#but never an outright collapse

[orlandospride]

appreciate being called the most rational uswnt fan lol, i promise it won't inflate my ego. a lot of it, i think, comes from the fact that soccer breached containment in the US last world cup. so a lot of people who've literally never played soccer and who don't really know anything beyond "US good" are suddenly commentating like they've got 30 years of experience. i played for 12 years, and watched soccer constantly in my down time. i can't comment on other countries but i feel like a lot of people who follow women's soccer in say Europe have similar experiences to mine. US fans were at least a bit more rational to a point while i was growing up watching, because you only knew about the league if you played. even then, a lot of people didn't know. around 2011, things started to take a turn to where we are now (i'm not getting on my shipping high horse), but it was still mostly focused on the soccer. now, the block button is my best friend lol.

in terms of vlatko, i don't really know what to say. i kind of avoid talking about the coaches because 90% of coaching is what we don't see. obviously, the subs thing is an issue, but i honestly don't know. i had coaches growing up who coached us through seasons where we lost everything. but that didn't mean they were bad coaches. one season, we literally only had 11 players, and that wasn't his fault. one season, our goalie got injured and we didn't have a back up. i also had shit coaches who coached us to a championship. the first thing i told this guy was that i was left footed, and it wasn't until our final game when he realized, in shock, that i was left footed. there's lots of stuff that goes on behind the scenes. everyone clowned on jill but she somehow won two world cups. we don't have any wingers right now. that's a problem. we don't have trained central defenders. that's a problem. i don't know what will happen to his job. on the one hand, US Soccer has made it very clear that you either win or you get the boot (see Tom Sermanni). on the other hand, they've also refused to fire coaches when players complained (see Jill Ellis). they also refused to pay Dawn Scott who was single-handedly the reason why we were dominant for so long in what i refuse to believe wasn't a political move (this happened during the second lawsuit). it's completely a toss up.

as you said, this is a positive for the US and soccer at large. i'm so excited to see new styles of soccer develop, i'm excited for a new team to win the cup. upsets are genuinely exciting. while losing to sweden wasn't necessarily an upset, there's been so much growth and new teams breaking records, this is so fucking exciting. the US has never been a super tactical team. we've had tactical players, but never as a team. for the longest time, our strategy was to just kick the ball as far down the field as possible and have alex morgan chase it down. simply put, the reason why we've been dominant for so long is because we were always bigger, stronger, and faster than the other teams but we can't do that anymore (see Dawn Scott). the US have never played the most beautiful or advanced soccer, we suck at passing, we don't defend properly at all, and we don't take proper first touches. i hope that this is the push that we need in order to move towards turning into the beautiful game. for now, i'm just hoping and praying that Nigeria beats England. every world cup that Jamaica has been a part of, i've wanted them to do well, and it's finally happening.

all i ask of US fans right now is to choose a team, follow that team, and watch the rest of the cup. after the cup, choose a club team or two, and follow that team. historically, women's soccer has had issues keeping viewership after the world cup and i'm really concerned that it's going to happen again. the US has one of the largest (or at least loudest) fan bases. please keep that energy going forward, i don't think that i can take another league collapse. when teams from other countries are fighting for their rights, be loud, don't let their federations steam roll them. you're allowed to be sad, i'm sad too, but please don't let women's soccer die out. also, please join me in my campaign in rooting for the US men to lose at the next man soccer world cup, and for Canada to win, simply because i think that it would be funny.

it probably is a little weird if you’re a (fairly) recent uswnt fan or don’t keep up with football outside of the us because the us has always been so successful. losing isn’t really in the vocabulary and we probably have all overestimated the amount of pressure it’s put on players for, literally, decades. expectations have always been sky high regardless whether it was realistic or not, and the bigger they are the harder they fall, etc. it sucks the us team will be going home to such hate though, especially since most of it is nothing to do with football at all

i don’t personally agree the us can’t really defend or pass, even if they could be better, but i do agree that fitness has been a major factor in success. they haven’t always been better, but they have always been able to run faster and for longer. so they were able to wear teams down…eventually. that’s not so much the case anymore

(i’m pretty neutral on jamaica, but it’s a cool story with the fundraiser and that, so hopefully it inspires them regardless. i hope nigeria beat england too)

i don’t think there should really be a concern for the state of women’s football overall though, right? women’s football post 2019 wwc has exploded, at least from my own experience in the u.k, it’s gone from strength to strength here. there’ll always be a drop off post wc, but there will also be those who stick around. every international tournament (generally) has a net gain. if doesn’t keep all viewers, but it does usually increase them from the pre-tournament. plus… women’s football is resilient 👊

[collapsing-sun]

do you think i am a boy?

does my eyeliner make me less of a boy?

when you tell your new friends about me, do you tell them i am a boy?

if we kissed would you feel like you were kissing a boy?

do you see me as a boy?

— ‘she’

[truly-quirkless]

@sinners-inc asked:

"there's nothing noble about working yourself to death." -DoYoung

[Workaholic Starters. | Accepting!]

"In my case, there is." Yagi was rather quick to respond in kind to the vigilante. He exhaled, rubbing his eyes before they slid over to DoYoung once more. He had two stacks of papers to grade on his desk, but that wasn't the source of his immense exhaustion. No, his tiredness came from all the Hero work he had continued to do in those spaces when he wasn't working on his teacher duties. Then again...those were pretty draining, too.

When was the last time he took a break?

His eyes snapped away. He didn't want to be seen as weak by anyone- but it seemed his soulmates had a habit of cropping up when he was at his low points.

"Besides- I can handle it." He coughed wetly, a fresh splatter of crimson painting his hand. The pain that accompanied it was a dull throb. An old annoyance he could easily ignore. He reached for the rapidly-depleting box of tissues beside his desk, and wiped off his hand before picking his pen back up.

[lovelyghst]

just imagine ghost getting his Jacob's ladder piercing while he's dating you and after it's healed yall have sex for the first time and it's just like sensory overload

i know absolutely nothing about piercings, but this idea is simply too good to pass up. my brain is melting.

hmmm, thinking about ghost who, despite not being able to properly get off himself, is still so attentive to his sweet girl throughout the whole healing process; offering you his mouth and fingers whenever he notices your focus beginning to drift off and shift elsewhere, having you rub yourself up on his jean-clad thigh when you can’t seem to shake the burst of energy.

because while you never outright asked him for anything of the kind, he just knew.

and even if you were the one so insistent on following the piercer’s advice—taking each and every precaution possible in avoiding the risks that simon shrugged off as ‘not gonna happen.’—you still felt bad. though, he couldn’t resist your stern pouting for long, turning weak the moment you cocked your head and promised him a sweet treat when he’s all healed up.

so, of course, ‘whatever you say, doll.’

anything to put your pretty mind at ease. he is a soldier, after all. he can wait, even if it kills him. it got pretty damn close to it, too.

which is what makes the first time back so fucking good. that reunion, and the return of that glimmering look you get in your eyes every other time he presses his pink lips to your collar and gently hikes you up the mattress after a long time away.

and truthfully, he was done in the moment you tapped him on his shoulder and told him to guess what day it was.

“shit, baby—” he grits out with a heavy breath, eyes trained on your own as he watches you reverently lick up the underside of his cock. your fingers tighten around the base when his abs pull taut, tongue gliding over the cool metal.

taking your time in feeling each and every barbell leading to the tip, making him twitch in your hand at the hot and wet drag over his sensitive skin. a heavy breath seeps from his lungs, his jaw clenching as he fights to hold off. jesus, you’re too good to him.

a sweet fucking treat, indeed.

you giggle before taking the head of him between your swollen, spit-stained lips, reveling in the quick hiss he sucks in through his teeth as you whine at the familiar taste of his pre leaking onto your tongue. your other hand slips up his thigh while you squeeze your own together, your freshly done-up nails leaving little, pink crescent shapes in his thick skin.

��fuck— not gonna last ‘f you keep that up,” he warns, a struggle in and of itself, and it’s an utter miracle he doesn’t collapse to the floor when you only hollow your cheeks and suck in response. he hardly manages to stifle an embarrassingly whorish moan at that.

god, you look so pretty down there, on your knees for him. so fucking debauched, and so, so perfect.

the way your thumb toys with the piercings as you have your own fun, and how you preen in his hold like a sweet cat when he slips a hand to the back of your neck. he’s going to miss it when he forces himself to pull you away, frowning at the pout you give him as he’s lifting you off your feet and carrying you over to your bed.

“’m sorry, sweetheart… just too fuckin’ pretty for yer old man anymore— didn’t want it t’go to waste.”

he kisses your temple, mumbling his apologies in your hair. you hardly even register your bare back making contact with your sheets, so wrapped up in his hold, before he’s kissing his way down your neck.

“wanna fill yer pretty cunt,” he murmurs, and it’s nearly incoherent as his lips press against your racing pulse point. “make ‘er cum ‘round my cock… know y’missed it too, sweet girl. a proper fuck…”

he’s talking more to himself than anything, and a small gasp from you follows soon after when his arm is snaked between your bodies and his fingertips make contact with your swollen, little clit. won’t even stretch you out with his fingers; he’s had his fill of that over the course of the last month. let him feel how much you missed his cock.

“poor thing’s soaked f’me, baby.” he groans as he adjusts on his forearm and regains his bearings, dick twitching against your thigh with every noise squeaked out from your throat. “cunt’s gonna take me just right, lovie… so fuckin’ well…”

he rambles a lot when he’s needy, you’ve come to learn.

you whine when his hand leaves you to take his cock in a fist, your nails digging into his chest and shoulder when he presses the head to your messy pussy. just the tip in and you’re already seeing stars, the shared moan between the two of you raw and pornographic.

he’s gritting out his swears before you try to shush his dirty mouth with a kiss, and he accepts it greedily, almost too eagerly.

your body reacts to his, simultaneously craving more and trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation all at once. your brain is fuzzy by the time he’s nearly bottoming out inside you, ears deaf to the unabashed sounds spilling from your lips as the feeling of his fresh piercings dragging against your every sweet spot burns itself into your memory.

and before you can catch your breath, a thumb is being pressed up against your sensitive bud once again, your legs constricting around him involuntarily as you jolt with a cry. heat prickles at your skin, his teeth at your jaw making your spine tingle.

he’s telling you to cum, begging you to make a mess of his cock.

his hand picks up its pace, hips grinding against yours sloppier than ever as he pleads right up against your temple for you to use him, just finish him off, fucking cum for him.

you squeeze around his cock like a vice and pull him straight under with you, arms locked tight around his neck as your pretty cunt utterly wrecks him. making him throb and twitch, fucking himself dumb through his high and wringing him dry of everything he’s kept pent up for you. at least for now, anyway.

his and your panting rings out in the room as he sits back on his knees, his cock still hard as he gently pulls out of you. watching his pearly cum bead from your slit, your chest gradually slowing down within the time he takes to drool over the sight of you.

it’s not long before simon has you laying on your tummy with your head in the soft sheets, a pillow slipped underneath your hips to prop you up. not making you do an ounce of work as he uses your warm, pliant cunt as his sweet cum dump for hours on end.

fucking you gently, lovingly, all while trying his best to keep his weight off your back. he kisses behind your ear, cooing praises and choked grunts that make your tummy flutter with butterflies. you can only giggle into the pillow nestled in your arms as he makes up for all the lost time.

filling you with load after load, the number becoming lost on your fuzzy mind after a certain amount, until your belly is achingly full and his cock is numb from overstimulation. only to coax you onto your back, easing your limp legs apart to watch his cum leak from your pretty hole. pressing a flat palm to your lower tummy, sighing in time with your strangled noises as your sensitive pussy drips more of his spend. leaning forward and licking it all up like some starved mutt; groaning at the taste, arms tightening around your hips as he eats his mess out of his pretty girl.

[headspace-hotel]

The most "???????" thing I found in r/collapse though was a thread talking about the "extinction" of the American Chestnut tree...the whole thing, but in particular this fucking comment

the implication that right after the blight started, "settlers" suddenly got the idea of cutting down all the trees. Does this person think a tree has to be already dead to be cut down for wood?

"there was no breeding project or attempt at all at saving them" shut up. just shut up. i beg

"University extensions are encouraging people to cut down healthy ash trees so they can sell the timber" ..."they?" The university extensions?

So for context, the American chestnut is NOT extinct, it has been the subject of intensive breeding programs with a broad and robust genetic base for decades, genetic engineering has been used to create trees with blight resistance that are now being planted and the work is continuing, I have had the privilege of speaking with some of the people that have devoted their entire lives to saving this tree, and let me FUCKING tell you, the eighty-year-old gentleman walking with a cane did not hobble painstakingly up a mountain to the chestnut grove for some dumbass to say "boohoo so sad that there were no breeding programs for american chestnut tree"

I cannot even describe how humbling it was to hear the old folks speak about the decades they worked to save the American Chestnut tree, long before the technology now being used to create blight resistant trees even EXISTED. It is a quest that will take multiple human lifetimes to complete, the people that began it will never see the trees grow old, but they made it their life's mission anyway.

I'm just...unable to understand why someone would say something like that. How could someone be so attached to their sad, dismal fantasy of apocalypse that they either fail to learn about, or outright lie about, a much more beautiful truth????

LOOK AT HER, YOU BITCH.

[hitchyboi]

MK1 Boys- How they sleep with you 💤

Syzoth/Reptile

Syzoth prefers sleeping in his original form so he takes up A LOT of the bed

Even if he does try to sleep in his human form, he'll change back as soon as he falls asleep

Big big lizard man

Incredibly clingy

Will curl his body around you as y'all asleep

Partly to feel protective over you and partly because he is cold blooded and craves warm places when he sleeps

Bi-Han/Sub-Zero

Does this man sleep?

In his office perhaps, or in the dojo after training

Wants to hold you close but probably would sleep board stiff on the other side of the bed

Barely moves?

The combination of his low body temperature and lack of movement when he sleeps legit make him look like a corpse at times.

Kuai Liang/Scorpion

THE BEST TO CUDDLE

This man is a living furnace and would be so warm cuddled up against

His strong arms would wrap around you and hold you close to his chest securely as he sleeps.

Arm around his your waist and other is tucked under his head

Strong gentle man

Tomas Vrbada/Smoke

Okay probably second best to cuddle out of the Lin Kuei Siblings

Very gentle and very sweet

Big spoon or little spoon depending how the day went

If he's had a rough day he'll want to curl up and be cradled in your arms but would be too sky to ask outright

Also frequently pulls late nighters training in the dojo by himself until he collapses from exhaustion. Bi-Han has him convinced he'll never be good enough and desperately wants to be better

Other days he's more then happy to hug you close, nuzzling into your neck as they sleep

Havik

Again, does he sleep?

Also pulls late or all nighters plotting against Orderrealm and coming up with plans of attacks

If you do manage to get him in bed he would be the restless kind

Starts off with his arms wrapped possessively around you but will wake up to majority of the bedsheets and pillows on the floor from hid tossing and turning

Johnny Cage

Fuzzy robes, fuzzy slippers, embroidered personalized matching pajamas set and lavender pillowcase spray.

This man's got it all

He's gotta do his skin care treatment before bed, his partner is encouraged to do it with him

He's more then happy to share

The kind to watch a movie before sleeping or having it as background sound too sleep. One of his movies.

Y'all are pampered

Kenshi Takahashi

Takes a while for him to warm up to the idea but sleeping with another person

The Yakuza has him in a constant state of being alert however he is a romantic and loves the idea of sleeping with his partner curled up together

His touches are soft and gentle

Will lay halfway on you with his head against your chest, listening to your heartbeat

Takes his time running feather like touches along your body to memorize every inch in his mind

Always kisses your forehead goodnight

[angeliicheartt]

It’s me again! Could you pretty please do how the boys would react to you wanting to cuddle, or what would happen when they wanted to cuddle? (My pookies are Katsuki, Shoto, Izuku, and Shinso 🤭) thank you again and I love your writing!

ᴄᴜᴅᴅʟᴇʙᴜɢ!

includes: katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, izuku midoriya, and hitoshi shinso

fem!reader

a/n: some cuddle headcanons, lmk if you want to see other characters!

ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ

♡ never outright asks to cuddle

♡ if you ask to, he'll drop what he's doing, pulling you into his warm, muscular body 🤗

♡ if he wants to cuddle he'll just throw u over his shoulder, toss you on the bed and flop on top of you. you cant breathe? oh well, he's comfy!

♡ he is a cuddle-bug, idc. something about holding onto something at night gets him sleepy 😚

♡ denies anything that comes out of your mouth about his soft, cuddly side

ꜱʜᴏᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ

♡ another cuddlebug once he opens up to you

♡ will ask to cuddle soso nicely u physically can't say no 😞

♡ also dropping everything if you ever ask to cuddle, at any time.

♡ absolutely phenomenal at cuddling, he can heat u up and cool u off depending on what you need/want 😚

♡ his limbs are tangled with yours and both hands are somewhere on your body

ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ ᴍɪᴅᴏʀɪʏᴀ

♡ when he does ask you, his face is soso flushed and he's stuttering all over the place (at least the first time)

♡ then, eventually, he just ends up grabbing your hand and dragging you along to the bed before collapsing on top of you

♡ lots and lots of impromptu naps, you cuddled up to him makes him sleepy😞

♡ almost always holding hands while cuddling

♡ his grip constantly tightens on you in his sleep

ʜɪᴛᴏꜱʜɪ ꜱʜɪɴꜱᴏ

♡ THE LOML, another one with lots of impromptu naps

♡ hehehe sorry i gotta focus. thinking abt cuddling shinso makes me daydream

♡ always asking to cuddle, or just snatching you, collapsing on top of you. he's getting those cuddles one way or another

♡ you never get a chance to ask, he always beats u to it. if youre not cuddling, youre physically unable to

♡ super possessive grip always !!

♡ always murmuring lil nothings by ur ear until the two of you eventually fall asleep

[lurochar]

Racy Reverie

In response to this ask

18+ MDNI

-------

“Finally, you don't know how much I need this!”

You smiled at Angel Dust, who collapsed on the opposite side of the couch from you. “I don't mind talking about your job if you need to, Angel.”

“You sure ‘bout that, Toots?” Angel Dust snickered at you, but then sighed almost wearily. “Not sure why you're the only one willing ta listen to me after a hard day, ya know? I mean, everyone in this hotel is a secret freak, right?”

You blinked.

“Little Miss Sunshine and Vagina – you've heard them go at it when they forget to put up their soundproof barrier, huh? Like damn, wonder who's using the strap there?”

That was true, they were quite loud when they failed to remember that important little detail.

“And c’mon, ya think that pussycat wasn't drowning in pussy himself back when he was an Overlord? Or maybe he likes cock better? I can’t tell with that guy. He’s got a good poker face, I can tell you that much.”

Honestly, you had no idea either which gender Husk preferred – he would probably choose a bottle of booze rather than a warm body if you had to guess.

“And Snakes? He has two dicks. Nuff said about that. And he calls me the whorebug?” Angel Dust scoffed. “And Niffty? Uhh, yeah, let’s… let’s just not get into her little mind of horrors.”

Well said.

“And so,” Angel Dust glanced up, a frisky smile suddenly gracing his face, “that just leaves you and Smiles. Spill, Toots. No need to be shy ‘round me. Don’t hold anything back. Everyone here knows you’re both a ‘thing’. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Creepy is into some fucking weird shit, isn’t he?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Alastor… isn’t–” You struggled to put it into exact words. “He doesn’t, well…” You scratched the side of your head in frustration.

“Ah, is he pulling the whole ‘proper gentleman’ bullshit? Doing the courting thing?” Angel Dust shrugged. “I remember you mentioning he died in the ‘30s or something? Does he really believe in the ‘no sex before marriage’ crap? Cuz let me tell ya, I died not that long after that, people weren’t as proper as you’d like to think they were back then.”

You glanced away. “Maybe… that’s a part of it.” You knew Alastor had little interest in the more intimate aspects of a relationship and he had admitted to you he had never done anything with anyone in either his mortal life and afterlife.

Of course you desired to touch him and for him to touch you beyond his own little affections – usually him placing his hand on the small of your back and perhaps a kiss on your forehead.

Alastor was not an affectionate man and you knew that going in and you respected that, but he had never outright told you it would never happen and so you could only hope it may happen one day.

“But this is about you! I said I would listen, you had a tough day, right?” You said quickly, earning a sympathetic look from Angel Dust, but he got the message to change the subject back to himself.

“Bleh, yeah, you got that right! Val’s into this thing called ‘bukkake’ right now, ever heard of that?” He earned a shake of your head. “It’s some Asian shit. It’s where multiple guys cum on you. So I’ve got like twenty Hellhounds cumming on my face – and fuck, dunno if you watch porn or not, but the loads some of those dogs are packing! Felt like I was fuckin’ drowning–”

Your face felt hot and Angel Dust’s voice felt distant as you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together. You weren’t a virgin, but you weren’t exactly swimming in experience either as you only had a few sexual encounters in life and none had involved… that.

What would it be like, Alastor cumming on your face?

Would you be on your knees in front of him? On a bed beneath him? Would he stroke himself to completion or would you use your mouth? Would he call you endearing pet names or be degrading towards you?

Oh fuck– 

“Hey, Toots! Still there?” Angel Dust broke you out of your fantasizing and you jumped, blinking and feeling your face burn with sheer embarrassment. “Shit, was that too much?”

“No, no!” You tried to wave it off like you weren’t affected. “I-it’s fine! You can continue!” You swallowed thickly.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. I think I got what I needed off my chest. Thanks for listening to me, Toots.” Angel Dust stood up from the couch. “Wanna get a drink with me?”

You could definitely use a drink right about now. “Yes. Yes, I would.” You got up, heading over to the bar with Angel Dust.

Neither of you noticed the shadow listening in.

[circusofthelastdays]

face sitting with astarion

warnings: MDNI, NSFW, afab fem reader, dom astarion, submissive reader, cunnilingus, astarion being a bit of a tease, implied to be after the end of the game.

"I said sit, love." Astarion tells you, wrapping his hands around your plush thighs, lightly tugging at you in an attempt to make you settle down overtop his mouth.

However, he is met with nervous resistance from you, with the outright refusal to fully sit down, opting to hover over his face. A mumbled explanation falls from your lips, "but I don't want to hurt you, star... what if-"

Astarion cuts you off before you can finish your words, he doesn't want your explanation. He wants you to sit, to taste you, to allow you the pleasure of coming undone from his mouth alone from a new angle. "You act as if you will suffocate me-"

He leans his head up, licking a stripe across your slick cunt before finishing his sentence, "you seem to forget, I do not need to breathe, my sweet."

He grips your thighs and tugs again, harder than before, and with the tadpole no longer there affecting his vampiric strength... it's no problem for him to get you exactly where he wants you. Just one tug is all it takes, and you're properly seated on his face despite your protests.

He is almost too good at using his mouth- his tongue collecting your slick with intention, leading to working your clit in a way that has you wanting to weep from pleasure. Your hands end up tangled in his hair, gripping his silver curls for dear life, effectively drawing a pained yet aroused groan from his lips.

Wanton moans fill the air, cascading out of you when you feel the reverberation of his groan against your soaked cunt. You can feel him smirk against you- he knows despite your original protests, you enjoy this more than you thought you would.

He teases at your thighs with his fangs, gaining a whimper from you before going back to paying attention to where you need him most. It's all in the way he sucks at you oversensitive clit, the way he laps at your arousal- only he can get your thighs trembling within minutes, and reduce you to having no thoughts but only of what he's making you feel.

He chuckles quietly when you attempt to lift your hips, and get away from the intense pleasure he is granting you, "don't run away now, darling." He taunts, before pulling you back down to his mouth and circling your clit with his skilled tongue to push you over the edge.

Because above all else, he loves the way you lewdly moan his name as you come undone. You sound so salacious, so beautiful. He works you through your orgasms always, never faltering in his ministrations no matter how much you wail and tremble.

So, Astarion grips your thighs tightly, not allowing you to get away from him- even when you're falling forward and holding onto the headboard to keep upright. He keeps you there until you're gushing, until he's sure you've had enough. Only then does he let you go, to let you collapse on the bed beside him, in an attempt to catch your breathe.

He wipes his mouth clean of your arousal, and gives you only a moment before crawling over your body, hooking his knee under your leg to spread you wide for him, "I hope you know, I'm not done with you yet, my love."

check out my masterlist for more like this!

[blackenedsnow]

can you do a keatlejuice x fem reader who passes out a lot due to illness?

faint of heart

WARNING: Mentions of fainting due to illness

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x (Fem) Reader

NOTE: Love this idea! I have this problem as well, just not due to illness. So I hope it wrote it decently enough.

SUMMARY: You’ve been dealing with a medical condition that causes you to faint more often than you'd like. Luckily (or unluckily), Beetlejuice, is always nearby when it happens.

You were used to the feeling by now—the lightheadedness that crept in without warning, the sudden exhaustion that drained the strength from your limbs. Still, no matter how accustomed you were to your illness, it didn’t make it any easier when the world around you started to blur and tilt on its axis. It was happening again, the familiar darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision.

“Damn it…” you muttered, swaying on your feet as you reached out to steady yourself against the wall.

Unfortunately, the wall wasn’t much help, and neither was your body. You could already feel yourself slipping, your knees buckling under you as you collapsed. Just before the darkness fully swallowed you, a voice broke through the haze—raspy and loud, with a hint of annoyance.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up there, sweetheart!”

And then, everything went black.

When you came to, the first thing you noticed was the sensation of being cradled in someone’s arms—scratch that, not someone. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was. The smell of dirt, mildew, and that faint hint of something otherworldly told you everything you needed to know.

“Beej,” you groaned softly, trying to sit up, though a wave of dizziness made you reconsider.

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha,” Beetlejuice’s voice came from above you, and you felt yourself being jostled slightly as he adjusted his grip on you. “Don’t go makin’ it a habit to pass out every time you see my face. I know I’m hot, but c’mon.”

You blinked up at him, his wild hair and striped suit filling your vision as you tried to focus. He was holding you, bridal-style, with a grin plastered on his pale face that was just shy of mischievous.

“Y’know, I could’ve just let you hit the floor. But nooo, I’m the good guy here, right? Heroic ghost with the most, swooping in to save the day.”

You sighed, shaking your head weakly. “Thanks, Beej… but you’re really not a hero.”

He scoffed, his grin widening. “Sure I am! Who else is gonna catch you when you go timber like that? Nobody cares for ya like I do, babe.”

As much as you hated to admit it, there was some truth to his words. Despite his odd personality and penchant for making a scene, Beetlejuice was always there when you needed him. No matter how irritating he could be on a daily basis, when it came down to moments like these, he never failed to show up. Somehow. At the perfect time.

“Seriously, though,” he said, his voice dropping into something that almost sounded like concern, though he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. “You gotta stop doin’ this. You’re startin’ to freak me out.”

You managed a weak chuckle, patting his chest. “I don’t do it on purpose.”

“Yeah, I know.” Beetlejuice let out a huff, shifting you in his arms as he looked down at you with those mismatched eyes. “Still doesn’t mean I gotta like it. I mean, who’s gonna laugh at my jokes if you’re passed out half the time, huh?”

“You’re plenty funny without me,” you teased, though your voice was still quiet and a bit shaky.

“Nah,” he smirked. “I’m only funny ‘cause you laugh at all my dumb shit.”

For a moment, you both went into a comfortable silence. Sure, he was Beetlejuice—weird, loud, and often over-the-top—but beneath all that was something softer, something that genuinely cared about you. He wouldn’t admit it outright (that wasn’t his style), but the way he stayed close during your fainting spells, the way he always made sure you were okay, said more than his snarky comments ever could.

“You okay now?” he asked after a beat, setting you down gently on the couch. “You need anything? Water? Smelling salts?”

You shook your head, leaning back into the cushions as you took a few deep breaths. “I’m alright… just give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need, dollface,” he said, plopping down beside you, legs crossed and his elbow resting on the back of the couch. “But hey, if you feel like passin’ out again, at least let me know so I can catch ya in a cool way next time. Maybe do a little spin, toss ya over my shoulder—y’know, something real dramatic.”

You smiled at him, grateful for the way he could turn even the scariest moments into something almost light-hearted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Beetlejuice winked, tapping the side of his nose. “That’s my girl.”

[dilatorywriting]

59 Leona, it'd take a lot for him to admit but he would say it eventually. (Also I know you'd recognize me but I'm shy, so anon it is)

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt 59: "People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you, I think fate was being harsh on you."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You are nice, and you are stupid. And those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Sometimes you’re nice because you’re stupid, and sometimes you do stupid things because you’re too nice for your own stupid, stupid good. And it drives Leona half insane.

Which it shouldn’t, because nice, stupid people like you are just as annoying as his brother. Goody-two-shoes with buttoned vests and sparkly, star-shaped stickers on their term papers.

“Did you remember your homework?”

Leona flicked his tail in your face and you scrunched your nose over your notebook.

“Well?”

“Of course I remembered,” he scoffed, lazing back against the roots of one of his favorite trees. This spot used to be so much quieter, so much more peaceful, before you decided to trail after him like a duck quacking for its mother.

“Did you do the homework?” you clarified, and Leona rolled his eyes.

You sighed and starting ruffling around in your bookbag. “I brought a spare copy of the worksheet. You’re going to drive Ruggie insane, y’know. If he winds up stuck with you for another year because you failed for not turning in assignments.”

“Yeah. Sure. Another three-hundred-and-sixty-five days to rifle through my wallet. Worst news of his life.”

You huffed good naturedly and handed him the sheet of crisp, white copy paper and a pen. “Get to work, Kingscholar.”

“Oh?” he drawled, closing his eyes and settling back, loose limbed and all long, lean leisure, against the tree trunk. Clearly ready for an afternoon snooze. “Make me.”

You sighed again and reached over to flick your own well-used pen against his ear. It twitched under your fingers—soft, and tufted. The finest of the pale, tan fur brushing up against your fingertips. “Fine. Be that way. See if I bring you lunch tomorrow.”

“You will,” he scoffed.

“Yeah,” you sighed, sounding resigned and foolishly fond. “I probably will.”

See? Stupid. So easy to manipulate. So willing to let yourself be squashed under his clawed thumb. It was a wonder you’d managed to survive in this school at all. Nevertheless by clinging onto the coattails of someone like him. He’d never made anyone’s existence easier a day in his life, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, just because you were too soft-hearted and slow to see a looming predator for what it was.

“Just give me that stupid fucking paper,” he snapped, sitting upright and swatting away your poking pen with a sneer. You laughed into your palms like a secret—bright, and merry, and dumb as a fucking rock.

“Whatever you say, Leona.”

.

.

You’d handled his Overblot with a strange sort of aplomb that at first Leona had attributed to perhaps a lingering, hidden confidence that he’d just never bothered to unearth. You were just some herbivore, and even the littlest rabbits could bite back when you put them in a corner. But then he’d come to the decision that that easy conviction was just another symptom of your rampant stupidity.

“I know you guys don’t want to hurt me, or any of us. Not really,” you shrugged around a wad of cotton—the blood dripping from your nose slowly drying up to a tacky, sticky dribble. Leona gaped at you outright.

That was your grand explanation. For why you’d been so eager to charge forward when he’d collapsed in a pool of inky nightmares and self-loathing. And the very same reason apparently thatyou’d felt so comfortable rushing forward to treat Azul Ashengrotto’s blubbering, hysterical, breakdown with the same urgency.

“That octo-prick would have ripped you in half,” he sneered, fingers twitching a nervous rhythm against his palms as he watched the nurse wrap another layer or bandages around your head.

You shrugged. “Not on purpose.”

You were going to give him an aneurism.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he snarled, ignoring the horrible, twisty thing curling like bile through his chest. “And I’m not going to bother paying for some self-sacrificing idiot’s funeral.”

Another shrug.

“That’s alright,” you hummed, a soft sort of crooked smile on your mouth. “Would’ve been a waste of money anyways.”

Leona didn’t talk to you for a week after that. Surely because your stupidity had reached such a fever pitch that it was no doubt contagious, and he needed to protect his far superior and more valuable brain. Not because the image of you smiling and nodding along to his declarations that he wouldn’t put the effort into mourning your death had soured something so deep in his gut that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to scrape it out.

.

.

When he received a letter from home asking him to return for some shitty coronation nonsense for his equally shitty brother, Leona had debated just skipping it outright. Who was going to stop him? You?

Well. Yes, apparently.

“It sounds important,” you hummed, peering over his shoulder at the neat, formal scrawl of the summons. “You should go.”

He snorted. “I don’t want to be there, they don’t want me to be there. What’s the point.”

You frowned, brow crinkling in the middle.

“Well, that’s not true,” you said, perplexed. “They wouldn’t write to you if that was the case.”

Leona snorted, eyes darting away to glare bitterly off into the corner. “Not like they have a choice.”

“Well then you don’t have a choice either,” you argued, firm. “I’ll go with you. See? It says you can have a plus one. You can camp out in your fancy, princey, bedroom. And I can siphon you snacks from the fancy, princey hors d'oeuvres tables. That way we both win. You get to be a reclusive asshole and rub the fact that that you still went in everyone’s faces, and I can get access to some tasty, royal food that I’ll probably never be able to afford again for the rest of my life.”

“Should’ve known you’d be like Ruggie—only using me for the free food,” he sighed, melodramatic and obviously put on.

“Well, also because I thought you could use the emotional support,” you added, a touch too soft and far too genuine. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear that bit.”

“You’re right,” he scoffed, turning onto his side to hide the strange, miserable heat pricking at his skin. “Don’t ever say corny shit like that again.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you grinned, flicking at his ear, and Leona added another mental tab to his never-ending list of reasons that you were really far too brainless to keep functioning at all.

.

.

You were nice, and you were stupid. And Seven, he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“My brother hasn’t ever brought someone to one of these events before,” Falena had said, to your face. Idiot to idiot communication.  

“I didn’t give him much of an option,” you’d chirped, perfectly pleasant. “I don’t think he wants me anywhere near here, to be fair. Or around him in general. But I’m like a cockroach. Can’t get rid of me.”

And Falena had laughed. Because he was terrible. And said, “I’m sure he must care about you very much, little cockroach.”

And then because you were more terrible, you laughed back and said very assuredly, “Oh, not at all.”

Which was—was—

“Do you really think that?” he snapped, once the two of you were alone. And you blinked back at him with wide, owlish eyes.

“Think what?”

Think at all,he wanted to sneer, but just glared silently and bitterly into the middle distance—fighting the nonsensical, irritated swishing of his tail.

But you just kept staring at him. Like he was the moron here. Which was unacceptable.

“Look,” he frowned, sharp and miserable. “I get it. People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you. Whatever gods exist out there were playing a shitty fucking joke on you when they dropped you in my lap. But you’re stuck with me. So stop—” he bit out, fighting that awful, twisty thing in his gut that never seemed to fully go away. “Stop talking like I can’t stand you.”

“…oh,” you mumbled, whisper quiet—that wide, startled gaze flicking away in embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed, sharp, and you snorted a laugh that seemed to surprise even you.

“You’re stuck with me too then, y’know,” you said after a long moment. “Even when I make you grumpy.”

“You don’t make me grumpy. I am grumpy. You make me—” he cut off quick, eyes darting away petulantly and an absolutely unfair heat rising along his cheekbones.  

“Itchy,” you piped in, and he gaped at you in shock.

“What?”

“You know,” you shrugged, awkward, and reached up to wiggle your fingers. “Cockroach. Many legs. Squirming. Itchy.”

“Never say any of those words again.”

You laughed into your palm—inelegant and a touch too loud. Leona felt his lips quirk.

“Thank you,” you said after a moment, once your giggles were a bit more under control. And leaned forward quick as a whip to press a nervous peck against his cheek. “For being kind to me.”

Kind.

Leona reached up to press a hand against the too-warm skin with a terrible, unfamiliar sensation in his head not unlike the fuzzy, white drone of TV static. And a horrible thought managed to filter its way through the floating, buzzing sensation curling through the whole of him.

Oh, fuck. It is contagious.

.

.

[wooahaes]

svt - holding them

pairing: non-idol!svt x gn!reader

prompt: holding them :)

genre: honestly these are probably mostly hurt/comfort but theres some fluff in here i swear.

warnings: mentions of various stressful situations. comfort for a lot of these. mentioned injury in chan's. mentioned fight + seungkwan being pissed during his (not directed at reader at all). introvert!reader in wonwoo's. alcohol mention in mingyu's. food mentions, often in a vague sense throughout (just mentions of meals--although seokmin's mentions cupcakes for puppies).

daisy's notes: its cozy comfort hours.

choi seungcheol

seungcheol would sometimes just melt into you whenever you held him. you always took it as a sign that he trusted you wholeheartedly, and he meant it in that way and a sign that he loved you with everything that he was.

sometimes he'd be saddled with the brunt of the work in his department, and typically it meant he'd stress over making sure everything was done right. with the addition of a new intern (vernon--you'd met him once when you dropped by to get seungcheol lunch when he was too busy to leave, and he seemed like a nice enough guy), this stress seemed to be two-fold this time around. he'd work later, always telling you to go on and eat dinner without him. he'd always promise that this would be over soon, too: this was one of their busier periods. of course, you knew this by now--you'd been with seungcheol long enough to understand his work--but the honesty was always appreciated.

seungcheol had come home while you were making a cup of tea before bed, and quietly shuffled over to you. without saying anything, he'd already slipped his arms underneath yours to hug you around your chest. your arms curled around his shoulders, and you pulled him in, letting him melt into you again. secure in your arms, he let out a long sigh, face burying into your shoulder--and, for just a moment, you thought he might collapse right then and there. he just stayed there for a few silent minutes longer, before he let go of you, drawing back to look at your face.

you nodded toward your cup of tea. "do you want one?"

and he nodded, already leaning into plant a peck against your lips. "i love you," he mumbled, fully pulling away. you watched the quiet way he disappeared down the hall, the sound of the bedroom door opening a second later.

you'd hold him against once the two of you had finished your tea, and you'd play with his hair the way he liked while he vented whatever frustrations he needed to vent. you always liked holding your love normally, but this?

this felt special. and if he needed you to be a safe haven for him, you were glad to return the favor he always granted you the moment you needed it.

yoon jeonghan

jeonghan always knew that he just had to ask for you to hold him for you to do it. that was why he almost never did: not outright, at least. he'd merely slither his way into your arms, and respond to your soft 'happy?' with a blissful sigh and a 'very.' he liked being held by you sometimes. he knew you found this sense of security in his arms, and he was always happy to say that he found the same with you. curling up in your arms felt like he was home again.

so the first place he wanted to be after exiting his plane was home. as much as he could enjoy getting to see places abroad, he always wished he could bring you along with him. it'd mean that he wouldn't have to share a room with joshua (who he was perfectly fine with: there were few others he'd be so happy to share a room with), and that he could come back from the days of being stuck with other people to see your lovely face before he took you out for sightseeing and dinner. instead he'd just have to do these dates with joshua, always sending you teasing messages about how he was enjoying his time with his 'work boyfriend' (you'd coined it forever ago to tease him, and joshua had found it amusing enough that the two of you jokingly called each other jeonghan's 'other partner'). now he just needed to go through the motions to get home. get his luggage, get a cab, climb the stairs because the elevator was out...

he'd eventually opened the bedroom door to see you asleep. of course you would be: it was late and he told you to not wait up for him due to flight delays. he pulled at his tie, already going through the rest of the motions: suit off (get dry-cleaned later--too tired to care about fucking it up), clothes changed, teeth brushed... collapse into bed next to you.

you'd woken up, jostled by the sudden movement as your sleepy eyes found his in the dark. wordlessly, you opened your arms up to him, and he immediately moved in. welcome home. he pressed kisses against your neck and cheeks, making up for those lost few days for a moment.

"missed you," he mumbled against your skin.

you giggled as you held him tighter. "missed you, too, hannie."

joshua hong

joshua was never afraid to ask you to hold him. tonight was no different.

sometimes it was driven on by that need for physical comfort, but not always. sometimes it would be nights like this: you'd be curled up next to him in bed, talking aimlessly with him about your day since the two of you had barely spoken past a quick meal together before you were getting ready for bed. he'd been drained from work, you had been, too... that left a lot of talk for that melting space between waking and sleep.

"honey?" his eyes found yours in the low light, and you watched the way he stretched an arm back to place his phone back onto the nightstand. "can you just... hold me tonight?"

you obliged with ease. he settled in, shutting his eyes as his arms wrapped around you and squeezed you for just a second--a little 'i love you' without words.

"you can keep talking," he said after a moment. "i'm still listening, i promise."

he relaxed against you as you reached up, playing with his hair as you continued to talk about office drama. nothing too major, thankfully--you were just ready for it to be over and to be coming home at a normal time again. at least the extra pay was nice.

joshua could hear your heart beating. for a moment, he stopped listening to office drama and focused entirely on that. everything would be fine. another long day was just that: a day he managed to get through. everything would be okay if he made it right here, back in your arms and listening to you talk about things that mattered now but might not in a week (that was life, though, wasn't it? a series of moments of caring, even if those moments weren't important in the long run). he played with the hem of your shirt, trying to figure out who you were talking about now.

"hey?" he says quietly. "i love you."

for a moment, you paused. and then he heard you chuckle. "i love you, too, honey."

yeah... things would always be okay if he heard you say that.

wen junhui

jun had settled into your arms maybe twenty minutes ago, and he'd yet to say a word. at this point, you thought he might purr if you kept playing with his hair.

most nights, jun liked holding you. hell, most days jun liked to hold you. he was this soft lovable guy who often found a way to hold you regardless of where the two of you were. in a store? he'd wrap his arms around you from behind, looking at whatever you were looking at (even if you were comparing tomatoes or something). you were cooking because it was your night to cook? well, fine, jun wouldn't help you because you refused it... so he'd simple settle in, arms wrapped around you as he watched you cook. and he'd always pull you into his arms when the two of you settled in to sleep for the night, planting a happy kiss against your neck before snuggling in tight. he was, simply put, a snuggly man.

and you knew that something about his day must have been harder than usual, because he'd settled into your arms first and said nothing. he merely shut his eyes, and held onto you, head resting on your chest while he listened to your heartbeat. you'd seen the way his lips quirked a little when you reached a hand up, playing with his hair as you continued to read a e-book off of your phone. he would talk to you when he was ready to: you knew him well enough.

when you stopped playing with his hair, he looked up. you met his gaze, "you okay?"

he nodded, settling back in. "just missed you today."

and immediately you swore your heart somehow shattered and was put back together within seconds. you sighed. "i thought something was wrong, you goof."

he giggled. "you did? you're so sweet," he planted a tiny peck against your neck. "thank you for worrying, honey."

"yeah, yeah..." you pressed a kiss against the side of his head. "love you, too, you dork."

kwon soonyoung

soonyoung had maybe the worst day of his entire life ever.

he had plans! today was supposed to go well! he didn't have to work, and he was going to meet up with some friends and, y'know, do friend stuff. there was an amusement park that they'd been wanting to go to, and soonyoung had hyped himself up for it... except seungcheol ended up sick (something he'd warned about the night before--something about his partner catching something), and had to drop out. and that had seemed to set off a chain of events. seungkwan ended up having to work because one of his coworkers (the young college kid, seungkwan had said with scorn) called in sick at the last minute (seungkwan said he heard giggling on the other end of the phone--that fucker was absolutely not sick and that fake cough spoke volumes), jeonghan ended up needing to go see his partner about some family issue, jihoon... well. jihoon didn't do anything except point out the weather.

but jihoon had still offered to go out, maybe get lunch with anyone interested in still going. which is why soonyoung was now completely soaked since the two got lunch and parted ways before he was immediately caught in a downpour. plus lunch hadn't even been that good (jihoon's was--he'd let him steal a bite and soonyoung had just powered through his own crummy meal). today was supposed to be fun and now he was standing inside the front door to his apartment, soaked to the bone.

he shut his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before calling out for you. after a minute, you'd come into the room, stopping before immediately turning on your heel to leave. he could hear the bathroom door open, and then the water being started up. he barely saw your face again before you'd thrown a towel over his head, already working to try and dry him off a little.

"baby, why didn't you take your umbrella?"

because it broke. again: worst day of his life, probably. but soonyoung listened to you when you told him to go take a warm shower, that you'd get him some clean clothes and maybe make soup while he was in there. he'd told you not to worry about soup right now.

"can you just... hold me when i get out?"

you agreed easily enough. and when he left the shower, getting dressed again, he found you in the bedroom, curled up and waiting for him. within minutes, he had folded himself into your arms, holding on as he buried his face in your shoulder. you smelled like his cologne, and yet it seemed to comfort him in a weird way. like it was this little reminder that you were here for him still, even after everything went wrong for a while.

today might have been awful... but things felt right now that you were holding him.

jeon wonwoo

wonwoo knew the routine for post-socialization nights. nightly routine (skincare, changing into comfy clothes), and then he would load up whatever game the two of you were going to play to unwind while you scrounged around for snacks. on rarer nights, wonwoo would be the one who would pull together an assortment of snacks--usually because he'd be too tired to game, but would be happy to keep you company. tonight was one of those nights, where wonwoo listened as you loaded up your game on the PS4. he heard the telltale gentle piano opening to the game (who knew such a silly concept like mixing disney with final fantasy could make a game so impactful? wonwoo liked watching you play, though: he knew how important it was to you, and he saw it as a way of learning more about you), and he found himself smiling a little. he knew you well.

when he returned to the couch, you'd already gathered up a few blankets and pillows so the two of you could get fully comfy. these were the perks of dating a fellow introvert, in wonwoo's opinion: the two of you had decided on some sort of "decomposing" ritual for nights like these. when the two of you were just dating, it was usually ice cream or coffee or a nice walk together before parting ways. later it became playing video games online with one another, and now it was playing them together and cuddling.

with snacks in hand, wonwoo sat down next to you, watching as you curled up at one end of the couch. without saying anything, all you had to do was glance at him before you opened yourself up so that he could lay in your arms. you'd hold the controller out in front of him, adjusting your position as needed so that you could comfortably play (you'd left off somewhere in the aladdin-based world). he would offer up food to you, and sometimes you'd accept.

the two of you made it work. and wonwoo subtly smiled to himself as he cuddled closer to you, only pulling away to put the empty bowl ont he coffee table. he'd turn over, too, and lay atop you, snuggling in happily as he watched you play.

"happy?" you mused aloud, not taking your eyes off the screen.

"mhm." he nuzzled his head against your chest, smiling a little more now. "so... can you explain what we're doing again?"

he heard the way you chuckled. "we're looking for aladdin right now."

"again? i thought that was the first game."

another warm chuckle, deep in your chest. "yeah," you shifted, just to keep wonwoo close to you. "again."

lee jihoon

jihoon wasn't always one for skinship. this was something you knew: it was reserved for people he was close with, and for people who didn't use it as an excuse to baby him in any way. you'd seen the way his friend, seokmin, liked to teasingly (attempt) kiss him on the cheek and the way he'd always lean away, pretending to act grumpy while his smile always broke through a little. and with you, he'd always been open to little things in public like holding your hand or the occasional hug when it was cold out and you were seeking warmth. hell, sometimes he'd keep an arm loosely around you in public when you were in a crowded space. a tiny symbol that the two of you were linked together, but in a way that minimized the space you were taking up as you entered one another's bubble.

at home, though, things were different. jihoon wasn't afraid to ask for a hug or to be held if he needed it. and sometimes, after particularly stressful days, he needed it.

"honey?" his voice was always quiet, as if to keep this moment between the two of you alone. he'd always drop a 'honey' or 'love' too, as if to sweeten the deal (or maybe it was his way of telegraphing it to you: this is a sign i need something more intimate...). "can you hold me?"

he'd always ask, no matter how long the two of you had been dating. it was his way of telling you that his day had been rough without outright saying it. you'd maybe said 'no' once or twice due to awful timing: you'd been sick both times and didn't want to risk him catching whatever you had, but he'd understood easily enough... and you'd later get a picture from his roommate, soonyoung, 'stealing your man' (his way of saying not to worry: he was taking care of him). but your 'yes' came easily, and you'd readjusted in your position on the couch for him to essentially lay on you, cuddling into your arms.

"do you want to talk about it?" you asked once he'd settled in.

he shook his head. "maybe later. just... hold me for a bit first."

and you always would, snuggling together like you were each other's perfect fit.

lee seokmin

seokmin loved holding you... but he loved being held by you, too. never ask him to pick which one, because he would refuse every single time: there's too many pros and cons to both for him to pick between the options. therefore, seokmin just... liked holding. was that weird to say? he wasn't sure: regardless of who was doing said holding, he would always be happy.

which was why he was happy as you wrapped your arms around him from behind while he was on the phone with seungkwan, trying to coordinate a surprise party for another "special" friend. the party planning had been stressful (you told seokmin that bookkeu was a dog, he would be happy regardless of what seungkwan did for him, and then seungkwan stopped talking to you for a week until you apologized and said that you only meant it as a 'please don't let him lose sleep over this' deal), and just being in your arms helped plenty. was it maybe a little silly to get this worked up over coordinating a surprise party for a literal dog? maybe. but seungkwan had been excited over throwing a birthday party for his dog (bookkeu was a beloved member of the family, after all), and seokmin had grown a little excited over making doggy cupcakes... life was simply too short to not embrace things like this.

seokmin looked over his shoulder at you with a quiet "hi, honey," before he went back to talking about saying something about how the paw print mold was on its way so he could decorate the cupcakes with them. before you could draw back, he caught your wrist, pulling you back in so that you were still firmly pressed against his back. he pulled your wrist up so he could press a tiny peck against the inside of it, swaying happily with your arms still firmly around him.

the moment his phone call was over, he shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to face you. "hi," he giggled. "we're excited."

"i can tell," you smiled back, running a hand through his hair. "you sound excited."

"they're pupcakes," he said, pulling you in closer. "aren't you excited?"

for seokmin? you'd be excited over anything just to share in that joy alongside him.

kim mingyu

mingyu dragged himself into your bedroom, each step seemingly heavier than the last. you looked up from your book to see utter exhaustion on his face, and immediately set it aside.

"gyu--"

"drank too much," he mumbled as he all but collapsed onto his side of the bed. "cheol's fault..."

the cute way he was pouting now earned a giggle from you. of course it was him out drinking with seungcheol that ended with your pouty boyfriend all tired and maybe feeling a little sick. you crawled over, pulling at his shoulders. he gave in with ease, rolling onto his back as he rest his head in your lap, eyes falling shut as you began to play with his hair.

"did you drink water?" you asked. he nodded, leaning further into your touch. "i'll get another glass in a few minutes."

he shook his head. "can you... can you hold me first?"

of course you would. he stayed in your lap a little longer, too in love with the way you were playing with his hair until he turned over. rather than letting you move, he just crawled up, resting his head on your chest as he basically crushed you underneath him. you adjusted as best as you could, wrapping your arms around him, fingers still running through his hair. you could feel his smile through the thin fabric of your shirt, his arms wrapping around you after a moment.

"love you," he mumbled, turning his face so that he could press a kiss against your chest. "love you," he mumbled again.

you managed to plant a peck against the side of his head. "love you, too, mingyu."

xu minghao

minghao, simply put, preferred caring for you. there was something tender about being able to dote on his beloved whenever he could. it wasn't as though he hid his bad days from you--the two of you lived together now, that wasn't exactly an option, and not one he was ever fond of except for the very early days of you two dating (and even then, he was always mature enough to say he was having a rough day and he'd talk to you later in a way of asking for space). but from the moment he woke up this morning, something was... off.

so when he finally came home to you after work and meditating in the park, he gave in. "today was hard," he simply said as he was hanging up his jacket. "do you mind holding me for a little while?"

angel that you were, you never minded. minghao always knew he could come home and nuzzle into your open arms whenever he needed to be cared for. he'd always crawl into them, burrowing his face in your neck. he could smell your favorite body spray clinging to your skin, and it felt like home. you, too, felt like home... but that was because you were home.

something within him just... broke. maybe it was stress, or maybe he'd been holding himself together for far too long without relief. one moment he was fine, and the next he was tearing up for reasons he'd never be able to piece together. he buried his face further into your neck, holding onto you tight as he let himself cry (because you would always let him cry if he needed to--you were safe, you were home).

"oh, hao..." your voice was quiet, but he could feel the slight rumble in your chest from how close his body was pressed against yours. "it's okay." you traced circles onto his back. "just let it out, love. i'm here."

you were here. home. and he held onto you tighter, safe to come undone within your loving embrace.

boo seungkwan

seungkwan was mad. very mad. you could hear the front door slam from your curled-up position in bed, and that meant something went very wrong with whatever hang-out he had arranged with his friends. a few seconds later, you heard the bathroom door slam, and then open and close normally a minute later. before you knew it, seungkwan had thrown open the door and immediately apologized--to both you and the door for being so angry. he closed it with a restrained anger, and made his way over to bed.

"seungkwan?" you called to him quietly, watching him curl up tighter. "c'mere."

and he did. without hesitation, he turned over and moved into your arms, because that was one of the places he found calmed him the most. he let you hold him, and he shut his eyes, taking slow breaths as he curled up closer to you.

"you wanna talk about it?"

"in a minute." his fingers dug into your skin, and he pulled himself closer to you. and then he resumed his breathing, willing himself to calm down even further before he even thought about ranting to you.

"did something happen?"

he nodded. "i'll apologize later," he huffed. "after he apologizes first."

oh. ouch. you felt your phone buzz on the mattress beside you. no doubt it was someone trying to give you some kind of heads up (or maybe even an inkling of what had happened--probably vernon or jeonghan). you just started to knead at his back, feeling the way seungkwan further relaxed against you.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled softly. "did i scare you when i came in...?"

"a little, but it's okay," you said. "you're upset. did you guys get to have dinner?"

he shook his head.

"well," you pushed him back by the shoulders, just enough that you could look into his eyes. "let's order dinner and eat together... and then i can hold you again while you tell me what happened."

seungkwan leaned in, pressing a quick peck against your lips. "thank you," he said. "i love you."

"love you, too, kwannie."

chwe vernon

"hey. can you hold me for a bit? i'm kinda cold."

vernon was the king of unsubtle. it was hot out. hell, it was kind of warm in your apartment. the only colder room was your bedroom, and that was because the window A/C unit was in there. he was just watching a movie with you, no blankets because the two of you were warm enough. and now he was looking at you with this cute smile on his face, as if he couldn't just ask you to hold him because he wanted to be held. like he needed to go on some secret mission to get what he wanted.

"dude, you're wearing a hoodie."

never had you seen him strip it off so quickly, turning to you. "can you hold me now?"

ah. he knew this was becoming a little game. "you're already cold?"

"yep. freezing. need ya."

you rolled your eyes, and opened your arms to him. he happily shifted so that he could rest, back against your chest, and you could see that gummy smile as he cuddled in. again: the king of being unsubtle. he'd snuggled in a little further, hands coming up to hold onto your arms as he dragged his thumbs against your skin.

barely ten minutes later, and he peeked up at your face. "babe."

ah. the term of endearment. you knew what was coming next. "nope."

"i forgot you're like your own heater!"

"and now you're stuck here like my teddy bear," you held him a little tighter. "live with it, chwe."

(he would. for the rest of his life, if you'd let him.)

lee chan

"i told you, i'm fine!"

despite the elevated ankle, chan had been trying to convince you of this for the past twenty minutes. it was just a little sprain that the doctor said he needed to stay off of as much as he could. just a little one. he'd be fine by the end of the week, he was positive. even among his bickering with you, you'd moved around your shared bedroom, arranging things so that chan wouldn't have to worry too much. you'd elevated his ankle, made sure that the wrapping was still secure, and kept his crutches within reach in case he needed them.

("just a 'little' sprain" your ass--he'd teared up on you for a minute because of how bad it hurt, and even then he kept insisting he'd walk it off.)

"channie," you pouted at him. "i'm gonna take care of you, alright?"

he only pouted at you in return. "i don't need you to take care of me--it's just a sprain. i've been through worse--"

"that doesn't mean you need to neglect yourself this time!" you huffed, and crawled in from the other side of the bed.

before he could complain further, you pulled him over and into your arms, mindful of his ankle. you linked your arms around him, holding onto him tight before he could try to escape again because he noticed that the dishes needed doing and you were the one who cooked this morning, so it was only fair for him to do them. he'd tried to argue that he'd just be leaning against the counter, he could still help.

despite his sulking, you noticed the way he snuggled into your arms. "you're cheating."

"not my fault you love me so much."

"isn't it?" a tinge of amusement lined his voice, and you found yourself smiling a little, too. "you're the one who made me fall for you."

"you're the one who fell for me, you dork."

"literally--"

and among your vocalized complaints, he just laughed again and pulled one of your hands up so he could kiss the back of it. fine. he'd rest... for now.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @gyulbabie

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist

Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 2.

How....

How did this happen?

So fast....So absurdly fast.....

Did he know?

That you weren't like him, that you were his 'darling'?

You walked numbly back to your room after all that, holding Grim so tight that he had to scratch your arms three times to get you to release him while complaining about how you were suffocating him.

"Sorry." was all you could say when you released him from your hold. You stood lamely as you watched him crawl on his own four paws back into the safety of your room. It's not safe here, no where's safe.

You shut the door behind you and your hand shakes as you reach out to grab the chair, and a part of you just snaps.

You scramble to barricade your door. The dining chair wasn't enough. You shoved one of the end tables, your armchair and the small cabinet against the door until it couldn't move and the handle couldn't jimmy.

Still, you can't relax. You choke down deep breath after deep breath, and your lungs burn like you just ran a marathon.

All that looming terror finally collapsed in on you.

What do you do? "What do I do?" You whimper softly, you feel terrified. Ace is in your dorm, he's in love with you. And he's jealous of Grim because he's sleeping in your bed. Because you didn't want to sleep alone.

Wait. What if he tries to kill Grim!?

"Henchman?" Grim's all wrapped up in his blanket cocoon, but his cuteness doesn't make the fear waver. "Human....______ are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine, Grim." You babble, but it feels more like you're trying to tell that to yourself rather than Grim, "I'm okay. Really, I'm okay. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm just overreacting. Maybe he's just being nice. Maybe I'm losing my mind-" You keep spiralling, and you tremble violently as you hyperventilate.

How could this happen? Ace was the first person to actually meet you in this Twisted Wonderland. He'd seemed like a laidback enough guy that was just a little stupid. He didn't seem like an outright threat to your life. He was nice enough, was funny enough and he was someone you once wanted to be friends with.

And now your forehead burned.

The place his lips fell on your temple burned red-hot.

Your family had done that once. All you never minded it. But, now it felt dark. It felt threatening.

All you wanted to do was go home..."I just want to go home." You whisper as you sob.

What if you don't go home?

What if Ace brings you to his home, far from yours?

"_____?" Grim had managed to come into your vision. At some point in your spiralling, you'd sunk to the floor, on your knees. You could feel the echo of your violently palpitating heart in your ears. Tears had run down your cheeks, wet and sticky.

You embrace him as tightly as possible, hiccupping weakly. "I'm fine....I'm fine." You tuck your head into his fur. It's soft on your face.

"Are you sure?" his voice sounds so frail, as if your pain was being shared by him.

"No..." You say, and it's the first time you've been honest since you came in.

The adrenaline's worn off. You can feel the sharp jabbing in your thigh from a blade. Tiny drops of blood stain your bottoms. You tug it out of your waistband, hissing as it comes free.

"Why do you have a knife?"

"Just being safe, Grim." He doesn't push, maybe he senses your fear. "Let's....Let's just go to bed."

You set that bloodied knife underneath your pillow this time, just in case. And the just-in-case emergency was so much closer than you wanted. Grim doesn't squirm much in your embrace, but it's a small comfort to not be alone right now.

Though to be fair, even if he wasn't here, you probably aren't going to alone anymore now.

Sunshine comes through the cracks in the curtains and burns your eyes.

You didn't even notice that the sun came up. You feel so tired. So sleepy. Someone's knocking. So much knocking. So loud, so erratic. It makes the house echo.

Is it Ace again. The knocking stops.

"......"

"......"

Oh. Wait. It's not Ace. No, someone else is here.

You curl up tighter in your sheets, the exhaustion burning your eyes. It's just someone else. Someone else is here.

SOMEONE ELSE IS HERE?!?!?

You violently fling off your blanket, snatch the blade under your pillow , just in case and trip over your on feet as try too run and unbarricade your door. The mess and the noise mean nothing to you as you dash into the hallway, only to skid to a stop when you remember something.

Crowley had said that Darlings act a certain way, and you revealed yourself to him so fast. Was the way you normally acted what made you a darling? If that's the case then...

You walk backwards to one of the old, cracked mirrors in the hall. To be frank, you look like crap. Your eyes have heavy purple bags, and your eyes match in vivid red. Your skin looks pallid and swollen, with the tear tracks still visible on your skin, despite the tossing and turning you did last night.

You don't look fine.

But you need to be fine.

You attended a class about darlings yesterday, discovered how colossally fucked this world is and had Ace invade your personal space last night and, in the eyes of the yandere world out there, you have to be fine.

Because yanderes, in their collective insanity, are completely fine with all the awful things you discovered. They can't notice how afraid you are.

If that fear makes you a darling, you can't be afraid.

So you'll just take a deep breath, and relax, because you don't have the option of not being afraid.

You tighten your grip on the knife's handle and slowly take deep breaths.

You can hear the downstairs conversation better now.

Apparently, Deuce is the mystery guest in your foyer, if you're hearing his voice right. "You really are an idiot, Ace." No arguments there, Deuce.

"Oh, shut up! Like you're one to talk!" Ace objects, as you turn back to your room. You don't need those two people especially seeing you in your pyjamas today.

You re-enter your room to find Grim, tangled in your blankets on the floor. Whoops.

"Nyeh, Henchman, what gives?" A grumpy Grim pokes his head out of the mess of bedsheets.

"Sorry, Grim." You say as you untangle him, releasing him from the web of blankets. "I panicked and I may have overreacted."

Grumbling, Grim flops back down on the mass of sheets once he's free of them, going back to sleep immediately. You pet his fur, and the soft fur returns you to the safe spot you'd found last night.

But, you can't stay here forever, so you grab some of your clean clothes and get dressed.

You just have to keep your cool.

And you'll be okay, because you're not weak, or helpless, or fragile.

You're not a darling.

And you're not going to be anyone's darling.

But you also need to protect yourself.

And to do that you'll need allies. Friends. Who care genuinely and aren't obsessed with you. While it may be dumb, very, very dumb. The dorm leader of Heartslabyul might be your best bet when dealing with Ace and Deuce. What can two first-years do against someone that's a dorm head and has the ability to cut off their use of their magic.

You can only hope he isn't still mad at you about the entrance ceremony.

You have a plan, and all you need to do is follow it.

Go apologise the the Heartslabyul Dorm Leader.

Suck up to said Dorm Leader.

Befriend that Dorm Leader.

And Then Throw Ace and Deuce to The Metaphorical Wolves If They Try Anything.

Easy as pie.

Now if only you gave Grim that run down and had told him that you were trying to blend in.

"Move it! Outta the way! Night Raven College student comin' through!" Grim's confidently struts past 'The Seven' statues as if he owns the world. The students, milling around or walking past, separate for the overconfident cat monster to swagger like he's the most powerful mage in this Twister Wonderland.

So that brings attention to you which is already a little bad, given that you're already an alien student with no magic that crashed the entrance ceremony and destroyed a million thaumark chandelier, the added attention is worsened by the whole 'darling in disguise' problem.

Grim's loud mouth isn't just affecting you though. Grim's been loudly taunting Ace since you left Ramshackle. Which is a bit of poor choice given Ace's jealousy last night.

"Way to take the high road, Grim...." You mutter. You can see Ace's cheeks slightly flush from rage and embarrassment.

Ace growls, "Trust me Grim, when I get my magic back, your hide is first on the chopping block!" You can only hope that's a joke, or an empty threat.

"Didn't the headmaster JUST tell you yesterday, no more incidents...." Yes, thank you Deuce, a voice of reason that's not you is greatly appreciated.

"Juice, I am allowed to kill things here." Ace states, like it's completely obvious. You flinch, tightening your fists and repeating that mantra in your head. Be indifferent, like it's completely normal. Like Ace didn't just threaten Grim's life.

"I don't you'll be able to do anything with that silly collar around your neck." You say, with a small laugh. Ace flushes, hopefully from embarrassment from your FRIENDLY teasing.

You don't get to revel in that for long though. Your eyes drift to Deuce, who staring holes into Ace's head. His blue eyes hold the same ominous glint that Ace had in his when Grim had kept you apart.

"A-Anyway! You should go and apologise already, Ace!"

Is he eager to get your attention off Ace, or is it your imagination?

Ace's responding groan could probably be heard back in your home world, "I hate this so. So! Much! _____ Can't you just let me stay in your dorm already!?"

"No." You say as serious as possible. You aren't entertaining this at all, the sooner he's out of your dorm, the better.

Grim laughs, clearly enjoying Ace's misery, "Hey Henchman, let's go check out their dorm while Ace is groveling!"

"Since when did this become a field trip?!"

"What's wrong Ace, something you don't want me see~" You tease, and he shuts the hell up. You've noticed Ace never yells at you, but his temper's fraying with Grim. You mentally note never to leave the two alone.

Still, so far so good.

As terrifying as this experience has been in the last 24hrs, you have to admit it, this place is beautiful.

"Whoa..." The Heartslabyul dorm looks like the perfect mix of organised chaos. All the heart-inspired architecture feels cohesive rather than chaotic. From its doorways to its heart shaped rose bushes. It's beautiful, wonderous even.

But at the same time....

You feel so small, so insignificant outside of it. As if it dominates a controlling presence that wants to do nothing more than consume you. This is the dorm of controlling yanderes after all.

Either way, you can't afford to be lose focus right now. You're here on a mission, might as well accomplish it.

"Dang, this place is swank! This is nothing like our dumpster of a dorm." Gee, thanks Grim....Only one of us has thumbs.

"Our dorm is a work-in-progress!" You object.

"Alright let's get this over with, c'mon _____." Right, now all you need to do is find the Dorm Leader and-

"Wait. Why are is the Prefect going with you to see the Dorm Head?" Deuce asks, and the glint is back. Dark and dangerous. Shit. Right you hadn't told Deuce about that part.

Ace grins triumphantly in response, "She said she would go with me. Why? Jealous, Juice?"

Deuce flushes but that glint gets darker. "I'm not jealous!"

Ace keeps pushing it, refusing to back down. "It kinda seems like you are!"

If they're going to fight it's probably best you leave. As much as you care about them, getting their Dorm Leader on your side is your biggest concern. And you won't find him just standing here. But where do you-

You can hear a familiar tune in your ears. Someone's humming.

You can hear someone humming something. A tune all too familiar to the one you heard last night in your dream.

Unlike last time, you scoop up Grim for a defense just in case. The dorm is full of rose bushes, it will go down in flames if your plan goes up in them.

The path inside the bushes isn't one leading to a garden, but a rose maze. High edges decorated with rose bushes or potted rose plants, with red cans of paint and paintbrushes scattered here and there. The maze reminds you of your dream last night, from the soft grass to the half painted white roses. The smell of fresh paint in the maze overpowers the sweet smell of the roses. Some drops of paint drip of the fragile rose petals, staining the grass.

The humming is getting louder, and you turn a corner when the song is interrupted when the singer stops to comment on his work, "Aww yeah, I am getting my paint on!"

You finally reach a break in the bushes, where the rose bushes part to reveal an area partially decorated. Crates of decorations are stacked meticulously in what has to be the most orderly way possible. The corners line up near exactly. Streamers and garlands are already pre hung and if it wasn't for the scattered croquet poles in the ground you wouldn't have known what it was for.

"Ah, someone's here." Grim says.

Grim's right, there's an orange-haired man with a diamond shaped mark, just under one of his eyes. He's using one of those magic pens to change the colour of the roses from an ivory white to a deep and bright red. He doesn't seem to notice you, too occupied with the roses.

"They all gotta be red, or it's 'off with my head'!"

Whoa, Deja vu.

His song...it's tune nearly matches the one you heard last night, in your dream. He's painting the white roses a bright red. How did you dream something so similar? They say life imitates art, but since when did you dream the future.

"Hey Prefect, why'd you leave?" It's Ace's loud voice that gets the rose-painter to turn. So far you met, an ace of hearts, a deuce of spades, and now a diamond, if the ink on his face is right.

"Huh...? You guys need something?"

"What exactly are you doing here?" You ask, this is way too similar, near identical.

He laughs, "Are you blind?" He teases, "I'm painting these roses red, duh."

Ace and Deuce are surprised, but you aren’t, "What? Why?"

'The Queen loves red roses, and I planted white ones by mistake, so I'm painting the roses red' That's what he's doing. The same thing the card soldiers did in your dream.

The diamond laughs, "So naive, you put the "n" in newb." He stops mid laugh as his eyes light up in recognition, "Hold the phone, I know you! You're the ones who broke a billion-thaumark chandelier and nearly got expelled for it, yeah?" You swallow back a sigh of relief at the mention of the chandelier rather than the other thing.

"That chandelier is gonna haunt us till the day we graduate, isn't it?" You disagree, one day this entire experience is going to be used as a lovely example to the kids you'll maybe have about why you shouldn't go into strange carriages in the middle of the night.

"And you!" You jolt as he points again, and nearly collapse in relief when you see that his finger is pointing at Ace. "You're the one who ate the Dorm Leader's tart that same night!"

"You guys are THE hot topic around campus! I've gotta get in on this fleeting fame." He advances phone in hand, hooks an arm around you in particular, dragging the two of you into the dead center of the camera's eye. " I'm just gonna grab a selfie real quick..."

"W-Wait a sec-" you try to object, but he doesn't pay heed to your objections.

"Say 'Yay!'" You hope for once in your life that was the most unattractive photo you've ever taken, the last thing you need is a school full of yanderes chasing after you.

"It's cool if I post this on Magicam, right? Gimme your names so I can tag you."

Well, now you have an issue. You can't-

"I'm Deuce Spade."

"Ace."

"I'm Grim, and that's my henchman, _____."

Geez, thanks guys. As you were originally thinking, you can't, or rather couldn't, give out your name because if your face and name are plastered out for all the yanderes on this island to see you could be put in grave danger should they try to claim you. But that's not something you get to contemplate now. Yay....

"Uploaded! Sweet."

Is he not going to introduce himself? So far, your first impression was that he was a selfie fanatic, but otherwise he seems harmless. Except for the incredibly fast boundary crossing.

As if reading your mind, he answers your thoughts. "Oh, I'm Cater Diamond, by the way." The four of diamonds, so now you had an ace of hearts, deuce of spades, and the four of diamonds. Now all that you needed was a three of clovers. "I'm a junior here at Heartslabyul. But Cater is fine. Or Cay-Cay if you're cray-cray! So nice to meetcha." His one armed hug finally releases, and you brush yourself off.

Wow, he seems.......superficial. "It's a pleasure." You lie.

"Ah, you're the prefect of that so-called Ramshackle House dorm, right? Like, I can't believe you actually live there! It's all gloomy and looks like hot garbage on Magicam. No filter could salvage THAT dump." Wow. Rub salt in the wound. This relationship is off to a great start.

Maybe this is a good thing. If he's being kind of mean, maybe he doesn't have feelings for you. That's good.

"Y'know, you've done nothin' but diss us here, pal!" Normally, you would agree with Grim but if this is his normal way of acting then you are in the clear.

For some reason that statement makes Cater flip like a coin. "Gah, what am I doing? I don't have time to chat!"

While you would prefer not to hang out around this guy, the 'allies and friendships plan' requires you being around people who are not Ace and Deuce. "What's wrong."

"The party's tomorrow. If we're not ready, it's "off with my head!" Well that explains all the party decorations. And considering he's here by himself no wonder he's stressed. "Hey, you kids wanna help me paint some roses?"

"Yeah, uh.....Why are you doing that exactly?"

"Because red roses are so much more photogenic! Or.....something...?" Is he trying to get you to do this for him? That's what this feels like. As if pushing for sympathy, Cater proceeds to list off all the tasks he has to do for the party.

Helping him out might be to your benefit. What better way to endear yourself PLATONICALLY to someone than to do kind things like helping him and his dorm out when you're under no obligation.

Thus working into your plan. Let's do this

"Again with the questions!" You're thrown out of your plotting when you hear Cater's objection, Listen, I need these roses to be red. Like, yesterday. Can't you guys help out with magic or something?"

"I can help you." You smile while raising your hand, they all turn your attention to you and you can see that brightness return to Ace and Deuce's eyes. Still, you can't pay attention to that now. "I-I don't have magic but I can help by doing it the old-fashioned way."

"You wanna help me? TYSM!" Cater tackle-hugs you, squeezing you tight and lifting you off your feet. You laugh, and you spare a glance at the two now raging jealous duo you call friends.

"Guys? You wanna help me out? I'll-" You contemplate your words, "I'll owe you one." The idea of manipulating them into your scheme makes you feel a little guilty, besides they probably didn't-

"SURE!" They didn't even hesitate.

"Oh, but Ace is on magical house arrest and _____ is a total normie, so you two better stick to paint."

"Recolor the roses with magic..." Deuce contemplates uneasy, but he doesn't refuse. Was it because you asked him, or the IOU. Maybe that gamble will bite you in the ass later.

"Relax, it'll be fine. You got this! But maybe do it before I lose my head? K-thanx."

And so that's what you did.

Or rather, what you and Ace did. Deuce and Grim are struggling a little, but Cater tries to help guide them. With limited success.

Deuce's attempts at casting the roses red cause those pale roses to change to every colour of the rainbow instead of red, or one of its otherwise named shades.

Grim was even worse off, as he burned the roses with every cast spell. He ends up stamping out the flames in a panic as he tries to keep the hedges and rose bushes from burning down all around you.

Ace is grumbling about having to paint without magic, destroying some of the rose blossoms in the progress.

You on the other hand fly through each of the huge roses pretty quickly, once you get the hang of it. The roses are fragile, and the brush needs to be angled correctly to prevent the flowers from being destroyed, but you get the hang of it. You lean down to paint another of the comically large roses.....

......When feel a hand brush your ear, and push something smooth behind it.

You jolt upwards. Looking back and forth for any sign of...."Cater?"

Cater pushes a finger against your lips, mirroring it with his own with a shushing sound. A cheeky smile on his lips. You reach up to touch the object he'd slipped behind your ears and feel...petals.

You blink as you pry it loss. And Cater's gone when you open your eyes.

In fact, he's back over where he's directing Deuce like nothing's ever happened.

Cater couldn't have vanished in the second you blinked and got all the way over to the rose bushes on the other side of the croquet arena. How exactly did he do that?

You shake your head, turning your attention to the gift. It's a rose. A beautiful, fragile white rose painted red by paint splatters. It's far from perfect, the different sized splatters are haphazard, but it feels more beautiful that one that was perfect.

But the red splatters also remind you of blood. Like blood sprayed onto a canvas. Still, the paint smells of paint, and you quite literally just meet Cater. The rose is just flirtation. Probably.

Still, you aren't here for love.

You crumple the beautifully painted blossom in between your two hands. The red paint flaking off and the white petals bruising. It was a nice gesture, really. But you can't accept it.

"All your rules are completely insane!" Grim complains loud enough to pull you out of your stupor. You do your best to scatter and hide the crumpled petals in the grass, before rejoining the others as Cater explains.

"They say the Queen of hearts made up these rules herself-she was one of the Great Seven, you know."

"Yeah, I read about them..." And about how the rules nearly drove the King of Hearts as mad as the Mad Hatter, why a dorm would want to.....Nevermind, this world is full of crazy people, why waste your time. "Her rules and traditions are maddening."

"And Riddle is all about tradition. Probably more than previous Dorm Leaders, TBH. He's a bit...well...extra."

"Yeah, no kidding! I don't have time for this nonsense. Is Riddle here? I gotta talk to him."

"Yeah, probably." Great, now let's just- "But are you sure that's wise? did you even bring an apology tart to replace the one you ate?" What?

"Uh, no.....? I came here first thing this morning."

"Ah. Ah. Ah....That could be a problem." No, no. Please don't say that they were strings attached.

"What's wrong?" You ask. You skimmed over the first two dozen rules of the Heartslabyul dorm, before realizing you didn't have time for that and moving on to Savanaclaw. You hope it wasn't important, you really don't want Ace to stay in your dorm tonight.

"Have you forgotten rule 53? 'Stolen items must be replaced.' If you're not in compliance, I can't let you in."

"You've gotta be kidding me." You object. If Ace can't apologise to Riddle, then you won't be able to sleep or feel safe in your own dorm. And the longer he stays mad at Ace, then the longer he'll be alone with you in your dorm.

"Are you serious?!"

"All dorm residents must obey the rules. If I let you slide, it would be off with my head next." Just how strict is this dorm?!

"Can't you make an exception?" You practically beg. Maybe you should have onto that rose, then you could have used it against him or something. Damn it.

Cater shakes his head. "I hate to say it, Ace, but I'm gonna need to leave before Riddle spots you. Thanx."

After Ace and Deuce got their asses kicked, Cater was kind enough to remind you of what was going to keep Ace in your dorm for another painstaking night. "Do make sure you bring that tart next time, m'kay. Buh-bye now!"

He pushes all of you out of the rose maze, but his grip lingers on you for a moment. Cater leans into your ear, "BTW, don't destroy someone's gift right in front of them, darling~" he whispers, before releasing you and vanishing into the maze again.

You'd felt your heart stop. How? How did he find out? You acted as normal as possible and you just met! Was that a test?! Had you failed?!

Ace, Deuce and Grim are debating their loss and licking their wounds. But you can't find it within yourself to care. Why did this keep happening? You didn't even do anything wrong!?

But that's what keep happening, isn't it? You do everything right but you still get punished for it! Were you just doing something wrong this whole time?!

Is there something you're not doing?

"...!" Deuce's noise of surprise knocks you out of your thoughts.

"What's wrong?" You ask, but your mind is still elsewhere.

Whatever they you can't here, the blood still roaring in your ears. But Deuce grabs your arm and all of you run to the hall of mirrors.

Deuce looks back once to give you a small smile, and that light in his eyes is there. The light of his infatuation, that blinds him from your pain but when you think about it....

Now that you think about it, Deuce, outside of the jealousy he shows you when Ace provokes him, is pretty calm most of the time. Is it possible to use that to aid yourself? To take advantage of that to your benefit? You did need allies, after all.

Is it cold to take advantage of someone? Yes, but if things get bad, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Besides, wouldn't he do that to you?

[liloinkoink]

last night i asked if people would be interested in me posting a backstory piece for Martyn from the hero/villain / yellow rose au i’ve posted a single oneshot for despite the fact the backstory piece doesn’t seem to outwardly relate to the posted oneshot. no one outright shot me down so. here you go

for some context, the powers in this world of yellow rose come from a catastrophic event that took place almost 20 years prior to the start of the story, which wiped out a lot of the world’s cities/towns and gave many of the survivors powers or mutations

backstory takes place when Martyn is 0-10 years old (he was born shortly before the aforementioned catastrophic event) and focuses on an OC parent character / martyn’s relationship to said parent

anyway. yellow rose is an au made w @cherrifire. time for you all to meet robot dad

It’s hot on the day the world ends. This is not the only thing it remembers, but it’s one that still stands out, even years down the line.

It’d been dealing with a patient with symptoms of heatstroke, the third it had seen in an hour. Heatstroke is an easy enough ailment to give to a nurse bot to treat, so it gets the job. It had stepped out of its patient’s room and run into a doctor, who had asked it to fetch something from the basement storage.

This is why it had survived, it thinks, looking back. It had been in the basement, and by some stroke of luck, the building had not collapsed so completely as to destroy it alongside the rest of the building.

It had not had a concept of luck before that moment, before the shaking had stopped and the dust had cleared, leaving it mostly in tact. Once it had forced its way up the stairs, it found it was not sure whether surviving the collapse was good or bad luck.

When the nurse bot tried to ring its network for help, it found the line inside its head had gone dead. When it looked to the surrounding street, it found hundreds of buildings similarly smoldering. When it called out, it found only its own voice returning to it.

The nurse bot had tried to comb through the wreckage of its practice, looking for survivors. It found nothing, heard nothing, but it still attempted to sift through the rubble, to search for the people it had been built to assist.

A nurse bot’s arms are not meant to move stone and iron, however. It was not used to the strange things that happened in its processing when it thought about what might be under the wreckage, and did not know how to handle them. It made a mistake, lifting things it could not, and when the wreckage in its grasp had buckled…

Well. It had thought itself lucky, distantly, that unlike humans, robots are not generally “handed” in one way or the other. Statistically, it would have preferred its right hand, and it would have been much worse off when the debris crushed its arm, taking its limb from the elbow down.

Ah, and pain, of course. It would have been quite bad if it had been able to feel pain, or bleed. It probably would have died, had this fallen on it, or had it lost a flesh and blood arm.

It… does not look in the wreckage any longer.

The nurse bot did not know what to do, with the practice it had spent its whole existence in destroyed. It had never been outside before—at least, not while activated. It had never left the walls of the hospital it was built for. It had not been intended to function without direction.

It knew its purpose, though, direction or not. The nurse bot had been built to heal. It knew, direction or not, how to do this, and that it must do this. And certainly, if it looks, it would fine someone out there who needed it.

When it comes to matters of health, time is of the essence. With its direction decided, the nurse bot begins to walk.

It finds people, rarely, stumbling and unharmed, or nursing small bruises or minor sprains. It helps these when it can, and gives advice when it cannot. It finds bodies, often, and it looks away, as it has never seen a funeral, and it does not know to help the dead except to assist the living.

It finds a woman soon to be a body, despite its best efforts to help her. It lacks supplies to stop the flow of blood from her wounds, and the woman lacks any hope without stitches or bandages.

It offers her sympathies, and it holds in its one hand both of hers. There is little it can say to her, but it tries, quiet promises of I am here and I will not leave you and you will be at peace soon.

She holds its hand with all the strength in her body, knuckles white as paper, a stark contrast against the dark blood staining the rest of her body. It feels as the strength fades. It watches as the light in her eyes fades with it. She lets it go, and it closes her eyes.

The nurse bot keeps walking, keeps looking, until it hears crying. The sound is loud, a desperate sob of a young child, and it seems to stem from a building sagging in three places, roof and door and floor all ready to give in.

If it were human, the nurse bot may have thought the place too risky to enter. But it is not, and so in it goes, pushing the door open with one hand.

It finds the boy lying in his crib, a round-faced infant wrapped in a patterned onesie and kicking away a thin blanket. He cannot be more than a year old—the nurse boy would guess him to be maybe six months. The fact the boy and his crib have survived the destruction of the city is a miracle, one not offered to the rest of the home.

It reaches down into the crib, brushing its hand over the boy’s face. His sobs stumble, a bit curious, but the baby ultimately doesn’t stop crying.

The nurse bot hadn’t worked with a pediatrician, but it knows about children, as any nurse bot would.

“Are you hungry?” it asks. He doesn’t answer except to cry more, which is understandable—this is what babies do, it knows, and besides, this has been the chosen course of action for most of the people it saw today.

It could not help those people, but it can help with this.

The nurse bot steps away from the crib to examine the boy’s room, though the boy cries louder when its face disappears from his view.

“I will return shortly,” it tells him. This assurance does not calm him down.

It finds what it can in the rest of the home—food for the baby, a warmer blanket, a box of diapers. It finds the living room, where living is not what his parents are doing, and gingerly shuts the door. It finds a photo album and flips through, searching for the information it needs: delicate handwriting next to an image of the boy, held in the arms of the woman on the floor a room over.

April 7th, 20XX: Welcome to the world, Martyn!

His name is Martyn. His birthday is April 7th. The nurse bot usually keeps these things on file about its patients, and so it files them away.

When it returns to the crib, the baby inside is no longer crying, having worn himself out. It reaches down again, face blank.

“Hello, Martyn,” it says, “I am going to be your caretaker for now. I hope we will get along well.”

— — —

They don’t stay in the house. It finds a baby carrier in a closet and a duffle bag in the bedroom, and it packs what Martyn will need and carries him out of the collapsing home.

Martyn laughs a lot. Once he’s been fed and changed and has slept, the nurse bot finds he laughs all the time.

He doesn’t know, it thinks. He must miss his parents, probably, but he doesn’t know. He isn’t old enough to understand any of this. He watches the broken and bloodied street with awe—has he ever been this far from home before? This is all a big adventure to him.

It doesn’t tell him.

— — —

It stops three times a day to change and feed him, and to let him crawl around in the cleanest and sturdiest places it can find.

“Movement is good for development,” it tells him, watching him play with a piece of rubble.

It doesn’t stop to rest at night—it doesn’t need to, and the rocking motion of his continued steps helps Martyn sleep. When that isn’t enough, it tries to replicate the songs it has heard playing in the clinic’s waiting room, or seen mothers and fathers sing in the clinic to calm their children. Martyn seems to like that.

He likes the nurse bot’s hair, too. He tugs on it all the time as the nurse bot walks, held close to its chest, close enough to its head to access it. It lets him—it doesn’t hurt, and besides, it has few other ways to entertain him.

— — —

Martyn grows. He starts to babble, and to toddle. He becomes too big for the bot to carry him, but by then it has become adept at finding places to hunker down for a while.

“Your name is Martyn,” the bot tells him, pointing to his nose.

“Ma,” he tries.

“Very close,” it says. He grabs its hand, tugging, and continues to babble.

“Da,” he says, and it knows that he doesn’t have a concept of fathers or parents or the English language, and he is only making sounds.

“That is me,” it says anyway, and Martyn continues to babble.

— — —

“Dad,” Martyn tugs on its arm, barely tall enough to reach its fingers. “Daaaad.”

“Hello, Martyn,” it says, “What is it?”

“I’m bored,” Martyn says, “And I’m hungry.”

“We still have some food left for you, though I should start a fire soon,” it says, “We will need to move soon. Children your age need a variety of foods to—”

“Grow up healthy, I know,” Martyn whines, “That’s boring. I’m bored.”

“What would you like to do?” it asks, and he lets go of its hand, running off. It stands to follow, but then he’s back, holding a battered old book—some kind of short novel, something with a torn cover that used to have a dragon on it. The title is gone, as is the dragon’s head.

“Read this,” he says. Martyn is learning to read, but he hasn’t quite got the grasp to read a real book on his own yet.

This hasn’t stopped Martyn from searching for them, though, nor from presenting them to his father to read. It had started reading one aloud to Martyn to entertain him when Martyn had come down with a fever last year, and he hasn’t stopped asking to hear them since.

“After you eat,” it says, and Martyn cheers.

—

There is a group of survivors picking their way through town. The bot sees them before they see it, watching the street from a window. It does not know their intentions, and it doesn’t plan to find out.

It crouches down in front of Martyn, putting its hand on his shoulder.

“Hello,” it says, “We’re going to play a game, okay?”

“Okay,” Martyn says, and it nods, once.

“It is called hide and seek,” it says, “There are some people who are looking around town, trying to play, and we are going to hide from them. We will win if we are not found.”

“That’s a dumb game. Why don’t we play something else?” Martyn asks.

“It is their favorite game. We are going to play because that is what they like to do. But we are going to be very good at it and hide very well,” it says, “You can hide with me, okay? If we win, there will be a special prize.”

That’s all it takes to convince Martyn, who smiles and nods and follows it as it ducks away into the closet. Its legs creak as it sits down, and then it opens its arm, letting him sit in its lap. It can’t be comfortable, all cold metal, but Martyn wraps his arms around its torso and settles right in, content with the hand on his back.

“Now we must be very quiet,” it tells him, “I will tell you when we can talk again.”

Martyn nods, and it puts its hand on the back of his head, and it waits.

When the strangers leave, it asks him what he would like for his prize.

“Hug me again!” He says, and it obliges for as long as he wants.

— — —

Halfway through its sentence, the bot’s voice cuts out.

That has not happened before. Martyn seems unfazed, especially when it begins to talk again, but it takes note of the error.

— — —

It happens more. Its voice cuts out, stutters, corrupts. Martyn really only complains when they’re reading, but it starts to fear the worst.

It sits Martyn down, crouching down to meet his eyes.

“Martyn, I have something very important to tell- to tell- to tell you,” it says, and if it could, it would wince.

“Yeah?” Martyn asks, “Are we moving again?”

“Soon,” it says, “But that is not what I want to tell you.”

“Oh,” Martyn says.

“I am… sick. Do you remember what being sick is?” it asks. Martyn nods, reaching up to put his hand on its forehead, the way it had for him when he had been feverish.

“You feel warm,” Martyn confirms, “It’s okay. I’ll read to you until you’re better.”

“Thank you, Martyn. You are very kind,” it says, “But that is not the kind of sick I am. There are many kinds of sick.”

“Oh,” Martyn says, “Then what kind of sick are you?”

“I am… robot sick. I am- I am- I am- I am- getting old,” it says, “And my voice is starting to… not work properly.”

“I know that,” Martyn says, “You talk funny now and you keep messing up reading.”

“Yes, that’s right. You’re very smart,” it confirms, “But it might get worse. I might not be able to talk anymore soon.”

“But you’ll get better, right? I got better,” Martyn says. It shakes its head.

“I might, but I might not. Robot sick is different,” it says, though it knows it is lying. “I just wanted you to know. If you talk to me and I do not respond, I am not ignoring you. I am still listening. I am just sick, and my voice- my voice- my voice- my voice—”

It shakes its head, the way humans sometimes do, to clear the sentence. When it looks at Martyn again, he seems thoughtful.

“Will you still read to me?” he asks.

“As long as I am able,” it promises. And, for good measure, “I love you, Martyn. Do not forget.”

“I won’t,” Martyn says, “I love you, too.”

— — —

It makes a point to show him how to read. He had already been learning it, but it doubles down when its voice begins to waver.

It picks up novels and reads them to him with Martyn in its lap. It holds its arm around Martyn’s waist, and Martyn holds the book for it to see, and it reads the words Martyn points to, so Martyn knows what they are.

It doesn’t want him to lose this. It doesn’t want him to lose his fun, his creativity, his imagination, just because it cannot read to him anymore.

— — —

It loses its voice for good while it is reading to Martyn.

— — —

Its voice is the first thing it loses, but it is not the last.

Control of its fingers becomes… tricky. Martyn has to help it, doing things that require finer movements.

“Is your hand sick?” he asks, and he sounds afraid. It nods, because it knows it shouldn’t lie to him, even if it wants to.

It loses what little control it had over its face next. Then its neck becomes stuck. It doesn’t seem able to walk as fast, though that might just be due to Martyn getting faster—he grows older still, full of energy, constantly wanting to run and jump and play on his longer legs. It tries its best, but it cannot keep pace like it used to. It used to sing and walk all night, and now it cannot do either.

Martyn is as patient as a six year old can be, which is not very. He gets frustrated and bored, and he complains often. It does not blame him for this. He is doing his best, too, and that is all it can ask.

— — —

There are people. It tries to hide—pulls Martyn into a closet, tucks him close to its chest, pets his hair with his hand—but Martyn doesn’t like to play hide and seek, and he doesn’t know he has to be quiet.

“My name is Martyn!” he tells them, once the closet door opens, “This is Dad. He’s sick.”

They’re nice enough, a woman and her teenage son. It—he, now?—releases Martyn to talk to them, and climbs out of the closet. He hovers at Martyn’s side when they climb out, a hand on his son’s head.

“Why were you two in the closet?” the mother asks.

“We were playing hide and seek. That’s what Dad said other people like to do, but I don’t like it very much,” Martyn explains. She nods.

“Most people do like to play that game,” she says, because, as a parent, she must understand his fear. “But we don’t, either. Do you want to travel together for a little while, Martyn?”

“I want to!” Martyn says, and he looks up at his father, and his father would sigh if he could.

He nods, because what else is he meant to do?

— — —

The teenager entertains Martyn, reading to him the book his father never did get to finish. The mother cooks, and she takes a look at his hands.

“I used to be an engineer,” she says, “You’re a bit above my pay grade, but I could take a look, if you want.”

He doesn’t let her crack him open or anything, but she inspects the pieces of his wiring she can see. He’s reminded of his old clinic, though he can’t tell her how ironic this is.

Her prognosis is… grim.

“You probably only have a few years left in you,” she admits, “Your model was supposed to go for regular updates, replacing parts and…”

He doesn’t listen as she explains the old process, his focus instead on Martyn.

Only a few years? What will happen to Martyn? Who will take care of him?

Humans need care until they are eighteen.

Martyn is six.

“I could try and make some minor repairs for some of the obvious damage, but I don’t have tools for anything more. I can also try and tell you some things you can do to try and stretch that time out,” she says. He nods, understanding, grateful, as she does what she can.

He had been in her place, once, years ago, and so he understands, too, when she offers sympathies, when she holds his hand.

— — —

They split off from each other eventually. The other two are traveling to a place they claim never fell. He does not believe in such a place, and so he does not go with them.

Martyn cries. The mother hugs him, as does her son, and they are gone.

As they walk away, he holds Martyn’s hand, and he does not let go.

— — —

He teaches Martyn how to do… anything he can. He is too young to understand how to hunt or set a trap or clean an animal or cook or treat a fever or start a fire or boil water, and it is very difficult to teach when he cannot speak. He’d wanted to wait until Martyn is older, he does not have the luxury of time anymore.

Martyn is clever, is bright. He takes to the skills as well as a six, eight, ten year old can, and it is only partly due to the fact he has no choice.

— — —

He knows he is dying.

Martyn does not.

He picks up a stick, waving Martyn over. There is a patch of dirt that is mostly clear, and he crouches in front of it.

I AM SICK he writes, and Martyn reads it, and he frowns.

“I know that,” Martyn says, and he shakes his head. The dirt is soft, and so he clears it, trying again.

I AM VERY SICK he writes. Martyn reads it, and he frowns deeper.

“What does that mean?” Martyn asks.

I WILL SLEEP SOON he writes. He wants to be delicate, but he can’t—the patch of dirt isn’t very big.

“Oh, well, that’s okay. I sleep all the time,” Martyn says, “That’s how you get healthy again. It makes you feel better. You told me that.”

He wants to nod, but he can’t. This is the bit he was dreading the most.

I WILL NOT WAKE UP he writes.

For a long moment, Martyn doesn’t say anything.

“What if we get you medicine?” Martyn asks, “When— when I was sick, you found medicine. It made me better. It would make you better.”

NOT FOR ROBOTS

“That… that isn’t fair, though,” Martyn says, “Are you sure? We could get some and try it!”

I AM SURE he writes, and then he erases it, I LOVE YOU

Again, Martyn says nothing. He isn’t sure what Martyn is thinking, and then Martyn charges him, hugging him around the stomach.

He has more he wants to say to Martyn—he wants to teach him so much, to tell him to be careful, to tell him he’ll be okay.

He drops the stick, wrapping his arm around Martyn as tight as his failing joints will let him.

— — —

His goal is to find somewhere safe. An old house, maybe, somewhere where Martyn will be able to survive on his own for a while.

He looks, and he does not find it. He’s been looking for ten years, after all—of course he wouldn’t find one now, just because he is dying.

Other than that, his life does not much change. He holds Martyn’s hand as they walk, and Martyn talks to him about birds and books and whatever else he can think of. Martyn has become very good at filling the air for them both. Neither of them let go of the other’s hand.

He doesn’t actually know when it is going to happen, just that it will be soon.

When the moment finally comes, he does not realize.

They stop to rest for a night. Martyn is tired, as he is a child, and his legs can only carry him so far. He is tired, too, but he does not have it in him to think about why, or how strange that is.

It’s nowhere special, where they stop. A random house that has kept its roof, somewhere safe from rain and sun. Martyn finds a place to roll out his sleeping bag, and when he lies down, his father lies with him.

He does not let go of Martyn’s hand.

[gibbearish]

so this post has been made unrebloggable now (shocker) but ive been feeling the need to address it since i saw it on my dash multiple times, so let's explore how lying on the internet works. more specifically, how blending truth, lies, and omissions to whip uninvolved people into anger works, because i think this is an excellent example and that pointing out the misinformation and the tactics used to spread it here is important, both in correcting the specific falsities but also in helping recognize similar tactics in the future.

so here we have several things that are technically true: staff has been very openly shitty to trans women for a long time and them banning predstrogen is clearly part of that, there is currently a movement regarding discussing transmisandry/transandrophobia, transmisogyny and transphobes sending transphobic asks is by far nothing new, and baeddel is/was a slur. however, among all of this are half-truths, unprovable speculation, or outright lies made to make you believe these events are originating specifically from transmascs.

firstly, the transandrophobia movement has been drastically misrepresented here in the same way it has been for the whole argument, "they're just trans MRAs" has been repeated so many times now that i'm gonna be hearing it in my dreams when i'm 80. i can understand not being willing to address the nuance of that whole discourse in one post that isn't directly focused on that, i'm certainly not, but in this example it's not unwillingness to address a complicated topic, it's a deliberate misrepresentation to frame one side of the discussion as The Evil Bad Ones That Can't Be Trusted. additionally, this post IS about that discourse and is just pretending it isn't to mislead a wider audience, so refusing to address it at all beyond this brief mention is deliberately misleading people about the goals of the group because They're The Other Side Of The Discourse. "transmisogynists" is used as a buzzword here, it doesn't actually refer to Anyone Who Hates Transfemmes, it refers to Transmascs Who Discuss Transmasc-Specific Oppression Using A Word They Coined To Point Out That Queer Spaces Have A Big Problem With Masculinity and just. doesn't tell you that's what it means, relying on the structure and framing of the post to create the Transmisogynist = Transmasc association in the audience's head so op doesn't have to say it outright (and of course the implied Transmasc = Transmisogynist association that follows because creating THAT association is the Actual Point of this post). the mentions of transmascs in this post are designed to look like afterthoughts, op says "typically those who espouse transandrophobia" to make it look like they're saying there's other people they're referring to here too, but almost everything in this post draws from the transandrophobia discourse. some random cis transphobe in texas has never heard the term baeddel in their entire life much less used it in a debate about transphobia, this is an intercommunity argument through and through, but op is trying to mask the fact that they're just referring to "transmascs who disagree with me specifically" and make it look like it's part of a wider trend. and again, i'm not going to go into the nuances of transandrophobia here, but i highly recommend reading some of the theory on it by @nothorses (x) and @genderkoolaid (x) because the "theyre just trans MRAs" argument kinda just collapses under its own weight as soon as you look into it even a smidgen. i've linked a couple broad overviews there but they both discuss it frequently and in-depth, specifically nothorses has a pinned post linking to many different discussion threads that i would recommend checking out if you do want to learn more about what the actual conversation surrounding these words is.

so, after framing the movement this way, they go on to say that the reason predstrogen was banned wasn't /just/ because staff has a long and established hate boner for trans women, but because the transandrophobia movement was teaming up with TERFs to mass-report her and other transfemmes, and implies that this is part of a deliberate conspiracy between Transandrophobia Truthers™, TERFs, and staff. you'll notice that there are no, say, screenshots of transmascs saying theyre deliberately reporting her or of that they're working with TERFs, behind-the-scenes lists of people who reported a certain account, or any evidence for this beyond "she was a trans woman, they're trans men who hate trans women, she got banned, so these must be related". which i find especially funny now given that photomatt has continued melting down about this since it happened and made it pretty clear it yknow. was just part of staffs ongoing hate campaign against trans women that has been going on much longer than the transandrophobia debate? and that maybe the fact that The Literal CEO is having a personal meltdown about this might explain where that could be coming from or at least why it's been allowed to continue for so long, moreso than any individual users reporting someone could? but i digress.

who reported what account is completely unprovable as a casual user unless people directly admit they did it, so to bring it up like this begs the question of what actual reasoning they have for saying it beyond trying to tie a current display of bigotry into an unrelated discourse. that's not to say it's impossible people who discuss transandrophobia were wrongfully reporting her, because again, thats something we have no way of knowing, and the internet is a shit place so i wouldn't be surprised. but given the circumstances and the rest of the lies here, i have my doubts about this being an actual yknow. Thing That Happened rather than just another lie to make people mad at transmascs. now one could make the argument that op wasn't saying transmascs are /deliberately/ teaming up with TERFs/staff, that "teaming up" was just a poor choice of words to refer to multiple groups who happen to have the same goals in mind at the same time but aren't actually coordinating with one another, but given the deliberate misinformative slant of the rest of the post and the overall phrasing in this section, i have trouble extending that grace. regardless, however, that doesn't change that who is reporting who isn't something verifiable, so stating it here as a confirmed fact is disingenuous at the absolute best, and a lie chosen specifically because it's unprovable at worst. if op /does/ have proof that transmascs have been teaming up with TERFs to get trans women banned, not including that with this post is just uhhhhh dumb, and if op /doesn't/ have proof then Why Would You Go Around Telling People That's What Happened Unless You Were Lying To Them On Purpose With Ulterior Motives.

next, op goes on to discuss the rise of the term baeddel. now as i said before, the truth here is that it certainly was a slur and certainly can still be used as one, again the internet is a shit place so i would be a fool if i tried to say "no one is using this as a slur". however, this is once again a drastic misrepresentation of the situation. baeddel's rising use is due to certain trans women reclaiming it and aligning themselves with the original group's politics, namely that femininity is good and masculinity is bad (aka terfism 101), with the added caveat that by abandoning femininity for masculinity, transmascs are evil and betraying devine womanhood and their community by putting more Evil Manhood into the world. of course that in turn is a drastic oversimplification of their politics and i highly recommend checking out this post with an actual in-depth exploration of the history (and without my added flavor), but the important part to note here is that this is not a term transmascs just Started Using one day because they hate transfems so very much as is implied here, its use is directly tied to a group of people saying "hello, here is what i am, and here is what this word means about what i believe," so others went "ok, these specific beliefs are called this." bringing up the fact that it historically was a slur is misdirection here, when you look closer this is almost a 1 to 1 translation of TERFs crying that TERF and radfem are slurs because People Don't Like Their Politics And Therefore Them, so the name for their politics is used negatively, so therefore it's a slur. that argument just has a little more oomph behind it this time because It Was A Slur Originally. and again, that isnt to say no one is now using it as a slur, the rate of decay for online discourse is ridiculous so it being boiled down to and used as "evil transfemme" has certainly already happened, but to act like /every/ use of it is a slur is literally just a lie, when you self-identify with a term based on your shared politics with the original group then you do not get to claim everyone using that term to describe those politics is doing so exclusively to attack you. also this part is entirely speculation but given that op's url is basically just. baeddel switched around to dae bel, i would hazard a guess that they perhaps are indeed aware of the origins of its re-use? but again, that's entirely unprovable and based just on wordplay, but like. given the Everything here i wouldn't be surprised. now, there's definitely an argument to be made about calling users baeddels based just off of their politics when they don't personally self-identify with it, if that constitutes calling someone a slur and if TIRF should be used instead, but crucially, that is not the argument being made here. the argument being made is "ANY AND ALL use of this term is calling someone a slur," and that literally just Isn't The Case.

finally, to tie the whole post off, op reminds us 1) if you hear anything bad about any trans woman ever, it's probably a lie to make her look bad, and 2) if you hear anyone say anything about transandrophobia, disregard everything else they have to say because they hate trans women. not "be critical of the things you see or get sent" or "be on the lookout for things following a certain pattern," a unilateral "anything bad is probably fake and anyone who uses the bad words is probably evil." that is not something someone does if they are genuinely trying to raise awareness of an ongoing trend, that is what someone does when they want you to turn your brain off and be mad at a group no matter what they say.

so yeah, in summary, do be critical of the things you see and be on the lookout for certain patterns, because sometimes people will just Lie to you. or, sometimes people will tell you portions of the truth while leaving out crucial bits so that you'll come to the conclusion they want without anyone being able to say they lied to you without typing up a thirty paragraph long hell post. transmisogyny is absolutely a problem on this site and there are 100% valuable conversations to be had about it and its presence within the trans community, but this post is not that. this post uses real transmisogyny and the wrongful termination of a trans woman's account as set dressing to say that it was all because of evil transmascs who run the trans community behind the scenes conspiring to take out transfemmes, so you should ignore anything they have to say because All of it is secretly motivated by transmisogyny. they're never discussing transandrophobia because it's something that actually effects them, they're doing it to hurt trans women by saying they have it worse. they're never telling you about shitty things a trans woman did to spread awareness, they're lying to make her look bad, or even if it's true they're only talking about it as part of a hate campaign because she's trans, they wouldn't care otherwise. they're never using a specific term because People Use That Term For Themselves, they're calling someone a slur because they hate trans women. there's always an explanation you can think up that ties it back to transmisogyny, and op says that instead of assessing all of what someone says and the context behind it to determine if that's what's happening, you should assume transmisogyny is the answer and refuse to engage any further as soon as you see a word you've been told is bad.

this post is discourse recruitment masquerading as a public service announcement that doesn't offer you any routes to actually learn more about what's going on, it just tells you Here's What's Happening, Here's Who's Evil And Should Be Ignored, And If You Disagree You're Also Evil And Should Be Ignored. content of the actual post aside, i think anything framed that way should be taken with a MASSIVE grain of salt and this would have raised my alarm bells even if i wasn't already pretty familiar with the arguments, people who genuinely want you to know something just because it's good to know will give you options to learn more or encourage you to actually use your critical thinking to assess things, not tell you to sit down and shut up and ignore anyone who disagrees with them.

anyways i guess tldr

[eternal-evergreens]

Excuse me, may I give you a request about yandere Dire Crowley and yandere Divus Crewel spanking female reader together all the time?

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Painful Pastimes, Playful Punishments"｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post format: drabble

Paring: Yandere!Divus Crewel x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Dire Crowely

Word count: 809

Warnings: Spanking, Humiliation, Power Play, Steamy But Not Outright NSFW, Forced Relationship, Implied Drugging, Disassociation, Non-depicted NonCon

"Count."

You've done this before. It should be okay, right? You should be used to it by now. It should be fine. It should be—

"He said count, darling," Crewel coos, an underlying impatience in his tone.

"O...kay," you murmur. Then, remembering they hate when you're quiet, you say again, louder, "Okay."

"Okay?" Crewel asks, a rising anger in his voice. You pale.

"I-I mean, yes. Yes sir. Sirs. Yes Sirs."

"Good girl," says Crowley, a clawed hand reaching out to stroke your cheek. He wipes away a tear you hadn't even realised had fallen. "Ready?" You nod, the lump in your throat too large for you to trust your own voice.

In an instant, you're placed on your stomach over your captors laps as your skirt is lifted and your panties are dragged down. You feel tears welling up in your eyes as someone strokes the flesh of your ass. A warning of what's to come. The hand is ungloved, it always is. They take them off beforehand.

You can't look, you don't look. You close your eyes. How many times have you been through this? You should be used to it by now.

Without warning, a hand comes crashing down onto your cheek. You gasp, and the tears you had been holding in escape from your eyes like a tidal wave.

"O-one," you spit out weakly. How many were they going to do again? You can't remember. You can't even remember what you did, this time. All you can focus on is the pain. They always feed you something before a session, 'to ensure you have enough energy to make it through'. You think they're drugging you to make it hurt more.

Another hand, or maybe the same one. You can never tell. The searing agony is only intensified by the second blow, and you just barely manage to choke out, "Two."

"It seems our little dove is having trouble," Crowley purrs, running a hand through your hair in a mock attempt at comfort. "Should we go a little easier on her?"

"Perhaps we can treat her to something after," Crewel says. "But only if she's good."

A sob escapes you at the third slap.

"Oh dear, we're only a tenth of the way done and you're already struggling, pup?"

"Three..." you mutter, clenching your teeth.

"F...our..."

You're just barely holding it together.

"F-fi-ive..."

Your cries turn to full blown sobs, your body shaking with each breath. Whatever they gave you—and they must have gave you something—was working. You could focus on nothing but the sheer, agonizing pain emanating from your bare bottom.

"Ten..."

It hurts it hurts it hurts.

"Fifteen..."

It hurts.

"Twenty..."

You sniffle, but no tears come out.

"Twenty-five..."

Your tears have long since dried, replaced by stoic acceptance and a touch of dissociation. Your voice echos inside your own head, as if it was coming from some place far, far away. You think they can sense you're not entirely there, but if they do, they don't seem to care enough to acknowledge it.

"Thirty..."

If you were standing, you're sure you would have collapsed to your knees the second the word came out of your mouth. But you aren't standing, so all you can do is feel your body spasm, so disconnected from it that the pain feels foreign, like you're just holding on to it for someone else. Like it's not your own.

"She did good, didn't she?" Crowley says. "I think she deserves a reward."

"I agree," says Crewel. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. You go cold at the sound of two belts unbuckling.

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

The bed is hot and sticky, but you can't bring yourself to move from it. Uncomfortable as it may be, the pain resulting from a session of punishment and two sessions of a so-called 'reward', you don't trust your legs to stand at all, much less carry you all the way to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

You don't think your two tormentors are willing to help, either, with the way Crewel is scrolling on his phone with a pipe in hand and Crowley is preening himself in the mirror. You sigh silently, having no choice but to accept your fate of lying listlessly for the next few hours until you can muster up the strength to leave and change the sheets (Crowley always promises to do it 'next time' and Crewel refuses to dirty his hands, leaving only you to clean up after their messes).

You wonder how much longer you'll have to live like this. How many more spankings you'll have to endure until you finally succeed. You wonder how many attempts to free yourself you'll have to fail before the two of them realize what you're truly up to.

You wonder if you'll ever see the light of day again, when that time comes.