still try something new. This is one of my favorite places to hit post-streams and sometimes one last good kick is what you need right after a big day."

Your gut reaction was to avoid foods that hurt you like the plague. But with Bakugou right beside you eyeing the strongest foods on the menu, you felt the urge to outdo yourself today. You didn't want to seem weak in front of him.

When the waiter came back over, you ordered the lowest level of spice for your ramen. You were feeling risky today.

Bakugou, however, wasn't impressed.

"You chose 'mild'?!" he snapped. Some of the other patrons peered over to look.

"Yes!" you said, clapping your hands together. I'm trying something new, just as you asked! Aren't you proud?"

Bakugou looked confused, but he could tell you weren't even kidding this time. "But that's not even their best shit..."

"Bakugou, it's okay! It looked delicious."

"What if ya don't like it? I don't want you thinking I got crap taste if you don't like it."

You shrugged. "I think we just have different tastes in food, Bakugou. There's nothing wrong with that. Plus, since I'm eating with your money I'll be sure to enjoy every bite! So chin up, okay?"

Over your meals, you two chatted about the various games you've played recently. Bakugou was surprised to learn that you played a lot of the shooters he covered on his channel. You two had more in common than you would've ever previously believed.

You really loved talking to him. This was the first time you managed to truly befriend someone on your level, someone who could understand your lifestyle. You didn't have the same gaming circle of friends Bakugou had with the Bakusquad, and even then none of the Bakusquad even scratched his number of followers. You two were soon becoming in a league of your own, higher than the rest but not quite at the top yet.

Just then, a thought occurred to you.

"Why did you start streaming?" you asked. "You don't really seem like the 'nerdy' type. And if I didn't know you any better I would've thought you would've gotten a career related to sports. I just don't expect tough guy gym rats like you to be full-time gamers."

"Tough guy, huh?" Bakugou cocked his head at you.

"Just answer the question!" you said, before loading your mouth full of food.

"Fine. It's 'cause I love kicking ass in-game and I wanna show everyone undeniable proof that I'm the best. I'm sick of watching a bunch of nobodies acting like they're somebody onscreen. It's a real pain watching other people play when they don't know what they're doing."

You slurped your food. "So... spite is what fuels you."

"Kinda," Bakugou said, bringing food to his mouth. "And you?"

"Well, I can't say I agree with your mindset," you said, setting your chopsticks down. He raised an eyebrow at you. "But I also didn't expect much else. I'm the opposite of you, I think! I wanted to start up this platform because I love sharing my experience with games with other people, and just being there with them. After building up such a big fanbase, I know I have to use my platform for good and to spread a positive message, instead of abusing my power and getting into drama and scandals like other celebrities."

"So you're saying that I'm like one of those celebrities," Bakugou asked, resting his hand on his fist.

"Nope!" you chirped. "You're nothing like them! You get into arguments, sure. But you're not evil! You've just got an ego, but you've also got the skills to back your ego up. That's so cool. And you're passionate and more honest than most, which I really admire. Like, you're mostly the same person on and offscreen, except you might be even sweeter in private... I tease you about it sometimes, but I really appreciate how nice you've been to me."

"Y-yeah, of course," Bakugou said, his face a little too serious. "You may still not get it, but... I look up to ya. So it's insane hearing you say that to my face. I actually modeled my channel after yours early on... You're basically my fucking hero."

"What?! Really?"

"Yeah. I must've found your channel first before you ever found me."

"Well you should've reached out then! You're my hero too!"

"Hell no! You would've rejected me with the numbers you had at the time." Bakugou relaxed against his seat, looking into the distance wistfully at the thought. "I always thought you would've said no." Then he turned to you. "But seeing how things turned out, I'm glad you reached out first. 'Cause that's how we got to this point now."

"...I'm glad I reached out too."

(This chapter was supposed to come out days ago, but as it turns out it's actually like 20 pages long and super hard to edit. Still, I'm glad I took my time because I'm really more satisfied with these results than I would have been if I didn't edit!)

[thatnarcissisticfeel]

I think that a lot of people without NPD have a really poor understanding of "narc supply" or the specific type of positive attention that pwNPD crave. Even the egotypicals who are allies, the ones denounce narc abuse and anti-NPD ableism, don't fully grasp it.

There's this false idea that NPDs like to be worshipped and showered with compliments all of the time, and I mean, yeah, most of us would eat that shit up, but I know that for myself and a lot of other pwNPD it's deeper and much more, I guess, personal?

I don't really know how to describe it, so I'll give an example: As a kid, no one really paid attention to my creative endeavors, my accomplishments, my feelings, etc. And if they DID pay attention, the attention was negative. I could always do better, I could always be smarter, stronger, etc. This came from peers and adults alike. So I developed a coping mechanism where I would tell myself that everyone else was wrong, that I'm actually the best person around, etc. I don't have to explain what disorder I ended up with as an adult as a result of all of that. :P

But anyway - the wound of constantly being ignored at best and insulted at worst is still there. You know how when you're in a group chat or a conversation with multiple people and no one ever pays attention to your comments, while paying attention to everyone else? Yeah, that shit hurts EVERYONE, but especially pwNPD. Even the smallest acknowledgment can be "narc supply."

You know how when you achieve something really cool and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you will be quick to praise OTHER people?

You know how when you post art/edits online and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you compliment someone else's post in the exact same thread?

You know how when you ask your friend to read your favorite book or listen to your favorite artist or whatever because of how much it means to you, and they never do it, but then they read/listen to everyone else's favorite thing at everyone else's recommendation, and how much it pisses you off? (Hurts even more if you have the SAME favorite book/artist and someone reads/listens to it at the other person's recommendation and not at yours.)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I could go on and on. That shit would bother anyone, us narcissists aren't alone in being hurt by that, but my G-d, it impacts pwNPD in such a specific way.

But let me flip it around to the positive!

A narcissist doesn't necessarily get their "supply" from someone telling them that they're the coolest person in the world and that they're a god. (Though if you do want to say that to us we probably won't complain!) Sometimes they get their "supply" from something as simple as someone acknowledging their achievements, and giving specific praise on what the achievement was. ("It's so cool that you won a prize in the music recital. The song you played sounds like it was really difficult and I loved your stage presence.")

Being told, "Wow, you did such a great job on your artwork, I love the colors!" goes a very very long way for a narc, especially when said narc is used to being IGNORED for their art.

Hearing, "it's so cool that you like that book, I'll have to read it and tell you my thoughts!" can help a narcissist's interests feel acknowledged.

You might be reading this and thinking, "well, isn't it just basic human interaction to compliment your friends or try out their interests"? And, well, maybe it is, but the whole point of NPD is that most of us grew up without receiving that type of attention, so now we're very very desperate for it - and very, very, VERY sensitive to when it doesn't happen, or is even perceived to not have happened. Something as small as being talked over in a group chat can set us off, but something as small as a simple, "hey, it's so cool that you did this, I love it." can win us over.

And to be completely fair, most of the time us being "ignored" isn't completely intentional. Like, I get it, yeah, sometimes timing just doesn't work out for person A to read my favorite book at my own rec, but by the time person B is in their life, person A can read it, and it's not anything personal. Sometimes the content I make just isn't someone's ~style~ and they support me, they really do, they just don't know what to say. Sometimes someone forgets to respond, or doesn't get a notification when I send them something I made or tell them about something I did. (There is less excuse for being ignored in face-to-face/offline convos though.) But because of the trauma of us constantly being ignored as kids/teens, the smallest little thing hurts and as a result we seek and crave attention EVERYWHERE.

So now, to give in to narc stereotypes of begging for attention: If you're a person without NPD and you genuinely want to help the narcissists you have in your life, the second best thing you can do for us is checking in to make sure we're not overlooked. Try to be sure you're not ignoring us, and if we do something cool, try to compliment it, even if it's something you don't fully "understand." Ask us about what we've been up to lately, what we're proud of about ourselves, and agree with us that what we've done is pretty cool. I mean, you'd do that for any friend, right? It's really not all outlandish for a narc to want that.

(If you're curious what the FIRST best thing you can do for a narcissist is, it's giving us a million dollars unlearning your anti-NPD ableism and calling people out who use narcissist as an insult as a synonym for abuser. Even in "offline" spaces, even when we're not around, even doctors/therapists. Even "narc" abuse survivors.)

[insomniadreamzz]

Alright, idk if your request are open, but if they are please hear me out

Modern au, maybe in college ? Where sevika is always irritated. She feels undervalued, like she's doing everything for silco (drug dealer) always fixing jinx's mess, but no one sees how important she is

But then she met reader, who's a little older and sooo easy to impress. She's always fawning over how good her work is, or maybe sees her at the gym and is like woaaaw that's so much weight at like, sevika's warm up weight..

She feels sooo good but then she sees reader is like that with everyone and she snaps lmao

Don't know if you'll read (or write) this but thanks !

Xoxo

Something special

Sevika x Fem!Reader College AU

slight Smut ahead

(Sevika has both arms in this AU and is ofc younger in that fic)

It was one of those days where Sevika just hated everything. Seeing all the mess Jinx made and of course she had to fix, of course Jinx could do anything, she was Silco’s adoptive daughter and Silco…well he was a drug dealer Sevika worked for.

Besides having to deal with that, she was still going to college. It wasn’t a secret that most people kept their distance from her, she looked strong and intimidating so no one really dared to come up to her and start a talk. Deep inside Sevika disliked it sometimes, she had to do so much and no one really appreciated her. She was the reason everything went right with Silco‘s work. Even at college she actually did a great job, Sevika was very intelligent but no one really told her, not even the teachers gave her the feeling of being seen as a normal student. They knew she had some dark shit going on and that she could crush someone with her muscles in seconds if they piss her off. Respect was good but that was a little too much even for her.

After class Sevika went to the gym that was part of the college she was going to, of course they had to give the students something to be at their free time so they won’t feel bored and this was just her favorite place. No one could deny the fact that Sevika looked very hot with her tanktop on as she lifted the weights and you couldn’t ignore that sight in front of you as well as you just finished your own exercises, not able to go past her without complimenting her. „Wow! You are pretty strong.“ You said, eyes wide in surprise, it’s the first time someone went to talk to Sevika so she placed them down to be able to talk properly to you. „You think so? That’s just my warmup. I can lift way more than that.“ She mentioned and you felt really impressed. „That’s really cool. I can see you are training a lot. Those muscles suit you very well, keep on the good work.“ You encouraged her before leaving. Sevika couldn’t hide the fact that this made her very happy, finally someone saw her with other eyes, making her smile.

Every now and then you met Sevika at the campus, giving her the feeling that she was someone special. You kept on complimenting her and being fascinated by what she could do, not only with her body and strength but also with her intelligence. So with time you and Sevika happen to be friends. You knew she was sneaking out at night from campus but you didn’t question her what she was doing all night. Good for Sevika because telling you about her job would make you see her with different eyes and she wanted to avoid that.

Finally after all those years of feeling not really seen Sevika got the appreciation she longed for by you. She really started liking you. Whenever you got close to her and talked she felt something she never felt before, such a warm feeling but she liked it.

It was just on that one specific day she saw you complimenting others as well, acting the same as you did with her which made her act different towards you. She got colder to you which made you question what you did wrong. Of course you didn’t notice how special you made her feel and everything got ruined as she noticed that you do that to everyone. In fact this was just your personality, you enjoyed making people feel good about themselves and show them the positive things about themselves and less critic.

You couldn’t accept the way Sevika was acting with you though. Either she tries avoiding you or she answered you with short sentences. You ran into Sevika this evening in the hall of where the students have their rooms, you were about to get into yours while she just left hers. „Sevika wait…can we please talk?“ You stopped her, making her look at you with a serious expression as she crossed her arms. „I don’t have time but you won’t let me go anyways huh? So go on.“ The way she acted so cold made you frown. You suddenly felt a little insecure, sighing before you dared to ask her. „What’s going on, why are you so cold towards me?“

„Why? You really wanna know why?“ She couldn’t take it no more, slamming you against the wall of the hall as her hand rested on it, making sure there was no escape. Your eyes widen in shock, since you were a little smaller than Sevika you suddenly felt intimidated by her. „Because I thought this is something special…I thought you like me but seems like you act like this with everyone so I am not better than others to you.“ She explained with a angry expression and you finally start to realise where her sudden change of acting came from. „But…you are special to me.“ You muttered out, looking up at her with a soft smile as dou tried to calm her down. „I know I am kind to everyone like that but…I didn’t get as close to them as I got to you right?“ You stopped, swallowing hard, hoping you won’t make her more mad at you. „Listen…I am very bad at this. I know how to spread kindness yeah but I suck at talking about my own feelings. I-…I really do like you Sevika.“ You managed to say, her gaze softening a little as she listened to you.

She noticed the little blush on your cheeks, making her realise what you meant with ‚liking‘ her. Her hand grabbed your chin, making you look directly into her eyes, you felt like your heart would explode anytime. „Eyes only on me…understood? I can’t stand you complimenting others…“ She said with a low voice before closing the gap between you two, kissing you deeply. You closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around her neck to pull her closer into a deep kiss.

The situation escalated a little bit when she moved her tongue inside your mouth, dominating the kiss before you both had to pull back to breathe. „You know what…fuck it I am not going anywhere tonight.“ She said before grabbing your hand and leading you to her room. As soon as the door closed you kept on kissing each other before landing on her bed, of course Sevika being on top.

„Now…you gonna pay for making me feel less special than I thought I was…“ She whispered close to your ear and soon her hands roamed around your body, slipping under your shirt to touch your soft skin before taking it off. Once your upper body got exposed to her, she made sure to make you feel good, leaving hickeys all along your neck and chest, making you moan softly in return.

Your eyes lighting up once she exposed herself to you too. Her perfectly trained body making you feel all senses of sanity, your hands immediately moving forward to touch her as well and she smirked, knowing you loved the sight in front of you.

You and Sevika spend the rest of the night being a moaning mess as you rocked your bodies against each other and eating each other out like both of you were starving. Oh you made sure she will feel special again and you won’t ever stop showing her more than necessary. Showing her love, appreciation and everything she longed for and so did she for you.

[thedilfdiaries]

get to know your moots

ty for the tags loves <3 @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ace-turned-confused @thundermartini @kedsandtubesocks and @reddedmiller

what's the origin of your blog title?: me being an uncreative basic bitch. but it's fine we are suffering through the consequences of the most uncreative username of all time.

OTP(s) + shipname: me, joel miller AND javier pena <3

favorite color: black and mint green (yes ik its very specific idk really what to say I even have a tattoo that is partially this color lol)

favorite game: rdr2, dreamlight valley, tlou, bg3, mariooooo, zelda, assasins creed

song stuck in your head: hold the line - toto and whatever is on my fic playlist

weirdest habit/trait?: probably a lot but the most annoying as a lot of us have mentioned is assuming no one really likes me. but also doing that thing where you start a task and then see something else that has to be done so by the time you have finished you've begun 50 other tasks

hobbies: video games, reading, writing stories, poems and music, pretending I can bake cute aesthetic things I find on Instagram reels, calligraphy, collecting sea glass and sea shells.

if you work, what's your profession? i worked on a cow farm

if you could have any job you wish what would it be? a sugar baby, someone who lives on a beach, but really anything in music bts or in front or a psychologist but instead I went to school two times for things I did not end up staying with haaaaaa

something you're good at: giving you compliments until you tell me to stfu

something you're bad at: i like this answer so same -> putting myself first, also as it's been said a few times socializing, and flirting

something you love: documentaries ommmg jdkfdakjf <3 <3, downtime when I can have it, also I always forget how much I love the sun until this time of year, hearing a favorite song you haven't heard in a long time, watching stuff with people whether its movies or youtube videos or shows

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: video games, music, joel miller, the octopus lifecycle, Shakespeare, fun bts facts of my favorite movies and tv shows (I could spend days upon days looking up facts about how movies and shows are made and the little details in each of my favorite movies and shows)

something you hate: when its too hot or too cold, when I do that thing and don't buy snacks to be "healthy" and then wish I had a snack and math.

something you collect: i was collecting miniatures until they all got lost in a move, sea shells, coca cola memrobilia, Marilyn Monroe memorabilia, coral, anything vintage, trauma, and wips

something you forget: what don't I forget

what's your love language?: acts of service, words of affirmation, physical touch

favorite movie/show: beauty and the beast, most keanu reeves movies as I've been binging them lately, lotr, how to lose a guy in 10 days, donnie darko,

favorite food: potatoes any day, any way, any form

favorite animal: cows, platypus', whales and dolphins

what were you like as a child? the quiet kid who was basically a mute because anxiety sucks and being perceived is frightening - lemme just fade into the floor

favorite subject at school? psychology, english because we could read Shakespeare and really cool books, science, music class, history, french, home ec, woodshop

least favorite subject? math and phys ed cause ya girl ain't a runner but yet they're all like "ohh its not that hard" but bro you're not even doing it

what's your best character trait? why are these questions so hard though? like idk my ability to make people feel comfortable?? i feel weird answering this lol

what's your worst character trait? i guess my inability to put myself first still and my dad jokes and sometimes I get quiet because I have a huge fear of rejection or abandonment

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? that I was on vacation instead of driving around for hours today or sleeping more that'd be great

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? Beethoven, Shakespeare, my grandparents, Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon, Frida Kahlo, idkkkk

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): there's so many this is rude asking for one so I'll give you two series. recently I read late night texts by @jolapeno and the wolf you feed by @arcanefox207 these series changed my brain chemistry for the best. I could scream on every rooftop in the world about these to every person in the world like please READ THEM!!!

npt: @arcanefox207 @gothcsz @syd-djarin @sunshinehaze1 @sunshineispunk @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @604to647 @myownwholewildworld @evolnoomym @slimybeth69 @almostfoxglove @lotusbxtch @baronessvonglitter me smooching you all through the phone <3 <3 <3 cause you all deserve every ounce of love and joy in the whole world

[barrenclan]

Rain got me +1 bowls of pasta because my partner’s mom asked what I look so flabbergasted about and I showed her his death whilst she was eating pasta and the multiple pages of it and she said the pasta looked too close to his organs and let me have it

Also last night I had a dream where Pinepaw got just dance and started playing it then accidentally hit the tv with the controller so it fell on Hacksaw and Ranger and then he got clomped by Deepdark which woke me up

Anyhow now that I’ve moved past the sillyness oh my god your writing is so good. like I genuinely understood the rage Slug felt because I’ve felt it (not a parent but a sibling) and you represented the fury of the moment perfectly and how you’d like nothing more than whatever caused your important one to get hurt and feel pain. and oh my god the realization it hurt and it wasn’t ‘falling asleep’. and the eyes. The rings around Rain’s, Slug’s, and if you remember right Asphodel’s all paralleling each other except there’s a maggot in her eye (I think?) which makes it so much worse but better. GEHAHAHAHA OH KY GOD IM SORRY FOR FANGIRLING ITS JUST SO GOOD AND AHAHA. I was a big fan of Rain and I’m happy he wasn’t ’sympathetic meow meow’ at the end of his story but instead a fucked up man which you can pity but never actually love again. I’m so happy his story ended like that and not ‘trying to get better’ and getting everyone’s forgiveness after murdering Asphodel.

Anyways you’re a genius and I think you’re a marvelous writer and keep at it. like seriously you’re such an amazing writer. I can’t I just love it so much and how well you show emotion and I love the formatting and hagggggggggg like I genuinely wanted to cry at Asphodel’s death and all the things Slug is feeling. The coming out scene. The accurate representation of abuse instead of random shit that happens to about 5,000 of the main cast (not saying it doesn’t happen but it’s not accurate and no one goes through the exact same thing). Overall, GOOD JOB!!!!!!

Firstly, sorry to your partner's mom for icking her out of pasta.

I'm glad you liked the issue, though! Very many people have been complimenting me about my writing and I'm both flattered and relieved to hear it. It's hard to get endings right, and this part of the story has had a lot of buildup.

The impotus of Rainhaze's character was a very specific inversion of my other character Shellspring, in examining "what if this previously beloved guy did something utterly horrible", but whereas Shellspring got better, I wanted Rainhaze to get worse. They're both explorations on the same idea.

[kon-rad24]

Can we talk about MC and their "original deaths" in Monster x Mediator..?

So I've noticed a lot of people when talking about bad endings/original deaths from specific characters only focusing on what each character did/how MC was killed, but I have never saw anyone wonder what did Y/N do to "deserve" those deaths At start I want to say I don't want to excuse anything that happened, just show that Y/n in those bad endings for this moments is always guilty of something (yet again, guilty ≠ the way of death is excused and is fine) WARNING! SA TOPIC and spoilers

1. Death from being shot

This one is the shortest I will write about, it only goes about MC trying to scam whoever talks to us by Walkie Talkie by running away after stealing money they were supposed to get after job being done. On one hand obviously there would be people who also would do the same when having a chance to escape from a mysterious deal, but on the other hand.. my brother, you literally by agreeing to this suspicious e-mail could have signed up for idk, harvesting your organs 💀 (Definitely not a reference to "Today I'm Harvesting You!")

2. The bad ending: "Grape" Well this one will be very controversional, but Y/N was both a victim of SA from "Nick" or Nauseaxe_404 or whatever, but also was the one who did verbally and a bit physically SA him too. Hear me out tho before you cancel me-

So, how come does the whole situation happens? We first innocently compliement Nick! All nice here, nothing to complain about. 404 gets embarrassed, y/n says they have more stuff to compliment about him, and then slowly we are building up MC being weirdo.

But before that let's remind ourselves Nick is aware he is.. not the best mentally. He admits that a lot in talk and another ending (forgot the name of it, it was with snapping neck), plus you can obviously see it from how he is written. Ain't no way nobody noticed that. He mentions he gets too excited and wants to do stuff when being in such a state and that holding his axe helps him, because he is aware that if he won't control himself, he will hurt MC. So when the Y/n says about complimenting him again he refuses

Why? BECAUSE HE IS AWARE OF HIM NOT BEING ABLE TO HOLD BACK MENTALLY AND THE REST OF HIM DOESN'T WANT TO HURT Y/N

Anyway, some more of him begging for us to stop and muttering that "he doesn't want to.." and MC comes in with this text

Don't know how about y'all but I read it in a mocking tone, considering next option that leads to this specific ending. To me, it is like MC plays with emotions 404 has for whatever dumb reason they have in this walkthrough.

Talking about next option, let's take a look at it… what is it called? Ah, right-

"Touch him"

How do you feel about this title? Touching someone. Taking in the fact that previously they begged us to stop, refused our advances, even tho we are their idol? Someone who often holds mental power as their authoritet? One and only? Especially when they adore us so bad.. sorry, but even if it was just a simple touch on his chest, just reverse the situation. Even more - Nauseaxe_404 begs us to stop again and Y/N says "and I don't want to". Imagine it is Y/n who refuses, who begs to stop and him saying that he doesn't want to. Tho you don't have to - it happens later in this ending. Or imagine it happening in real life, but instead of man being touched without his consent, it is a woman. I don't want to sound as if I blame Y/n for what happened next, because Y/n didn't deserve that, but Y/n also didn't have any right to touch him. I may seem a bit over-dramatic, but it is one of many toxic over-sexualizations in our culture. Both men and women aren't believed when they are SA survivors - women because "no way he would ever do that"/"are you sure you didn't consent it?" or any other bs people say, and men because "if I were you I would have enjoyed it"/"was she pretty?"/"lucky boy got laid without doing anything!". Both are hurting. I especially take care of both as someone who knows both male and female SA survivors, both who were denied for those stupid statements. And here in this case I didn't see anyone mention the fact that Y/n is also SA-ing him too. But that obviously doesn't excuse 404 for what he did to them. It will never. I say it to just show that MC is not 101% pure victim in this situation and didn't do anything wrong.

3. Bad ending: "Endless death sentence for the charlatan"

I love Sir Knight with my whole heart lol Anyway, Y/n after getting his master's sword out gets this choice of either of asking him to get out of his room or "boss him around". The second one we start by humiliating him by requesting him to dance for us. We hear for the first time there our ancestor's and his master's voice tells us that we should respect him. Then we can either comply to the voice or.. literally the game calls it:

"Abuse your power"

well how lovely it sounds! If we choose it, we go from humiliating to straight-forward abusing him<3 slashing his armor with the sword, punishing him when he flinches.. humiliating him again..

yeah.. the voice appears again and we don't have any more option to choose, MC decides themselve to keep being cruel, until our ancestor has enough and explodes our insides, giving us shit-talk and cursing our soul before we die

My conclusions

So I thought about it all and all those deaths are happening only when the job is failed/MC is not acting right or moral. It leads me to the conclusion that none of those deaths are canon in the story-line and that Y/n is actually a good hearted character, so any wrong, rude or cruel choice is just alternative universe for the main time-line

share down below what do you think about all this stuff cuz I am curious how other people saw all those deaths in game and our MC

[yxstxrdrxxm-a]

SYNOPSIS: Kazuha, a well-known tailor in Inazuma, had a spouse. It's only a shame that his spouse is known for their 'infidelity' in his eyes. [ songfic ]

TW/S: Yandere tendencies, stalking, minor and major character death/s, emotional manipulation in a way, gore, violence, fire/arson, sewing... questionable fabric, unreliable narrator, shifting POVs, dead dove: do not eat, dollification, delusional thinking, Kazuha progressively loses it till the end, beheading, oh God this fic and tws are long Im so sorry―

NOTE: During the fic, it is recommended to listen to "The Tailor of Enbizaka". It will make sense when you read through this fic :)

(also, I apologize if this took a while for me to write. I got busy and writer's block hit me :( anyways, second work and its the best boy! Though, I hope you all don't blame me for fucking him up. Also also!! This is very much a long, LONG fic— like 2k+ long, so 🫡 gl soldier, I'll see if I don't need to make this to a 2 part series)

(update: this fic took 6k words, good luck y'all, this one is a WILD ride)

In Inazuma, there is a tale that is shared by many about a crimson clad man and his lover.

The others never settled on what he looked during the day before his death, nor were they sure what his prior job was before he became a tailor. However, they always complimented him for his looks and his skill, knowing that whatever he used as his own special fabric would be tailored and taken care of well.

Even with one full of holes and tears, he is gifted with the ability to patch them up till it was brand new. In the village he lived in, he was regarded for having such a talent, and he had his shop open and full of visitors.

However, the only thing that made people question him was his behavior. Despite how mild-manner the tailor was, he often comments on how his beloved darling refused to come home and continues to cheat on him.

Many those that still lived during the time said the crimson-eyed tailor acted delusional, but just how far can those delusions go?

No one knows but the man himself... And the one who persecuted him, too.

It was that year since I've seen my beloved after the accident.

A year that, when I saw them, I've longed to see them and speak to them about our time together as a married couple.

To begin with, I am Kaedehara Kazuha, or― as the townsfolk here call me, the 'Crimson-Eyed Tailor'. Although I am highly regarded for my craftsmanship, many told me that I am odd for my adoration for my beloved maple.

Why is it that odd? I thought all married couples do this, even if some think that it feels off.

Besides that, however, my darling isn't quite aware of my... Endeavors. More specifically, their streak of getting out for hours, perhaps days and weeks, and not even coming around to speak to me.

I am bound to them by an oath when we were married: we both drank sake together under that faithful light of the moon, with only nature watching over us. However, it would seem as if they have forgotten that, and ended up cheating on me in broad daylight.

Like they had no such shame.

Alas, I am but their husband, and I can't simply get mad at my beloved spouse. I know they did no wrong, for they sometimes meet with others as an act of being 'friendly'.

So while I focused on fixing the kimono, I've began to hear something that had been passed around in the village.

Something related to my darling's little ventures.

"I have spoken to [Name] about the matters in their marriage recently," one of the ladies spoke, her voice not so soft enough to conceal who she was speaking about as I fixed the fabric in my hands.

"And from what they told me, they're getting their kimono fixed for when their lover returns home!"

I simply continued on sewing, but the lady's next words had me flinch.

"Ah, they've been married for years, aren't they? And it seems they even have their shiromuku ever since their marriage to sir Kamisato Ayato. How romantic!"

...

The blood continues to spill on my finger, with the needle that I used pricking it when I've lost focus and got too careless.

How uncouth.

From the tale shared by the folks of Narukami Island, they talked about the crimson-eyed tailor's marriage with his supposed 'spouse': an immigrant of sorts from Fontaine, traversing to Inazuma to meet with their lover.

Their relationship together is strange. From the accounts of those with prying eyes, they said that he was the only one putting an effort to their relationship, and they wished to take it slow.

However, there are those that disagreed, saying that it had been the other way around— and it was he who wished for them to slow down.

No one can decide what the tailor had done, for they can't even tell if his desires were to rush or to slow down. But what can be confirmed is one thing everyone kept saying.

He doesn't like his trust being broken.

It had been days after hearing what I did.

I hadn't seen my dearest beloved in those days, and the day I saw them had been when the heir of the Kamisato clan had returned.

I had been busy as ever in sewing till I realized that I'm running out of thread. I don't have any spares, and I'm well aware that there are a few shops that sell supplies for sewing.

And so, on a lazy afternoon, I've got out of my shop in the hopes that I can catch the store to buy the supplies I needed.

The soft sound of wood hitting the pavement greeted my ears, alongside hushed murmuring and discussing with the commonfolk. I greeted a few that noticed me in passing, but they were swift to return to the people they were speaking to prior.

It was a mundane thing, really. But it was the type that felt familiar.

Turning a few corners, I managed to locate the shop I was looking for. Walking up the stairs, I waved at the lady taking care of the store—

—not before my ears perked up at the soft chattering in the distance.

My eyes trailed over to the source, and then, I see them.

My beloved maple.

I saw that they were conversing with the heir of the Kamisato clan, his hand reaching over to hand them a small gift: a small box, with the ribbon being the color of purple. I spot the gleam of gold on top of the ribbon, which eludes me to think that it is the insigna of the clan crested in gold.

How tacky.

I had to hold back the urge to stop them as their conversation was hard to discern, my focus back on the woman running the shop with the supplies I require.

"Hello, madame," I greeted, making the woman smile and nod in greeting as well. "Do you need fabric again, Kaedehara?"

I chuckled, but it was only to mask the bits of instability in my voice.

"Oh, not fabric, madame. I simply desire thread. I have ran out of red and black, and I didn't want to delay the commission I had from monsieur Lyney. Do you have any right now?"

"Red and black thread, hm? I can check at the back. Please give me a moment to look."

With a bow, the seamstress turned around to leave. With that, I let go of the breath I held and turned my gaze back to the bridge, just a few ways away from where my beloved sunset was at.

Watching the two figures, I couldn't help but simply stared at the attire that the heir wore.

Montsuki Haori Hakama: that usually means black or gray. I've known that colored kimonos were not worn with this in mind, and he certainly didn't wore anything that would be too straining.

Still, that shade of black is made of high quality. I'm not surprised if he wore it so rarely, as though to preserve the detail and its intricate work from his very own seamstress.

...

I wonder if I can take it?

Watching the two descend from the bridge, my eyes wandered back to the lady as she returned with the spools of thread, all varying in degrees of color and quality.

"Here you are, Kaedehara! These are the best I can find that fit the colors you asked for."

My eyes twinkled as I took the spools to my hands, my fingers turning and nudging the thread to see just how strong it is.

Interesting. Good quality, too... Maybe I can use this to finish that outfit I've been saving for a while.

"Thank you, madame," I thanked her, making her laugh. "Oh, it's not a problem, Kaedehara! You've done so much for this little town of ours, this is but a simple thing to repay for your efforts!"

With a nod, I paid the seamstress and turned back down to descend from the bustling upper part of the town, the sight of what happened in the bridge a bit further away bothering me from within.

No matter, Kazuha, I mused, carrying the items I required as I felt myself walk back home. Even if you want to get rid of him, it will be much too complicated. You simply need to be patient and wait till the opportunity comes.

...

Although, whoever made his clothes... I wonder if I can speak to them to inquire about their techniques.

The first case that started this was a cold one.

One that is related to a person no one knew so highly about, be it by their background, appearance, and even their name. All they were known for is being the 'tailor' for one of the clans.

There had been a lack of evidence and information about this due to how many tailors had been requested all across Inazuma at the time. It was understandable that people chalked up to them being missing as nothing more than an unfortunate case, not one worthy of being dug into.

Others had suspected that it had been associated with something else, that something (or someone) had done this deliberately. There was no evidence to this, but their claims were loud as they were bold, making it difficult to ascertain its authenticity.

However, the masses have all agreed that this was a normal occurrence. It was not one worth noting, because there had been a lot more that spoke of the same tale, always eluding to their fate being that they were murdered.

It was, unfortunately, the 'norm' of the village in the legend. A norm that, if the people of Inazuma heard it today, would have turned their heads in disgust for how abhorrent it sounds.

Still, many remained curious of the biggest what if that seem to echo in their mind.

Was the tailor associated with his sins?

The Kamisato clan has had it's ups and downs, and it isn't strange to see that they were seeking out talented tailors and workers to work under them.

What was surprising (to everyone), however, was that the head of the clan hired me to work as the Kamisato Clan's personal tailor.

The reasoning behind it was quite simple, especially with what the heir spoke to me when he and I met in the morning when I was to be summoned in the estate— due to his personal tailor (a family friend, he said) going missing for days, they were unable to track down his whereabouts and presumed that he has gone missing.

I was only hired as a "replacement" for the clan's special tailor till then, and he made it extremely clear that there was nothing else to it. Nothing that would spell the fact that I will permanently stay in that position.

Of course, to many, this may sound as an odd deal. There are so many tailors such as myself that would die to be consulted on, to work as the head of the clan's seamstress and work for their outfits. And perhaps, in their naivety, they may consider it as their efforts finally paying off in some way.

However, I have been in a clan myself before. This is nothing more if not a business deal.

A deal between one rising clan, and one whose surname has lost it's widely known heritage.

This only benefits the Kamisato Clan in the effort to save face. To save face of the potential backlash they'll deal with should any information of the missing clan's tailor be brought to light to everyone who remain blissfully ignorant of the innerworkings of the clan.

I would normally deny this kind of offer, mostly because there is no benefit for me to join and work for them. However, times have changed, and I simply reconsidered denying Kamisato Ayato's offer.

... There is a few benefits to me joining. It may be minimal, but it is better than scrounging around in the dark.

And so, I agreed to the offer.

The arrangements set for me to move was quite swift. I'm aware that that he is a man of his word, so it was quite easy for us to prepare my living arrangements and move to the estate.

With the supplies I get from the clan, it's been easy to stay put and gather information to the person I'm targeting.

... That was, until that day came.

I remember it clearly: it was the ends of fall, where the maple leaves fell more and more around the estate's grounds. This usually signified the coming of winter, so I usually savor the season by having time off to admire the scenery.

And in one of my walks, I had travelled from outside of the estate to see if things have changed.

Which, to my luck, I've encountered my darling beloved.

But just like last time, they were not alone.

In the journey of my wandering, I have seen them speak to the sibling of the older heir, Kamisato Ayaka, as they sit on the table outside of the Komore Teahouse.

From how far I am to the entrance of the teahouse, it gives me enough space to watch them interact like friends. The way that the Himegimi raised her fan to cover her face, perhaps from her eyes crinkling in amusement from what they told her...

... It was intriguing. Very intriguing.

So much so that I've felt the claws of envy grip in my chest, clutching its metal nails and making punctures on my already bleeding heart.

What a nuisance. Must you hurt me like this, darling?

I can hardly remember what happened after that. After all, my focus had been set on the two speaking to each other like they were simply companions, unknowing of what fate may bring upon them.

...

"Oh? Kazuha! I didn't notice you came to the Teahouse as well!"

My attention was swiftly pulled away from the sight of my dearest gem, and it landed on the familiar sight of olive eyes. From the appearance alone, many wouldn't think that an immigrant of Mondstadt would be a fixer.

Not even I would be able to see it happen.

However, this man had the skills to prove of his worth— after all, being Inazuma's 'fixer', he's often the go-to man to fix any and every problem that the Narukami Island and others may face.

Which makes him a glass canon— one that is volatile and unpredictable, even under the guise of a friendly face.

That is what Thoma is.

But this "glass cannon" has his weakness, and I know how to use it to my advantage.

Letting a smile slip to my lips, I chuckled, raising my hand to cover my mouth. "Well, I've been foretold by others about Komore Teahouse and it's history. I've been meaning to visit it, but I'm so busy fixing kimonos and making them to have time to spare."

A white lie, but then again, there are many of those that have been foretold in the waking of this world.

What does adding one do at this point? I'm already damned by the heavens the day I've seen the 'truth' of this fate of mine.

Just one lie wouldn't hurt, right?

"Haha, I can't blame you," the taller blonde seem to answer my query with his own, albeit he did seem to look more like he was at ease. Still, I needed to be weary; he can change sides if he so much as sensed that something is wrong.

"After all, with what the missing tailor in the clan circulating around the others in the estate, I'm even surprised that you manage to fill up in their position for months!"

... Oh? So he's noticed my talents, hm?

I shook my head.

"Oh, please. I'm just a humble tailor, Thoma," I reasoned, letting out a heavy sigh. "I have thought of asking them for advice on how they do their work, but since they're missing, all I can do is substitute for their absence."

He gave me an apologetic smile and nodded.

"That is true... I guess I'm just a bit too ecstatic to finally have someone that can fill in their role seamlessly. Lord Kamisato Ayato would've been panicking if we didn't have a replacement soon for his anniversary with his spouse."

... Spouse, huh?

"Hm... Is that so?"

I frowned in thought as I ponder over wanting to... Ask him for a favor. Sure, this one wouldn't do well on one's conscious mind if they knew, but it was simply for their sake.

It was all for them. I knew that.

It wouldn't hurt anyone if I asked Thoma to do this for me. At least, while I still have the chance to do so.

I can only hope the cannon does not think of shooting it's shot to me if I slipped up.

"Speaking of, Thoma, may I ask you for a favor?"

After the first missing case of the tailor, there had been more that were reported. The victims were all varied in their appearance, age, and even from where they used to live, be it in Narukami Island or even outside of Inazuma itself.

It was difficult to tell how many there were exactly, especially with how the legend is interpreted. Some said it was 20, while others said it was 50. This legend has been passed mouth to mouth, so details were not a key figure for a few to remember well.

However, every iteration has the same detail. The victims all had the same similarity as the tailor that simply went "missing".

All of them, in some way, were associated with certain individuals— one of them being his maple, where a few commented that they were the apple of the crimson man's eye.

From the legend and how it has been told, it is safe to assume that the motive was obvious from the first missing case.

It is akin of an open secret, if said secret was twisted to fit his ideals.

"Haven't you heard?"

"What? What is it?"

"The fixer, Thoma… He went missing just few days ago."

"What!?"

…

Ah, so he went missing like the others?

My ears had perked up at the news that we were told. Although Thoma is one many people never thought of being a 'target', the fact he went missing is... Odd.

"Perhaps he had done something," I heard one of the servants whisper amongst themselves, looking rather cautious. "After all, he's been very privy on a few things..."

"Yes, but he isn't the person I'd expect to vanish like that—"

"Shh—! People are going to hear you, you know! Keep it down!"

Hearing their footsteps echo as they take their leave, I turned back to what I have been working on. The sight of the kimono graced my vision as I raised the needle.

I began to sew the tears on it, letting out a soft hum while I fixed the black fabric from it's horrible state.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut—

"Sir Kaedehara? Someone is looking for you."

...!

I felt the needle prick my finger, but I didn't say anything. With a quiet hum, I raised my head to see someone speak to me, their face grim as they shifted on their feet.

Ah.

Despite the feeling of blood pour onto the fabric, I smiled and nodded, putting down the fabric of the kimono I was fixing.

"I'll be right there. Please tell them to wait for me."

"Really? Oh, thank Archons. I'll get going."

Watching them take their leave, my eyes flit over to my scissors.

Still as sharp as ever, I mused, pushing myself to stand up before fixing my attire. Mayhaps today won't need it to be sharpened.

For now, I had to see what the client wants from me. It would simply be a shame if I leave them alone for far, far too long.

Mayhaps they're here to inquire about the kimono I made. I made sure to add my personal touch to it.

...

As I walked to where my client sought to look for me, I see a familiar sight befell in the grounds of the Kamisato Estate.

The himegimi is currently speaking to my betrothed like they are close companions, and the magician (Lyney was his name, I recall), had been listening to their discussion at hand.

His eyes seem to lit up when he saw me, offering me a welcoming grin.

"You must be the tailor that my sister assigned, aren't you?" he asked when I was close enough to hear him, making me chuckle. Taking a seat across, I simply nodded, keeping my professional smile and demeanor in fear of offending him.

"Indeed, I am that tailor. My name is Kaedehara Kazuha, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Haha, please, the pleasure is all mine!"

The magician shook my hand with mine, and the meeting went as smoothly as one may expect. Although, I couldn't help but let my eyes wander sometimes to where my lover is.

You were speaking to Ayaka like she's a friend of yours. I shan't stop you, darling, but perhaps you aren't aware of the pain you put me through.

Still, I couldn't afford to raise my voice, nor can I think of hurting you with my actions.

How unfortunate. Mayhaps I need to teach you a lesson myself, my angel.

If there was one thing that the legend failed to elaborate, it is the state of the missing people. However, there were... Creative liberties to those that began to see if the legend was true; or, pray tell, associated with any real life events.

To the eyes of others, going missing is a serious deal. It sparks a lot of ideas for what could've happened to them, and especially if they are alive or dead.

Albeit many shrugged off the prior cases, this one was serious. After all, the one that went 'missing' is the fixer of Narukami Island— Thoma, the immigrant in the nation of lightning.

It is, after all, what sparked the eventual downfall of the crimson-eyed tailor and his beloved. Many had thought this was the turning point, but those that did were found to be wrong.

This, after all, was simply the beginning of such downfall. But it wasn't to his lover, the missing residents, or even his companions.

It was to himself, when he used the blades to commit a sin undeserving of forgiveness.

The news that brought upon the missing Himegimi greeted the Kamisato estate that day.

I remember how people were in a disarray. They were much more shaken as they tried to get any sort of lead to where she is, and for some, they were already thinking of quitting.

The estate is already shaken from when Thoma went missing, but now that the young heiress has up and disappeared— especially in winter— it was in chaos.

While I sew the kimonos handed to me, there was an obi that laid on the pile by my right. It was a bit worn, but it can still be saved.

I needed to fix it, and give it my own personal touch. That way, it wouldn't look as though it had been abandoned by it's past owner.

Alas, the noise is getting to me. I could feel the silk resting on my bandaged hand slip every once in a while, if it weren't for how tight I've been holding the fabric.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

I needed to put my focus on what I'm doing. I needed to focus on the job.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

I mustn't let blood nor dirt stain my creations.

That is what my mother taught me.

Slip, stitch, cut, sew.

Slip, stitch, cut, se—

"I apologize if the estate is in a disarray, detective," I hear a familiar voice speak amongst the hushed and panicked whispers. "The estate hasn't been the same ever since my retainer and my younger sibling had gone missing."

"Oh, it's alright! I'm sure this matter is too serious for you and the others to keep things organized."

"Haha... You can say that it is. Now, it's just right this way..."

... A detective is in the estate. How curious.

It wasn't right to snoop, but I was curious. Curious enough to have finished the kimono I was fixing before I stood to leave my quarters.

The others paid no heed as I followed after the two to Ayato's room, too focused to do what they were assigned to even bat an eye when I got close to where they were heading.

It was only when they were inside that I've stopped and simply bid my time, my focus set on what was happening by the shoji leading to his office. And it didn't took long till I hear things from the other side.

"Ah, so you think that someone is out for you?"

"Yes. Although I am normally adept in figuring out who it could be that's causing this to happen, I can't put heads or tails with how their presence eludes me."

"Man alive... And you said that it started when they went missing?"

"... Yes, detective."

"I see... Man alive, that sounds like it wasn't just a single, one-off case, then. I can help you, but this will take a while if there's no leads."

"I see. It's fine, detective. I'll pay you enough when you figure out where my retainer and sister are. I could hardly think that someone would take them without such consequence."

"Oh, no worries. With me around, no criminal will get out unscathed— I'll make sure to bring them here when I figure out who did this."

...

I see.

Perhaps its about time I have to settle this with him.

There was a time where I have thought that things will change.

Where these cases will be laid forgotten, perhaps even unresolved with the lack of hints.

I spent weeks on end, keeping my tracks short and erasing any leads that can lead towards me again.

I spent so, so long trying so desperately to hide anything resembling my crimes.

But alas... He found me.

It was the time where I had to dispose of those bodies. Although I had no heart to bury them under nature, I was not above treating them as though they were simply people.

Even in death, I wanted to make them feel like they look peaceful. Although, perhaps simply sewing their wounds left by my scissors was not something I can treat.

In the middle of the night, I was carrying the Himegimi outside of the abandoned houses I tend to with her retainer, Thoma. I had thought of letting her rest someplace else. Her attire has been sullied, and I needed to keep the two somewhere where no one can find them.

Corpses rot over time, and if it was possible, letting them turn to nothing in the likes of Tsurumi Island will be enough for my weary heart to rest.

With how adept I am of keeping my tracks hidden, I had thought no one would be able to tail on me. But alas, due to the missing cases I've caused, perhaps I wasn't expecting this to happen.

"I knew you'd be here, Kaedehara Kazuha."

I simply paused upon hearing his voice, my head craning back to see that it was Ayato. Despite how composed he looks, I can tell that the nights he spent trying to search for his beloved sibling and retainer wore him down.

His once flawless appearance was nothing but sullied, his attire feeling like its simply hanging off of him, and the way he staggered while looking at me without a shred of restrain is new. Raw for such a heir.

"And that body..." he murmured, his eyes glaring daggers when he found out who it was.

Perhaps it's her dress that makes her recognizable. Or the hair.

"... I thought I've erased everything that can lead back to me," I spoke, sighing as I placed Ayaka's body down. "What a shame. I was quite close to erasing any traces and signs of their whereabouts. It would be nice to only have them be marked as 'missing', not dead."

"So... You admit to it, then?" the heir asked, walking over with stride. "That you have done this, Kaedehara?"

I simply said nothing.

And I knew that was enough of a confirmation for him.

"I knew something was wrong with you," I heard him speak, which caught my attention. Turning my body to finally face him, I watched as he scoffed and continued, "After all, a man as serene as you often had the worst to hide."

"Oh? How curious. Why would you say that?"

I saw his lips curl to a smile.

"Why, I had someone tail after you," he answered, his tone sounding so blunt and his demeanor became more like he's simply 'teaching' me something. "Someone that is associated with the clan. I'm sure you know who it is."

... How uncouth.

"I see... And you confronted me now? For what?"

"A duel."

He unsheathed his blade, and raised it towards my direction.

"I do not usually participate in these, but I'd like to honor your tradition. If I win, you turn yourself in to the Tenryou Commission. Confess all of your crimes, and we shall call it even."

"... Very well."

I raised my own blade, as a sign to his own.

"I needn't state my own terms if I lose, as I can't let you get out alive. Now, let us settle this matter... To each of our graves."

Usually, such details cannot be recreated from interpretation alone.

However, this one was the few exceptions to it's inevitable fate due to it's popularity.

The legend had focused on keeping the existence and ties of the Crimson-Eyed Tailor up for the listener's interpretation. This scene, however, was directly associated to a case that had been tackled many years ago.

The case went as such: each resident of a town goes missing each week. No one knows when it happens, as the day is often random. The victims of these disappearances are also random, so no one could derive from it being a 'pattern'.

No matter how young or old one is, their gender, their living conditions, and even their past... When they least expect it, they simply vanish. Erased.

The only times where the victim was found, several eye-witnesses had different iterations. Some said that the bodies were buried, while others found it floating by riverbanks and the side of the sea.

But the most common— and widely known, of course— was that each victim were made to a doll.

Their limbs were nothing if not sewn with thread, cuts of various degrees being patched with thread of similar color to 'mask' it's oddity. Their eyes were closed, but those that were unfortunate to open it were only greeted with it being turned to the back of their heads.

In some victims, several pieces of their possession were taken. However, most kept theirs on their person, and were seen to not be tampered with.

No one knows what drove someone to this degree. No one can even comprehend such a fact that it was entirely possible.

But to someone who's mind was twisted to the point of no return... It was.

This case had a name, but every resident of Inazuma refused to speak of it. Each time one does, they were told of the legend behind this case.

They were told of the Crimson-Eyed Tailor, and they were warned of one thing.

"Do not look at him or his betrothed. If you do, you're as good as dead."

...

It had been a year since our fight happened.

I remember the chaos that occurred back when I finally erased that man. Although it did left his body in an undesirable state, I still fixed and sew him up so that he didn't look as such.

Even in death, I wish to give the heir some form of dignity. That, in some way, I wish to give him his final respects.

After all, he had simply misunderstood my intentions. He didn't knew that I was out for one person from the very beginning.

The downfall of the Kamisato Clan was imminent at that point. I've seen many flee, and witnessed the tragedy befall on the Narukami Island. Many of the people I've met had simply ran off to seek refuge, the terror grasping and choking them like they were unable to think.

However, I remain clear. And I simply continued to do my work diligently.

I have been working on something... Special. And with one last snip of my bloodied scissors, it was now complete.

My final and life-long work, all laid across and now in my hands. The fabric I chose was rather difficult to sew. I should have known that human skin would be too hard, depending on where I retrieved it from.

Dying it in black, I wrapped the obi that had been sewn with the use of the Himegimi's locks, and retrieved the crest of the Kamisato Clan. Adorning it on my person, I viewed myself at the mirror to see my handiwork.

"Finally," I murmured, feeling an odd sensation in my chest as I wore the fruits of my labor. "It is now complete."

With the chaos guiding me and masking my presence, I fled to head by the mountain.

I knew where you were bound to go.

I knew of your crimes long before you knew me.

I didn't paid much attention if anyone saw me. I didn't care if blood simply poured from my attire and to the ground that I'm walking on. I could hardly give a damn if some realized of my crimes in that blasted estate.

I had my scissors with me, and I only wish to fulfill my last wish before I leave this cursed world.

You murdered my family, [Name].

You were the one who caused that fire all those years ago.

I remember those burns you gave me. I remember just how much of a coward you were, fleeing from the scene you caused yourself.

How could I lose everything? And how can you keep your family?

No. No, that mustn't happen. I must set this right.

As your 'lover', I'll make sure you understand what you did wrong.

The culprit of the legend was caught, at least by the end.

All of the townsfolk had banded over to help the detective figure out who had caused such a stir, and it was only because of one eye-witness that said everything. That simply told the truth of the man behind it all.

It was the Crimson-Eyed Tailor, the one who was gripped with envy, that caused such a massacre to occur.

When they found what became of the last victim, his 'lover', they became a doll of his own. After killing them, the legend proceeded to speak of how he had simply 'sown' their skin alongside his, making them his perfect beloved doll.

One of the iterations even mentioned that his unnamed lover was in a Shiromuku outfit, eyes gouged so they may "never look at another man". At least, from what the tale has concluded.

Because of the severity of his crime, the tailor was sent to be on his death row. When the detective tried to get information out of him, they found out that he has lost his mind.

He became a shell of the brilliant man they knew, laughing and speaking that he has finally fulfilled his desire.

Even when he was dragged onto the guillotine, that day was marked as the end of the massacre, and those who were alive spoke of the man's chilling laughter up until his head was cut off.

...

And that was the end of the "Crimson-Eyed Tailor" and his legend.

Or, more accurately, the history of the known "Dead Man's Heart" case, and how Kaedehara Kazuha murdered the one he "loved" for revenge.

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2023

[madisonthetimewalker]

You know what fuck it take modern AU Adamai headcanons

1. Adamai works in retail do not ask why he just does.

2. He has clip on ear rings he got his ears pierced once and he regretted it because of the pain

3. He doesn’t like to express himself very much mostly keeping to himself and not talking about his problems.

4. He likes to read and I mean he LOVES reading, if you’re lucky you can catch him on break reading a comic book.

5. He knows how to skateboard (yugo does not and he laughs at this)

6. He mostly stays in his room only coming out for food or unless he wants to be outside for a bit. Other than that he doesn’t really leave his room.

7. He’s very smart about specific dragon cultures, every so often you can catch him in the library reading about dragon myths and possibly ancient food recipes.

8. Surprising he’s very quiet, sure at a young age he was bubbling with joy but now he’s more quiet and sometimes shy.

9. He doesn’t really like big gatherings it was never his thing. If he didn’t know anybody there then he would sit in a corner and mind his own business. (This man has horrible social anxiety)

10. His taste in fashion is decent most of the time he just wears baggy jeans and a shirt, he isn’t much for looking nice.

11. I like to see him as this huge nerd, for example if you ask him about a specific event involving ancient dragonic history. He will talk for hours explaining every detail and every bit of lore (look at my nerdy boy)

12. He doesn’t have many friends at work or at all for that matter, he just works although yes people have tried to talk to him in the past he rarely interacts with them.

13. He loves listening to drama, he loves to listen in on interesting conversations it’s like a hobby at this point.

14. Adamai isn’t much of a people person (as I have said multiple times in this post) and if your lucky enough he might talk to you about specific issues and topics, although he has this bad habit of dozing off during conversations. (Just like me fr)

15. He’s a heavy daydreamer, often times you can see him standing in the middle of nowhere dozing off we don’t know how he does this or how he gets himself in these situations but god is it funny.

16. He gets embarrassed easily when told he did a good job on something, Adamai rarely if ever gets compliments so telling him he’s the best guy in the world it makes him hide his face due to how red it gets.

17. He gets scared easily but not like “omg everything scares him!” More like if you come up behind him without him hearing you he will scream like a banshee.

18. He can run and I don’t mean “oh he’s just fast” HE’S PRETTY FUCKING FAST, if this man so much as sees a big ass spider he’s fuckin GONE

19. I like to believe Adamai has a huge sweet tooth. He loves to eat sweets whenever he gets the opportunity

20. He hates night shift and I mean HATES IT if he so much as hears one creek from the ceiling his ass is already out the door.

21. He has humor trust me it’s there, he isn’t one to make jokes but when he does none laughs sadly mostly because they don’t get it and Adamai has the humor of a broken down 1950’s truck. (Don’t worry Adamai I’ll laugh at your ridiculously stupid jokes)

22. He rarely sleeps (unlike qilby who’s sleep schedule is so bad that it could rival that of Xelor himself) but when he does he’s knocked out for Atleast 2 days. Adamai honey please take care of yourself I’m begging you.

23. He listens to music a lot it’s mostly to block out the annoying noise of people talking and baby’s crying for no reason

24. He can babysit (if you pay him enough) he hates it but he does it for people who need a break.

25. He gets bored easily, sometimes you can find him in the skatepark minding his own business.

Ok that’s all for now can you tell he’s my fav? And can you tell how much I love modern AU’s?

[decadeofjoy-au]

BUDDY FUN FACTS LIST

STATS

Intelligence: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(8)

Battle IQ: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(10)

Experience：⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(10)

Skills: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(4)

Luck: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(7)

Speed: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(5)

Strength: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(8)

Hax: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(10)

Durability: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️(6)

68/90

•Despite being a rather passive experiment, only being passive-aggressive to anyone who’s wronged him..the ONLY two things that will make Buddy go from passive aggressive to completely aggressive is seeing someone he cares about being seriously injured and hearing his real name.

•Buddy actually doesn’t understand the concept of Valentine’s Day. If asked why, he’d make it known that he personally doesn’t see a reason for a holiday about love when it’s something that you can feel at any time.(Though this is probably because he’s literally never had a valentines before but it’s not like he’d be able to remember anyways.)He sees this for other holidays and events as well though he does celebrate them for the fun of it!

•Between all of the Dough and Co. toys, Buddy is freakishly good at shifting into whatever he wants. And when I say that? I mean he could shift his appearance look almost exactly like a cat from the smallest detail…however…he chooses not to because it not only disturbs other toys, but he simply finds his more “simpler appearances” cuter!

•While he TRIES to be nice to the orphans at Playcare, one specific orphan he never liked was Maury due to his frequent insults(whether they were intentional or not) towards his appearance. Maury once refereed to him as a “ripoff, holiday, zoo animal Doey” and he hasn’t forgotten it since.(Yes. His feelings are still very much hurt.)

•Buddy doesn’t actually sleep as much as most of the other toys and the latest he was caught awake was when he was roaming around at No Man’s Land at around 4:00 in the morning.

•If Buddy ever had a crush on someone, it would be VERY hard to tell due to the fact that it wouldn’t change his behavior by much. Though he does actually get very flustered easily and enjoys compliments

•Buddy would definitely let other experiments and toys use him as a stress ball if they needed it, as long as it doesn’t damage his body he’s completely fine!

BUDDY’S OPINIONS ON THE EXPERIMENTS/ORPHANS(INTERVIEW DIALOGUE)

CANON

“I don’t know who Stella is…but I don’t get any everyone hates her. Did she do something??”

“Voloveoraptor hadn’t been seen in a LONGGG time..”

“…why are you.. asking me about Leith..?”

“Oh, Chester?? He’s not too bad! Though…I’ve noticEd that some people hate him too…”

“Isn’t Bron the dinosaur toy??”

“…Dr Sawyer.. I don’t like him. He’s…insulting.”

TDOJ

“Oh, Clarance? He’s great! Just wish he could get along with the other Dough and Co. toys though..”

“I offered Handyman a sandwich once and they took it! Though something tells me they were just trying to spare my feelings. Either way, I’m happy they at least took it.”

“Antsy seems a bit crazy at first glance but don’t worry! He’s one of the NICEST guys I know!”

“Mr Sandman slammed me into a wall last week..” … “and still hasn’t apologized…”

“Bolt is VERY spiteful and violent, he attacks the toys on sight and sometimes even attacks the other experiments..”

“Figaro? Oh uh…he’s not nearby is he? I don’t wanna talk to him.”

“Percy nearly ripped my arm off once..”

“Maria…tried to hit me with a baseball bat once. I think I scared her..”

“Azure! She’s one of the nicest kids here! I hope she can get adopted soon! Not that I want her to leave…I just want her to find a family!”

“Maury…I don’t like him.”

Mr Story

“Changing table is just as great at the others! Very good at his job!”

Anewbieartist356

“Norma and I are…pretty awkward. I tried being her friend but she doesn’t seem to want to.”

“Ooh, I love Terra! She’s like…one of my best friends! …. I don’t like Doris though.”

“I like Silas’ help around the place! He’s a great guy!”

“Doodle’s okay! She just…needs to calm down a bit. Maybe then Handy will like her.”

“Mr…Bergamot..? …. He STILL hasn’t apologized..”

“Candi Bee? I don’t like her…she insulted me one time and then gave me some- half-assed apology! Excuse my language.. either way, I’m not happy with her right now.”

“I know that Mangus is…skittish?..so I try to get close to him every day! I waved to him two weeks ago and he actually waved back! I think I’m making progress!”

Doctor Tan

“Hug-A-Gotchi?? I don’t think I’ve met them before! Oh, I’d love to make a good first impression though!”

Sweatycowboyqueen

“I don’t know much about Melly but I know she isn’t happy about everyone being made into toys… I hope she’ll like me.”

“Dainty seemed nice at first until I realized it was just manipulation.. … Ugh. Memories…I hate them…”

“I…actually really like Charlie! That’s her preferred name right?? But yea! She does her best! I can respect that.”

“I like Felix just as much as everyone else here! He’s really nice guy! Though I’ve never talked to him much before.”

Icanexplainwhythisnameisbad

“Shadows? I don’t think I’ve met him before.”

“Oh…er…Coo-Coo…I don’t like the way he talks.. not to mention, he demolished one of the counseling rooms and I had to fix it.”

“I like Stacey! I hope he’s doing good right now.”

“I don’t like Snooze..she gives me Deja Vu.”

“Pizzaman! I love that guy too! Right next to Terra! He’s like my second best friend. I have 3 of those!”

“I try to be quiet around Sock-It. He seems very tired.”

“Larry’s very nice! I don’t know much about him but I know he’ll watch over his sister when nobody else wants to a he must be a good brother!”

“Plug-N-Play wrote a weird fanfic about me once..” … “I WANT an apology.”

“Hysteria gets out a lot, makes me wonder why we keep her locked away so much…she hasn’t hurt anybody. At least…from what I know.”

“Oh! Those little Handymen are adorable! Though I wouldn’t say it to their faces. I doubt a bunch of grown men and woman want to hear about how cute they are, huh??”

“Bernie reminds me of Bolt and Coo-Coo…not to mention he’s a bit…crazy too.”

“Pink and Blue kinda remind me of Doris and Terra…I like Pink! But…blue is pretty mean.”

“SOSD??..I’m…sorry, that name doesn’t ring a bell..”

“Grumpy is really nice! I love the guy! Why does he have to stay away from the orphans every year?? He can be useful at other times!”

“Caleb…hmmm, he’s not that bad! Though I try to keep my distance. I’m like- 2x his size..I wouldn’t wanna squish him!”

“Zack seems to really miss his dad…hm…maybe he wants to talk about it?? I don’t have any advice for his situation but I did hear that talking can help!”

“Melvin…I don’t know much about him but he kinda looks like Maria.”

Scrappythescrapstrap

“Scraps…she’s very kind. I like her.”

“Zipper ALSO gives me Deja Vu….i don’t like him.”

Corelex

“Rosalie! One of my best friends! At least I consider her my best friend. I really like her! She’s got that nice sense of justice!”

“Dupin is really great! He’s…one of the only toys here who’s heard me out on my opinions..”

JustAFreak40

“Meringue isn’t that bad! I wanna figure out what his favorite kind of sandwich is. Maybe he’ll like one!”

Portalling101

“Cinny’s hilarious! I love his jokes! Though…he’s sometimes not very…serious at the right times.”

Stallia Abiarts

“Usher is one of the nicest kids here! He can have a couple out bursts here and there but honestly…who doesn’t?? I heard he really likes Handyman.”

“Aether is nice too, reminds me a bit of…Doey? I think…he’s really good friends with Usher though!”

DeadZoneDenizen

“Alon is quiet, kind of like Azure but..I don’t think he likes me?? I wouldn’t make assumptions though. Does he like sandwiches??”

[kanonavi]

Something that will never cease to rot my brain is just how brilliantly mhy have developed Xiao's character over the past three years. I'm lucky enough to have started playing Genshin before he was added to the game (which does of course mean newer players have probably had a different experience of him, I'll get into that later) so I've been there for every single moment that Xiao appeared and it's always so amazing to me just how much effort has been put into him. (Long rant and Mild Spoilers for the Poetry Gala Event below lol)

Xiao in the Archon quest and in 1.3 (both in his character quest and 1.3 Lantern Rite) compared to Xiao in the most recent event is truly like night and day, and what's most impressive about that is that how he acts in the poetry event feels completely true to his character. Xiao has earned this gentleness over the past three years, as the traveler but also the other people he's met have urged him to open up and interact with others more often.

This really couldn't have been achieved without mhy taking advantage of every scrap of screen time Xiao has gotten. They absolutely have favorites and Xiao is for sure one of them. I'll use Moonchase as a comparison to the Poetry Gala. Back then we saw Xiao on screen for maybe 5 minutes at most, appearing because the traveler called him, tasting Xiangling's dish and giving her a compliment (at least for his standards for giving compliments) and then disappearing. But now we see him at the poetry event being invited to join by Venti and Hu Tao (and him not outright refusing!!), and then staying to socialize with Chongyun's group when everyone (not just the traveler) asks him to.

3.4 Lantern Rite and the Poetry Gala have felt like the biggest steps due to the fact that we see Xiao actively participating in activities of his own volition. Most of his appearances before 3.4 (and even after, counting Baizhu's quest) are dictated by about 2.5 factors. The first is his duty: protecting Liyue from evil, more specifically keeping its people safe from these evils. The second is being called by the traveler, an act which I would consider a symbol of their friendship later on, but in the beginning and probably still in a lingering capacity now I think can be attributed to a sense of debt towards them. They helped save Liyue in a time of crisis, after having no obligation to do so, and someone like Xiao who takes his duties in protecting Liyue so seriously would absolutely feel like he owes a complete outsider like the traveler a debt after they kinda did his job for him. So much of Xiao's character is about debts, after all. That even ties into the 2.5th reason, where he would probably feel some obligation to appear at Lantern Rite because Zhongli would be there, though it's unclear if Hu Tao mentioned he would be so it might not even count in that case.

Now we see Xiao participating in events on the invitation of Hu Tao and Venti who are seeking him out because they see him as a friend. We see him taking not only the traveler's feelings into account when asked to participate, but also Chongyun and Diona's. It's such a far cry from his "I don't associate with mortals" attitude that we saw back in 2021.

That barely even touches the shift we've seen in his demeanor either. Back in 2021, Xiao always spoke very curtly and in as few words as possible, always seeming displeased any time he had to hold a conversation, but now he's loosened up so much that the difference is honestly staggering. It even shows through in his birthday letters from 2021 vs. 2023 (And even here we see him going out of his way to socialize of his own volition, so proud of him!):

I've gone back and forth between EN and CN voiceovers in the past year, so some of Xiao's appearances I've only experienced in CN, but hearing him in the Poetry Gala event in EN I can only give his voice actress a thousand kudos for how amazing her performance is. Xiao's voice has softened with time, and it's such a small detail, but I honestly think that it's what hammers his growth home more than anything else for me. He's not only willing to have full conversations with people he's less familiar with now, but he also doesn't feel the need to speak as harshly to them either, and that's really amazing to hear play out in the game.

Xiao's voicelines are so fascinating to me for that very reason, because they act as a time capsule for how he was back in 2021, and that's just not what he sounds like anymore. Obviously, voice actors' performances of their characters will shift with time but Xiao is the only character for which I can say that his demeanor really has just changed with time. Of course, I think that in some cases this does actually make sense, namely if a newer player pulls Xiao and has only gotten to experience the Archon Quest and maybe his Character Quest. In that case, all of the time that has passed simply doesn't exist. But at the same time I can only imagine how funny it would be for a long-time player who simply never pulled Xiao for one reason or another to pull him and listen to his lines and hear his older, edgier self lol

Though on that note I do also need to point out the biggest downside of all of this, and what is perhaps my greatest sadness about Xiao's character development, which is that new Genshin players simply won't have the chance to experience it. There are many characters who get the short end of the stick with the nature of Genshin's serialized storytelling and limited-time events (Albedo, Kazuha, and a plethora of 4 stars who don't get featured much, just to name a few), but I think Xiao's actually saddens me the most, because I believe the time that has passed is the greatest strength when it comes to this development. People will get to see his arc from the Archon Quest to Perilous Trail (and thank god they preserved Perilous Trail as an Interlude), but even that is still a shadow of Xiao's actual progression over the years.

These days, newer Genshin players may have only seen Xiao in the Liyue Archon Quest before playing the Poetry Gala event (unless Perilous Trail is a prereq, which I don't know off the top of my head), and I can't even imagine how jarring it would be to see how he acts there and then immediately see him in this event. The way that time works in this case would probably just make it seem like mhy doesn't know what they're doing with Xiao when in reality three years of development have been compressed into a matter of weeks. Knowing that, I'm grateful to have been able to experience his story in its truest form, but it also cannot go unacknowledged that some aspects of Genshin's story have a shorter shelf life than others. It's a major problem with the game, from some perspectives, but at the same time it's just a consequence of how it's being developed.

Anyway, I just needed to gush after seeing Xiao absolutely steal the show in part 2 of the quest with his quiet participation and little smile (crying). He's so good and I love him so much, and it's so nice to see what they've done with him after he finally got some semblance of closure after Perilous Trail <3

[lesbiansanemi]

SHINOBU FOR ASK GAME!!!

OFC OFC HELL YES MY BELOVED SHINOBU <3 TY JAYFORD <333

Favorite thing about them: There are so, so many things I love about Shinobu, but ultimately I think my favorite thing has to be her all-consuming desire for revenge. That sounds so edgy, but it is very rare that I get to see a female character have a genuine revenge plot line, let alone that being the main focus of her story, and it actually gets to end with her killing the man she wants revenge against. So many revenge plot lines (especially ones given to women) end with the character giving up vengeance, or allowing someone else to take it for them. Not Shinobu. She got what she wanted and told Douma to go fuck himself in hell. Queen shit

Least favorite thing about them: I tried so hard to come up with something, but I truly have no genuine complaints with Shinobu's character and how she's written. So I'll choose something petty. Her hairstyle. Like, pinned up it looks fine, I like it, but we never see her hair down so I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE IT DRIVES ME INSANE. I def don't think she has very long heir, I tend to go with shoulder length, but god I would love to know

Favorite line: Tbh her whole monologue from her opening scene still sticks with me. Her cadence and word choices and cheery smile as she talks about torturing the sister spider demon did such a good job of introducing her as a character, and their the lines I can most clearly remember off the top of my head

brOTP: Now.... hear me out.... Shinobu and Sanemi. I like the hc that they grew kind of close themselves when Sanemi and Kanae were Hashira together. I think they probably would have gotten along pretty well (well, by Shinobu and Sanemi standards) before Shinobu adopted a lot of Kanae's mannerisms and personality after her death. Because of this, I like to think that Sanemi is one of the few people she will fall back into her "old" personality with, at least in small ways. I do think they drifted apart after Kanae's death though. Partially because Shinobu emotionally distanced herself from pretty much everyone, but also because Sanemi didn't like her trying to emulate Kanae in the ways that she did. He found it weird and unsettling. But, every now and then, in brief moments where they're alone together, they can fall into old teasing and banter more easily than they realize

OTP: ShinoMitsu, easily! It's one of my favorite kny ships in general. I think that Shinobu and Mitsuri compliment each other as characters very well, and there is so much angst potential regarding their relationship (I know you know what I'm talking about, you understand Jayford haha). Mitsuri inspiring Shinobu to want to live again but she doesn't know how is actually something that can be so personal

nOTP: Shinobu x any man. Sorry that's a whole lesbian. But more specifically, I really can't fuck with Giyu//Shino or Dou//Shino. Keep that shit AWAY from me. I just don't like them in general, but I find so much of the content for them leans very heavily into "woman fixes sad broken man" and makes Shinobu way too nurturing and mothery which.... eugh....

Random headcanon: I like the headcanon that she opens the Butterfly Mansion to any women who need a shelter/resources for any reason, related to demons or not. The estate is huge, and as a Hashira, money is not an issue. So she's more than happy to give any women and girls a place to stay if they need to get out of bad situations (be it related to family, marriage, or something demonic). She is obviously very busy, so she's not directly involved with a lot of the women who are in and out, but she does what she can for them. She's also very willing to get any girls to good trainers to become swordsmen, if they want

Unpopular opinion: I feel people in the fandom swing wildly between two misinterpretations of her. The first being where people act like she's a much "better" person than she is, and who seem to fall for her smiles and pleasant tone. They treat her as if she can do no wrong, and tend to get mad/upset if someone depicts her as less than perfect (wild to me, esp considering canon makes it very obvious that she has many flaws). However, you also have the other side of the spectrum, where people act as if she's a horrible, awful irredeemable bitch and disregard her kindness as nothing but an act because she's complex and sometimes does questionable things. I do think both of these things are rooted in misogyny, the belief that women have to either be perfect goddesses, OR they're two-faced fake bitches, and unfortunately because Shinobu is so nuanced, she tends to get both. But yeah I hate both these interpretations of her and they are both very wide spread. Like guys... can we please just appreciate her for being a nuanced character who has both good and bad aspects, I'm begging

Song I associate with them: I have a couple! Kamikaze and Spoils of War for Shinobu specifically, and then Thank You For the Venom and Dying Star for some ShinoMitsu vibes imo (I should make a Shinobu/ShinoMitsu playlist)

Favorite picture of them: Every time I think of this little drawing I lose my mind, it's so cute and the way Shinobu is just fucking staring at her.... Real

[emmasmoke8]

Hi. It's dazzledog38 here, I just rebranded myself. I haven't been able to read much lately, but I have officially graduated and I'm free for most of the summer excluding my work days soooo I will be catching up soon. :}

Anyways. What I really came here for (and sorry if this is redundant, I don't remember what I've said or not already); I love the way you characterize all of the Sonic characters. I think your take on Sonic himself specifically is my favorite, he feels very real and much like his early 2000's characterization. I like that you make him hide when he has problems (by extension, he's still smiley around everyone else like he is canonically), I like that he's easy going, and this one might be weird but to me game Sonic is kind of introverted and I'm glad you kept him that way, and good lord do I think he needs a tuck in the blankets and a bowl of soup after everything you've put him through...

I also really adore your Shadow! I appreciate that you don't write him as someone who's just super angry and mindlessly self centered. Maybe I'm biased, but I've did lots of character studies on him specifically since he's my favorite, and he is not either of those things at all. Especially not when you give him context, which you always do. Smaller details I like is his insistance on being the one to open the door for everyone, it just feels like something he'd do, among other things.

Your take on Sonadow is one of my favorites as well, but you already know that from what I told you before in DMs, so!

I also wish I had your ability to think of such creative stories from start to end. I have an easy time making shorter fics, but I usually don't make it over the eight chapter mark when planning. You doing it consistently and pushing it out so fast is a little scary. I'm spooked.

Sorry this is so long, I just keep seeing people receive compliments for their fics in their inboxes and I also LOVE yapping so I figured I should throw one at your head too.

I'll be sad to see you go, but I get it. Taxes. 😔

— @cardinall4

Hello! We all love a good rebrand. Congratulations on graduating! I hope you’re enjoying your free time and your job. May the summer bring you much joy and fortune :D

Aww, thank you! I’ve mentioned this before, but characterization is always my biggest worry when I’m writing something. I understand that some OOC-ness is inevitable since I haven’t consumed every piece of Sonic media (tho, I have tried lmao), I interrupt stuff differently, and, well, I’m not a professional Sonic writer. But yeah, I try to get as close as possible, and it makes me extremely happy to hear people say such things

I love Sonic. I know I joke around a lot that Phantom Rider is my favorite Sonic character, but if we take him out of the equation, Sonic is my favorite character. He’s so fascinating to me. He’s all about freedom, not goodness. He’s extremely friendly and a busybody, but he also canonically spends a lot of time alone. He’s very upbeat and cocky, but he has moments of introspection and even a general understanding of other people’s emotions. It sucks that SEGA won’t let him express a wider variety of emotions, but I’ll take what I can get and read/write what I can’t get lmao

Shadow is somewhere in my favorites, too. There’s a fair bit of nuance in his feelings and actions if you’ll look at him objectively. I haven’t personally done many character studies, but I’ve definitely read and watched other people’s just so I didn’t make a complete fool of myself when I started writing him (although I must admit that I don’t know what you’re talking about with the door thing)

Ah, Sonadow. My starting point and curse. What a timeline we would have lived in if I watched a Sonamy video all those months ago

That’s just the consequences of having too much free time. That’s a finite resource for me now, I’m afraid. But in terms of ratio, I think I do more oneshots than multi-chapters

I love yapping, too! What’s I get into the groove, I just keep talking lmao

Thank you for your compliment. I really made me happy :D

[jadeandquartzes]

🥤 🪐 🏜️ 🧩!

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

HELL YEAH. We are all going to go on a beautiful ao3 trip right now to experience the glorious, cinematic, enrapturing works of @kipperlillycopperkettle. bev is a writer whose words literally make me gasp out loud, and cackle with laughter, and cry with emotion. I swear to god their fics have made me stand up and PACE so many times, and I mean that as the HIGHEST of compliments. they know how to make my heart leap out of my chest with the SIMPLEST of sentences. it's magical. it's phenomenal. it's the best. please read their latest hunger games fic and you still feel cheated when your buzz subsides, which is SOOOO devastating and juicy and good. i'm obsessed with their haymitch. he's a mess he's in pain he's fighting he's flailing he's furious he's afraid he's trying despite it all and it's sooooo so good. please read their rat grinders fic in the summer silence i was getting violent. the POVs on this are OUT OF THIS WORLD what the HELL. it's GREAT. six totally different headspaces, and all of them wonderful!! the moment i realized the connection between the listing of the rules about lucy's demise and the framing of each person's segment, i screamed!! please read their starbreaker examination i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre, which has its own mansion in my mindspace and will never ever be leaving. it's brutal it's fucked up it's beautiful it's messy it's devastating it's hot it's never meant to be it's about the devotion and loyalty and need and want and hate of it all. i think about jace kneeling in this All The Time. i think about "porter is a liar" All The Time. i think about the ending scene on the bench ALL THE TIME. actually read all of these and then go read all of bev's works!!! a master writer and an amazing artist, and I mean that with my whole heart.

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

oooh! okay let's see. I'm currently in the midst of a craaaazy wave of creative productivity that I haven't had for MONTHS, and it's a lovely feeling. I just started a new class that I'm having the time of my life with. And I came back from a lovely weekend spent staying with friends, which was a very good reminder that I am an adult, and alive, and allowed to have needs and wants and desires, and to vibe with the people I love, who are my chosen circle of family <3

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

I answered this in a few prior, but I'll keep building on them because I love listing nice things about comments: it brings me SOOO much joy hearing about where/when people are when they read my fics!! it's so fun to imagine them out and about in the world. I read fanfic in some wild places myself (train. airplane. my job, quite often.) so it's SO fun when my works get to keep other people company :)

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

HMM. Normally it's a combo of either a) egregious grammar/formatting problems to the point where I can't follow what's going on or read it coherently or b) it's not sunk into a character's head/pov enough? Hard to describe the latter, but it's the vibe of like. If I start the fic and it feels like That Character's Headspace, as opposed to just any random person's headspace, it's a good sign, but if I start it and it doesn't feel individual enough, then it can be hard for me to continue. (And to be clear, that's not specific to a single/personal interpretation of each character - if an author's got a strong character interpretation in mind, I'm very often down to go along for the ride! I just want to go on the ride in the first place, if that makes sense!)

ask me things!