#but the problem is if you have the starting point of him as like. a straight talking straight shooter or whatever

[cybersunnie]

rock-a-bye baby

RAFE CAMERON helps his drunk stepsister get ready for bed.

includes 18+ MDNI / DUBCON / STEPCEST / fem!drunk!reader / unprotected sex (pull out method) / rafe being an unreliable narrator / emotional manipulation / misogynistic undertones / wc 1.9k this is a work of fiction. the behaviors depicted do not reflect my personal beliefs, nor do i endorse or condone such behavior in real life.

Rafe hated that you were his stepsister. 

A little over two years ago, you and your mom moved into his home, and because you all lived under the same roof, that made you family. Bullshit. What you were was an extra mouth to feed. A new problem he didn’t want.

And now, with your arm thrown over his shoulders, Rafe was forced to help you up the stairs. 

A party was thrown at the Boneyard, and you clearly had too much to drink. He wasn’t exactly sober either, but you were slurring your words and couldn’t walk straight to save your life. A part of him wondered if you were playing it up. While he was tempted to leave you behind as not to deal with you, he knew his dad would be pissed if he had, and his dad already disliked him enough.

Eventually, the two of you made it to your room, and you fell face-first to your bed, nuzzling into your warm sheets. Rafe scoffed, a hand running down his face as he turned to leave, but you stopped him.

“Rafe,” your muffled voice called out.

He looked at you and saw you hadn’t moved a muscle. “What?”

You raised an arm. “Clothes.”

“What fucking clothes?”

When he failed to read your mind, a groan left your lips, and you rolled onto your back, a frown tugging your features. 

Oh, he would do anything to wipe that off your face. 

You squinted and then pointed at the clothes dresser behind him. “Nightgown. Top left drawer,” you ordered, the words strung together. Rafe couldn’t believe you were bossing him around. When he didn’t move, you pouted, “Please?”

Spoiled brat. 

But because he was a good stepbrother, he bit back his snippy comments and went to retrieve your nightgown. As he opened the designated drawer, his eyes were immediately drawn to your lace panties. You must have forgotten that those were with your collection of nightgowns. He cocked a brow and picked one up, the fabric soft between his fingers. Who the fuck were you wearing these for? A little boyfriend he didn’t know about? 

Rafe looked over his shoulder, and while you were preoccupied counting how many fingers you had on each hand, he slid it into his pocket. He didn’t know why he did it. An act on pure impulse, he supposed. You wouldn’t notice if one went missing, right? 

He cleared his throat and grabbed a nightgown, tossing it to you. 

“Nice panties,” he commented, maybe a little too casually.

Once you processed his words, a smirk tugged on his lips. You wore a scowl, but he knew you were embarrassed. 

You huffed. “Shut up. You’re so weird.”

Before he could say anything more, you started taking off your shirt. 

Everything within Rafe told him that that was his cue to leave, but his feet were glued to the ground. You didn’t ask him to go. Maybe you still needed him there. Maybe you wanted him to watch. That must be it. You wanted him to see what you were hiding under those clothes. 

After some struggle, you pulled your shirt over your head, movements sluggish. His eyes traced the length of your shoulders, then lingered on your tits for a second too long. Even if he was your stepbrother, he was still a man. And a man had the right to admire the female body. Surely, you would understand.

“You can go now, y’know?” 

His gaze snapped to your face. You looked confused, wary. Fuck, what was he doing? He should leave like you said. No, he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Rafe found himself closing your bedroom door. He turned the lock. Click. “Nah, I’m gonna help you get ready for bed.” 

There was a long pause. “I don’t need help.”

“Cut the shit. You can’t even walk without tripping over yourself.” Rafe walked towards your bed, crouching once he was in front of you. He placed a hand on your knee. “C’mon, just let your big brother help, hm?”

He could see the gears in your mind starting to turn, but you must have ignored it because you said, “You’re barely a year older than me.”

Rafe hummed, unfazed. 

The hand on your knee lifted to the button of your shorts. “Let’s take this shit off,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to your face. You were just watching. 

When he unbuttoned and unzipped it, you moved, putting on your nightgown. Poor thing. Were you getting shy? Did you not want him to see you in just your lingerie? His fingers curled into the waistband of your shorts and gave a light tug. Not needing further instruction, you stood up, and he pulled it down your legs, fighting back a grin.

Too fucking easy.

As you stepped out of your shorts, a hand on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, Rafe stared up at you. The nightgown you wore was white and silky and stopped above your knees. He itched to push them up. Luckily, he didn’t have to do a thing. You raised the silk fabric just enough to allow you to remove your bra, and his gaze dropped to where your breasts were, your nipples hardening underneath. His lips parted, and he sank to his knees.

“Rafe, what’re you doing?” you asked, your eyes still hazy from the alcohol you drank.

Only then did he realize that his hands snuck up your nightgown, fingers gripping your thighs. He was mortified. Not because of what he was doing but rather at the thought you would reject him completely.

He loosened his hold on you. “I’m just, uh, testing the waters.” 

A crease formed between your brows. “What?”

“I’m testing—” his hands slid further up, “—the waters.”

And then Rafe paused. He waited for a reaction from you. For you to slap him. Curse him out. Anything. But it never came. 

Instead, you reached down to pry his hands off you. “Stop, what—? I don’t understand.”

“I do.” He held you tighter, closer, his chin hitting your abdomen as he stared at you, eyes wide and frantic. You pushed his head, though your attempt was weak. “You want this. You want me.”

You stilled. There was a look that loomed over your eyes. Fear. Fear because he was right. No matter how forbidden it was. How fucked it was. You wanted him. You wouldn’t admit that to yourself, but he knew that to be true. He just needed to find proof to help you realize. So, Rafe pushed up your nightgown and worked to spread your legs apart. And there it was, your cotton panties clinging to your already weeping cunt. 

“I fucking knew it,” he whispered, and his thumb hovered over your clothed pussy. “Shit, you’re so wet.” 

You shoved his hand away and squeezed your thighs shut. He watched your gaze dart around your room as if the walls were closing in. You looked overwhelmed—ashamed that you had been caught wanting him the same way he wanted you. No, he couldn’t have that. 

He stood up, hands reaching for your face. “Hey, hey, you’re good,” he soothed, searching for your eyes, your cheeks hot under his palms. 

Finally, you looked at him. “Rafe, I—”

“You trust me, right?” He gestured to himself, fingers tapping his chest. “Right?”

You shook your head. “Yes, but we can’t—”

He shushed you, your name a whisper. “We can. We just gotta be lowkey ‘bout it, yeah?”

You looked torn, your morals pulling you one way and your desires another. But Rafe had you stretched thin, and you caved in like he knew you would. “Right, yeah.”

A pleased smile flashed across his face. “I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised, your cheeks smushed between his hands, “gonna make you feel so good.”

Then he leaned in, his nose nudging yours. You didn’t pull away. He took that as an invitation and kissed you. The first was fleeting, lips brushing, barely there. You still didn’t pull away. After that, he didn’t hold back. He licked into your mouth, hungry. You tasted like the beer you got drunk on, and now he was getting drunk on you. For something considered so vile, he never felt more alive. If this sin were his doom, he would die a happy man.

Rafe was the first to part. “Turn ‘round.” You did as you were told. He placed a hand on your shoulder and another on the small of your back. “Bend over for me. That’s it, fuck, look at you.”

He had envisioned you like this before, but seeing it with his own eyes made his cock stir. With a suppressed groan, he folded over you, his chest pressed against your back, trapping you between him and your mattress. “Gonna make this quick, don’t worry.” His hand slid between the two bodies, working to get his shorts off. “Wouldn’t want us getting caught.”

He felt you nod. You didn’t resist. 

Everything after that blurred together. Movements rushed and jittery and fueled by unadulterated lust.

Rafe had your nightgown flipped over your ass and your panties down at your ankles, his hips rutting into you. He had to clamp his hand over your mouth to mute your whines, one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. He knew he should feel disgusted with himself, but he wasn’t. Not one bit. He was right where he wanted to be, buried deep in your warm, wet pussy. And you wanted this, too. He knew you did, despite the glazed look in your eyes. You were just lost in the pleasure of it all. 

“Takin’ this dick so well,” he breathed into your ear, his thrusts growing desperate. “Shit, gonna make sure you don’t need anyone else. Just me. That sounds nice, huh?” 

His mindless murmurs went unanswered. 

You blinked once. Twice. You whimpered into his palm. 

That was enough for him.

It was better you stayed quiet, anyway. You wouldn’t want everyone in Tannyhill to know how much of a slut you were, letting your stepbrother fuck you like this. Rafe would hate for that to happen to you. 

When your cunt fluttered around his cock, he stifled a moan and sunk his teeth into your shoulder. He wasn’t going to last much longer. But he was keeping his word—he would make this quick. His hips stuttered against your ass, chasing his release, wishing he could just cum in your tight pussy with no risk of you getting pregnant. 

With one last thrust, he pulled out, stroking his cock until he came, painting your ass with his cum. 

He panted, his chest rising and falling. Satisfied, he stuffed his softening dick back into his boxers and put on his shorts, making sure the lace panty he took was still in his pocket. Slowly, you lifted your head off your bed and tried to push yourself up, your arms trembling. 

“Don’t, alright?” Rafe leaned over you, his hand brushing back the strands of hair stuck to your face. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you.”

There wasn’t much fight left in you. Not when you were drunk and all fucked out. So when your eyes found him, you dropped back to the mattress, nodding. He smoothed his thumb across your cheek then kissed your temple. And Rafe did as promised. He cleaned you up, helped you brush your teeth, and tucked you into bed. 

Like a good stepbrother would.

sunnie speaks! stepbro!rafe lacks sooo much self-awareness its crazy. also literally the filthiest thing i ever wrote. but i hope you freaks found how fucked up he is interesting to read?? i guess??? — remember, this is a work of fiction! let's chat about stepbro!rafe

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[reignpage]

Vice President!Sukuna

Pétain: losing it all pt 1

Word count: 4.4k Contents: 18+ mdni, cursing, smut, reading this is not compulsory, part 2 will explain The Night, so please read the warnings before reading, I will seriously block minors and ageless blogs Warnings: noncon, cnc, dub-con, primal play, threat of violence and act of violence, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, exhibitionism, slight blood play After much deliberation, I've decided to add noncon in the warnings, again proceed with caution

“Is that the Vice President?” Someone whispers. 

Another girl whispers back, “No, he’s the President now.”

You ignore everyone and continue your way to the field, carrying two buckets of soil, ready to plant the seeds in your pocket. Being a member of the Green Thumb Society meant being at one with nature, giving back to the Earth so that we can maintain an equilibrium, ensuring that the future generations will have something to inherit. 

Or whatever. 

Truthfully, you haven’t been listening, simply itching to get your hands dirty so you can distract your mind. Not being the president means having lots of free time, but not having any friends means you don’t have anything to do in those times. At first, you were overjoyed because then you can focus on the mountain of work you have, however, once you sat yourself down to finish up all the readings and applications you had, you realised you didn’t actually have that much work to begin with. 

So now, you’re digging in the dirt, right at the edge of the forest at the back of the Lawn, pretending you can’t feel searing eyes on your back. The ground is hard, and you’re not even sure this is the right season to start planting anything, but what do you know?

Because it’s almost winter, the sky is darkening much faster than anyone would like, and you’re starting to feel more and more anxious as the clouds turn orange in the horizon. Coupled with the fact that you can feel a presence looming behind you, making the hairs on your arms stand, your fight or flight has been activated. 

“We need to talk.”

“No,” you say without missing a beat. 

A hand comes out and grabs the back of your sweater, hauling you up, shovel falling to the ground. You’re being spun around to face a frustratingly handsome face and he’s giving you a deadpan look, unimpressed by your stubbornness. Standing on your tiptoes, you have to cling onto his jacket to keep steady. 

“I wasn’t asking, prez,” he drawls. 

Scowling, you smack his chest once and then again when he didn’t even flinch. “That’s the problem; you never ask.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, arm dropping so you can stand on your own, but he doesn’t let go. Probably thinks you’ll run again. Though, you’re not sure why he thinks you would; you’re not drunk. And you certainly don’t want a repeat of last time, people still come up to you to recite your speech. 

“Let’s get outta here,” he pulls you with him. 

You dig your heels onto the ground, slapping his arm to let you go. There’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere with him, being alone with Sukuna doesn’t work out well for you, it only forces you deeper and deeper into a hole you don’t want to be in and have been trying to get out for years now. Plus, you’d hate to give him the satisfaction. 

“Stop being a pain in the ass,” he growls, dragging you with him regardless. Your futile attempts at escape are only irritating him more. “You’re gonna talk whether you like it or not.”

People are staring and you’re gritting your teeth, the embarrassment making your face heat up and you pull away harder.  “Sukuna, stop, people are gonna talk.”

He gives you a look that screams, who the fuck cares.

“No, stop it, I’m serious,” people are whispering and pointing. “Please, Sukuna.”

Halting suddenly, your face hits his back. His back hurts, Jesus. 

One glance at you makes him roll his eyes and then he’s dragging you the opposite direction, into the forest. It’s darkening and the thick lines of trees makes your heartbeat faster and, once again, you’re trying to wrangle yourself out of his grip. This is the kind of place young girls go to die. 

“Not there, either!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. 

Eventually, the Green Thumbers disappear from you and all you can see for miles are trees. And a pissed off pink-haired, varsity jacket wearing pain in the ass, tapping his foot on the mud. You simply cannot catch a fucking break. Because apparently you committed some atrocities in your past life and now you must be punished. Again, and again and again. 

“Talk me through what the fuck is happening. Why did you let that old fucker push you out of your position and why the fuck aren't you fighting to get it back?”

You lean against a tree, the bark scratching you even through your sweater. Guess this is happening. With a sigh, you explain, “There wasn’t anything I could have done, Sukuna. He said, I was giving the school a bad rep. That the trustees don’t think I’ve been a doing a good enough job, what with Cursed Womb still running amok, the gossip column spreading the students’, and the staff’s, dirty secrets across campus and even across the city. Not to mention all those times I’ve been late to meetings, files going missing, and presentations being inaccurate. Thank to you.”

Sukuna huffs, leaning against a tree too, hands stuffed into his pocket. At first glance, he doesn’t even look like he’s listening to a thing you’re saying, but you know him better than that, unfortunately. Because when he flexes his jaw, you know he’s annoyed. 

“Alright, my bad.”

Your eye twitches. “Your bad? Your bad? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

You walk away. 

With no idea where to go, you’re just marching away, kicking away leaves and pushing branches away from your face. Muttering curses under your breath, you grow weary of the darkening of the night, you start to regret letting him drag you away at all. Why do you always get swept up in his bullshit?

When you almost trip over a log, you screech. The ground nears but just as you’re about to fall, you’re being yanked back into a hard chest. 

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he growls. 

“Why are you such a fucking prick?” You scream. “You’re everywhere. Seriously! Fuck off! Why do you want to ruin my life? It isn’t enough that you forced me out of the position so you can have it for yourself, but now you want to make me miserable by not letting me do anything fun?”

Your hands are flying, half waving in the air and half smacking into him, hitting whatever you can reach and you’re stomping your feet. This is all ridiculous — he hated you, and then he has these stupid, ridiculous moments where he makes your heart clench, where he looks at you like you’re somebody, like you’re special, and it always left you reeling, unable to sleep at night. 

“Calm the fuck down!” He yells back. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“CRAZY! I’m acting crazy. Ohhhhh, you’re such a fucking dick. I hate you I hate you I hate you!”

He’s grabbing your wrists, trying to restrain you so you’d shut up, but you’re done being silenced. Done with his horrible attitude and personality and his stupid face. Everything went to shit because of him, he ruined your first year, and now he’s ruined your third year, but apparently that isn’t enough because he’s trying to ruin every day of the rest of your life. 

Sukuna’s trying to get a word in, but you’re rambling, screeching and hollering about anything and everything, somethings he’s willing to admit was his fault, but other things were just plain ridiculous. 

“I dropped my bagel this morning and it was because of you! I can’t prove it but I know you had something to do with it. Your stupid malevolent energy reached me from whatever depths of hell you crawled out of, and you ruined my breakfast! That cost me £7! £7, Sukuna!”

“Shut the fuck up for just a second, y/n.”

“A-and when I slipped in the shower, I’m sure your evil spirit pushed me— “

“How could that possibly— “

“And now I have a bruise!”

“Have been my fault?”

SMACK!

In the midst of complaining and rambling, your arm had flung over, and your hand slipped. Right onto his cheek.

You slapped Sukuna. 

And the clenching of his fists, his heavy breaths, tensing shoulders, and flexing of his jaw all scream you’ve fucked up. You’re inching away, hands coming in between you two, shielding yourself from him. The burning of your hand is urging you back and back, eyes firmly fixed on the raging bull in your china shop. 

Oh shit. 

In all the two years and a bit you’ve known Sukuna, have kept an eye out for him, you’ve never seen him look this angry. And though you once thought he’d never raise a hand against a woman, against you, you’re suddenly very very unsure. 

His red eyes raise to meet yours and the tick at the corner of his mouth makes your heart drop. He says one word. And you turn away, silent screams escaping you. 

“Run.”

Your legs pump, frigid air biting cheeks, stabbing every exposed inch of skin as you disappeared further and further into a forest, weaving around thick trees and hurdling over logs and rocks. You’re practically galloping, pushing your body to its limits as you twist and turn, shuddering breath misting in front of you as your heart skips a beat.

If he catches you, you’re dead.

“Fuck!” You cry out. Sprinting, you ignore the growing ache in your legs and the pain in your ankles; you’ve never run like this before. Although, to be fair, you’ve never been chased by a livid Ryomen. Not sure anyone has ever lived to tell the tale. 

Leaves crunch under your shoes as you pushed through, unsure of where to go, where is safe. He's stronger, bigger and faster than you. You both know it. There isn't anywhere you could go where he wouldn't find you. It's as if you've entered a labyrinth of shadows, your vision obscured by the thickening blanket of night and every snap of a twig all around you threaten to make tears spill.

"Oh, prez, where are you?" His voice has taken a mocking, singsong tone, and it's scariest thing you've ever heard. It sends shivers down your spine, a promise of the damage that he could do, that despite the saccharine sweet words, he is nothing but nice. You fight the urge to scream.

"Leave me alone!"

Foot catching on something, you tumbled forward, palms reaching out and scraping against the rough earth. The sharp sting barely registered through the adrenaline coursing through your veins but you know it'll leaves marks. You scrambled to your feet, dirt sticking to your clothes, a sob catching in your throat, your eyes darting around the endless sea of trees.

"You know I can't do that."

"Why?" You yell back.

When you whirl your head back, scanning the area for any sign of pink hair or a purple jacket, you find nothing but shadows shaped like trees, their silhouette sharp and bony. You’re panting, chest heaving as you try to gulp air desperately.The trees look like his allies, obscuring him from your view, harbouring a criminal.

His voice is a low breeze and you can't pinpoint where it's coming from when he laughs sardonically, "You already know why, prez."

He could be anywhere, and you’re pressing yourself against a tree, nails digging into the bark as you looked around frantically. It’s dark. The only source of light being the moon and when you fumble for your phone in your jean pocket, you can’t find it. You must have dropped it. 

“This isn’t fair!”

You’re sobbing, tearing out your hair. Seconds pass. Maybe even minutes and there aren't any signs of Sukuna, of anyone being here apart from you. He could have left already. You laugh hysterically.

“I did everything right! I worked hard, I never complained, never broke a rule. Why am I being punished?” You punch the tree and cry even harder when it hurt. Your fist throbs. “OW! Fuck! What did I do that was so fucking wrong?”

There were rumours once of a girl who had died in the woods, right at the very centre of the forest. She had a fight with her boyfriend about something or the other, and they fought here, all night. But when morning came, only one emerged. No one could verify this gossip, no news article, nothing concrete, but the students who passed through Eden spoke of it as if it was as true as the sun is blinding. You're trying to wrack your brain for any more information, your brain desperate to distract you from the mania creeping through veins.

She was a law student.

"I don't want to die," you cry. "I've barely lived. I still haven't gone skydiving, haven't driven on the motorway 'cause that shit's fucking scary. A-and I need to say 'I love you' to my mother, and well fuck my father. But I want to say goodbye to Mr. Teddy and Mrs. Kitty Cat. They'll be so fucking sad."

“Talking to yourself, prez?”

You scream.

Sukuna’s leaning against a tree a couple metre behind you. You hadn’t heard him. Not even a snap of a branch or the rustling of leaves. He has his jacket off and thrown over his shoulder, his shirt riding up as he brushes his hair back, a seething sneer on his face. 

When he makes a step forward, you stumble back, another scream lodged in your throat. “Stay back! I swear, don’t come near me.”

A sharp smile climbs up his face, a glint in his eyes, and his jacket is being dragged behind him as he stalks over to you, completely disregarding your warning, his long legs taking him closer. You have goosebumps on your arms and you’re so close to pissing yourself. 

“So you can use a little violence, but I can’t?” He cocks his head at you. “That’s not very fair, is it, my adorable little president?”

“I’m not yours!”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being pinned to the forest floor. You fall with a thump, screech muted by a hand over your mouth. His hip is between your legs, thighs spread and stretching to accommodate his body which holds you down, unable to wiggle or crawl away. Your hands claw at the leaves and mud, dirt caking your nails, and you’re trying to ignore the smirk on his face. 

Tutting, he snapped, "This has been a long time coming, prezzy."

He looks murderous. Like a serial killer who’s just found the perfect next victim. And before you can complain, his mouth is crashing down on yours. It’s a clash of teeth, his tongue penetrating your mouth when you gasp, fighting yours as you push at his shoulders, bucking your hips to throw him off. 

When your clothed core grinds against his hard length, you moan. “Let me go!”

Sukuna nips your bottom lip, the taste of iron filling your mouth and you’re lightheaded. With a growl, he promises, “Never.”

Bare hands clutching your sweater, he rips it off you, the fabric snapping and disappearing over his shoulder. The cool air pricks your skin, pebbling your nipples and he’s covering your tits with his huge hands, groping and kneading like they’re his worst enemies. 

“No bra, prez?” He snarls into your ear before licking a strip up your neck. “You’re just walking temptation, aren’t you?”

His hips are grinding on yours, a punishing pace that sets your skin ablaze and you’re gasping with every roll of your nipples between his fingers and whimpering when he pinches and pulls. Like you’re being controlled by someone else, you grind back, legs crossing over his legs.

“Let me go!” You cry out again. “Stop it, Sukuna!”

He bites your neck, and you arch into him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. When you pull at his hair, he only huffs a laugh before he’s creeping a hand into your jeans, somehow having unbuttoned and unzipped it. His fingers press against your panties, and you hide your face into his neck, nipping him back. 

“You tell me to stop but you’re soaked,” he laughs. 

His hand weaves inside your panties, rubbing your clit at a merciless pace; hard and fast from the get-go, your eyes are shutting, and you cry out when he dips inside, soaking himself with your wetness. He curls them, prodding and pummelling that spot inside of you that has you digging your nails into his back, threatening to rip up his shirt. 

With a broken moan, you smack his back, “No more!”

“More? This not enough for you,” his voice is mocking. “Don’t wanna cum from my fingers, is that it, you frustratingly beautiful piece of work?”

Before you could argue back, could push him away, or kick your legs, he’s pulling your jeans halfway off, and then he’s spinning you around, face down and ass up. The cold air brushes against your sloppy pussy, clit swollen from having been rubbed and petted by his hostile hand, longer fingers stretching you out.

And then something equally hot and wet touches your slit. He's lapping up your wetness, fingers still curled inside of you as he rubs your walls whilst he sucks at your clit. You're moaning, fingers digging into the dirt as you try to crawl away, but his spare hand is holding you down, forcing you to arch more painfully so he can suck and lick to his heart's content. He scissors his long fingers, forcing you to stretch.

"Stop! Stop it!" You sob. He isn't listening, he's taking what he wants from you, extracting a strained orgasm that makes you tear up, pussy clenching around his fingers. "No! No, I don't want this!"

"I don't care," is all he says. Through the fog of pain and pleasure, you hear a ziiiip, and you’re panicking, hands clawing even more. You have to get out of here, have to escape. If anyone's emerging, it's you. It has to be you.

But when he lines his cock up, you realise your face isn’t buried in leaves and mud, but rather something soft. It’s his jacket. He slams inside you in one thrust. 

“FUCK!”

He’s thrusting inside, hard, and with a bruising grip on your hips, simultaneously keeping you still so he can drill his fat cock inside your clenching pussy and pulling you to meet his hips. The forest is quiet, apart from the choked moans and groans coming from you, and the sound of skin slapping against each other. 

“Been keeping this tight pussy from me?” He thrusts harder, cock head rubbing against that spot inside you and it steals your breath. “Fucking selfish!”

You’re trying to argue back but it all just comes out garbled, drool pooling under your chin. There’s nothing you can do but maul his hands, trying to pry them off you. He doesn’t let up, only thrusts harder, like he’s punishing you for all his frustrations. 

“I hate you!” You manage to push out. 

Sukuna leans forward, heavy body pinning you to the floor even more so he can nip your ear, licking away the blood and growling at the taste. “You may hate me, but this cunt doesn’t.”

And to prove his point, he shuts up, grinding inside of you so you can hear the squelching of your pussy and the way it’s squeezing him for more, desperate to milk him so it can be coated in his cum. You twist, hand pushing against his chest whilst you cry, tears streaming down your face from the sheer stretch. 

“Tell me what happened. Tell me what I did,” he orders.

You shake your head, groaning with every thrust, and when he rubs your clit with one hand, whilst the other gropes your bare tit, you can only cry out louder. “You ruined everything! Ngh! I had it all and you -ha- took it from me.”

Clinking of metal and rustling of paper catches your eye. He’s dropped money on the floor. Sukuna’s emptied his wallet in front of you, even his cards fall out, including a shiny black one. They all clink and clatter right by your head.

“Take it all as compensation for your fucking bagel, you damn brat.”

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE BAGEL,” you screech.

His hips don’t stutter, not even for a second, insistent on plunging his cock again and again so your pussy will never forget the shape of it. You can feel him in your stomach, can feel every ridge, every vein, and you think you might just pass out from the stretch.

Years of pressure, of tension, of hatred, of bitterness and resentment build up inside of you, tearing you apart. You think about the tears, the nightmares, the loneliness in your first year. The numbness in your second and the anger, the pain, the pleasure in your third. 

“Keep crying, baby. Only —ha— makes me want to fuck you harder till you can’t cry anymore.”

It’s a tsunami approaching land, you can feel the painful orgasm creeping up, threatening to drown you. And when his left hand falls beside your head, steadying himself so he can angle his cock deeper, kissing your cervix with every thrust now, you see something that looks so familiar you missed it every time you saw it on his wrist. 

He’s wearing your hair tie. 

You cum all over him, drenching his abs with your wetness, and you’re tensing up, still being used as practically a sex doll, all limp and pliant for his pleasure. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve never had before, the one you’ve chased with boys who didn’t know what they were doing, couldn’t tell your thigh from your clit, and have only ever left you unsatisfied and full of regret. 

“Fuck! S’kuna!” 

“That’s right, prez, cum all over my cock. Take what you want, baby.” He soothes your ass, watching the way it’s bouncing on his length to elongate your high, before he meets you in the middle. 

And with one last moan, you fall, your ass kept up high by his hands only. Then, he cums with a growl, right in your ear, the vibrations piercing your body and lighting your soul with a warmth you can’t bear to think about. 

“So fucking good,” he snarls. “Perfect. Fucking made just for me, yeah?”

He wasn't talking to you, was only groaning to himself, but you mutter agreements, everything you can to make him spurt out all of his hatred for you. And he does. You feel it spilling out.

When you both calm down, lying on the ground — you on his jacket and him on the floor — you feel something has changed between you. An acceptance of whatever the fuck is wrong with both of you. Of that strange, fucked up string connecting you both. You won’t fight it anymore. 

Can’t fight it anymore. 

You're a mess. Tears and drool drying on your face, your juice and his cum coating your inner thighs, dirt and blood caking your body. You've never felt more cleansed.

Feeling an urge to cry but having used up all your tears, you scoot over to him, lying on his chest and his arms wrap around you like it’s second nature, a hand rubbing your back whilst the other threads through your hair, pulling out leaves from the tangles. 

“I’m bored,” you admit, tracing abstract patters on his chest. His shirt is sticking to him, slightly damp from the exertion. You’re completely naked, jeans discarded somewhere. There should be a fear of being caught, of being seen in such a vulnerable position, but for some reason you don’t care. Maybe it’s because you know Sukuna wouldn’t let that happen. Or maybe he would, and you just don’t care anymore. 

He sighs. “I know.”

“I really liked being the president,” you mumble. 

“I know.”

“But the Dean ruined everything. No, Mahito did. No, you did.”

He sighs again. “I know. I’ll fix it.”

You raise your head, chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. “How are you gonna do that?”

Brushing errant hairs from your face, he promises, “EdenU relies heavily on funding from my family. I’ll force the Dean’s hand, make him reinstate you.”

Unable to resist the urge, you bite his chin, feeling an aggressive desire to make him hurt. He smacks your ass in retaliation.

“But what about you? Didn’t you want to be president? Isn’t that what this whole thing’s even about?” It’s odd to be so casual, so conversational after that mind-numbing sex and the fact that there’s so much to be said, to be discussed between you two, but that’s just how it is with you and him. You aren’t normal. And certainly, aren’t healthy. 

“Nah,” he scoffs, “been president for like a week and that shit was tiring. Dunno how you did it.”

You giggle. “It’s not for the weak, that’s for sure.”

Sukuna slaps your ass for his own pleasure, a grin growing on his face. matching yours. But then it drops as he looks over your face, like he’s just remembered what the whole thing’s been about. Your smile drops too.

“Do we have to?” You ask, but the grim look on his face is all the answer you need. 

He cradles your cheek in one hand, uncharacteristically soft, and then he pecks your lips, once, twice. “Tell me what I did to you. Tell me what I put you through.”

You try to pull away but he’s holding you tighter. Your lip trembles and with a hiccup, you hiss, “What does it matter? Will you even apologise?”

“Yes,” he insists. “I’ll do it. For you. I’ll do it now.”

Sitting up, you try to find your clothes, fumbling in the dark. You find your panties and jeans, miraculously, and put them on. Unfortunately, your sweater is ripped up, but he drapes his jacket on you, and you both know it’ll stay with you from now on, like he had always intended. 

“If I tell you, we’ll have to start over again.”

His mouth is teasing and tasting wherever it can reach, exploring your neck, brushing your cheek and your hair, as if he’s promising your body his sincerity when he says, “Whatever it takes, I’ll win you back. Even if it takes forever.”

You’re willing to test that out. 

So, leaning back on his chest, you recount the night you set out to lose one thing and ended up losing everything.

[ineffably-human]

So here's my problem.

And it's not about Nandermo, not exactly anyway. Because I didn't expect Nandermo to become textual until the very end, if at all. The show kept making it clear that they liked their ambiguity to keep the relationship on the razor's edge, and Paul Simms made it clearer and clearer that for some reason (put a pin in this) he just couldn't see their connection as a sexual one.

But I frankly don't care about that, because if anything is canon in this show it's that the vampires will eventually fuck everything, and Nandor canonically fucks his other friends. More importantly, their connection was always the emotional core of both characters. And Paul always did say he saw their relationship as a romance, if a strange and non-sexual one.

So I figured we'd maybe get Nandor confessing that Guillermo meant a lot to him (and immediately walking it back a little), or Guillermo confessing how lost he feels without his vampire dream and Nandor offering him a place. Maybe an ambiguous, could-just-be-queerplatonic-partners 'I love you'. Maybe just the hug they kept teasing for three or four seasons and never got. We got like...half of two of those, in episode 10, so I guess that's a wobbly semi-fulfilled thing by my definition of it.

But it's not the Nandermo of it all. It's the Guillermo of it all. And how this final episode seemed to almost mock Guillermo's place at the emotional core of the show.

And the Guillermo of it all is why we never got the Nandermo of it all.

Shadows has vampires doing absurd-ass things, but every character also has things they want and feel, and there are various amounts of emotional ink spilled about it. The show has found space, sometimes very poignant space, to take that seriously in between the piss and sex jokes. The vampires change very slowly and in spirals, they repeat a lot of their old issues that stem back even to their mortal lives. But they always try.

And things do change in the vampire house; that is not the same household from the first season. Every single character, right down to the Baron and the Guide and Derek, are in different and better places than they were before the show began. They've made progress in their individual desires, and a lot of that is due to the improved connections they have with each other, connections we've watched them foster. A lot of the time it's because they're talked about as a found family, something Guillermo started and Guillermo believed before any of the rest of them did.

---

So where is Guillermo this season? Our human point of view, our dynamic character, the character who has a dream and wants something more than any of the others? Whose dream drives the storyline of the entire show?

Guillermo has chosen to be human, and he thinks he can't be part of the household if he's not a vampire. We watch Guillermo try to throw himself back into the human world trying to make up for lost time - to the point that he forgets the person he called his best friend, the people he called his family, in a way I think we never fully resolve. He thinks he's thriving, and he doesn't even seem upset about leaving the others behind.

We watch him revert (and that's fine, people revert sometimes) to the same waiting lapdog he was when we started the series. We watch him realize that and he says no. Nandor stands up for him, and feels better and more fulfilled in doing so, and that's a great capstone for Nandor and Nandor's own tendency for selfishness. And that's excellent. Episode 10 was a great start for all the ground they had to cover.

Nandor offers for Guillermo to be his partner in crime. His sidekick, but Guillermo expressed that desire back in season one so it's not an insult inherently. But here's the problem. Here's the part of Guillermo that has frankly always been a problem, because I thought it's something the show was eventually going to cover respectfully, and instead it was always part of the joke.

---

Guillermo is someone who made a decision sixteen years ago as part of a very young man's desire, to be respected and have cool powers, to live forever, to see the world. (He somehow thought being a vampire, and only a vampire, could get him those things but that's a rant for another time.)

That young man has grown up. He's in his mid-thirties, he has a body count. We've watched him at various times be empathetic, clever, cunning, and brave. Also extremely sexy in bodyguard gear. (And for some reason, the show keeps wanting us to forget that for a season he was extremely competent and badass and sexy pretty much all the time, and he seemed thrilled to be in that role, and he didn't even care about being a vampire if he could protect Nandor in that way and be regarded as 'part of the team'.)

Then Nandor dresses him in a stupid cowboy costume, and gives him a sidekick name ending in 'Kid', which he seems less than thrilled about. They all still talk about him the entire episode as if he's a disobedient child. The vampires speculate if Guillermo is having a fling with the crew, but no - Guillermo's had one boyfriend, who we saw him hug once and nothing more. Despite living in a house for fifteen years that is openly raunchy and shameless, he seems like a character designed to be both desexed and humiliated, and they never expand on the reason why.

(And if Guillermo were ace it'd be amazing, hell it's my headcanon at this point, but I don't think that's what they're going for. I think the show just desexualizes Guilermo. As a matter of praxis. For some reason.)

And the show has done this more and more to Guillermo in the later seasons. Nandor says he could steal original!Freddie easily from Guillermo if he wanted to. The vampires laugh at the thought of him being a vampire - "a little bat pooping everywhere," and Guillermo's time as a vampire has him basically feeling no different in his sexuality or, after a very brief moment, his confidence. Even Nandor's big climactic moment in Episode 10 has him saying that just because Guillermo isn't as cool or hot or interesting or strong as Jordan (or Nandor) doesn't mean Guillermo deserves to be treated poorly.

Look, I don't know if it's because Harvey Guillen is babyfaced, or because he's fat, or because he carries a different energy to his masculinity. Or because it's great to talk about gay sex and being horny, but writing a gay relationship is just too hard. Or some fun combination of all those things.

But I keep thinking about everyone freaking out when Nandor swooped into the collapsed floorboards to save Guillermo in season 4, and everyone freaked out and swooned. And Paul Simms expressed that as "[Nandor] has to save his little buddy."

Guillermo is a grown-ass man, with a desire to feel powerful and special and accepted, who Nandor sees as his little buddy. (Who everyone in the house sees as their little buddy, and it's nice he's part of the family, but...) After every emotional beat that makes them seem like equals with a special connection, he reverts to the less-cool sidekick who makes Nandor feel special and important. And Guillermo's prior devotion to Nandor - not to vampirism, not to a job or promotion, to Nandor - changes to other things, but Nandor never figures out why that hurts him so much. And for some reason the deepest bond of the series just isn't sexual, the showrunner just can't see it that way, in a house where everyone's fucking but not you Guillermo.

We're at the end of the story, and that's our punchline.

---

And we don't end on one of the points where Guillermo is asserting himself as someone who deserves to be taken seriously, and given the things he wants - and the show has had plenty of those moments, all of which seem to be building and evolving his relationships over the years.

We end on Guillermo being told that suddenly, the documentary is packing up without any fanfare or clarity on what they were looking for in the first place. We get Guillermo stumbling for clarity on what it all meant, what the point was for him and what his life is going to be now. We're told over and over again the documentary (and Guillermo, and the viewers) needs a satisfying capstone, needs emotional closure.

And the vampires tell him to shut up. And they tell him this has all happened before, and none of it is special to them. ("No human is special," Nandor said several episodes ago, and never went back on it.) And they tell him to do a little dance for their amusement, and Colin recites some pithy lines. And every attempt to take a moment to care about Guillermo's journey, or the core of his character and what he needs, is turned into a joke for him and for us.

Guillermo's looking for a point to it all, for some kind of fulfillment, and there wasn't one. And everyone is satisfied in that but him. And even if there were times Guillermo got the chance to be respected, to have cool powers (which he kept, but the vampires keep forgetting them), to live forever (he will die and leave Nandor someday!), to see the world - none of these things are going to come to him now.

It would make absolute, complete, and devastating sense for Guillermo to feel he's outgrown them and to leave. Nandor doesn't even seem upset enough to try and stop him. We never really get a clear reason about why he decides to stay.

I mean, it's for friendship or something, with a line about how they can still be close but he needs 'his own thing'. But in six seasons, over and over and over, we've been driven back to the idea that the most emotional part of this story is Guillermo's desire to become accepted in this family, and the effect he has on Nandor. That Guillermo needs this home and he consistently makes Nandor softer, kinder, less selfish and more fulfilled when they're together.

But those parts of their relationship, the love story parts, don't matter. Guillermo is going to find 'his own thing' when it's been clear how entrenched in this world he is (right down to his DNA), but Nandor will drag him back into shenanigans anyway, probably keeping Guillermo from whatever 'his own thing' is.

And Guillermo will always be Nandor's sidekick, his little buddy, never to be taken seriously. And one day, Guillermo will die, and he'll be someone they all forget. And for some reason, he'll be just fine with that, because he belongs with them but will never really be in a better position.

And he'll be satisfied with that. For some reason. But I won't.

[askshivanulegacy]

Yeah, I don't really agree with the first interpretation as far as why he starts out the way he does. The second one above feels spot on. Fiyero isn't actually as shallow as he appears, it's definitely a defense/coping mechanism, and Elphaba explicitly points that out. I don't think it's about being conditioned so much as a response to what he's experienced in life.

He outright states that he's been kicked out of a bunch of schools, and tied to that is his perception of schools always trying to teach the "wrong lesson."

"They want you to become less callow/less shallow. But why invite stress?"

You could interpret that to mean he's been superficial and shallow from square one and his "dancing through life" activities are what got him kicked out. But schools don't usually kick you out just for partying too hard.

I think it's more likely (given the rest of the song and other personality clues) that he didn't used to be this way. He actually tried to do things and failed (why else would he be avoiding that failure if he hadn't experienced looking like a fool for himself?).

We don't have any real picture of what he tried. Maybe he was a real rebel (and not in a carefree dancing way). Maybe he took the school's lessons too far, tried to change things outside of established rules & norms, and got a smackdown/kicked out ... several times! And then those experiences finally made him do a full 180. Why else would he push back on the school's lessons as the whole premise to the song? Clearly, they're teaching the wrong lesson if they punish you for trying to implement it/use it, so why bother? Stop studying the world's problems, stop thinking about them, stop trying to change them. You can't fail if you don't try! It's easier and stress-free just to dance through life.

So yeah, I think he tried to do things, maybe even enact real change, maybe took school lessons to heart, and he failed and was burned hard for it. He reinvented himself to cope and to avoid the same thing happening again.

Another interesting clue is that he tells Elphaba she didn't need to act like Glinda. I think that's a glimpse of his real self - valuing uniqueness/individually and the ability to not care what other people think ... which is also another comment he makes, that he admires in Elphaba. And that's where he'd probably gotten hurt in the past - looking like a fool is all based on what someone else thinks. So he works to avoid standing out in a negative way.

That might be why he's drawn to Elphaba in the first place. She stands out in the (negative) way he probably used to. She's like the real version of himself that he's hiding.

It's also possibly why he's initially drawn to Glinda, because she represents the "go along, be superficial, likable, and thoughtless" mask that he's trying to cultivate. But you can see that he's constantly turning away from her toward the person he really wants to be.

Dancing Through Life isn’t just a fun, catchy song in the middle of act one. It’s an exploration of Fiyero’s deep seeded depression and apathy. And it shows how isolated and desperate for companionship he really is.

During Fiyeros introductory song Dancing Through Life we get introduced to his character. He’s a playboy, rule breaker, and above all else, superficial. Now Fiyero REALLY wants us to know how superficial he is and he also REALLY wants his fellow students at Shiz to be as superficial as he is, but he never explains why.

Well if you read in-between the lines, it’s a shockingly depressing reason. He wants people to be superficial and empty because it the only way he can relate to and befriend them.

He’s been conditioned his whole life to only be surface levelled and shallow, so much so that when it comes to real, authentic social relationships he has genuinely nothing to offer

He has no interests, no ambitions, and no opinions. So much so that until Elphaba snaps him out of it, he really has no other quality’s other than beings empty. Like genuinely none.

So instead of admitting that he is uninteresting and socially inept, he tires to get everyone around him to be as shallow as he is. If EVERYONE is empty and hollow, then that means he doesn’t have to grow or change. He can stay comfortable and brainless.

[tevanbuckley]

some low points from the ry*an g*zman interview because i need you all to feel my pain.

when talking about his celibacy (yes he uses that word): "I haven't entertained any interactions with any other females" — gave me the ick 0/10

uses the phrase "a woman's touch," to explain why women are inherently good at interior decorating(?) and that this skill is how women are able to enrich a successful man's life — side note: at no point do they talk about how men enrich women’s lives.

immediately after this the religious imagery takes a left turn and exits my frame of reference, bc instead of just asking "do you think you still have things to work on?" like a normal person, the host says "I want to know what one Thorn is in your flesh." — someone raised more religious than i was needs to chime in on if this is normal christian doctrine or a sign he might be in a cult. (is it a reference to the thorns in jesus' crown?)

ryan makes a weird comment about how "you've seen civilizations built on [a man in love]" — genuinely idk what the fuck this means — but it leads into a tangent about like, men as providers and how "I would do anything for my women."

"peace is key yeah we got enough problems in the world outside the house and so long as I come back to the house and I get peace," — maybe i'm being pedantic but the way he keeps framing woman as belonging in the home is 🚩🚩🚩🚩

"for the next woman I would have in my life I can see that they navigate their their problems and still offer peace to their men." — again 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

surprisingly claims he has been to therapy, which assuming is true, idk it worked.

the host: "women may be fighting internal battles you know kind of themselves do you believe that a woman still fighting those battles are able to still bring peace" — because remember ladies, no matter what you're going through your job is to bring peace to your man's home.

there's some more brief gender essentialist bs where ryan talks about how men "like to fix things," but are bad listeners, and how "problems within women are so specific to women that I wouldn't even try and and say that I have a grasp on them."

then the host randomly asks him if he thinks men need to be financially stable before entering a relationship or if dating a broke guy is a way to "present loyalty."

weirdly ryan actually kind of dodges this question, but ends up suggesting social media is a good place to get "great examples of what does and what doesn't seem to work." in relationships — and no. no it isn't.

oh and then he starts talking about conor mcgregor for some reason? and how it's bad he disrespected his wife by stepping outside their marriage — and i mean sure, although infidelity feels second to the rape accusations??

says it's harder for a woman to come into a man's life when he's already established because "now the man has proven to himself that he never needed a woman." — which, interesting given how later he talks about how women need to stop trying to do the independent woman thing.

he also gets weirdly possessive over his daughter at one point. does the classic "God forbid I find out that man disrespects my little baby." — idk, on the surface he talks about how he wants her to know her value, but it seems like he has a pretty limited view of what that value is.

the host drops lore about how she moved out of her parents house at 14/15 and how she had to "stop thinking like a woman and start thinking also like a man," but stay feminine and "know what a man wants and how to cater to that but also still be soft." — i mean good lord, i don't even know where to start 🤢.

this btw is the preamble to ryan's rant about "independent women."

and god the more i read the more i am deeply concerned about the woman hosting (i saw someone earlier say she's 21). this woman is barely an adult and has so much internalised misogyny, talking about how "us women don't know how to direct our emotions." and "in today's generation a lot of men are deprived of even the small things because a lot of women are takers."

this whole interview is utterly bizarre and i feel like it's taken years off my life. like i said earlier, this isn't a normal podcast he got weird on, this is straight up christian propaganda

[no-144444]

nothing has to change- o.piastri

your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You were the World Driver’s Champion, as of 4pm that day. Yes, that could change in the next few races, half the season was still left, but you were proud. 

And so was Oscar. 

He stood at the very front of the barricade, a bright smile on his face as you ran over, wrapping your arms around him and the rest of his family. 

“You did it,” he whispered. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled, pulling your helmet off. “I did it.”

You felt proud of yourself. Proud that you could still excel in a team that didn’t want you. Proud that you had given them the points. Proud that you had let Oscar into your life. Proud that you had proved yourself worthy of RedBull, and much more. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You sat beside Oscar and Nicole at the dinner, across from Lando and Zak (who had invited themselves, much to Oscar’s chagrin). You quietly chatted to Nicole as Oscar made pleasant conversation with Zak and Lando. She noticed how you weren’t really… there. You kept looking at Lando, or Zak, or another team member. You were uncomfortable, nothing like the headstrong, loud girl she’d met yesterday. You were shy, reserved, and a little on edge. 

When you left the table to go to the bathroom, she tapped her son. “Get her out of here.”

He shrugged, sighing. “She won’t want to be rude-”

“Oscar, she’ll do anything you ask her to. Go.” 

He nodded, following you with your bag and jacket in hand. Kids these days. 

“Going to fuck her?” Lando scoffed, too drunk for his own good. A lot of the table stopped and gasped. Lando had never been so… vulgar. Oscar was disgusted. Just because neither you or Oscar worshipped the ground he walked on, didn’t mean he had to make the both of you miserable.

“What is your problem?” Oscar finally couldn’t take it. It was bullshit, Lando was an asshole. 

“It’s clear you’re in love with her,” he chuckled. 

“Fuck off Lando,” he shouted. “You’re such a dick! You’re so self-absorbed you wouldn’t even recognise someone interesting if they actually slapped you in the face. You don’t understand Y/n, and for her sake I hope you never get close enough to. You are a shallow, shitty, infuriatingly untalented asshole, with an ego the size of England. Maybe I’m in love with her, but at least I don’t act like she’s not there to feed my own tiny ego.”

And he turned around to see you standing there, a shocked expression on your face. You looked slightly terrified too, but he just decided to blame the shock. 

“Y/n I-“ he started but you cut him off by grabbing your things from his hands, and turning tail. The entire room was silent for a moment. “Fuck!” Oscar groaned, running out after you. 

He couldn’t have, he didn’t. He didn’t fuck this up. Lando didn’t fuck this up for him. He didn’t. 

He better not have. 

He raced through the streets of a city he didn’t really know, pleading that he’d find you. When he did, it was from a distance. You were sitting in a park. Your head in your hands. 

Lando had fucked it up for him. Slowly, he walked closer, too cautious to startle you. 

“I’m sorry about… back there-” he whispered. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you sighed. “I just… it’s a lot, yeah? I don't exactly see myself as the poster-girl for romance.”

He looked at you. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never really done this before. And I’m awkward and weird, and I’m rude to you-” 

“I don’t mind if you’re rude to me-” 

“You should,” you told him. 

You were both quiet for a moment, and he understood that this was a fork in the road. He could either push you too far, or he’d ruin everything if you felt the same by not speaking up now. The air was charged with an uncertain electricity, and he wasn’t perfectly sure what to do. Oscar was a man of logic, but love was illogical. He liked facts and numbers and a set of rules to follow. He didn’t like feeling uncertain. 

But he was happy to feel uncertain if it meant he kept you. 

“This doesn’t have to change anything,” he told you. “If you don’t want it to, we don’t have to do anything about it. I’m happy to be your friend. I’m not expecting anything.”

You looked at him, and when he saw the unshed tears in your eyes, his heart hurt. He gently reached a hand up and cupped your cheek, carefully wiping them away. 

“I don’t want anything to change,” you admitted. “I really like having you around Oscar.” 

He smiled, though he was slightly disappointed. Rejection from the pretty girl he was in love with was going to sting either way, even if she’d just told him that she actually enjoyed his presence. “That’s fine with me,” he whispered. 

You stared at him, silently asking for reassurance, and he nodded. 

“I’m sorry I can’t be-”

“Don’t apologise,” he reminded you. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I think I do,” you said, looking down again. “I just… I’m not in the headspace to be in a relationship. McLaren is really… it’s a lot for me.”

So you did like him back? He couldn’t really decipher what that meant, but he’d work on it another time. 

“That’s alright,” he smiled. 

You couldn’t be more shocked by his behaviour. Yes, Oscar was the nicest man you knew, but you assumed he’d be mad, or at least a little bit annoyed at you. But he was just the same, kind, caring, lovely Oscar that he always was. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

After he walked you back to your hotel room, you stewed over your decision for a few hours. Maybe you did want Oscar like that. Maybe you were just self-sabotaging yourself as always. Maybe you were just being more cautious than you needed to be. 

But then you reminded yourself that this was Oscar that you were talking about. The only person in the entire world who supported you. You couldn’t let him get too close, lest he see all of you, and then you were sure he’d be gone for good.

You couldn't lose him. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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[flwrkid14]

Everyone Wants to Be Tim Drake’s Favorite Brother

Being Tim Drake’s favorite isn’t just about bragging rights—it’s about power, perks, and an almost supernatural level of protection.

It starts with the little things. Tim isn’t one for grand gestures, but when he cares about someone, it’s obvious. He listens—really listens—to the small comments, the things others might forget. That offhand remark about a snack you miss? Tim’s already on his way to get it for you. Complaining that your suit’s not fitting quite right? Tim’s hands-on with upgrades by morning. If you're Tim’s favorite, it’s a constant stream of thoughtful gestures. Gear gets upgraded, favorite books and gadgets mysteriously show up, and Tim’s always thinking of how he can make your life easier.

But being Tim’s favorite is more than just gifts. It’s the way Tim treats you, the way he prioritizes you over everything else. Tim listens when you vent, has your back during arguments, even when you’re wrong, and somehow—somehow—he gets Bruce to listen to you more than anyone else.

Bruce listens to everyone, of course. He’s the Bat. But when Tim speaks, it’s different. Bruce doesn’t just hear Tim—he acts. Whether it’s adjusting mission plans, reevaluating tactics, or considering Gotham’s crime trends. He’ll mention something, and suddenly, Bruce is shifting his approach. No one else seems to have that pull over him. Tim has a way of cutting through Bruce’s stubbornness that no one else can match. It’s not lost on anyone that when you’re Tim’s favorite, Bruce seems to listen to you more, too.

And then, there’s the most dangerous perk of all: Tim’s wrath.

Everyone in Gotham has learned to fear the consequences of hurting anyone Tim cares about. They all remember how Janet Drake, Tim’s mother, was exactly the same. Janet didn’t just love fiercely; she made people fear the consequences of betraying her affection. She’d build strong alliances and maintain an iron grip on them, ensuring no one dared to harm those she called her own. She had a reputation for turning the tables in ways that left lasting marks on Gotham’s criminals, so it’s no surprise that Tim inherited the same instincts. The last time one of his favorites got hurt in Gotham, the Rogue responsible learned the hard way that crossing a Drake isn’t something you do lightly. That night, the Rogue barely escaped with his life, and the damage he caused was felt across Gotham for weeks.

The rumors from that time still make the rounds. Red Robin hunted that Rogue down, dismantling supply lines and ruining their operations in ways no one else could, using connections no one could have anticipated for him to have. He sent a message���a warning—one that still echoes through Gotham’s criminal world. After that, the Rogues were far more cautious when it came to hurting anyone Red Robin seemed particularly attached to.

These days, the Rogues are more careful. If they can see who Tim’s favorite is, they back off. Patrols get easier. The punches are pulled. The threats don’t carry the same weight. It's almost comical. Once, Jason caught Riddler mid-riddle and swore he saw him glance over his shoulder like he was checking for something—and then mutter, “Not worth it,” before retreating.

Of course, everyone’s gotten a taste of these perks at some point.

Jason remembers his time as Tim’s favorite. When he first came back, Tim went above and beyond. His gear was upgraded constantly, his safehouses were restocked with his favorite things, and there were custom modifications to everything. Tim even managed to reclaim all his old safehouses from the GCPD archives with no problem. Jason never openly admitted it, but he savored every moment. It felt good to be cared for like that.

Cass had it too when she struggled to reconnect with the family. Tim stuck close, quietly offering his support—whether it was with training or just sitting together. She didn’t ask for a suit upgrade, just mentioned how bulky it was in passing, and Tim designed a new one for her the following week, fitting it perfectly to her style. And as for the Rogues? They couldn't run away fast enough when she showed up.

Right now, they all suspect Duke to be the favorite. Tim’s always inviting him to collaborate on tech projects or sharing valuable intel. And Duke has started receiving gifts that seem to show up at just the right moment—books, custom gadgets, and even the occasional throwback cereal he mentioned in passing. Tim’s also been there for him every step of the way, making sure he’s always in the loop, collaborating on projects, and taking the time to make Duke feel seen.

“You know,” Duke said one night, stirring his soup casually, “Scarecrow’s been weirdly quiet lately.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Jason said with a raised eyebrow. “What did you do?”

Duke blinked. “Nothing.”

Jason shot Tim a look. “What did you do?”

Tim’s smirk was all the answer Jason needed.

And that’s the thing—being Tim’s favorite isn’t just about attention or gear. It’s about something more. It’s about protection. Once you’re Tim’s favorite, the world seems like it can’t touch you. And everyone knows it.

They’ve all had their time as Tim’s favorite. Jason, Cass, even Damian had his moment. But once you’re no longer the favorite, it’s hard not to crave it again.

Jason lingers in the Batcave, pretending to talk about his gear but subtly hinting at upgrades Tim could add to it.

Damian scoffs at the idea of being prioritized, but Tim catches him comparing his gear to Duke’s own, new and improved gear, muttering to himself, “It’s adequate,” like it’s an insult.

Dick tries to remain above it all—he’s the eldest, after all. He doesn’t need Tim’s attention. But when he sees Tim working behind the scenes, tinkering with Duke’s gear or offering an unexpected assist to Jason, there’s that ache of longing for when he was the center of Tim’s world.

In the end, they’ll never say it, but every single one of them secretly wants to be Tim’s favorite. Because when Tim Drake decides you’re his favorite, you’re not just cared for—you’re protected and given an unwavering loyalty that makes you feel untouchable in Gotham.

And in Gotham, where danger is always close, nothing is more powerful than the protection and devotion of a Drake.

[norikuna]

r/AsksReddit | Help! I think I accidentally summoned the King of Curses ! ⌦ part one of ?

💬 hi reddit, i know this sounds fake but i swear on my life it's true. i was just messing around with this prank book my friends got me last christmas and it had some 'ancient' summoning spells in it. i didn't even think it would work but there's a 7ft demon looking guy sitting on my couch and i don't know how to get rid of him.

Sorry, this post has been removed by moderators of r/AsksReddit. MOD: Please ask real and serious questions, thank you.

💬 update! the mods removed my post but i'm genuinely telling the truth here. anyway, it turns out that by summoning him, i think i bound us together for eternity. sukuna (that's his name) isn't that bad and he's kinda like a big, lazy cat.

u/9to5exorcist : Ryomen Sukuna? Are you quite sure? u/tenshadowsanimalcrossing : You're joking, no way u summoned sukuna lmfao. u/you : not joking! i took him grocery shopping today! u/SixEyesSensei : dm me asap!!!! please!!!!!!!!!!!!!

inspired by @kasukuna and the most amazing dumbass boyfriend!sukuna fics 🤎

absolutely refuses to use your furniture properly. sukuna insults your apartment for at least 2 whole days and calls it a sad, little domain. he has no idea what paying rent is like in this economy. lounges across the couch with all four arms spread, sits on the kitchen counters, and insists on rearranging your entire living room spread so he can move around it easier.

now you're constantly sleep deprived by having this deadbeat, massive behemoth of an awful flatmate. sukuna keeps telling you that he's a medieval sorcerer, someone who flattened entire clans and mountains but it's hard to take him seriously when he keeps hitting his head on your low ceilings. he's always so loud around the apartment, complaining about how boring it is for him to be stuck and bound to you forever. if you're a university student or just someone who's employed, he thinks he's being helpful by offering to curse your professors/employees.

you have to beg him to get some real clothes. you're slowly getting used to the anatomically strange sight of a 7ft man with four arms, but you know that others are going to call the police. he's usually wondering around your apartment and loitering in his loose, wide pants. nothing else, not even a shirt. occasionally sukuna will drape a cloak around his torso but you have to basically wrestle a baggy shirt over his head. and he bites you, at least thrice.

refuses to help clean, and claims he's very much above menial labour. one day, you threaten to leave sukuna hungry if he doesn't contribute for at least five minutes. he begrudgingly starts picking up after himself, but not before bestowing you with the ugliest death threats of all time.

sukuna is the very definition of a lazy freeloader. well, you told him to be useful and get a job, but then the idea of him causing more problems and insurance paperwork later made you break out in a cold sweat. so he usually spends his hours just loitering around your apartment, and draining your resources. never puts dishes in the sink and still doesn't grasp the concept of a fridge so he's always leaving the door open.

but he is very curious about modern day life. seems like the world has really moved ahead in the one thousand years that sukuna hasn't walked the earth. asks a million questions about wifi, the internet, a phone, streaming services and so on. he will be the last to admit it but he loves trashy reality television, and he enjoys watching 'pathetic humans squabbling over pathetic things'. has an ugly, evil-ass laugh that wakes up your neighbours at 3am.

after weeks of being cooped up in your apartment, he starts complaining. loudly. stomping around and getting even nastier, to the point where you have to give in. he tells you that he is no house pet, and if you don't let him outside, he will go anyway and have his own fun. god help you, sukuna's idea of fun in the big city will involve blood and destruction so you relent and prep him with a million rules that he ignores.

has a beef with a bunch of birds that sit outside your apartment every morning. definitely the type of weirdo that glares back at birds and throws rocks at them. backfired, because the entire swarm started flocking around him. but you did promise him that you'd let him go outside, so you decide to start with somewhere easy. grocery shopping.

already impressed with the idea of grocery shopping and parking lots. has no clue why humans would cram their 'carriages' in one place, and has no concept of traffic laws. you try patiently explaining that these cars weigh tonnes of metal and they can really injure a person. sukuna's pretty confident that no car could ever even scratch him. cue the big delivery truck that almost runs him down.

completely fascinated by sliding doors. it's already embarrassing enough being outside with a loud, rude tank with pink hair and tattoos. but now he's holding up gruntled customers trying to figure out what enchantment allows glass to move so smoothly on its own. keeps stepping back and forth in front of them to watch them open and close. almost breaks them with the strength of just one cracked fingers before you plead with him to keep moving.

sukuna encounters an escalator for the first time and refuses to step on it, and vows to bash in the head of the little kid who gave him a big side eye. after five minutes of arguing, he finally steps onto the moving belt and almost tilts off-balance, but he's got a tattooed hand practically gripping the side for dear life.

literally the biggest hater when he's inside properly. makes snarky remarks about how this flashy bazaar can't possibly be for real merchants who respect the trade. you try to show him the different types of stores, but he's more interested in people watching. loud people-watching. you almost go home when sukuna asks another man why he's swallowing wet balls. hint: it was an innocent guy having bubble tea.

entirely interested in new fruits and vegetables that he's never seen before. but he'll pretend he doesn't give a flying fuck. has taken a deep liking to tomatoes, and comments that these delicious, tasty red globes were not around during his era. sukuna thinks colourful cereal boxes are the worst things to ever happen to mankind, and you fear that you gave him too much internet access when he sneers at you for picking up a box of froot loops - suddenly muttering things about artificial and fake foods with fake flavours.

baffled by the concept of frozen food, and wonders what sort of jujutsu keeps the meat cold and fresh? practically wide-eyed when he reaches the butcher's stand until you tell him that 'no, sukuna. you can't buy steak and eat it raw here. we have to get home and cook it.' he's just happy to see the deli. he opens the freezer and fridge doors for too long and lets all the cold out.

he has no concept of modern money or a credit card. insists that there is no need to trade for these goods, and he can just take what he wants. you believe him but you're trying to avoid the mall police, but he just stands behind with his arms crossed, while you sigh and take out your credit card to pay at the self checkout.

sukuna refuses to sit still at the food court, and towers over the poor workers. demands to know how the food is made, "is it poisoned? who are your chefs?" the poor teenager working the kebab store has to call the manager to get this fiend of a man to back off. he's able to polish off a doner kebab in two, nasty bites. refuses to carry any of your shopping bags and claims that he's not a mule. you remind him that he put in five tubs of ice creams and two watermelons, and he begrudgingly slings the lightest bag over his shoulder and leaves you to haul the rest up.

but who knew the key to keeping your local king of curses happy was to just simply take him out for a walk? sukuna seems more energised (while you feel like death warmed over) and he's already tearing open a bag of your favourite crisps, insisting that next time he will be able to conquer this 'shopping centre' properly and rule it with ease.

[jesuistrestriste]

Thinking about erectile dysfunction Art. Thinking about Tashi and Art reuniting with Patrick and you in adulthood. They have their first sexual encounter, Art is hard instantly. Tashi can’t even be mad honestly she’s practically grinning, but she also can’t help but tease him about it either. She’s hovering over him “aww you’re such a slut you need three people to get you off”, he cums faster than he ever has the entire time they’ve been together. Patrick’s having the time of his life with this and the three of them are each waiting for their chance to strike like vipers. Art has a different problem now, he can’t stay soft around them poor baby :(

ughh yeah— you + tashi + pat all crowding around poor artie on the bed and cooing down at him as his cock starts to swell for the first time in forever:/

one thing leads to another, and then you’re feverishly bouncing on his length and squeezing around it, while tashi’s fingertips tease his pretty pink nipples and pat licks at his neck’s pulse point

“i can’t believe it took three different people to get your shy cock all excited.. what a greedy boy…”

“oh? don’t need that little blue pill anymore ‘cause of us? what a slut, baby..!”

“feels so good, doesn’t it? throbbing inside while your weak spots get abused?”

“is your pathetic cock gonna let out a big load to make up for all of the times you couldn’t get it up? hmm? what do you think?”

and art’s vision just whites out completely—his pelvis bucking up into you uncontrollably and his hands grasping at the sheets while he sobs.

he’s hit with the hardest orgasm he’s had in years, all thanks to you guys. it’s so intense, in fact, that he gets lightheaded and tears start to spill down his cheeks as he reaches out for all of you. he’s whimpering and writhing against the pleasure that’s pulling him under the surface of coherency. it’s so cute.

slurring out things like—

“s-so muh-much.. can’t.. hngh.. s-so sensitive..”

—

goodbye, erectile dysfunction !

hello, constant boners ! !

[muletia]

Imagine if Obsessed! Ratchet and Obsessed! Knockout had similar beef with eachother like Optimus and Megatron-

tsundere gilf vs loser twink

This one is particularly funny to me because while both relationships are toxic to some degree, you still have a far healthier connection with Ratchet. At least the Autobot medic doesn’t send you spike pics whenever he starts missing you…

I think in this case, the beef would mostly be one-sided, and the only reason it exists at all is Knockout, who’s personally adding fuel to the fire. He knows he’s beautiful, attractive, and that many would give a lot just to date him. He knows his worth. And that’s exactly why he can’t stand the fact that someone like Ratchet—boring, grumpy, and unappealing (loud incorrect buzzer sound)—poses a threat to your relationship. Why would you willingly want to continue any sort of connection with someone like that when he is right within your reach? Isn’t he the better choice? Doesn’t he satisfy your needs better? Isn’t he more exciting? Of course he is. But he’ll still whine and complain to his patients that you don’t think that way, babbling about himself and you while rummaging through someone’s guts at the same time. Experiments might have thrilled him before, but sharing you was absolutely out of the question.

If Ratchet finds out that Knockout is competition (or more of a threat), he’ll approach the matter with cold precision. The unhinged Decepticon “medic” has an obsession with you? Okay, that just means he’ll never let you wander out of his sight again. The best option for you would be to never leave the safety of the base and to become his conjunx as soon as possible <3. The problem is that at some point, you have to leave the safe haven. And not long after you return to your normal life, a crimson Aston Martin appears under your house, just slightly out of his mind with longing.

Much like with Megatron and Optimus, you’ll often find yourself jumping from servo to servo, some more delicate and affectionate than others. The only difference here is that Knockout is genuinely ready to get rid of the Autobot medic once and for all. The problem is, he never gets the chance—because Ratchet always avoids or outright rejects challenges to a duel lmao.

[bonbonly]

i keep writing collegeau!f1 drivers, and honestly that has me thinking: (carlos, charles, max, lewis, daniel, lando and oscar! and this is sfw surprisingly lmfao)

→ carlos sainz is always out playing sports with his friends, but after a quick shower he will meet up with you in the library to study. he genuinely is really good about locking in, even if it's only for a few minutes and he manages to soak up all the information pretty fast. he's always willing to help you out, even if chooses to endlessly tease you if you get something wrong. he'll point out your mistakes, giving you more practice problems or drawing something on a board to visualize it for you. and while you do appreciate his help, it's hard to focus on the board when his hair shines like that under the light. you mutter some curses under your breath and get back to studying unaware that he secretly enjoys it when you get frustrated at him.

→ charles leclerc is awfully quiet at first and only shows up to piano rehearsals if you're there. he's very shy at first about his talent, but slowly opens up and let's you accompany him to classes and even recitals! he likes to laugh to himself if he messes up some notes, and loves when you'll lean forward to correct his fingers on the piano, his face just inches from yours. he just wishes you'd finally turn around to meet his expecting gaze, lips aching to be on yours. he plans on kissing you after his first major recital.

→ max verstappen and you both game regularly on the basis. whether it's in the computer lab, or at each others' dorms. he sometimes wishes you didn't just come to his dorm to hop on a game, but he appreciates every second he gets to spend time with you. when it comes to studying, both of you start off trying to lock in but it quickly turns into the both of you talking about how awful your professors are, or some funny story that happened to his friends. he likes to see you laugh, because it's when you really are yourself.

→ lewis hamilton likes to tag along with you when you're at karaoke events with your friends. he insists he can't sing, choosing to shy away from the spotlight. but after a couple drinks, and the way your hand wraps around his arm, tugging him to your warm body, he eventually gives in. the two of you spend most of the night screaming lyrics at each other and giggling hysterically when either of you mess up a line or two while singing. lewis swears he would love to live the rest of his like this with you.

→ daniel ricciardo ends up in your cooking class that you took solely because you needed a free elective. most of the class however is spent with dealing with his antics. he's tossing the flour at you, cracking the most awful jokes while cracking eggs (don't even ask) and all you can do is sit there and groan out loud. however, after a few classes, you realize that the class genuinely was boring and daniel was the only good thing about it. you'd sometimes grab his finished dishes and munch on it, which only causes him to lunge at you and now the both of you are on the ground laughing trying to explain to your professor why your casserole is now on the ground.

→ lando norris unfortunately decided to work at the university's daycare since all his money was going down at the clubs, and you show up to help him because you knew he was going to get overwhelmed. he was currently tackling a 3 year old who refused to let go of his curls, and you laugh out loud before running over to help him. when you manage to calm down the toddler and sing a few lullabies, lando's gaze softens and he can't help but secretly dream of having kids with you after you both graduate, having a small lovely family.

→ oscar piastri sits in the front of the class besides you. it's a hobby for the both of you to listen to the answers your peers give you, and turn around to give the nastiest side-eye ever. outside of class, the two of you laugh about what some of the responses were and you sometimes ask him if he ever judges you like that. he shakes his head, and says no. deep down, he wants to tell you that he thinks the world of you, but he keeps his mouth shut for now. what if you end up judging him instead?

[didishawn]

Leganés (Pedri x Reader)

warnings: lots of spanish, whatever last night was, angst because of the team's results, comfort, really short because I have to get back into the grind

Masterlist

"Te juro que me parece de coña ya esto" you watched as you boyfriend stomped around the room, face flushed and anger in his tone as he spoke. (I swear this feels like some sick joke)

Another loss for Barcelona, more dropped points, only 1 game won out of the last five, the perfect October run so far away.

They were in good shape in the Champions, but what did it matter when it felt as if they were throwing away La Liga?

"Y es que encima parece que siempre me toca a mí hablar tras toda la mierda de los partidos, ¿no me pueden dejar llegar tranquilo a casa para llorar?' (To add to it, it seems it's always my turn to speak after these shitty matches. Can't they just let me peacefully come home to cry?)

You hated seeing him like this, he loves Barça and it breaks him whenever things go like this.

He could have been the best on the pitch, yet he always blames himself.

"Si es que soy inútil, ni un gol puedo meter para ayudar al equipo, ¿de que mierda me sirven todos los pases si no puedo encarar a portería?" (I'm useless, can't even score a goal to help the team, what are all those shitty passes for if I can't serve when facing the goalie?)

"Pepi, sabes que no es tu culpa. Hay veces que no se da y no por eso tenemos que perder la fé, todavia queda mucha liga por delante" (Pepi, you know its not you fault. Sometimes things just don't go your way but it doesn't mean we have to lose faith. There is still so much of the league to look forward to)

"Joder pero si es que parecemos dos equipos completamente distintos aquí que en Champions" he sighed, dropping next to you in the couch, head resting on your shoulder "Encima verás Flick mañana, voy a llegar sin piernas a casa, encima nos lo merecemos" (Fuck but it's as if we were two completely different teams here than in Champions... You will see Flick tomorrow, I will be coming back home without legs, and it's worse because we actually deserve it)

"Solo os tocará dejar de confiaros tanto a veces, y dejad de veniros tan abajo, un gol no es el fin del mundo, y al final todos son capaces de remontar" (You all just have to stop being so overconfident, and also stop depressing yourselves, a goal it's not the end of the goal and in the end, everyone can do a comeback)

"Espero que sepas que me tendrás que hacer de portera en casa hasta que me veas metiendo 5 goles por partido" he burrowed his face on your neck, you knew that meant a topic change. (I hope you know you will have to play goalkeeper until you see me scoring 5 goals per game)

"Vamos a dejar a Robert sin trabajo" (We will leave Robert jobless)

You knew how hard it was all for him, he was finally coming back from all those injuries, was playing the best he had in almost years, and to see all his hard work not giving him the expected results, it was depressing him, harming him. You sometimes wished it could always be just you and him cuddling in your couch, no preoccupations to harm you.

You believed in your boyfriend, he only had to believe in himself too, because the problem with Pedri was just that.

Doesn't matter if he had the whole world praising him, if he lost, even if he was playing with a team in the seventh division of some lost country -not the case, you know the team just didn't have the night, Pedri would blame himself even if he scored 100 goals and they lost against 101.

You felt him sigh against your shoulder. His anger phage was over at least, grumpy one starting.

"...¿Querés jugar al FIFA tú como el Barça y yo como el Leganés y destrozarme?" (...You want to play FIFA you as Barça and me as Leganés and completely destroy me?)

"Si, por favor" (Yes, please)

[ladykailitha]

Spellbound Part 3

And we're back with this one! I am loving how much you guys are into this one, I hope you guys are ready for the start of the troubles.

In this we have Jason being a douche, Eddie gets mad at Wayne, and Eddie and Wayne find out about Bav!

Part 1 Part 2

~

The downside to the charm’s spell of no return is that that didn’t include their loved ones and family members. They never got through Steve’s defenses, but they sure could pound on his door and trigger a migraine.

Eddie poked his head out his front door, a little surprised that whoever was pounding on the witch’s door, had not in fact knocked his door first. But when he saw it was the major’s son, Jason, the blond Adonis, he promptly decided that it was the witch’s problem and not to interfere.

But as he turned to close the door there was a loud CRACK! He whirled around to see that idiot had brought an ax with him and was trying to break down the witch’s door.

Eddie sighed and pulled out Wayne’s shot gun that he kept by the front door and leveled it at the idiot. “Jason Carver I swear to God if you don’t step away from that door, I’ll shoot you. And while I might not be the best shot, at this distance it would be like hitting the broad side of a barn.”

Jason turned at him with a snarl, but that quickly fell from his face as he realized he was barely twenty feet from the barrel of double-barrel shotgun.

“You stay out of this, Munson,” he growled. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

Eddie sighed and took two steps away from his door. “See, I was gonna mind my own business until you started deciding that because Steve wasn’t home, you were going to put an ax through his door.”

Jason paused for a moment with a frown before raising the ax again. “I know you’re lying to me. I saw movement behind the curtain.”

Eddie scoffed. “Sir, him and that girl who is his apprentice has a familiar each between them. You probably saw the cat or the bird ruffling the drapes. Now get out of here, before I start hollering for the watch.”

Jason looked back at the door and at Eddie. He pointed his ax at him. “You tell that no good witch, I’m coming for him. He’s going to pay for what he did.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Make him pay for what? He does herbal remedies and love charms. He’s mostly harmless.”

“It’s those love charms that are the problem,” Jason snarled taking a step Eddie’s direction, but stopped when Eddie moved his finger on to the trigger. “Filling people’s heads with this true love nonsense. All any woman needs is a good provider to take care of her and any babies she has.”

“Jason,” Eddie said pained, “leave before you say something else stupid that will cause me to shoot you. Women aren’t fucking bees, sir. They don’t all have the same thoughts, ideals, and desires. Some women may want what you have to offer, but not all of them, and I’m willing to bet Miss Cunningham is one of those that don’t.”

Jason stepped off the witch’s porch and walked the other direction than Eddie’s house, both of them staring each other down until Jason turn the corner and vanished from view.

Eddie slumped against the door frame and opened the chamber, cursing what he found there. It was empty. It didn’t even have two spent shells in it.

“Uncle Wayne!” he groused stomping through the house. “The gun doesn’t do shit if it ain’t loaded, old man. You could have gotten me killed just now! I hope you know that!”

Wayne came through the backdoor wiping his hands on an old rag. “What are you yapping about now?”

Eddie tossed the gun at him and he caught deftly one-handed. “You don’t keep an empty gun by the door, old man.”

Wayne checked the chamber and looked up at Eddie chagrin. “Ah.” He limped over to the cupboard and pulled out a box. He deftly loaded the shotgun, it draped over one arm. He slammed it shut and tossed it back.

“Sorry about that,” Wayne said with a cock of his head. “I forgot to reload it after chasing off those rabbits last week.”

Eddie said nothing as he put the gun back next to the door.

“Who did you chase off?” Wayne asked as he started making the tea Steve made for him.

“Jason Carver,” he groused as he sat down hard at the table, leaning his head back over the back of the chair. “Apparently his fianceé got a love charm from the witch and it didn’t match with him. So he was making an ax of himself.”

Wayne huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “So you scared him off with the shot gun? How close did you get to shooting the mayor’s son?”

Eddie raised his head. “Close enough that had it been loaded, the town would be having a fucking funeral. He actually took an ax to Steve’s door with the intent of breaking it down.”

“He was doing what now?” Wayne squawked, nearly knocking off the tea kettle from the stove. “Shit, is Steve okay?”

“No idea,” Eddie said with a shrug. “He never answered the door, so I assumed he wasn’t home. I’m hoping that because Jason was scared off, he didn’t get his mark.”

“Christ!” Wayne said, his hand beginning to shake. “With him being the mayor’s son, this is a pretty pickle. Mayor Carver could drive Steve out of town.”

They shared a long hard look and then Wayne downed his tea as fast as he could. Then they were both grabbing their coats and Eddie grabbed the gun, rushing out the front door to race to Steve’s.

They arrived at his cottage just as Robin and he returned.

The witch and his apprentice shared a glance and Steve asked what was wrong. He listened to Eddie tale solemnly.

“Well,” Steve huffed dryly. “I’d like to see them try. Many a mob has tried to oust my family for generations, I assure you they will not succeed.” He walked up the door and ran his finger over the splintered wood. “I’m sorry he hurt you.” The line grew yellow and then in a flash was gone.

Then Steve promptly fainted.

Robin and Wayne were at his side in an instant, helping him into the cottage. They laid him out on the sofa by the window. Then Eddie felt a slightly queasy feeling and he closed his eyes against the wave of sudden nausea.

Robin was pushing a cup of something into his hand before he even opened his eyes.

“Drink that,” she insisted. “It’s a little hard to get used to the feeling when Bav moves stuff around to accommodate Steve. Heaven knows it took me a whole month before I stopped turning green.”

Eddie downed it one go, gagging on the bitter taste. Next to him, Wayne did the same. Eddie looked around the room and saw that Steve’s work table that was usually by the front door was now by the back door. Even the window appeared larger to let in more air and light.

Robin started mixing up another potion and lifted Steve’s head. She helped him drink the potion and then admonished him. “You didn’t have to do that, you lunatic. Bav had it. She would have had door fixed by the end of the day.”

Steve snorted as he came round and struggled to sit up. Robin helped him straight up as he swung his feet to the floor.

“Yes, I know,” Steve huffed, gripping the edges of the sofa. “But it was the least I could do after she got hurt for me.”

Eddie wasn’t sure, but he would swear for years that walls of the cottage turned pink. Like Bav was blushing.

He had to give himself a mental shake because that wasn’t possible. There was no way that an inanimate object can blush. Then he realized that she could move. And was therefore, in face of it was in fact, animate.

Now suddenly he was uncomfortable with the knowledge that that walls might not only have ears, but eyes too.

Robin scoffed as though she could read his thoughts. “She can’t see anything or really hear. But she can feel Steve and knows what he needs.”

Eddie wasn’t sure he believed her, but there really wasn’t anything else he could do at the moment. Wayne and he watched as Robin busied herself making Steve food.

“Why do you do it if it takes so much out of you?” Eddie asked. He couldn’t remember his mama having fainting spells and eating them out of house and home.

Steve gathered up a blanket from the back of the sofa and drew it around him. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” he admitted shyly. “It’s like I can only access half of my magic. My mother couldn’t figure it out either. Last we spoke she was still looking into the matter.”

“The closest anyone has gotten to figuring it out,” Robin said, handing Steve a large plate of cheese, bread, and sweet meats, “is that his magic is tied to another witch somehow and until he finds them, he’s only a half of a witch.”

Wayne and Eddie shared a shocked glance.

“How could that even happen?” Wayne asked, in genuine concern.

Steve started to talk around his bit of cheese, but stopped when he couldn’t get the words out.

“What this adorable idiot is trying to say,” Robin huffed with a laughter, “is that once every hundred years or so there is born a pair of witches that are so powerful that they would burn themselves up in a decade. So a spell was placed on them so that when that pair was born their power would be halved to keep it from burning them out until they were old enough to control it.”

“Which is bullshit,” Steve said, gulping down the bite in his mouth. “No one believes that’s me, by the way. But it’s the closest anyone could find to why I’m such a bad witch. It’s just a fairy story witches tell their children so they grow up believing in their other half.”

Eddie’s head reared back. He thought he was cynical, but it seemed that even Steve topped him in that regard. “Wow, that’s a bleak outlook, I won’t lie.”

Steve huffed angrily and tried to stand up, but he barely got halfway before tumbling back to the sofa.

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere for awhile,” Robin said with a smirk. “You’ll need a lot of rest if you’re going to want to be on your feet anytime soon.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be fine, son?” Wayne asked. “Because after what you just told us I’m not sure you will be.”

“Bav will protect me,” Steve said stubbornly. “Even if I get caught outside of the cottage, she’ll come to my aid, you’ll just have to trust me on that.” He settled back into the sofa and Eddie could swear the house relaxed too.

Wayne opened his mouth to ask the question on both his and Eddie’s mind, but Robin held up her hand to forestall him.

“I don’t know,” she said tersely, glaring at Steve. “He won’t tell me how she’ll come to his aid, only that she would and could.”

Steve mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key and then finished the rest of his meal with a smug expression on his face.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @wheneverfeasible @micheledawn1975 @gloomysoup @dotdot-wierdlife @tartarusknight

10- @ollyxar @yesdangerpls @two-vampires-kissing @themoonagainstmers @estrellami-1

[linddzz]

I’m just imaging one by one people becoming victims to Jayce’s never ending rants about his partner and I just know when they finally get together everyone would think it was over but they’d be horrified to find out they’re somehow worse now.

It's so much worse. So much worse!!! Tbh so many people already assume there is something going on there because if Mel and Cassandra don't carefully edit his speeches/gala talking points Jayce is going to start talking about how great his partner is.

And they keep just referring to each other as "partners" before and after they start fucking and confessing insane "hahaha what you were my destiny my ultimate end ahahaha jk.....unless....." So there's this weird period where the gossip mill of Piltover Society is trying desperately to figure out what the fuck is going on there??

And if you ask Jayce what their relationship is he's going to grin so big and go "Viktor's my partner!!"

And if you make the mistake of going "really...him??" then the grin is going to stay but it will start showing so many more teeth that are so big and white as he goes "why do you say it like that?" So no one wants to ask shit now because if you sound even slightly surprised that Jayce Talis is sighing like a smitten teenager for that shut-in he starts doing this thing where he just shifts his weight and it somehow makes his shoulders even bigger and now he thinks you have a problem with Viktor.

It's only confirmed because they both will say "it's no one's business what our partnership is" but also Jayce Talis is a PDA monster. Viktor goes everywhere with a hand between his shoulders and that hand IS going to slide in a slow drag down to the small of his back or to his waist. Jayce thinks he's so fucking smooth when everyone saw him trying to grab the complete lack of ass on that stick during Professor Heimerdinger's talk. "People can mind their business" he will say and then he practically skips off stage to smooch Viktor who is clearly visible to everyone left of center stage.

No one wants to ask why Jayce is suddenly wearing a tasteful leather cord in a necklace so short that it's more like ...a choker....more like a....no...we shant say...but frequent visitors to some certain districts of the undercity are giving each other wide eyed looks about it.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Paper Pirates 2.

MDNI

2/3

An unconventional pirate on an unconventional crew, you struggle to solve the problem you created (and understand WTF your captain wants from you).

Shanks x f!reader (fairly gender neutral in this part)

Warnings: Violence, blood, death, broken bones, self-esteem issues, everyone's an idiot

It was supposed to be a two-shot.

A/N: Not thrilled with this chapter's quality, but whatever. PART THREE WILL BE UP THIS WEEKEND AS PART OF MY WINTER SOLSTICE EVENT. There will be smut. Just thought you should know. ;P

Rain patters over your umbrella.

The precipitation has driven the street vendors to shelter, and voices carry from crowded taverns and restaurants.

The downpour casts everything in a haze, but it isn't enough to hide the six hunters.

You shift your cover to your nondominant hand, resting the bamboo pole against your shoulder. Closing your eyes, just for a moment, you take a deep breath. The weather casts a chill over the island, just enough to fog your sigh.

Your keen eye catches more than numbers. And, anyway, you’ve been waiting for these fucks: bounty hunters with the grace and subtlety of green Marine recruits. They’d been asking around for you, making loud threats and boasting over drinks in pirate taverns about their plans to snare on of the Red Hair Pirates.

Calling them amateurs would be too kind.

And you’re in a mood.

“Put down your weapons and surrender!”

The man stands five feet away, leering out of an alley like a common mugger with a shitty little rapier leveled at your throat. He isn’t carrying a gun, so you face him, covering your back with umbrella.

In the time it takes him to blink, you’ve drawn your revolver and plugged his chest with lead. You drop to a crouch, and a musket ball pings harmlessly off your cover. Confused shouts echo over the street.

In the same breath, the woman waiting behind the crates ahead charges with a war cry.

You pull the trigger.

Her axe drops to the mud. Blood pools in the corners of her eyes, fixed on the clouds. The bullet hole in her forehead starts collecting rainwater.

A spearman rushes from behind, and you fling aside his attack with your umbrella, pushing your revolver under his chin. He doesn’t have much of a face left when he falls.

The next two move together, trying to flank. It’s better strategy than the others showed, but they still don’t seem to understand how you’re wielding your umbrella. One kills himself with a point blank shot that ricochets off your shield and through his throat. You bring down his friend with a shot through the eye.

Only one left.

A sniper on the far roof.

You brace to catch the slug with both hands on your umbrella’s pole, and it cuts through a blade of grass to your left. Before you can go after him, he yelps, and you raise your umbrella back over your head to watch the teenager, off-balanced by his rifle’s recoil, sliding off his perch.

He lands with a splash and a crack.

As he howls, clutching his broken leg, you prop the umbrella shaft under your elbow. The cylinder swings out of your revolver, and the casings bounce off the sparse gravel around your boots. You take your time, sliding a single cartridge into the chamber. The boy is screaming, trying to cradle his leg and crawl away.

Five steps, one for each of his dead comrades, brings you to his feet. You sit on your heels. Look him over.

“You need to be incredibly strong or exceptionally lucky to survive this kind of life.” The revolver rises between you. You hold the boy’s eyes as you spin the cylinder.

He’s shaking. Thick strings of snot resist the rain pouring down his face, and although the weather hides some his shame, his bloodshot eyes confirm he’s crying. Well. You cried the first time you broke a bone, too. And you didn’t have death perched by your ankles.

As your finger squeezes the trigger, you know what will happen. Another shot between the eyes and a sixth body in the streets. You smell the gun smoke and feel the recoil in your wrist as the puddle below the rookie turns ruddy.

You’re out of step with the present, reaching just a fingertip past the surface of the future, watching it ripple.

The barest flick of your wrist in the moment present and future meet sends the vision to pieces.

The bullet grazes the kid’s ear, diving harmlessly into the puddle. He takes a minute, staring, breathing, trying to figure out whether he’s alive or dead.

Mercy is for the strong, for people who are so secure in their power they can afford the risk – because it isn’t a risk at all. You aren’t that strong, and you killed to stay alive. Stay safe. Keep working.

But this boy isn’t a threat, and for the first time in a long time, you’re secure in your power.

Your bounty is new and ill-informed. Word hasn’t spread that you’re any kind of haki user, and every fool with a point to prove and a hole in his pocket thinks you’re much weaker than you are.

There’s space, here, as the rain fades and the gutters drip, for a little mercy.

“You aren’t strong. And you aren’t lucky.” You rise, towering over the prone bounty hunter. “Go home.”

He nods, blubbering, and drags himself away. You only watch until he’s cleared the first corner, clearly desperate to escape your sight.

You empty the cylinder again and load five new cartridges. It pays to be prepared, after all. This isn’t the first fight you’ve had in the last few months. Just as you finish your work with a click, a whistle shatters your reverie.

“Oi! Oi! Our nerd is scary!”

A chuckling chorus answers the cry, and you glance over your shoulder to find a herd of Red Hair Pirates watching at the end of the street. Lucky Roux grins, tearing into his latest hock of meat, delighted with himself. Bonk Punch, Monster, Hongo, and a gaggle of lower crewmembers block your way.

Spinning your umbrella to dispel the worst of the damp, you fold it up and rest it on your shoulder. Your revolver returns to its holster, and you smile politely, like these men hadn’t abandoned you for an entire year.

You’re happy to see them, so see so little – nothing really – has changed. It feels like needles in your heart.

“Get bored?” you ask, strolling to meet them. “Stop for the show?”

The corpses you pass don’t matter. Someone will loot them. Someone will bury them. Maybe their hobbled apprentice will claim their bodies.

You’re only half crew, but you’re all pirate these days.

Hongo lifts an eyebrow and lifts his chin so he can look down his nose at you. Unlike Lucky Roux, he’s all commander in the moment.

“You weren’t where we left you. Been following your trail for three weeks.”

You shrug, spreading your arms, playing it light. “Then you must know why I had to improvise.”

Monster screams from Bonk Punch’s shoulder, the monkey holding up one of your new bounty posters. It’s insultingly low, but it’s a clear picture. And it’s a problem.

Teeth grit, you try to smile again, tapping your umbrella against your shoulder.

Are you in trouble? You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve betrayed no secrets. That’s why you have the fucking bounty in the first place.

“Well, I’d like to hear the story firsthand!”

The needles pierce deeper, and the crew parts for their captain. He swaggers up to you, all smiles and jokes as you roll the umbrella’s handle between your fingers. It isn’t a daydream. It isn’t a nightmare. It’s the same reality you keep telling yourself is fine, fine, fine, until you snap, snap, snap.

“What do you say to a drink?”

“I’ll meet you there.” You point the way you’d been traveling before the fight.  Practicality to the rescue. “The data’s in my lodgings.”

“Work can wait,” Shanks says. “This is a reunion!”

You don’t have anything to celebrate, and the idea of liquor makes you sick. Sitting with everyone like you were one of them when you know you’re not. The past year taught you that, no matter what the bounty poster said about your affiliation.

He can’t read minds, but Shanks must see something in your face, because he changes tac with a snap of his fingers. “Not a bad idea to get your stuff before we drink, though. We won’t remember a thing in the morning.”

His men laugh, you obligingly cringe a smile, and just as you turn to do as you said, a heavy arm falls over your shoulders. It yanks you fast to the captain’s side, and you stumble, off-balance, crashing into him.

He’s so terribly real. A physical obstacle with scars and a heartbeat. Even through his shirt and cloak, he runs warm.

He smells just the way you remember from the close quarters on the Red Force. Juniper, oak, and sake.

If you don’t get out of this soon, your plans won’t matter because your traitorous heart will explode and you’ll drop dead.

Ever since your drunken revelation, you’d wielded denial as an emotional tourniquet, but it does nothing in the Emperor’s overwhelming presence. He smiles, and you bleed internally.

He doesn’t let go, and you steer the pair of you to the shitty little loft over the local stable. Shanks lets you enter first, finally allowing you to duck out from under his arm to unlock the door and disable the basic trap you’d left for petty thieves. He peers around, taking in the spider webs between the high rafters and the drifts of straw left from the loft’s old storage days. You have a cot, your little travel chest, and a window overlooking the street.

Shanks sits on your bed, bouncing like a child. “You owe me a story.”

You grunt and kneel next to your trunk. You’ll take inventory as you regale him with shit he surely knows. No matter how this encounter ends, now that the crew’s been through, the island won’t be safe for you on your lonesome.

“Everything was fine for three months. Standard practice.” You lift out the portfolio you’ve crafted since you last stepped off the Red Force. Trade notes, harvest records, changes in municipal government and population. “Then a ship full of marines pulled into port and swarmed the office I’d rented.”

The bed creaks, and you glance back to see him leaning forward, arm over knee, frown bending his face.

“They insisted I was a good person who bad people used. Said they’d make me rich and safe if I spewed something juicy about you and the crew.” You pause, but you don’t look at your captain again. You listen, though. His breath is steady. Even. None of this phases him. “Of course I told them to go fuck themselves. Then I was a bad person doing bad things for worse people, and they said we’d continue the conversation in Impel Down.”

A flutter of haki shakes dust from the rafters, and you wonder how much angrier he’d be if you’d taken the easy out.

“There were fifty marines surrounding the building. I took out a few dozen and left before reinforcements could arrive.”

“Was that when you were shot?”

Of course he knew. He was just checking your story. Making sure you hadn’t turned rat. Did he get you alone so he could dispose of you without hurting morale if he wasn’t satisfied with your answers? It would be efficient. And Shanks was ruthless once crossed.

“No.” You check through your clothes, the few toiletries worth keeping on hand. Your Berries are where you left them. Enough to live off for half a decade if you had to. “That was at sea. Between islands. I was on a civilian ship and some rookies attacked. They were pretty shit, honestly, but there were a lot of them, and the civilians panicked. Not even sure who landed the hit.”

Your first aid supplies are safely stowed bellow your gun cleaning kit. The ointment for your scar is still half full. Traveling heavy is a bad plan, but you don’t want to lose mobility in your shoulder if you run out between ports. Maybe you should find a local apothecary to whip up a similar treatment. Just so you have some spare.

The glass bottle casts green sprites around the room as you study it. You meet Shank’s warped gaze in the bottle’s reflection and catch your breath.

One by one, your belongings return to the trunk. A tally of your life. A sad collection, frankly. You’d thought you were trading material comforts for a ship full of comrades, for a different kind of fulfillment. But you don’t have that, and you don’t have the trappings of a house, garden, and sleepy old dog to prove you’ve lived, either.

“It’s very difficult, you know,” you muse aloud, “being on your crew and off it at the same time.”

Shanks clicks his tongue, and you hear him lean back from that focused slouch. “You’ve never been off the crew!”

“Semantics.” His objections are so easy to wave off when you know he won’t be your captain for much longer. “My point is, shit like the little drama you saw earlier is becoming more common, and now that I have an actual bounty, it will get worse. When I was just someone who may or may not have been attached to the Red Hair Pirates, I could balance respect and disinterest with the locals.”

“Oh?” Fuck the grin you can hear in his voice. “Attached?”

You won’t be distracted. There are things that need to be said, and you’re happy to have this conversation away from the rest of the crew.

“Captain, I’m being serious. No one showboated for more than a week when I’d settle someplace new, and they were much less concerned with hiding anything underhanded. I could do my job the way I’m supposed to. But now…” The trunk claps shut. You turn the lock. “The situation has changed, so the process should change, too.”

“I’m listening.”

Finished with your work, you angle yourself around, sitting cross-legged on the filthy floor. “I think it’s time I distanced myself.”

You can watch his reaction this time. How he reels back, brow furrowed like you’d just called him ugly.

“What?”

You’ve had a lot of time to think over the past year, and while it’s a complex problem, you’re good at solving those. “I’d still work for you, but I’d train anyone you chose to do a better job with the books on the Red Force, and I could sink into the shadows, build a web of contacts and make myself less obvious. It would be smart to –”

“No.”

He isn’t being rational. And he isn’t being fair. You don’t know how long you can pretend your idea doesn’t sit like a piece of broken glass in your throat, and you have a night of socializing before you can even hope to escape.

“I’m trying to explain I can’t do my job. If Yasopp couldn’t shoot anymore, you’d figure out a different role for him, right? If Roux couldn’t cook. If Beckman couldn’t smoke…”

“Do you want to leave?” His voice is hard, and he’s looking at you so, so seriously.

You can’t help being honest. “No. But it makes sense.”

His restless fingers  tap the hilt of his sword. “No, it doesn’t.”

If he wasn’t so self-possessed, would he have leveled the stable by now? The block? The town?

And why does he care, anyway?

Because he thinks he should. It’s honorable, even it burns you.

“I don’t know what calculations you’re working from, sir, but I’m afraid I have to disagree.” When in doubt, humor works a treat in the world of the Red Hair Pirates. It’s a free pass everyone recognizes. It keeps people sane and keeps drama at a minimum. But Shanks won’t accept your white flag.

“If you can’t do your job like before, fine. But you’re trying to pull away. Why?”

The same reason you left me to fend for myself for a year.

“Because it’s the smart thing to do, and you know it.”

He laughs, but it doesn’t sound friendly. It’s dark, mocking. “Nothing smart about losing a talented crewmate to a case of ennui.”

Your nostrils flare and your spine goes rigid. “Excuse me?”

“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you,” he says. “But first, I want you to tell us both the truth. Just one more time. I’ll even get you liquored up with Beck if you want.”

“Don’t be an ass, Shanks.” You’re on your feet, hissing. He isn’t getting his way, whatever the fuck that is, and he’s lost all pretense of kindness. “I don’t need to humiliate myself twice. And you clearly know what I’m talking about.”

“Eh? Do I? You’re the clever one with your numbers. How about you explain it to me again?”

No. You can’t look him in the eye any longer. You stomp to the window, crossing your arms and scowling at the latest view you’ve hated for being dry, and still, and so much less than the open ocean.

It’s so quiet, you swear you can hear the spiders repairing their webs. Shanks lets it sit, and you know neither of you will leave this loft until he’s finished raking you over the coals for not making the system work the way he wants it to.

Fine. It can’t hurt more than it already does.

“I care about you.” You tell the street. The sun. The tailor shop and restaurant across the avenue. Everyone but Shanks. “Much more than a crewmember should care for their captain, and that always leads to trouble.”

“Care?” He’s crept close, and the question ruffles your hair. “Not the word I remember.”

You tear away from his space, ducking around his left side so he’ll have to work harder to grab you if he insists on being a bully.

“Fuck off. I get it, Shanks.” From a safe distance away, you face him. He wants the truth, so you’ll drown him in it. Let him see your fear and frustration so he’ll understand. “I’m not some starry-eyed civilian you have to entertain so it doesn’t hurt when you leave. I’ve watched the Red Force sail away dozens of times. I’ll live. My plan will work, I just need some den den mushi, and –”

“I’m not trying to leave you.”

You freeze. Hold his gaze. He’s looking at you like the shitty loft doesn’t exist, like he sees the plot of your life differently and is trying to explain the center of a foreign universe.

It’s soft. Nonsensically sad.

With a sigh, he looks at the floor, scoops your trunk under his arm, and heads for the door.

“Even if you don’t need a drink, I want to see how good the sake is around here.”

[ckret2]

Would Mabel being the reincarnation of Bill cause a rift between her and her family? I imagine that even though they know that Mabel and Bill are two different people it'd be kinda hard to get over the fact they ARE fundamentally the same being,especially for Ford.

Now, that's the problem. They AREN'T two different people. That's the whole point of this specific AU's take on reincarnation. It's not "Mabel happens to now possess the soul that was formerly used by some other guy" but rather "this is that guy after working on himself for thirteen years, she just didn't remember it until now."

"We know you're two different people" is the kind of thing her family might say to be reassuring. But in her ears it'd be like if she's on trial for murder and her family says "We love you because we know you're innocent," when actually she did totally commit that murder, and it was premeditated, and she didn't even have a sympathetic motive. Like it's nice of you guys to say that and I know you mean well, but if you only love me because you think I didn't do anything wrong, would you still love me if you understood the truth?

The biggest rift is on Mabel's end. She's holding back from letting them find out for as long as possible. It's not coming out until they put together the evidence themselves or she has a breakdown and confesses while in tears. And, naturally, when she's trying to keep that big a secret from them, she's gonna be withdrawn.

Like, there's a very high probability that Gideon finds out before any of the Pines do, that's how hard she's trying to keep it from her family.

When they DO start finding out?

Dipper's known Mabel almost fourteen years; he knew Bill two months. He's gonna get over it the fastest.

He's cracking annoying brother jokes before you know it. "I mean—you didn't manage to kill me in the womb, I don't think you're gonna do it now." "I forgive you for the sock puppet thing but now I REALLY wish I'd done more dumb stuff in your body while we were body swapped. As pre-revenge."

If anything, ultimately this turns out to be GREAT news for Dipper. He spent all last summer being pissed off that Bill had all the secrets of the universe and just wouldn't share them, to be a dick. WELL GUESS WHAT. NOW THEY'RE SHARING A BEDROOM. He's keeping her up until 3 a.m. asking about every conspiracy theory in history until Mabel lies "sorry, my memory of that one hasn't come back yet. Maybe my memories would return faster if I could GET SOME SLEEP..."

Stan's known Mabel off and on for fourteen years, and has gotten to know her really well over the past year; he knew Bill for—lemme check how long his death scene is—under two minutes.

Try to tell Stan that Mabel's Bill and his first reaction is "WELL THAT'S STUPID AND I DON'T BELIEVE IT." "But she can set fires with her brain." "Sometimes teenage girls do that! I saw it in a horror movie!" He's gonna process the news about the same way he'd process it if Mabel told him that she's some gender he's never heard of before: he's confused and too damn old to understand this complicated identity stuff, but he loves her even if he only understands half of what's going on, and he'll punch anybody who looks at her funny because of it.

Ford's only known Mabel since last summer; he's known Bill over 32 years.

This AU ain't a fic, so there's not a single set plotline, just a whole bunch of ideas that may or may not actually happen if I were ever to turn it into a story; and because of that there's a lot of ways things could go down with Ford, on a wild scale from hilarious to heartwarming to tragic, depending on what I think is interesting on any given day. But in many potential timelines, the first and most pressing question Ford's facing isn't "can I still love Mabel even if she was—is—Bill?"

It's "How do I kill Bill again?"

Because he knows Mabel the least and knows Bill the best, he has the best odds of looking past what everyone else sees as "haha that's just Mabel being Mabel!" and going "that's Bill fucking Cipher"; and because he hates Bill the most, he's the absolute last person Mabel would voluntarily tell about her exciting new personal discovery—meaning that he just has to draw his own conclusions. If he sees Bill looking at him through this little girl's eyes and clearly trying to convince Ford that he's not Bill he's gonna assume Bill's back from the dead and possessing his niece.

If Ford finds out, Mabel's not just afraid he won't love her anymore; she's also afraid he'll want her dead. If anything, him thinking she's possessed would be a good thing, because it'll buy her a little time while he's looking for a way to "extract" Bill to "save" Mabel, whereas if he knows the truth he'll know there's no Mabel to save.

Worst case scenario, she fears that, if he finds out, she's dead as soon as he can get his hands on her—unless she can find a way to defend herself.

Of course, this is Gravity Falls, where the power of love & family always wins, so in reality if he found out no that IS Mabel it'd stay his hand while he tries to figure out what's going on. His hatred for Bill is weaker than his love for his family. But she doesn't know that.

After all, Mabel's known Ford for 32 years, and for 30 of them he was on a suicidal vengeance quest to kill her; he's only been her grunkle since last summer.