#considering the weight of her unhealthy feelings for him and all

[deus-ex-mona]

the best part of the kawaikute gomen manga was when she said “IT’S KAWAIKUTE GOMEN TIME” and kawaikute gomen-ed all those guys

[whisperingdaze]

❝ I WAS ALL OVER HER ❞

⛧𓂃 dean winchester x fem!reader

989 words ノ fluff

summary ⨾ a look into how dean winchester sees you .

dean winchester who has had to fight his whole life— whether its monsters, ghosts, demons, angels and even humans. he’s always been drawn to people who can hold their own and that’s why he’s drawn to you. he admires your strength and the way you handle the crazy, unpredictable supernatural world he lives in. even if you’re fighting alongside him in a hunt or just managing the chaos of his life, he loves how you stay grounded even if everything around you is terrible.

he loves how you stand up to him when he’s being stubborn or when his protective instincts kick in too hard. it’s not about you always being tough, but the way you push back when you need to, showing him you’re not afraid to challenge his methods and ways and to make him see from your perspective, a different perspective.

dean winchester who puts up walls around himself, guarding him from being hurt again. his vulnerabilities stay hidden behind snark remarks, sarcastic comments, and the tough-guy bravado. but you, your the one who can see right past all that even from the first moment you met him. you see all the layers that makes up dean; soldier of heaven, messenger of god, the true vessel of michael. you see the broken pieces of him, the things he doesn’t know how to express, the flaws that make him. that’s what he loves about you. you accept him and you never try to change or fix him. you get him.

he feels a sense of relief when he’s with you, he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not. you let him be himself, the real and true him, without any judgment and just love, and that’s something he doesn’t usually get from a lot of people. he lets himself be vulnerable with you, knowing you always listen to him even if he’s silent and pushing you away. you’re the one who makes him feel like he doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders all the time.

dean winchester who isn’t used to people sticking around. he’s seen friends and family come and go, from his mother to his father, and even seeing his brother die. sometimes, it makes him feel that he’s destined to be alone in this cruel world. but there’s something about you, something that makes him feel whole. your loyalty to him is unwavering, your willingness to stay by his side no matter the danger. he may joke about it, or even brush it off, but deep down, he’s incredibly grateful and knows he’s lucky to have you in his life.

the guilt of everything he’s done in his life weighs him down, threatening to pull him under, like one small slip and he just disappears. you’re the one person who never gave up on him, anchoring him to this world. one thing that he’ll never admit, he loves that your there, consistently, through everything.

dean winchester whose life is full of mayhem— there’s the blood, the constant hunts and of course, the constant threat of death. and he’s been in it for so long that it’s hard for him to imagine a normal life. you make him feel like there’s something worth living outside of the hunts and saving the world. when he’s with you, everything is different. he can imagine eventually settling down, having children, getting married and all the things normal couples do. whether you’re sharing a meal together in some diner, or settling into some worn out bed in a dingy motel room, you’re his escape from the madness.

dean winchester who isn’t always the best at communicating and even worse at opening up. but you, your someone who challenges him to be better, to think outside his old patters, to overcome unhealthy habits, and to consider things he might not have before. it varies from, pushing him to take a break when he’s running on fumes or it’s encouraging him to heal from his past wounds. you know how to get through to him in a way that no one else can. he respects the fact you call him out on all his crap when its necessary but you also understand when to let him come around on his own.

dean loves the fact you aren’t afraid to stand your ground, especially when it comes to him. he knows he can be a stubborn pain, but you can hold your own against him while still showing him care, even when you don’t agree with him.

dean winchester who has a tough, no-nonsense exterior. he knows the world can be messed up and pretty dark, and it’s rare for him to find someone who holds onto their sense of empathy. he loves how you care about people, how your heart hasn’t hardened by the world’s cruelty. you’ve got a natural way of bringing light into his life without trying, and that’s something he never thought he would find.

in a word full of demons and monsters, he appreciates that you haven’t lost sight of what matters the most; kindness, love and loyalty. you make him remember that there’s still good in this world, and that’s what he clings onto.

dean winchester is a guy who doesn’t always take life seriously, he uses humour as his armour sometimes. and he loves your sense of your humour too, you get his jokes and sometimes you can even one-up him with your own quick wit. he loves the way you can make him laugh, even when he has been to hell and back. this sets you apart from anyone else in his life.

the laughter you two share together, is something dean holds onto. it’s those moments when he truly feels alive. he isn’t just a hunter, or just a survivor— but a guy who is trying to enjoy his life with you. the love of his life.

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.4 | END)

W/C 7.2k #NSFW, male!reader, top!reader, bottom!sukuna, ABO elements, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, unhealthy relationships, questionable relationships, power imbalance, ABO elements, gojo/megumi/yuuji/nobara cameos, yuuji/megu/nobara are early 20s, sukuna is controlling/possessive/obsessive, rough sex, not edited enough (oh well) Note: It's finally over (dies like Noctis)

tags: @kamote-kuneho @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

“Google says kitsune are usually attuned to one of the thirteen elements,” Nobara prattled, scrolling through the random Japanese mythology website on her phone. “Itadori, what's his element, huh?” 

Yuuji pursed his lips, face growing deadpan as he thought and quickly realized he had no clue.

“Uh…” 

Nobara grimaced. “Useless.” 

“Hey, I didn't know they were all, y'know, elemental-y, okay?! Jeeze!” 

Megumi sighed and shook his head. “We're supposed to be keeping an eye on him, not arguing about garbage you found online.” 

The two country bumpkins followed Megumi's gaze to where you snoozed under a tree. It felt a little strange seeing you donned in one of college's spare uniforms, but you seemed quite pleased by the modern take on fashion and aesthetic. Yuuji wondered if you'd take to modifying the plain, black clothes the way you'd done so in the past.

“Oi, kyuubi!” Nobara called as she wandered in your direction, much to the chagrin of Megumi. “I got a question for ya.”

You spared her a sleepy glance before sitting up and stretching with a wide, toothy yawn. It almost took the three aback, seeing how sharp and distinctly not-human your teeth were.

“You and everyone else, evidently.” You hummed and combed your tail with your fingers. “Speak.”

“Is it true that your kind are, like, elemental or something?” 

Megumi sighed as he rolled up beside her. “She means to ask if kitsune are elementally-attuned, whether it be to fire, water, earth–that sort of thing.” 

“I literally just said that!” Nobara hissed as she smacked Megumi's arm. The raven didn't react in the slightest. 

“Yeah!” Yuuji piped up. His face grew red as soon as your lazy stare flicked to him. “I-I, uh–like, y'know, fire. Or…you talked about fire?” 

“You are so tactless. It's starting to get sad.” 

“Can it, Kugisaki!” 

You smiled. “It's true, more or less. I was taught my sort usually falls into one of the thirteen elements: celestial, wind, spirit, darkness, fire, earth, river, ocean, forest, mountain, thunder, sound, and time.

“Then, there are the broadly ‘bad’ sort, nogitsune, and the ‘good’ sort, zenko. Most say only zenko reach total divinity, but that's not always the case.” 

“Yikes, so the bad kitsune can be gods too?” Yuuji asked as he sat down with you and pulled at the grass idly. “Isn't that, y'know, bad?”

“Gods are all inherently bad, as far as I'm concerned,” you said.

“Gojo-sensei mentioned you were one,” Megumi offered as he and Nobara sat, too. “A god. The people revered you.” 

You snorted and covered your mouth the way you might have if you had the long sleeves of a kimono to aid you.

“They didn't mind me. I don't think they particularly liked me, considering what company I kept.” You hummed and straightened out your sleeve. 

“Yeah, but…you're not him, so what's the point in hating you?” Yuuji asked, and you couldn't help but feel more weight and worry behind the words. 

“I don't care what they thought of me. I only cared about what the palace residents thought. They were my family, in a sense.” 

“Even Sukuna?” Megumi asked. 

“That's such a stupid question, oh my god. Boys are so stupid,” Nobara said with a deadpan.

You smiled, though, and kindly still answered. 

“Especially Sukuna.” 

“Hey, hey! Sorry for the wait!” Gojo called across the field as he made a show of sauntering on over before teleporting in the blink of an eye. “So? Are we all–oooh, are we gossiping?”

“What, no?!”

“No.”

“No.” 

Gojo pouted. “My students always leave me out. Thankfully, my sweet, pious, precious (Name) is nice to me!”

“You're late, Satoru,” you sighed as you stood, tying back your chopped hair into the tiniest of ponytails. “What is the reason?”

Gojo whined and trotted up to you, rubbing and petting your ears to bring you back to his side of the issue.

“It's not my fault! All the higher-ups are sooo annoying and yap sooo much!” He shuffled behind you and played with your three lush tails much like a toddler would. “Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy that's not gonna get mad at the Gojo Satoru?” 

You sighed and flicked your ear, thwacking him in the forehead with it. “Let's not waste any more time, cretin.

“What're we even doing, Sensei?” Yuuji asked, rubbing the back of his head after raising his hand like he was in class. “You didn't really tell us anythin’.” 

“Yeah, I thought we were just watching the fox until he had to go back in his cage,” Nobara said, arms crossed and expression sour. “Seems kinda stupid. He's not even a threat.” But Yuuji knew there was little truth to that statement.

“I'm guessing the meeting was about relocating (Name).” Megumi looked at Gojo. “So what's the plan?” 

–

The five of you walked endlessly through the vast forest surrounding the college. Your gaze traveled up sky-scraping trees, admiring the ancient song of life only you could hear through the soil and air. Wind danced across the verdant canopy above, scattering beams of molten sunlight across the forest floor and dappling the shoulders of the sorcerers before you with golden kisses–a sight you so sorely missed from your tenure at the palace. 

The land was not crying here. You'd heard the distant sound from the concrete jungle resting far below the rise of the college, and it shrouded you with jaded confusion and contempt for what had been done to the world in your stead; if you'd been smarter, wiser to the plans of one, could you have prevented this? Or were humans simply inevitable with their evolution? Perhaps it was up to the Earth to find the yang after the yin.

“Okay, this is it!” Gojo called, snapping you from your rampant thoughts. 

You looked to where he gestured, and found a simple building. It was reminiscent of the college in its design–modern, but clearly inspired by traditional architecture–and it looked fairly new. A bell attached to a rope stood at the forefront, as did a well for mortals to throw their offerings before ringing the aforementioned chime. Beyond that, the shrine lacked character and decoration. It was a clean slate. 

You blinked owlishly, and tilted your head. “This is…?”

“A shrine! For our new on-campus god! How fun is that, huh?” Gojo smiled, proud for a reason you couldn't decipher. “You get to make it home!” 

The younger three all deadpanned, looking between each other, trying to parse if their teacher was delusional or just being a menace to society and doing this behind the council’s back. Honestly, it was up in the air. 

“I–is that even–” Megumi tried, but gave up and rubbed his face instead. 

“So…(Name)’s gonna be, like, our resident god, or something?” Yuuji wondered, feeling his heart pitter patter just a little faster. 

“Haha! Sure, if you want to think of it that way.” Gojo smiled and looked toward the blank canvas of a shrine. “In exchange for divine favour, we grant sanctuary. Home. A place to call your own.” 

You didn't say much, but your tails swished and flowed as you stared at the humble abode–your humble abode–and inhaled shakily. 

“I suppose this will do,” you conceded, still too unwilling to give Gojo the satisfaction of knowing he'd touched your heart. “It's a bit stingy, however.”

“STINGY?” 

“Indeed. Now, begone–I have work to do.” 

– 

Sukuna reached for you when he dreamed. He didn't need to sleep, he had no use for it as he was now, but he convinced himself into the realm of the unconscious regardless, searching for the doorway leading to your mind. 

And he tried night after night, day after day, searching and sitting outside the palace of your inner realm once he found the entrance. The door was the same as the one leading to your chambers in your shared home; a simple, sliding door of wood and paper. Beautiful. Comforting. 

He knew the door wouldn't open for him, not yet; he deduced what may have happened, and what that would have meant for you all and himself as a result. He'd have to be patient. Wait for you to let him in to confront him, or seek his comfort. 

But he didn't expect the door to open so suddenly behind him, sending him rolling onto his back and staring upside down at the most magnificent sight he'd ever beheld–a kyuubi, sitting poised across the room, dressed in a haori several sizes too big, waiting with his back turned as candlelight flickered and lulled the room into a lazy, sleepy haze.

Sukuna righted himself and stood, spirit flailing and tearing itself apart in his uncontrollable want for you, for a desire to return back to the simplicity of this time. But he couldn't go back. Maybe he could recreate it. 

“Fox,” Sukuna murmured, excitement igniting the small, human body he'd been forced to mold his soul into. It felt so much worse in this form, his want being so much more fucking unbearable and burning a hole in his damn chest and skull. 

You shifted, head turning the slightest toward him yet refusing to give way entirely. But, then you stood, and Sukuna suddenly understood how you felt in the presence of his overwhelming power. 

You stood tall. Proud. Powerful. Your ears pointed towards the heavens while your tails fanned against the gates of hell when you turned to face that lover of the past, the one you held so dear for decades. 

Sukuna almost felt weak in the knees (or was that somehow Yuuji interrupting his delusions?) when bright red markings caught the light, shimmering in divine sparks of orange and teal in the firelight–and your eyes. Your eyes. They burned with higher purpose. With unreadable certainty and alien understanding. You made Sukuna's gut coil with need. 

“My Sukuna,” you whispered to the room. You took a step forward, and Sukuna eagerly met you the rest of the way. “You look so…small.” 

He looked up at you–yes, up--and admired your face and godly stature and just how fucking tall and unearthly and powerful you were looming over him. 

“Stuck looking like this fucking runt while I'm in his body,” Sukuna explained bitterly. He reached a hand up while he spoke, and you graciously leaned down to let his skin touch yours. 

An ache curled under Sukuna's skin, flushing his complexion with heat and suffocating him in those unbearable sorcerer uniform garbs. His pants strained too tight, his jacket and hoodie made his core swelter and his mind grow fuzzy. It was torture. 

“He looks so much like you,” you drawled, holding Sukuna's face in kind. You hummed with sympathy when he moaned and leaned into your touch, only abandoning his own rediscovery of your features to hold your palms against him, to indulge in everything so wholly you. 

“Forgot what I look like, huh,” Sukuna huffed. “This brat looks like a beaten monkey.” 

“So did you.”

“Hey.” 

“But I adored you anyway, did I not?” 

Sukuna scanned over your face slowly, methodically, wondering. 

“Adore. You mean ‘adore’.” 

“Perhaps.” You smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone. “It's been some time.” 

“You chose me. You belong to me.” Sukuna's lip curled as he growled and forced your hands into his skin firmer as though to leave scars. “Mine. Only mine.” 

Your lips quirked upwards and Sukuna pulled you down to kiss you. His voice reverberated between your linked bodies as your tongue licked into his mouth far enough to nearly make him choke. You kindly pulled him flush against you, wrenching more pleased, needy noises out of him with no effort at all. 

“You're as starved as Yuuji,” you whispered as his hands fumbled with your ornate clothes, yanking and pulling at them with reckless abandon. 

“Shut up.” His grumbling lessened just a bit when you eased your robes open, exposing your perfect skin to him once again. 

“I believe it'd displease you if I stopped talking, no?” You tore the clothing off the other's body as he pulled you down to the floor with him, suddenly so eager to submit. 

Sukuna scoffed. “I–just touch me, fox.” 

It was your turn to purr and keen, basking in the soft tremble of anticipation the all-powerful choked on as he spread himself bare beneath you, your garbs cascading all around him like a waterfall–only you would get to see him, chest heaving, eyes swirling with lust and need, hidden behind a curtain of embroidered flames.

“Poor thing.” You dug your nails into his hips and dragged him toward you, prodding your aching length against his unprepared heat. “You've been so long without touch. Without love. Do you still think it's meaningless?” 

The curse snarled, and you caught him by the throat, pinning him in place and jamming your other hand's fingers down his throat before he could bark back at you. And just that simple torture had the king's hips twitching and bucking, slowly falling into time with the rhythm of your digits slipping in and out of his bratty mouth. 

“F-fuck you,” he gasped once his mouth fell empty. 

You chuckled smoothly. “It's simply food for thought.” You pressed two fingers into him and worked inside with ease despite the crushing heat clamping down around you. You didn't know if his sweet, little body wanted you to stay put or fill him faster. 

“Fuckin'--annoying, shithead, bratty fox–” he cut off with a ragged moan as you pressed against his prostate and rubbed against it slowly, firmly, deliciously. His eyes fell shut and his brows twitched up, a vivid look of desperation and concentration making him look far too vulnerable and breedable for his own good. 

“It's strange,” you hummed, working him a little faster and jamming your fingers against his sweet spot over and over. “I never thought you'd willingly submit.” 

“I need it,” Sukuna growled, fisting his hand around his weeping length and stroking to the beat of your fingers. His hips bucked forward and back, unsure of what searing pleasure to lean into more; luckily for him, you were keen to up the ante. 

Your fingers slipped out and Sukuna snarled, crimson eyes snapping open to brand you with frustration. You felt the whip of desperate commands about to crack off Sukuna's tongue, so you wasted no time filling him back up, stuffing him beyond his limits. 

The man almost gasped, though it could have just been the force of your cock punching the air out of his lungs. You pulled him against you, seating him to the base with a little effort and brute force. You knew he liked the pain. Pleasure was closely acquainted with it, after all. 

“This is what you wanted,” you murmured as you rocked into him. 

The curse didn't know if you beckoned an answer from him, or simply stated the facts. So, he didn't answer you. He instead gripped onto your shoulders to keep himself steady while you effortlessly drilled into his core with each and every thoughtful roll of your hips. 

And it felt good. An uncomfortable, searing stretch accompanied the deep plunges filling him beat after beat. His body tightened and clamped down around you, forcing your length to rub against the weakest, most sensitive spots inside of him–places no one would ever dream of hitting inside the unruly king. None besides you, of course. You were different. Better than the rest. Fit to fuck and fill him if Sukuna so desired it. 

“(Name),” he groaned when you changed up the angle, aiming to rub up against the ceiling of his insides with every thrust. You tortured his weak spot, and made a casual show of forcing his stomach to bulge and distend whenever you bottomed out entirely, and Sukuna reveled in it. He wanted to be yours. Just yours. 

“You're so sweet when you submit,” you cooed, leaning down and nuzzling against his neck as you fucked into him harder and faster. “You should have done so sooner.”

Sukuna should have clapped Back, but he couldn't; he was too busy trying to angle himself to somehow get you deeper. He was too busy trying to pull you closer, to graft his thick thighs to your scar-riddled sides like a branch on a tree. He couldn't spare a single braincell on your arrogant Teasing when all he could think was, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me–

“Now he's lost his voice,” you sighed. “Such a pity.” Your hips hit particularly hard to punctuate, and Sukuna grunted. 

“Again,” he choked out. “Fuck me like that.” 

You branded a smile into his skin with a hum. “Are you sure? I won't stop if it's too much.” 

Sukuna opened his bleary eyes and spied your nine tails fanned out, cloaking the ceiling from sight. It felt like staring death in the face. Maybe he'd been in its clutches this entire time. Maybe he wanted–needed–you to be the end of him.

Your hand found his throat again, and Sukuna nodded as best he could, too overwhelmed and overstimulated to get words out of his open mouth–but grunts and groans had no issue bursting through as you left mercy by the wayside and destroyed him as thoroughly as he requested. You were, after all, a selfless god.

Sukuna's eyes rolled back as his head tilted in kind, mouth left agape as you burned him alive; every push of your body into his lit new fires, and every second you stayed connected, more of his soul exhausted itself before rising from ashes once again. The tightness coiling in his stomach grew unbearable and insatiable, hungering for more and more and more until–

“There's no shame in coming undone,” you cooed, your lips and fangs replacing the hand in his throat and peppering apologetic kisses. “Unravel for me, my love.” 

My love. My love. My love.

“Fuck,” Sukuna gasped. He clung to you, and you raised your head to kiss him, swallowing his strained noises to keep them a secret from the outside world and himself. 

He grabbed at your shoulders and arms as his head tilted back and a hoarse cry left him–just as his body clamped down and sent him over the edge, he realized pushing in and out had become more taxing. Perhaps because of his cumming, or perhaps because of the ungodly thing swelling at your base and ripping him open. 

You worked him through his high, never thinking of pulling away from him when he needed you most. Because this was bound to end. He was bound to wake up and feel cold where your hands now touched. He was stuck in the body of another with no hope of reaching you unless he somehow, some way turned the tables on all those weak sorcerers and broke free. 

But he would. He'd claim his vessel and walk amongst the new world, autonomous and untouchable. It was only a matter of time. 

–

Though Sukuna was selfish in chasing his own pleasure, he soon found immense satisfaction in yours.

The number of times he'd trap you against a wall and finger you until your legs gave out and your voice ran hoarse was too great to count. He couldn't help himself; that bewildered, wide-eyed look you gave him every time you were let go to fix your robes and catch your voice screamed, what was that for? And boosted Sukuna’s ego. He reveled in the glory of being the only one to do this to you, to being the one who forced you to lose composure. 

In his chamber, he indulged further. He'd work thick fingers deep inside of you while his other hands roamed and touched, stroking, pinching and rubbing wherever he deemed needed attention. And you were putty in his hands, absolutely melting into everything he did to you, even if accompanied by a shock of pain. 

Because you were a creature who only knew sex for the sake of bearing children. Beyond that clan using you in an attempt to create half-breed sorcerers, your primal nature influenced you to only seek out a mate for the purpose of bearing children, and not necessarily for pleasure. 

But Sukuna was the opposite. He never thought of siring children. He only thought of pleasure of another's body and the thrill of total domination over them, never the idea he'd suffer the consequences of an heir; he had those women drink a special tea to prevent that for a reason, especially when a handful had come to him, offering their bodies in return for fame and perceived power. 

With you, he could entertain the idea, however. 

Yes, the mere idea of watching you walk around the gardens, properly swollen with his children, with physical proof of his ownership and coupling with you, sparked something akin to greed in his chest. Though it was a little warmer than just that, admittedly.

–

Yuuji liked you. There was no escaping it, no denying it–he liked being around you. He liked your smile. Your tails. Your ears. The way you scared the shit out of him the first time you properly met. You were just…weird. Interesting. Kind of like Yuuji himself. 

But you were kind, too. The times he wandered out to meet you at your shrine to “check up on things,” or because he was bored, he always found you tending to your gardens, talking to the passerby wildlife, dozing at the entrance, and his heart would do something funny in his chest. 

Then his mind would rot until all he could see was you sprawled beneath Sukuna, singing the king’s praises while he fucked you into the tatami and bred you. 

It wouldn't stop there. Sukuna would taunt him, poisoning him with sinful thoughts and diabolic urges:

You think that fox'll give you the time of day? You, a petulant runt with not a shred of experience beyond your hand? Hah. 

Consider it a blessing--you'd probably cum too fast to enjoy him properly. You'd embarrass yourself to death.

I know you think about him when your hand's around your cock. You wish he'd warm it, no? Wish you got to watch his ass take you in? 

Go on, why don't you just try? Fulfill your fantasies! Maybe he'll act the part of a pious, pitying god and throw you a bone. 

Yuuji, for as airheaded as he could be, knew Sukuna wanted to indulge in you through his vessel. Or, he truly believed Yuuji wouldn't be able to hook up with you and live to remember it. Maybe he was right. 

But the young man thought you had a soft spot for him; he wasn't great at reading people by any means, but he thought you always gravitated to him before the others. You always held more warmth in your eyes when they fell upon him, and your preening touch constantly found him, your hands always smoothing out the creases of his uniform while deft fingers fixed his hair and pleated his hood into more attractive folds. 

Maybe your touchy-ness toward him was a culmination of your need to parent something. Yuuji didn't fully understand it, but Gojo mentioned something about you wanting children, but you couldn't have them. Not anymore. And so those urges manifested in other ways. 

But the young sorcerer wasn't so sure anymore.

“My Yuuji,” you cooed when he came to visit. “You're back again so soon. Is everything alright?”

Yuuji smiled and braced for impact, bowing his head the slightest bit to let you bonk yours against his in greeting. It really reminded him of the way cats would welcome each other. Thankfully, you didn't seem too eager to mark him with a dose of spittle, though. 

“Yeah, everything's cool. Just–dunno. Wanted to come see what you were doing, I guess.” The sorcerer shrugged and pocketed his hands after you'd finished lovingly headbutting him.

“Mmh. Well, I certainly don't mind the company.” You smoothed back his hair and fixed the wild flare of one of his eyebrows before stepping away and meandering back towards your shrine. “It feels like something's going to happen soon.”

Yuuji's stomach flipped. “Yeah? You think so?” He followed you, watching the hypnotic swaying of your tails and hips and ass–wait, wait, wait, no, no, no–

What? Am I wrong? Sukuna's voice purred. Looks downright breedable, doesn't he? He said it more like a want than a taunt, this time, like if he were in Yuuji's shoes, he'd jump on you and pick up where you left off. 

Shut up, shut up, shut up, Yuuji chanted, trying to calm down. Don't ruin this!

Ruin what? Your sad attempt at courtship, brat? 

Yuuji said nothing. Sukuna howled with laughter. 

“Natural disasters cannot always be predicted,” you murmured, bringing Yuuji back to the present. “And they can never be stopped.”

The younger frowned and rubbed the back of his neck as he followed you inside. “Eh, I mean…we can stop a lot with sorcery, can't we?”

“And if that disaster is born of sorcery? What then?” You snapped your fingers, and every candle in the room ignited with amber flame.

“Uh…I mean…” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I still think we can stop it. We'll figure out a way!”

You sure about that, brat? 

You laughed, soft and kind, bringing a smile to Yuuji instead of a ticked off frown. You had a way of settling his nerves and relieving the tension from tightly wound muscles. Is this the effect you had on Sukuna? Is that why he cherished you so much? 

“I admire your optimism, Yuuji. Perhaps I should aspire to be like you,” you said. 

Yuuji's face flushed. “E-eh? Wh–no! You're awesome the way you are! And, uh, you're–y’know. You're good!” Smooth. Eloquent. Exceptional.

You hummed and wandered further into the back rooms, allowing Yuuji to follow you to your chambers to relax. “Well, I'll trust your opinion, then.” 

“Okay. Yeah. Cool.” The sorcerer cleared his throat and messed with his hood as he followed your lead, admiring the tidy, comfy space you welcomed him into. Pillows and blankets were plentiful and all bunched together on a futon, so much like the nests Yuuji often saw in his dreams. It felt a bit…intrusive to see it in person. 

“Hey, uh,” Yuuji started, “I–can I ask something?” 

You seated yourself down across the small, simple kotatsu, and gestured for the younger to join you. “Of course.”

The sorcerer sat down across from you. “You and Sukuna. Were you guys–did you ever…y'know.” 

You tilted your head, curious. “Go on.”

“Were you, like, in love? Or something?” Yuuji's face burned red at the words. Talking about love was so damn awkward for some reason, especially when it had to do with Sukuna and the fox Yuuji himself pined for.

“Ah.” You tilted your head the opposite direction, and hummed. “I was in love, yes.”

Yuuji's chest ached. “Even now?” 

“Eternally.” 

“Do you want him back?” 

You didn't answer right away, and the festering pain spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers; of course you wanted him back. Of course you wanted your ancient, all-powerful lover back. Why would you ever accept Yuuji in his place? A weak, mortal being?

Before Yuuji could retract the question, you'd shuffled around to his side of the table and held one of his hands in both of yours. The younger couldn't bear to look at your face, and so kept his eyes trained on your elegant fingers smoothing over his rough, scarred knuckles. 

“I would not trade a soul that walks amongst the living for a soul that has already lived its life,” you said. “Sukuna has lived. And he has died. He may rise once more, but I do not seek to aid it; he chose to die in hopes of living forever. He must accept what his decision brings, as must I.” 

The storm inside of the sorcerer calmed the slightest bit. Sails no longer whipped and frayed; they caught wind and led his heart back to placid waters, though the depths of the oceans could always threaten future treachery. For now, however, Yuuji found safety.

“Man, you really are like Yoda,” He laughed, filling the room with renewed brightness.

You blinked owlishly. “Yoda? What that is, I do not know.” 

Yuuji laughed harder and clasped his hands around yours. “Nah, don't worry about it. It's a good thing, though. From one of the movies Gojo-sensei made me watch.”

“I would strongly advise against taking lessons from that man, Yuuji.” Your brow creased as your hands clutched his in a death grip. “He’s not normal.”

Yuuji grinned, then, and held your hands just as tightly. “Yeah, he's weird. But he's smart, too! One of the strongest guys alive, y'know?” 

“Even the strongest can make mistakes,” you said. “Even the strongest can lose, Yuuji. Always be careful, even if victory is assured.” Your careful touch graced the curve of his cheek. “I would hate for your visits to stop.”

The sorcerer's heart beat in double-time. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

–

The leaves crinkled and rustled, flashing shades of amber and ruby in the dwindling daylight. Gone was the warmth of Summer's smile; now, the cold, fierce nip of Autumn cut through the air, whispering secrets about the first frost and what it would do to devastate the green around you.

But you were a god. A creature of fertility and good luck. And so, the grass did not die, and the forest did not wither under the coming winter's threats. 

It seemed your gifts could not reach into the depths of your soul, however. Perhaps you weren't to indulge in the privilege of what you brought the world--the mortal things around you could make use of a blessing from the divine, but could the divine themselves? Could you bring yourself a remedy to your loneliness the way you brought life unto the ground beneath your feet? 

You didn't know.

–

The end of October came, and the world trembled with the force of thousands of lives ending in misery and terror. You beheld it from your home, the sight of the clouds turning orange and red as hellfire devoured all. 

Bless me ‘n wish me luck! Gojo had said last time he swung by. Definitely don't need it, but you're my favourite cheerleader, y'know?

That was not too long ago, perhaps a day prior. Maybe it'd only been twelve hours ago since you last saw him. Three hours ago since you last felt his celestial presence upon the earth. 

“I would hate for your visits to stop,” you murmured, and your chest froze with the cold. 

–

Winter brought with it snow and darkness. Kuraokami had his ways of slipping his icy presence through the slivered cracks of wood grain no matter the time or place; the great dragon would be heard and seen if it was his final act upon the earth. 

Not even you could keep him out, the lesser deity you were. But you didn't mind the company; the cold breaths against your skin woke you from nightmares and empty blankness when you dozed and dazed, feeling the days slip by and blur together into one grey smear of solitary existence. 

Something had happened. Ever since the sky lit ablaze in a familiar scene of ungodly strength, you felt a shift in the state of existence. In your relevance in the grand scheme of the college and history. 

Your sorcerers lost their way to you, you realized. The cushions around the kotatsu stayed fluffed and untouched save for one. Five of the six clay tea cups gathered dust as they waited, hopeful, like you. 

–

You woke to the feeling of hollowness. It jostled you to consciousness, in fact; those two little unborn lives swirled and stirred, clawing at your stomach before vanishing in an instant. 

Maybe they'd grown too sick and weary of the loneliness and snow, too.

–

Sukuna had walked down this path too many times. And too many times he'd been unable to move, unable to claw his way out of the prison of his vessel to get back to you–but things were different now. 

He held a bundle of blankets close as he wandered toward a speck of verdant green amidst the snowy whiteness blanketing the forest, and remembered a distant past he yearned to return to:

Sukuna was a restless creature. He often distracted himself with challenges, duels, leafing through stolen knowledge of other clans–but, on rare occasions, none of that would appeal to his tumultuous mind. 

You always appealed to him, however. You, with your lavish tails, your exquisite appearance, your superior poise and prose, you always enthralled him, made him wonder and stare. 

Maybe it was because you were always doing something. If you weren't tending to his women, you were meandering around the palace, admiring trophies earned in whatever form they came in: art, weapons, bones. If you weren't doing that, you might be in the garden instead, fine-tuning the patterns drawn in the zen garden yourself and feeding the massive koi. If not that, then you might be asking Uraume to teach you to cook, or you could be fiddling with your loom or–well, it could be anything. 

Sometimes, you’d choose to  lay with Sukuna and keep him warm and content throughout the dreary haze of winter. 

You didn't hate winter yourself, no, but Sukuna most definitely did. The snow and ice were a pain in the ass, and they always threw the garden into a messy disarray of dead foliage and slushy mud that'd have to be tended to come springtime. And it was cold as hell outside. Who asked for that? No one. 

“My love,” you cooed as you stepped to his side while he stared out the window. “Glaring won't make the seasons change.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “That a challenge?”

“Not at all.” You reached up and smoothed his hair back, stopping pesky, rebellious strands from tickling his forehead. “I'd hate to see what you'd do in an attempt to play god.”

“I'm already a god,” he countered as he snatched your hand from his hair and looked down at you.

“Not a god of the seasons, I'm afraid.” You held his hand and pulled it down to kiss his knuckles. “But a god amidst men, nonetheless.” 

Your beast hummed deep in his chest. You had a funny way of setting his roiling soul at ease with your effortless praise and acknowledgement. 

“Knew there was a reason I kept you around,” the man purred, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours. 

You leaned up into the soft gesture like a cat too eager to be pet. “You'd be quite bored without me.” 

“No kidding. I'd go fucking mental if I didn't have you to entertain me.” His voice was a murmur, then, and softened even more when your warm hands cupped his cheeks like he was a priceless, fragile artifact: precious, special, breakable.

“Yes, yes, I go insane in your stead, loved one.” You touched your nose to his, then, before placing the softest of kisses upon his lips. 

A light, sighed grumble slipped past Sukuna's lips when your skin left his. It was his turn to nudge his nose against yours, earning himself a petal-like smile from his prized possession, before he blessed you in return, trying to match the kindness you'd met him with. 

You held the front of his garbs as you leaned up into him, and his hands all found their places on your smaller frame in return, pulling you closer, keeping you against him. He hardly wanted anything like this in the past before you came along and tore his mind and soul to pieces before hunkering down in the hollow of his ribs and setting up shop. It was aggravating. Captivating. 

“Come,” you softly beckoned, slipping away from his desperate hold and leading him back to the bundle of blankets and linens he’d learned to accept as a bed.

As always, he had no choice but to follow, abandoning his mad-dogging of the outside world to join you and the infinite warmth his personal Amaterasu brought him. 

“You’re lazy as hell in the winter,” Sukuna noted as he sat himself down in the middle of your nest and let you get to work adjusting blankets and such around the both of you for optimal comfort. 

“You're free to traipse off into the snow if you so wish.” You settled yourself by Sukuna's side and tucked under his heavy arms. “I will remain here. Warm. Dry. At peace.” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes and pulled you close to his side, squeezing a chirped purr from your chest. “Think I'll pass on the snow.” 

You smiled to yourself, feeling warm and content with the settling silence engulfing you as the snow engulfed the world. Winter was the only season where he'd stay by your side, so you often indulged in it, bothering him and sticking to him like a needy pet until spring inevitably rolled around to ruin your happy spell. Because Sukuna was more wild and feral than you. He had to go wander, to go fight. Otherwise, he'd have no purpose. 

Unbeknownst to you, he may have another purpose in mind. 

His hand breached your clothes and reached down, stopping just above your navel to your surprise. There, he drew gentle, thoughtful circles against your skin. You felt pulses of cursed energy flicker and feel, searching for something neither of you yet knew of. 

“What is it you're looking for?” You murmured, knowing full well what he sought.

Sukuna inhaled deeply and exhaled just as heavy. “How long does it take to get one god knocked up, huh?” He tutted and looked down at you, holding an annoyed look while you met him with doey, lovey eyes as you leaned into him more. 

“I'm sure you'll be the man who finds out.”

Sukuna grinned to himself and adjusted the lump of blankets he held. Arrogant pride blossomed in his chest alongside his bolstered ego; if he could do this as a mere man, what could he do as a curse? 

The king sighed as he breached the warmth of the halo surrounding your humble, comfy abode. He was getting sick of the shit weather in the games, all the cold and emptiness. Being near you was what he needed. 

“Oi, don't make a fuss,” Sukuna grumbled lowly to the whining duo he adjusted in his arms. “You wanna get inside or not?” 

But before he could make use of his newly freed arm, the doors slid open before him. 

And you stood there. Tired. Disheveled. Eyes big and hopeful, yet rimmed with disbelief and shock as you stared at your man and the package he brought to your doorstep. 

Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't melt, too. Being here, standing firm and whole and so very real and untethered in the spot other sorcerers stood in their attempt to spirit you away from him–it was the reason for his existence. 

And so was your arms wrapping around him and holding him close. 

“Ho? So you did miss me, huh?” He hummed, looping an arm around you and pressing you closer to him. “Sure didn't act like it earlier.”

“I didn't wish to believe in something that felt untrue,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Even now, you're not…entirely yourself.” 

Sorrow stained the undertones of your voice. Whether it was for the fate of Fushiguro Megumi, or for the state of your lover, Sukuna did not know. 

But he was here. He was tangible. He was in control. Finally. 

“At least I'm here, yeah?” He said. And you nodded. 

You led him inside and into the room filled with comfort and warmth. Works of embroidery lined the once-unremarkable tapestries draping down from the ceilings and walls, and the wooden pillars now boasted intricate carvings in various states of completion. Seemed like you'd gotten quite bored in your wait. 

Sukuna sat with you, being the man to finally make use of the fluffed cushions around the kotatsu as he dragged it to your side to stay close. You needed it. He thirsted for it.

The bundle whined and cooed as soon as Sukuna’s ass hit the cushion, and he sighed. “Think you can take care of this, fox?” He teased, but felt a rush of something overtake him when he caught you with your ears perked, tails swishing, back straight as you stared down at the bundle. 

He eased them into your arms and, with shaking hands, you pulled back the wooly linen to find two perfect little treasures staring up at you with big, red-lined eyes. One held the colour of yours, while the other took responsibility for sporting Sukuna's hues, but both boys’ eyes glimmered with divine flecks of gold and amber. Their hair blushed with the colour of sakura petals, and two, itty bitty tufts of soft onyx ears dotted both of their heads like chocolate chips in strawberry ice cream. 

Two perfect kits. Your perfect kits. 

“You seriously wanted these things?” Sukuna asked, teasing and rude, but softer and warmer than the fire burning in your chest. “Gotta say, they're pretty fucking annoying.”

You swathed your tails around them and purred with the ferocity of an avalanche as you leaned into your partner and doted on the teeny tiny babies he'd somehow brought back to the land of the living. A part of you felt guilty for what this could mean. The rest of you screamed, I don't care. 

“Look at them,” You whispered, tracing the roundness of their cheeks with a gentle touch. “They're beautiful.” 

“Well, lookit who their parents are.” Sukuna chuckled and held you against his side, which you eagerly melted into. “Kenjaku had a plan for them too, turns out. Who woulda thought?”

“You never told me,” you said. “Why did you not tell me?” 

“You would've been pissed,” Sukuna said, voice matter of fact. “Better to just do it and reap the benefits later.”

You looked up at him, and found his gaze locked onto you. “That's quite selfish.”

“I'm a king. I can do whatever I want. I can have whatever I want,” He reminded you. “As soon as I take care of a few pathetic, loose ends, everything'll be in place. Right where it all needs to be. And life goes back to normal." 

Your heart did something funny when you read between the lines. “Must you–”

“Don't question me.” Sukuna grabbed your chin and forced you to look down at your snoozing babes. “You’ll lose this. All of this. You'll be left with nothing all over again if I don’t finish this off. That what you want, fox?” 

“You know the answer,” you murmured, too content to let him guide you and sway your reason. He tugged your chin toward him, forcing you to look his way again.

“Tell me anyway.” Tell me what I want to hear.

How could you refuse? 

“No matter the case," you murmured, soft as forgotten winter snow, "you will always have my favour, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

–

Forever to be loved, herein lays a God's young,

Imprisoned by none, held dearly by the Disgraced One. 

[lesbomaticlove]

ive talked about it before but i wanna talk about it again and that's

body types in drawing especially in terms of one piece characters

and i know its because official art presents them all the same but it just does not feel right to me, y'know? especially when i look at fanart and it looks like they just drew the same body multiple times with different faces (talent in that yes but god change it up a bit PLEASE)

like with my style i like to draw semi-realistic cartoon type beat, and that means im thinking about an abstract of shape language in the way that i present the characters. i consider their fighting styles and workouts when i think about what their body type would be, not just for op ive done this with mha and jjk characters too because god dammit gege, maki deserves bulkier muscles for her efforts

so here it is. my analysis of more semi-realistic designs for these characters. all my opinion and not meant to be a call out to anyone.

also, not including the women because we all know how unrealistic they look and i dont need to explain that to you im begging just use reference.

LUFFY

rubberhose arms are ESSENTIAL in his design so when i draw him, i never put too much definition in his muscles. real definition should be reserved for gears that alter his muscles

noodly arms and stick ass legs that is his Charm thank you i dont need super definition

ZORO

on the opposite end of the spectrum, zoro.

though, i see many people draw him more bodybuilder silhouette when he should be powerlifter silhouette, youve SEEN how this man works out. stereotypical bodybuilder physique that's all muscle and no fat is EXTREMELY UNHEALTHY TO MAINTAIN and you know theres no damn way sanjis letting someone on the ship watch their weight for the sake of visuals. he should be defined and bulky, but softer edges on the abs.

USOPP

Speaking first on pre ts, what does he excel at most? long range weapons and running.

obviously he gets proper strength training during timeskip, but i really think the best representative for him is olympic sprinters

muscular, but still pretty skinny

SANJI

hear me out. ballet physique.

i see him drawn w the same physique as Zoro and it just feels so wrong. he doesnt train his upper body, so most of his definition would be in his core and legs. not to mention his flexibility tracks with that.

maybe ill come back with a figure study on these later to fully show how it translates into my drawings but. for now. tumblr wont let me add any more images to this post

[team7-headquarter]

Team 7 is for the fans who can stomach complex and interesting relationships that evolve with time and follow a nonlinear progress.

They're some of the most traumatized individuals in Konoha and one girl who has zero preparation to deal with it. Compared to Team 7, all the other teams were normal. Neji was a slave and Hinata was neglected, but they still had their clan around them, okay? Even when Rock Lee was probably a bullied orphan, his story is closer to Sakura's at worst. Everyone else had healthy families or they were at least regular people.

Do I really have to make emphasis on the Team 7 men's backgrounds? It is a miracle they were as "normal" as they were. It is a miracle only Sasuke became an antagonist.

If you don't like Team 7's dynamic that's okay. It is your opinion and everyone is entitled to have one. But don't claim they didn't care about each other like it is a fact. They do not have perfectly healthy relationships, but it doesn't mean they don't care or that they don't consider each other important. They live in a highly militarized world that they struggle to comprehend because the system has targeted them since they were kids. They didn't have the benefit of a family who taught them or gave them a good example on social behaviors (yes, even Sakura— her parents are nonexistent and irrelevant to the canon).

Sasuke used to have a clan and you can see it in the way he first interacted as a kid with Naruto and Sakura. His behavior afterward was a direct result of political machinations that were in place from the very beginning of the Shinobi world. It's the same with Naruto; Sakura and Sasuke were his first friends after a life of having no one, so of course he is "obsessed" with them. Kakashi Lost everyone and then they make him responsible for the saddest + most problematic kids in Konoha. Sai was tortured and trained to dismiss feelings and he had to learn how to smile. Sakura was a normal 12 years old girl forced to navigate those circumstances and guess what: it was their model of friendship she adopted. Her friendship with Ino was somehow chill (friends who could have been codependent, but rather become rivals so they could both grow on their own), but that was her only friendship and the influence and impact of a life with Team 7 was too great for her not to adapt herself to it.

Yamato is the normal one. That's how insane the situation is...

Maybe in another life Sasuke and Naruto could have the childhood friendship of Shikamaru and Choji or the type of chill rivalry between Neji and Rock Lee. Maybe in a world where they didn't have the fate of the world on their shoulders, they were more normal. Maybe in that universe Sakura would have been properly guided so she doesn't believe her growth is only measured in beauty or making a boy notice her; maybe she would be confident enough as a child to better navigate her friendship with Sasuke and Naruto, instead of having to learn it through trial and error. Maybe Sai would have grown with the social tools to be in a no-awkward friendship, maybe he'd openly connect with others through art and not insults. Maybe Kakashi's regrets would be less and their weight wouldn't hamper on his ability to connect with his students. Maybe his own PTSD would not stand in the way.

As it is, Team 7 is full of individuals who fight for the right to form connections despite the odds being against them. They hold to each other with both hands despite the fact it'd be easier and less painful to let the other die. They don't care if their friendship is not perfect, they still want it.

It's unhealthy, it's insane, they shouldn't have to do it, but they want to. Because. They. Care.

[a-killer-obsession]

Whoops, you got hit by a bus, and now you're in the world of One Piece. But not everything is quite as you remember it...

General Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, isekai, monsterfucker reader, vampire!kid, werewolf!killer, wyrm!heat, minotaur!wire, everyone has a human form, smut heavy, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, serious violence, spoilers for Wano arc, starts pre-timeskip. There will be a lot of more intense kinks, please check AO3 for all current tags.

Chapter 2 - To The Brig With Ye

Step 1: Get Heat on your side.

WC: 4.5k

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 1

You were surprised to wake up at all when you came to, in what you assumed was some sort of infirmary. The room tilted back and forth slightly, so you assumed you must still be on the ship at the very least. Your eyes fluttered open, finding a face suddenly far too close to your own.

“AHH!” you and Heat both shouted at once, the blue haired man scurrying backwards.

“Heat, for fucks sake I told you not to hover in her face like that!” A feminine voice scolded. You groaned as you tried to sit up, seeing a blue haired woman, her hair wild with spikes that looked like horns, a small set of round glasses, and a black dress bearing some sort of stylized cross. House. She was using a pipette to drip some sort of dark red liquid onto your exposed wound, which looked and felt nowhere near as bad as you thought it would, considering how deep the knife had gone. Your confusion was explained away as the red droplets hit your skin and you watched the flesh begin to sew itself closed, but it only brought up more questions in its place. You'd never seen something like that in One Piece, but then again this world was vast and strange, and people did always seem to heal fast here.

“Sorry, one more minute,” House spoke to you, drawing up more crimson into the pipette and dripping it onto the wound, the last sliver of open wound mending itself closed. “Okay, all done.”

“Uh thanks, House right?” You asked her, running your hand over the healed flesh, not even feeling a scar. It was like nothing had happened at all, save for the rouge red drips of whatever she'd used that remained on your skin before she hurriedly wiped it away with a damp cloth.

“Um, yes,” she replied unsurely, looking to Heat for clarity as she removed her latex gloves and threw them in a nearby bin. She'd seen the entire exchange on the deck, nobody had told you her name, and yet you somehow knew it. House didn't have a bounty poster, as the doctor of the Kid Pirates she hardly ever left the ship, so while it was understandable that you knew who the big four were, there shouldn't have been anyway you knew her name. “I'm gonna go let the captain know she's awake,” she addressed Heat, a distinct nervous tone to her voice, before scurrying out of the room, leaving you alone with the tall man, who shifted his weight between his feet awkwardly.

“What's your name?” He asked shyly.

“[Y/n],” you smiled.

“[Y/n]...” he repeated to himself, a slight blush to his cheeks, “Did you mean what you said?”

“What bit?” You rubbed your eyes with the palm of your hand, trying to piece together what had happened between getting hit by a bus and getting stabbed. “Oh, the sex dream stuff? Absolutely, baby” you winked at him, making him blush even more.

“No!” He choked on his breath, hands waving in defence, “I meant- the isekai bit!!”

“Ohhhhhh,” you blinked slowly, “I mean it's my best explanation for what happened. I'm like ninety-nine percent sure I got hit by a bus, and now I'm here. This whole world is supposed to be fictional, if this is just a dream then I shouldn't have been able to feel pain, but I certainly fucking felt it”

“And that's why you knew House's name?” He asked, stepping a little closer to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, it didn't even occur to me that I shouldn't know it,” you hummed, taking a moment to properly observe the room you were in now. It was darkly decorated in blacks and forest greens, the occasional violet pop of colour, none of the usual sterile whites and creams you'd expect of an infirmary, with two oversized beds (likely meant for larger crewmates), one of which you were currently laying in. Each bed had a side table, a table on wheels that fit over the bed, and a small plain chair for visitors. The whole room was almost a semi circle, save for the section missing on one side where you could see a door, likely to a bathroom. The opposite corner along the flat wall held cabinets and a counter, probably filled with medical supplies, with a small desk in front of it, a chair either side likely for doctor and patient. The beds were also along the flat wall, with a door to your left and another door in the centre of the curved wall in front of you, a small, green velvet couch to its left. The anime and manga had never shown the internals of the ship, but the curved walls and round portholes along them made you wonder if you were inside the forecastle, just behind the large dinosaur skull that acted as a figurehead for the ship. Your eyes came back to Heat, who stood next to your bed, waiting expectantly for an answer. “Yeah I mean, she's not really a well known character, but I guess you could say I'm a big Kid Pirates fan, so I remember a few more obscure characters.”

“From… a manga, you said, right?”

“Yeah. You're familiar with the isekai trope?” you didn't feel like explaining that it was an anime too, you weren't even sure if this world had cartoons.

“I am,” he mused, “and I guess weirder things have happened in this world. But we're gonna need proof, and I don't know how I'm gonna convince Kid”

You thought on that for a moment, “I think I can provide proof,” you mused, “has the crew been to Sabaody yet?”

“No, we're close though,” he told you hesitantly, not sure how much information he should reveal while he not so subtly eyed your body; you'd all but forgotten you were naked. You probably should have covered yourself up but it felt like a bit of a too little, too late situation. The whole crew had probably seen your tits at this point, not that it bothered you much. It wouldn't hurt to placate him either, it would be good to know at least one person on the crew had a fondness for you when it came to convincing Kid to keep you alive. If things really went tits up here you could always try your luck with the Straw Hats, but given the timing that would be difficult, you would have to stay on Sabaody for two years before you could try and join them. Maybe Shakky would let you stay with her in the meantime. Your preference though was to stay with the Kid Pirates, your favourite One Piece crew, and usually the subject of your sexy dreams and explicit fanfiction searches.

Heavy footsteps outside caught both of your attentions, Heat taking a few steps back to stand at a more respectful distance as the infirmary door flew open. Unsurprisingly, Kid stomped in, followed by Killer, and Wire, who shut the door behind him. Kid stood at the end of your bed, looking at you discerningly, an angry scowl on his face.

“Talk,” he said plainly.

“Boss, I think I can explain,” Heat told him, “what she said about isekai, I don't think she's from this world”

“The fuck is ‘isekai’” he growled, billowing his cape up so he could sit on the couch without catching it underneath him. Killer and Wire stood at either side of him like guard dogs, unsure of your capabilities, weary given the fact you'd appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the sea without a devil fruit power to get you here. There was no way of telling what powers you had or how you might suddenly use them.

“It's a trope, in manga,” Heat tried to explain, “the protagonist is sent to another world. Usually they die and get reincarnated, or some sort of god sends them there, to a usually fantasy world. I think that's what happened here, she claims she knows us because we're fiction in her world, and that she appeared here after she died in her world. Its a classic isekai premise.”

“Bullshit, she knows us from our bounty posters,” Kid huffed, unconvinced by Heats explanation.

“She knew House's name,” Heat replied. There was a pregnant silence as Kid considered that, his eyes flicking between you and Heat.

“Okay, so she's… from another world. If I chose to believe that,” Kid grumbled, “and she knows us because what? We're a comic book or some shit? They got comic books about the great Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid over there?”

“Well… they're not really about you per say,” you replied delicately, knowing the truth would piss him off.

“Then who the fuck could they be about?” Kid puffed up his chest, “why would they write about anyone other than the future King of Pirates?”

“They're uh… about Monkey D. Luffy…” you replied quietly. “Not that you're not also a very popular character!” You quickly added.

“STRAW HAT?” Kid roared, spooking you as he suddenly stood, “fucking STRAW HAT gets a comic book? Nah, fuck that, put this lying bitch in the brig.”

“Wait! Wait!” You quickly shouted, climbing further up the bed to avoid Killer's reaching hands, “I can prove it! I can tell you what'll happen when you get to Sabaody!”

“Sabaody is weeks out,” Kid huffed, “I ain't waitin’ for your lyin’ ass to be proven wrong so you can sit around in the meantime and find an opening to kill one of us. Devil fruit or no, you were obviously sent here to stop the best competition for finding the One Piece”

“Really? You think someone sent me here naked? Slammed me against the mast, no weapons, no devil fruit, no fighting skills, to kill you?” You rolled your eyes, “I can give you other proof, I can”

“Then fucking give me your proof, mouse,” Kid growled, the bed creaking as he leaned over you, his hands either side of your body. He probably wanted to intimidate you with his large form, but really it only served to make you a little horny.

“Killer wears purple lipstick,” you hurriedly shouted, the first thing that popped into your head as you searched for information only they should know. The room went silent before Kid suddenly wrapped a hand around your throat. He squeezed it threateningly, then he threw you back with a frustrated growl, letting you go as he moved to leave the room. He gave Killer a knowing look before turning back to Heat.

“Chain her in the brig,” Kid hissed, “I don't know where she learned that but I don't fucking trust her. Put her in iron too, there must be some trick, witch or some shit”

There was a flurry of movement as you were again left alone with Heat, Killer sparing you an unreadable look before slamming the infirmary door, clearly angry. You didn't like that you had to expose him like that, even if everyone in the room likely already knew that information, but it was him or you, and you had to act in self defence. Not that it'd helped in the end though either, as Heat apologetically dragged you off the bed and clamped your arms behind your back, wrapping one large hand around both of your small wrists at once to secure you as he led you out of the room.

Eyes followed you silently as you were led across the deck, still naked as the day you were born, revealing you had in fact been in the forecastle. Heat took you directly across to the rear of the ship, opening a door and leading you through a galley. The short view you got of the galley revealed a long room, with a serving window and counter on the left that peeked through to a moderately sized industrial looking kitchen. On the right was some sort of stage at the very end of the room, short stairs on either side leading up to the platform that currently held a long table surrounded by six chairs, a small liquor bar behind it. On the main floor between you and the stage were five long tables, a bench style seat along either side. The walls were decorated in band posters, bounty posters, photos of the crew together, newspaper clippings and all manner of souvenirs pinned to the walls, covering them in what spoke of a crew that acted more like a family, with many happy memories together all memorialised along the dining hall walls.

Heat led you to a staircase at the left of the room, following you down into a hall that was noticeably colder than above, likely due to being particularly below sea level. There was a short hall that split into two longer ones, they looked as though they made a loop around a center set of rooms, the walls lined with doors, no doubt bedrooms and storage rooms. He didn't lead you down either of the long halls, instead taking you to the end of the short one where a steep staircase, practically a ladder, led even further down to the hull of the ship. Heat gave you a little shove forward and you took the hint with a sigh, at least thankful that he'd let go of your wrists now so you could climb down.

You waited patiently at the bottom of the ladder beside a closed door as Heat climbed down after you. He fiddled with a set of keys that hung from his belt, unlocking the door and opening it, beckoning you to pass through. Inside was a series of cells, four in total, with iron bars at their fronts, each with a set of bare bunk beds with thin, stained mattresses, and a metal bucket in the corner, likely in lieu of a toilet. Unexpectedly, each cell was also trimmed in what looked like some sort of ancient symbols written along the floors and walls, a dark rusty colour that made you wonder if they were written in blood. The writing looked like something straight out of a dark fantasy show, with the occasional recognizable pentagram or latin in neat cursive letters. The doors to all four cells were open, seemingly unoccupied, and Heat gestured for you to enter the second, which sat directly across from a small desk, decorated only with a plain wooden chair and simple lamp.

You stood inside the cell, shivering as the air was considerably colder now that you were well under sea level, chilled by the cold ocean around you. The walls and floors offered no warmth, plated in what appeared to be stone, seastone perhaps. The wall behind the desk was lined with hooks holding multiple sets of cuffs in different styles. Heat selected a set of iron cuffs, with only three links between each wrist, and you sighed as you willingly held your hands out for him. There was no point fighting it, and forcing Heat to subdue you would only go against your plans to bring him to your side.

“Sorry about this,” he said softly as he closed the cuffs around your wrists. His hands were so warm against yours, reminding you of your current frigid situation.

“Can I have a blanket or something?” you pleaded, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

“I.. I don't know if I'm allowed,” Heat replied, a tint of sadness to his voice.

“Maybe we can trade?” You offered, “I.. I only have my body, but maybe I can give you something in return for a blanket?” Was whoring yourself out a good idea? Probably not, given the circumstances, but you'd freeze to death down here if you didn't at least try. Besides, its not like you didn't want to fuck Heat. At this point you didn't have high hopes for surviving this world, but if you got laid with one of your favs then maybe it'd be at least a tiny bit redeemable.

“A trade?” He raised a brow, “like what?”

“What do you want?” You asked him, using your best sultry voice, experimentally pressing a hand to his chest and running it down slowly, pleasantly surprised when he didn't shy away from you. He shivered at the touch, your skin bare against his as your hand reached the bottom of his corset.

“Fuck, okay,” he growled, looking back at the door to the brig to check he had shut it, “on your knees, for a blanket”

“Yes sir,” you purred, perhaps a little too eager for Heat's dick. You would have traded a blowjob for a corn chip, if you were being honest with yourself. You fell to your knees slowly, trailing your fingertips down his midriff till they caught on the belt of his baggy pants. Raised on your knees, you could barely reach the flesh of his abdomen with your mouth as you hooked your fingers in the metal loops on his belt and used it as leverage to lower his pants, pressing your lips to the newly exposed flesh. He made a sharp exhale as your tongue came out to run over the V that led to his cock, pulling his pants down teasingly slowly and looking up at him with sultry eyes as his hand buried in your hair. Finally his pants lowered enough to expose his cock, long and girthy even at half mast, slightly more bulbous at the end with a set of three piercings along the underside, another at the tip, and a base of blue public hair, slightly darker than the hair on his head. He shivered as the cool air touched his exposed cock, quickly overruled by a groan as you took it in your bound hands and pumped the base, promptly becoming erect from your firm, warm touch.

“You have no idea how badly I've wanted to do this,” you purred, pressing your tongue to the tip, playing with the piercing and rolling your tongue over the fat head of his dick. He groaned as you took the end in your mouth, only taking a third of him as you began to bob your head, stroking the rest with your hand as you slowly adjusted and took a little more with each movement.

“Oh fuck, that's good,” Heat groaned, his hold on your hair tightening as you slowly worked towards taking all of his impressive length into your eager mouth, drool starting to drip down your chin as you focused on not gagging, breathing through your nose to suppress your natural urges. Your eyes watered as he started to hit the back of your throat, his hips making small thrusts in time with your movements, trying his best to hold back from just grabbing your skull and face fucking you. He'd been pent up for a while now, with a long stint between islands with working women, and a distinct lack of women in the meantime who were willing to risk their safety to sleep with the tall, stitched up man. By all accounts he looked terrifying to most women, so your willingness to get on your knees was certainly a nice surprise, seemingly having no issue with the way he looked. He felt bad at first for taking advantage of you, but the way you kept eye contact and hollowed your cheeks around his cock told him you wanted this, that the blanket was just an excuse to get in his pants. Really he should be the one feeling used, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but euphoric with the divine way your mouth was working his cock.

You paused as your nose hit his pubes, your now idle hands coming up to play with his balls, gagging a little as you swallowed around his cock. “Ohhhh fuck,” Heat groaned, looking down at you with his dick fully burried in your hot wet mouth. “Look at you, taking it like a proper slut, you like that huh? Like having my cock down your throat?”

You pulled off his cock with a pop as your thighs rubbed together in a desperate need for friction, you wouldn't be surprised if you were dripping on the floor at this point from how wet you were. “I'd like it better in my cunt,” you replied, stroking him with both hands, hoping above all that he'd take the bait and fuck you silly.

“Yeah? And what would you want to trade for that, huh?” He growled, wondering what game you were playing to be so willing, questioning whether this really was just a trick.

“One of your blankets,” you purred, running your tongue up the underside of his cock and feeling the piercings roll against it. “I want one that smells like you”

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Heat replied, genuinely taken aback by your answer. He'd never known a woman to want him that bad, let alone just want something that smelt like him. It was making him feel sparks of something unfamiliar, possessiveness perhaps, fondness definitely.

“Because you're sweet, and you're sexy, you're one of my favourites,” you shrugged, “are you gonna fuck me or not? The stone is hurting my knees and my cunt is fucking dripping”

“Fuck,” Heat huffed, pulling you by your hair to stand and crashing his mouth against yours, groaning as he found you more than willing to return his affections. He walked you backwards until your body was flush with the cell wall, nipping at your bottom lip before he pulled away and spun you to face the wall. You arched your back and stuck your butt out for him, your tits squished against the stone as Heat admired your round ass. He gave it a playful spank, making you whine, before he grabbed handfuls of your ass cheeks and pulled them apart to admire your soaked pussy. “Fuck, you weren't lying, you're really fucking wet”

Unable to resist a taste, he knelt behind you and buried his face in your center, motorboating your cunt, your slick coating his face. He groaned against your pussy as his tongue zeroed in on your clit, making you moan and push back against him. His hands held your ass firmly, squeezing it to keep you in place as he sucked and lapped at your clit, before standing back up, running his tongue over your entrance and asshole as he moved.

“So fucking wet for me, so sweet too,” he groaned, taking his cock in his hand and lining it up with your needy entrance, your hips wiggling as you whined pleadingly. “Hold still, fuck,” you only managed to still for a moment before he pressed in, bullying his tip inside you and stretching your underprepared cunt wide. “Ah fuck, so tight,” he grunted as he slid inside you, bringing one hand to your mouth to clamp over it and muffle your sounds as you began to scream at the stretch.

His fingers slid into your mouth and you sucked them greedily, moaning around them as he bottomed out inside you. “Good girl, fuck, good little slut,” he groaned, giving you only a moment to adjust before he was dragging back out again, leaving only his tip inside you as he slammed back in. His fingers left your mouth so he could hold your hips firmly, fucking you hard and fast with the intention of making you both cum quickly before anyone caught you in the act, his cock heavy against your g-spot and stimulating it deliciously with every hard thrust he made. Your palms were flat against the wall, holding you steady as your body took the brunt of each impact, breasts grazing on the stone wall and drool transfering to the cool surface as Heat fucked you mercilessly.

He pulled you a little away from the wall, your tits now bouncing with every thrust as they hung freely until Heat reached underneath you and grabbed them, pulling you up and holding you with your back flush to his chest, one hand groping your tits still while the other wrapped around your throat, slowly travelling upwards till his fingers were buried in your mouth again, muffling your moans against the wet slapping of his body against yours. His teeth grazed your neck, wishing he could sink his fangs into you as they grew in his mouth, canines extending unbeknownst to you and running over your skin, knowing if he made a mark he would be caught. He was having trouble keeping in control of himself as you sucked on his fingers and your pussy fluttered around his cock, gummy walls clamping down around him as your eyes rolled back and you came on his cock without warning. A creamy ring formed around his base as he kept fucking you hard, chasing his own high now and trying to figure out where would be appropriate to cum.

“Get on your knees again,” he ordered, pulling his fingers from your mouth and withdrawing his throbbing cock from your cunt. You dropped to your knees willingly, opening your mouth invitingly for him with your tongue stuck out. He considered just jerking himself off over your face, painting your pretty fucked out expression with his cum, but worried about your inability to clean yourself off down here, so instead he shoved his cock down your throat, holding your hair with both hands as he began to use you rougher than he intended. You moaned around him at the surprising treatment, eyes streaming with unintentional tears as his cock gagged you with every hard thrust, until he finally stilled with his shaft balls deep in your mouth and you felt the hot cum pouring down your throat, his hands pulling your hair while he grunted. You shivered at the feeling, almost cumming again from it, playing with your oversensitive clit as he unloaded in your mouth. He pulled away slowly, the last drops of cum spilling against your tongue as you licked the tip. He slapped your cheek with his softening cock, giving you an appreciative grin as he slid his finger into your still open mouth and played with your tongue.

“I hope Kid decides not to kill you,” he mused as he helped you to your feet, pinning you against the wall again, his hand running up your thigh and hip till it came to rest at your waist. “Would be a real shame to waste a good set of holes like that”

“Tell him to come try me himself, maybe that'll convince him,” you suggested, “unless you wanna keep me all to yourself”

“Mm, tempting,” he mused, running a thumb over your bottom lip, “I don't mind sharing though, besides, I doubt I could keep you to myself even if I wanted to if one of the others decided they wanted a turn. Maybe we'll make you our ship whore”

“I'm not opposed to that,” you purred. Heat made a huff and started stepping away.

“Fuck, you really are a Kid Pirate fan huh?” He laughed, “I'll get you your blanket, but be a good girl and behave yourself until I can convince Kid to let you go”

“I'll be on my best, naughtiest behaviour,” you winked, shivering a little now that you didn't have his warm body to keep you heated. He frowned as he watched you shiver, realising how much you really did need the blanket.

“I'll find you some clothes too,” he said softly before turning to leave, disappearing before you even had a chance to respond.

[Next Chapter]

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Taglist: @chershire23 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @nocturnalrorobin @eyes-ofhell @hellcatsworld @miyomoko-sora @loserbee14 @tzimiscequeen-blog @lansy-4

[transmascaraa]

hi! i would like to request baizhu and tighnari (and anyone else you’d like) hc about reader having eating habits that i guess would be considered unhealthy (not in ed sense, like it just kind of happens like just not being hungry for a long time), if you don’t then it’s okay, you can ignore this!

multiple characters headcannons!

unhealthy eating habits.

characters: tighnari, baizhu, kaveh x gn!reader

author's note: was about to do just those 2 but kaveh popped up in my head so take it as a bonus lmfao i hope you enjoyy (i'm doing something as reader sometimes literally eats like crazy while other times they don't eat at all so yeah)

✿ Tighnari

-he's very understanding

-he will literally do his best to help you but at the same time he would understand sometimes that you can't really do as he tells you

-at times when you eat a bit too much for your own good, he reminds you in pretty much a loving way and tries to distract you from the food

-while at the times when you don't eat for a pretty long time, he gets very worried and tries to motivate you to eat something.

-either way, you'll end up getting scolded by him if you don't listen

-"it's for your own good" he promises.

-it's true tho

-he doesn't want you to get an actual ed or something ofc he js cares about you

-will try every single type of medication to help you once again

-very caring, very understanding, will definitely scold you (lovingly)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✷ Baizhu

-he's so underrated imo wish me luck on writing him in character and hopefully not ooc lol

-VERY caring

-probably the best option along with tighnari

-he will worry a lot but will definitely help you

-binge eating? distractions and potions/pills to stop you from gaining too much weight

-not eating at all? motivation, choking on his "tasty" food on purpose— then asking if you want some, and trying to get you to eat by sending you random ahh gifs of food like:

-i mean it has helped you sometimes

-but if it doesn't work then he will ask his snake to motivate you in some unknown way(it has worked a few times but nobody knows her tactic)

-i hc him sending those cringy boomer gifs as reaction pics lmfao help

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✧ Kaveh

-ABSOLUTELY worrying about your health 24/7

-he has to construct some very complex building due in 3 hours? that will not stop him.

-he will worry TRIPLE for you

-if you eat too much he will ask you to share some food, take some, and then take the whole bag saying "no more for you."

-and if you don't eat at all hes gonna keep asking you if you want some of the food he's eating, to the point where he will ask 75738 times just for you to say "fine." no matter how annoyed you get.

-he WILL share his food with you if it makes you feel better

-he will send you random messages throughout the day, especially when he's not there, like:

-"what's your current relationship with food?"

-oh and ofc he will ask alhaitham and tighnari for advice with whatever you're dealing with

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

nice

not bad tbh

i loved writing this one but especially for baizhu and kaveh lmfao i hope y'all like it as much

| @mariaace <3

[yuechihua]

you're a man or you're a dog.

summary: You hate Sou Hiyori, but you can't bring yourself to stay away from him. Neither, it seems, can he.

notes: 5k words, author's notes, spoilers for up to chapter three, power play, unhealthy relationships, mild violence

You’ve never liked Sou from the beginning.

That trembling, rabbited body, the doe-eyes peering up at you under sweeps of teal hair, the fidgeting hands tugging at the ends of his frayed scarf or his beanie or the zipper corners of his jacket. The flash of fragile bones, sharp and bird-like, shifting beneath his wrists, the thumbprint bruises under his eyes, the soft, creamy skin. 

He reminds you of dependency and weakness so pathetic everyone lets their guard down. But you’ve always hated children that tug on your clothing and small animals that peer up at you with wet eyes, begging for mercy and love.

No, you don’t like the way he postures and hides, how he slinks up to you as if he’s sizing you up when the rest of the group departs to their various tasks on that very first day of being trapped. The calculating gaze of a cornered animal, bearing his smooth stomach and drooping tail, a feigned act of clemency.

“I, ah, I don’t know where to start,” he says to you. “What are you thinking about going…?”

“Oh, maybe somewhere where I can help someone else,” you tell him pleasantly.

“Oh wow. That’s really admirable, in a situation like this, to put someone over yourself.”

“Well, what else can you do? Getting along with everyone seems like the best way to survive.”

The silence that follows is weighted with your respective derision. He doesn’t bother approaching you again during that first main game, though you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back. Calculating where you fit in his plans, the people you talk to, weighing the few cards you show of your hand and how they stack up to his.

It pisses you off how obvious he is, and how much you can’t stop watching just to see what he’ll do next. The unseemly desperation, the way he acts like a man drowning, clinging to any piece of debris he can. You would stick to smiling, to saying the right supportive words to Sara and the others, to skating by just so through cooperating and letting the others make their plans for you to follow. 

It’s how you’ve been since you were young. 

When your elementary school classmate accused you of liking a different classmate more than her, you could only apologize and reassure her as she huffed and cried, even though you never considered her your friend at all. Your high school boyfriend liked that you were “so good at listening,” even though you hated the sweaty, awkward arms he slung around your shoulders, his self-aggrandizing speeches. Your boss at work would rib at you, your misbuttoned suit jacket and gloomy demeanor and mistakes on client spreadsheets, and you would just smile and laugh along and promise to do better next time, even though you would have to clean that asshole’s own mistakes tomorrow. 

But that was how you got along in the world, and if you had a complaint, you would vent it in front of your staticky television screen, your only friends the greasy takeout chicken wings from the local convenience store and a sweating beer bottle leaving a ring of condensation on the table.

When the others react in mixtures of shock and horror to Sou’s various betrayals, you can only watch him, biting back your own barbed remarks. A scared dog, no matter how well-trained or mild, will bite when cornered, so how could you have expected any different?

Isn’t that how it is when you try to do more than you should? you want to tell Sou, watching his face as his votes pile up in that very first game. You did this to yourself, like an idiot.

It’s not as if you want others to die by your hand. You don’t delight in the suffering of others, and you act as nice as they expected you to be, but you would never gladly throw yourself on the chopping block for the sake of a stranger. If you were to act as a martyr, the only people left to savor that sacrifice would be the people left behind. You would be gone, and self-satisfaction doesn’t carry beyond the grave. No, your life, as shitty as it is, is your own.

Still, you can’t wash your hands of Sou just yet.

“Kanna is going to stay with Sou to keep a watch on him,” Kanna announces in front of the remaining group one day (or night? Or afternoon? There’s no way to keep track of time here). 

Kanna is someone you never know how to deal with, not with her innocence and determination, and whenever she approaches you, you slide the responsibility of her care or her childish questions onto a more responsible, kinder adult.

So it’s not out of concern for her when you finally speak up, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “I’ll stay with him,” you say. 

There’s a ripple of surprised faces turning towards you at your declaration. You know that, what with how you’ve never volunteered to do anything first, that it seems surprising, if not suspicious.

But there’s something about Sou Hiyori. Something that you can’t just leave alone, like a loose pebble in your shoe, irritating you with every step. How easy he is to read. How pathetic.

“But… Kanna has to—”

“Kanna,” you say kindly, patiently. “You’re young, and I wouldn’t be comfortable letting you stay with Sou by yourself. It would be better for an adult to look after Sou. I don’t want to worry over what might happen if you were left alone with him.”

Kanna curls her fingers together, picking at the ends of her shirt. It’s a habit strangely similar to Sou. She looks lost as she darts a glance at Sou, and then at you, and then at the sea of faces around her. “... Okay,” she says at last.

“Come on,” you tell Sou. You stop just short of yanking on his arm, but he flinches back from you as you approach, as if he can sense the thoughts in your head. “You should rest.”

The only sound for the next few minutes are the disjointed melody of your footsteps, Sou dragging himself after you with that perpetual slouch as you march briskly to his room.

You’re jerking the door closed when Sou finally speaks behind you. “Hypocrite.”

“What?”

“Hypocrite,” he says again, and your knuckles tense on the door knob. “Did you feel good? Acting like a caring adult in front of everyone. Playing the part of a good person.”

You let out a breath as you turn to face him. He’s standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around his body, braced for some sort of impact.

“I’m just doing what a reasonable adult should,” you say coolly. “She is a child.”

He flinches slightly at that, the hidden dig in your words, and you can’t tear your eyes from his slender frame. But it’s not enough to stop him from opening his mouth. “You’re lucky, you know? You have that entire group wrapped around your finger. Or… is it that you’re the one wrapped around theirs? Always saying ‘yes,’ and ‘please,’ and ‘of course.’ You’d lick their shoes if someone asked, right?”

He’s trying to get under your skin. That’s how he operates.

You can see the pointed calculation behind every word, but it’s still the truth. It’s the truth, and you’ve always known it even if you tried not to think about it. But to hear it from him, said with a mocking intimacy, that careful dissection of all your secrets and all your layers and your pretensions, from someone who, at the end of the day, is just the same as you, is humiliating.

This is why you’ve always, always hated him, right from the beginning. The way he watches you in the same way you watch him with nothing but contempt and judgement. But what else do you do when you’re weak, when you have nothing but the desperate desire to survive, even when it means clinging to someone stronger?

Like a dog. Begging, with your stomach bared, hoping to be spared, throwing away your pride.

What other choice do you have, then, to act like an animal?

You advance towards Sou, and he has the decency to back away, skittish, infuriating prey down to his core. But there’s nothing behind him but the length of the bed, knocking against the back of his knobbly knees, and he’s trapped.

Trapped by the finger you shove into the middle of his chest, pressing into bone, hard enough that he winces and that some purple-red bruise blooms on his fragile skin under his clothes, you imagine.

“You would know about licking shoes, wouldn’t you?” you say quietly. “It’s what you did at the beginning, like a pathetic little bitch.”

“You’re disgusting,” Sou breathes. “They’re going to vote you off to die, and you’re going to thank them.”

He still hasn’t moved, and the finger on his chest becomes a fist, knotting in his scarf, and you savor the strangled noise he makes when you yank him up, his breath hitching as his neck strains to keep you in his sight.

It would be so easy to break him. To pry your fingers into the gaps of his facade and pull the piece apart until they shatter. That soft heart, that fragile skin, that nauseatingly familiar weakness.

You could do it. You want to do it. God, that’s what you wanted from the beginning. You wanted to watch him break, for him to look in your eyes as he does. You would savor every taste of his raw, animal fear.

“Can’t mouth off anymore?” you breathe. “Nothing to say?”

Sou doesn’t make any attempt to push away from you, but his cheeks are a mottled patchwork of lipstick red blush and ghostly white skin. But his words are as mocking as ever. “So this is what you’re really like.” 

You shove him back against the bed, where he lands with a squawk, his body bouncing on the covers more wildly than the force you used should necessitate. He comes to a rest, a shivering crescent moon, his red scarf blooming like blood across the pale slash of his neck.

His eyes, though. Bright pools of liquid. They track your every movement with a nervous, excited intensity. He’s not pulling away from you. Instead, it’s more like he’s waiting. 

“Do you get off on me treating you like this?” you say.

“…What?” His response comes a little too late to be convincing. Not that the blush staining his face helps, either. 

“Is this what you wanted from the start of our conversation, Sou?”

“You’re full of yourself.” 

“If you beg me, maybe I will do something to you.” 

His breath hitches in his throat. You watch as it’s trapped there, like a fluttering bird, the words on the edge of his tongue. 

He’s considering it. 

It thrills you that he is. 

But Sou swallows that breath, and gives a defiant jerk of his head. “I’m not desperate.” 

Not yet. But this is enough for now. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, and Sou skitters away to the other side, flailing upright as you settle over the covers, legs crossed. You look up at the ceiling, counting the dark specks as you speak. 

“I’m not sleeping on the floor. You can, if you don’t want to share a bed. Although… I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t want.” 

“I don’t want anything from you.” When you turn to look at him, he’s settling under the covers, facing away from you so all you can see is his beanie, framed by loose strands of teal hair like a fuzzy halo. 

“Really?” you press. 

He doesn’t answer, and you close your eyes. 

Whenever you see him after that, if you smile or your eyes linger for too long in his direction, Sou stiffens, and inevitably finds some excuse to scurry away. It’s an effect you enjoy a little too much, how aware he is of you. 

Once, while collecting tokens, you find him in the abandoned corridor. 

You hardly do little more than step in front of his path and his body shudders to a halt. When you take a step forward, he takes a step back. But there’s nothing but rubble behind him, and nowhere further to run.

You push forward until you can pull the beanie over his hair, a rougher gesture than it needed to be. Sou’s body is a tense line, but his eyebrows are furrowed, as if he’s waiting for you to do something else. 

“It annoys me how sloppy you are,” you tell him flatly. “Your stupid beanie was about to fall off.”

“You’re not even trying to pretend to be a good person anymore, huh?” 

You tilt your head. “Do I have any reason to be nice to you?” 

Sou looks at the ground and kicks at a loose rock. “If everyone knew what you were really like, they would all turn on you.”

“You’re the only one who makes me act this way,” you say, and, emboldened, skate two fingers upwards along his arm. Sou doesn’t look up, though you can feel how he trembles at the slow trail of your movement.

But you withdraw your hands before you can reach his shoulders, and when he flicks his head up, you only smile before you leave.

You chase him down, and he runs, and then you back away at the last minute, leaving him wanting more. Here, finally, is someone who’s weaker than you, that you don’t have to suck up to. The hunt is thrilling beyond belief. 

You get your enjoyment where you can until the main game, until there are more corpses, the bodies of people you’ve come to know and even somewhat care about piling up. And through the nausea, relief burns brighter than anything else. At least it isn’t you. At least you made it another day.

After the second main game, you look at Sou. Sou, or Shin, or whatever he wants to call himself, can’t tear himself away from the garden of Kanna’s body, of red flowers and twisted skin. When he finally notices your gaze, the hatred that flashes across his face is so searing you can feel the heat of it across the room.

Like a bad habit you can’t shake, you hunt him down when he runs, cornering him in his room again.

But he’s the one who touches you first this time, placing his hands on your chest and shoving with shaking arms. He has all the force of a plastic bag being blown around helplessly in the wind, and you’re unmoved by his pitiful attempts.

“Did you come to gloat? Laugh? Or were you going to pity me? Huh? Don’t tell me you were worried. You, of all people, worried?”

You grab his wrists before he can push you again, and it’s surprising how slender his wrists are, how with one hand you can easily circle his wrist, his thin, jutting bones digging into your flesh. You wouldn’t even need to use too much pressure until his bones snap.

“You make me sick,” Sou says, his chest heaving with each shallow breath. He makes no attempt to jerk out of your grip. “All of you make me sick. You all chose to kill Kanna. I don’t know why I ever expected anything better.”

“You’re the one who pushed her into that situation in the first place,” you say. “I’m not going to feel bad for you. If there’s anyone to feel bad for, it’s the people who died. Not some whining loser.”

“Fuck you. You’re not any different. No one on that damn team really cares about you. You’re just convenient,” he spits, “an idiot who’ll come running when they call, who they can throw away as soon as you aren’t useful anymore. You’re just some pathetic, useless, bottom of the barrel dog, so just keep wagging that tail of yours—”

Sou’s words cut off in a strangled gasp as you roughly jerk him closer. There’s no time to think, to process, to even consider what you’re doing as you bring your mouth to the back of his tender, creamy neck, and you bite.

Like a starving dog, you sink your teeth into his neck, and Sou flails wildly as you soothe the teeth marks with your tongue, pressing lightly against the indentations you’ve made. This time, you let go of his wrists as he backs away and touches the back of his neck. There it is again, that blush, staining his face as he runs his fingers along each mark. 

“You did say I was a dog,” you remark, trying to keep your tone composed, even as something sharp and excited and hot sits at the bottom of your stomach, some emotion that makes your pulse speed and your blood sing.

He always taunts you, and you always react, and neither of you ever learn your lesson. You hate him. You hate him, and he always hands you the perfect excuse to rip him apart in some way.

“So you what? Bite me?”

”Want me to do it again? You can show that off, if you want. Let everyone know the sort of things you like, how you really want to be treated.”

Sou’s fingers are still pressing against his neck, as if trying to recreate the force of your bite. His scarf has flown loose in the force of your movements, revealing delicate skin and collarbones, the shine of his collar.

Every fragile bird-like bone in his body screams at you to crush it. To snap it open, to pour the marrow in your mouth. You could bite the strawberry heart in his chest, drag your teeth through the meat mid-beat, just to know what it’s like to swallow his pulse. You could break him so easily, his papery skin bruising under the lightest of pressure. There’s nothing wrong with simple fact, and the fact is that he’s weak, like a lamb sent to the slaughter. No, what’s wrong is that you want to be the one to snap that gentle lamb’s neck, laid meekly on the altar, and how that lamb lifts his head just so to meet your hands.

Sou’s delicate fingers finally drop to tug his scarf into place, obscuring the bite on his neck. But it’ll be there, like a collar, lingering on his skin. He’ll know it’s there. You’ll know it, too.

“I hate you,” he says.

You laugh. “I know.”

After that, there’s not much time to talk, not with a new floor to explore and more trials to face. More puzzles, where you run around like rats in a maze, where any hope of escape is snuffed out as you’re shuffled into a new game.

But what throws you off about the new floor is Midori, and the scarf around his neck. It’s the same as the one Sou always wears. 

And, as your eyes are always drawn to Sou, you can’t help but notice the way he shrinks back from Midori, how he’s distracted, on edge and fidgeting with his pale, spidery fingers, like he’s trying to run away but he can’t.

You’re not stupid. You can put two and two together. And it pisses you off that someone else makes Sou look like this, that Sou has history with someone, anyone, else, that the sight of his pain and his fear doesn’t excite you, but that it only makes your stomach curdle, sour, rotten milk in your throat.

Midori only approaches you once, when you’re exploring on your own. He melts out of the shadows, and the two of you only stare at each other impassively, sizing each other up.

“You’re empty,” Midori says, head tilted to the side to an unnatural degree, the imitation of a human. 

“And you aren’t?” you snap.

He smiles at you, like the two of you are sharing some private joke, but the curl of his mouth is mocking. “Oh, I’m just saying we’re alike.” Midori casually drags a hand down the length of his scarf, red fabric rippling. “That’s why he’s so fascinated with you, I suppose. But you’re just so… boring, at the end of the day.” 

The implication is clear enough, and it makes that sour, rotten milk feeling flood your mouth again. He’s just taunting you. Trying to push your buttons, just like Sou loves to do. Maybe that’s where Sou learned it from. He’s had years, after all, to pick up on Midori’s mannerisms, enough time for Midori to mark him deeply. 

You stalk restlessly through the halls after Midori leaves, aimlessly peering into rooms and mumbling quick “hellos” to anyone who sees you, not pausing to hear their responses. It’s not until Sou is in sight, with his slouched back and ratty beanie, turning just in time for you to pin him against the wall, your arms caging him in.

“Shin,” you say.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, hunching his shoulders, trying to withdraw in on himself. But his posture is already terrible, so there’s nowhere for him to go.

“Sou. Whatever.”

“What do you want?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? Because Midori is right. You are empty, and you want to have your fill of this man in front of you. You want to fuck him up. To gorge yourself on him, to drag your nails down his skin, red tracks in the snow. To leave nothing behind for Midori to feast on, because he’ll be all yours.

But—would you just be chewing on the same pieces that Midori once did?

Your face must betray some of your thoughts, because Sou opens his mouth, then closes it into a firm, impenetrable line, eyes scrutinizing you.

“I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” he mocks. “Anyone can walk in on us like this, you know. Is that what you want?”

“Shut up, Sou.”

“Make me,” he breathes. His hands are open at his side, palms flat, fingers spread, ready to receive whatever you give him. “I know you want to.”

You could. You could bite him, mark him, kiss him as if you were real lovers. Pull his hair, or finally let your hands wander lower than the plane of his chest. Here it is, the control you’ve always longed for, offered from a pliant, willing, animal body.

You lower your head, just a fraction, and his throat bobs. “I can’t.”

“Were you just taking a big game, then? Coward.”

“You’re the one who wants me to do something.”

“No shit,” he hisses, face flushed. But you can’t take your usual pleasure from his bratty confession, or his red face. “So do something. I’m telling you to do something.”

Why is it that his first reaction to your odd moods is always to offer himself to you? To use him? You wouldn’t have hesitated before. It would have excited you to hear that he wants you in some measure, that he’s willing to admit it. 

You bite your lower lip, worrying absently at the flesh. Sou’s eyes track the movement, his gaze heated as he watches the slow movement of your mouth.

“Is this what you did with Midori?” you say, quietly.

His face shutters closed, all excitement hardening into cold steel, blocking any path forward. “Is this what this is about? Did he say something to you?”

“Does it matter if he did?”

“Why would you listen to him?” Sou snaps. “He’s one of the people who trapped us here.”

“But the two of you have a history. That matters.”

“It doesn’t,” he breathes, “Quit acting like some jealous lover.”

Your hands seize the end of his scarf, that stupid fucking scarf, the one that looks just like Midori’s, that probably is Midori’s, the one he never takes off. 

He doesn’t wince as you seize the end of the scarf and pull, even when it tightens around his neck like a noose before it slips off, even when it must burn his skin as it leaves behind red marks on the column of his slender, ivory neck, bisected in half by his collar.

The scarf pools on the floor like red blood as you bring a thumb to press gently on the mark on his neck. 

“Quit it,” he says, slapping your hand away, as if a tender touch is more unbearable than your previous cruelties.

“You wear his scarf, Sou. How do you want me to take that? Because I’m not going to be his fucking replacement, some cheap way for you to hurt yourself–”

“Are you stupid?” he says coldly. “Do you think I need to go to you if I want to hurt myself?”

“Then help me understand,” you snarl.

“He was my only friend. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Sou snaps. “He was the only one who ever wanted to look at me, or touch me, or spend time with me. He was the only one who loved me. Do you know how much that meant? Even if he just… wanted to hurt me, even if he liked it when I was scared, I… I would have…” Hurt wells through the cracks in his voice, the shattered pieces of his facade. It’s not Sou Hiyori who feels this way. It’s Shin Tsukimi.

You can’t bring yourself to look away, nor can you bring yourself to hold him when Sou roughly swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. This isn’t your pain, and you can’t do anything to take it away from him. You’re little more than a distant observer.

“So that’s why you’re looking for anyone who’ll treat you like he did? So I’m just–”

“Shut up. Don’t talk like you know me. You’re not a therapist.” Sou’s hands are fisted in your shirt, yanking you down, his grip on the fabric uncomfortably tight as he forces you look him in the eyes. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him, close enough to see his dry, flaking skin and chapped lips and greasy hair, the exhaustion weighing every inch of him down. “And don’t act like you didn’t want to do what you did. If I didn’t want you to—if I thought you were the same as him—I would never have—”

“Never have what?” you breathe.

“Let any of this happen.”

If he’s lying, then you can’t tell. But maybe Sou doesn’t know, either. His relationship with Midori means he only knows how to live like a scared dog, waiting for the next kick given under the promise of love.

For reasons you can’t explain, you let the weight of your head fall on his delicate shoulder. It’s uncomfortable, because he’s all skin and bones, and you can feel the sharp edge of his shoulder dig into your forehead.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “Shut up. Just let me do this.”

“This isn’t what our relationship is.”

“We don’t have a relationship at all,” you say sourly. “We’re just some assholes who’re using each other to get off. Which is something we haven’t actually done yet, by the way.”

“Are you serious? I literally just told you–”

“Not like that,” you interrupted. “We’re not going to do it like that.”

“What? You’re going to be gentle with me?” he sneers. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“Don’t be such a brat,” you snap. “I just meant if I’m getting something out of this, you have to get something out of it, too. That’s how mutual use works.”

What you don’t tell him is that you wouldn’t do anything, not with Midori hanging over the two of you. A living ghost, who’s watched the two of you from the beginning, who could be watching the two of you right now. None of the moments you shared with Sou, not even this one, really belonged to the two of you, not with Midori around. Voyeuristic freak.

Because you don’t want to be like Midori. You don’t want to be a bad habit Sou picked up because he’s looking for someone else in you. Maybe it should bother you that Sou couldn’t conceive of a love without violence, a softness without teeth, a kindness without ulterior motives. 

But maybe it should bother you more that you don’t know how to treat him in any other way than this.

“Sou,” you murmur against his skin, your voice vibrating through the thin fabric and flesh and weak muscle and hollow bone. “Would you vote for me in the main game?”

“... Yes. But you would do the same to me, wouldn’t you.” Not a question, but a statement, words as hard and sure as bleached bone.

You chuckle lightly, and his skin shudders. “Yes. Yes, I would. I hate you.”

His hands are stiff at his sides. Sou hasn’t made a move to touch you at all, but he hasn’t pushed you away, either. “And that’s why I let you do this, you know. At least you’re honest.”

“Cute. So no one else can touch you like I do?”

“What do you think?”

“Use your big boy words. Aren’t you capable of that much?” you say. “I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“You disgust me.”

“Sou.”

“... No. Okay? I wouldn’t let anyone else touch me. You’re the only one who can… do this.”

So, in some small way, Sou is yours. But it’s not enough. It’s not enough at all. In time, you’ll dig elbow-deep into his chest cavity, and make a space for yourself there. You’ll erase whatever Midori has done, and you’ll mark him so deeply so that all that will remain in him will be you.

[neverfilth]

The Hymentacts and Dysfunctional Family Roles

Analysis below the cut

Before we dive deeper into this in relation to the Hymentacts, let's first explain what these roles are and what they represent within the inner workings of the Family system. 

For this post I’m going to cover a triangular set of roles that coincide with one another and form an unhealthy dynamic amongst the family members within them. 

The Golden Child:

The child who is often favored and receives special treatment and praise from the parent. They may also suffer from the weight of high expectations and a need to succeed out of a fear of losing their position as the family favorite. They are expected to excel at and achieve what the parent demands of them and may often be a proxy for achievements the parent failed to act on in their own childhood or adult lives.

The Invisible Child:

The child who is unacknowledged and undervalued by their parent. They are often ignored or dismissed and often feel as if they don't exist at all in the eyes of those around them. The invisible child may often be regarded by the offending parent as not suitable to fill the needs deemed important or may not fit into the role they require of them. 

The invisible child often becomes used to the idea of being unseen, and this will persist in areas outside the home. Often, this child will have difficulty developing socially. 

The Scapegoat:

The punching bag of the family, and is used as a meaning of blame in place of legitimate issues. Can be seen as a “problem child” or “trouble maker.” They could also be the member of the family who is verbalizing or acting out against the problems the family is trying to deny or conceal. 

Notably, the Hymentact family is missing one of the three common roles within their children, the scapegoat.

But interestingly, it seems that Raymond could have filled this role but from a parental side. 

It is also possible for Modella to become the scapegoat after Lunchbox takes her place as the golden child, but there isn't enough information to speculate further without delving into full-blown headcanon territory. 

So, what role does each respective member of the family fit into?

The Dysfunctional Parent-

Though there are many different forms of parenting that can lead to a dysfunctional family system. In this case our offender is possessive, critical, and controlling of their children. They are more concerned with what their children can supply to them, seem to fear their children becoming independent, and will go to extremes to prevent this from happening.

In the small glimpse we see of Mrs. Hymentact, it's very clear that she runs her home in a very rigid and demanding way. Even in the set dressing we see just how controlling she is, as the furniture is covered in sterile plastics. No doubt in an attempt to keep an outward appearance of a pristine and perfect household with no room for flaws. It reflects her need to hold control over not only the home but also her rigid family mold and by extension her own appearance. Those who do not fit into her vision of the perfect Family are cast aside and ignored; in the case of Bloberta. Or if they do not comply with her demands they are beaten down emotionally until they do so; in the case of Raymond.

Which brings us to the second parent within the system.

The Enabler-

The enabler is the co-parent of the dysfunctional parent and can have many different forms. In the case of Raymond, the enabling is far more passive. He does not gaslight his children or back up his wife and even speaks out against her in some small cases, though only in short quips that are quickly backtracked upon. In ways he is an ally, but only a superficial one. However, in the long run this does not matter because he is unable to take a stand against his wife and instead allows everything to unfold around him. Allowing the cycle of abuse to continue, and letting the dysfunctional parent rule the roost.

Raymond could also be considered the scapegoat, but over time, he becomes a beaten down blend of both roles. His opinions are not valued, and he simply goes along with what his wife says instead, choosing to numb himself as an easier alternative to fighting back.

The Golden Child-

For the Hymentact's the golden child is an interesting role, because when we see things unfold it seems as if both Modella and Lunchbox fill this spot.

The interesting thing about that is that they can potentially represent two different paths of the role as they come into adulthood.

Modella is the one easiest to place into the role due to her being the most talented in the family choir. Her mother sings her praises in order to tear down Bloberta when she tries to include herself in the family's activities.

She is essentially weaponized and used against her simply by existing, though we are never able to see her own inner opinions of her sister.

But with Modella, there is hope. She doesn't actively chide or berate her sister, but she does defend herself, and we see her perk up when her mother compliments her.

To Modella, her position can be seen as extremely tenuous in her eyes, especially with Lunchbox in the picture. So, there is more need for her to protect that position on the pedestal her mother has placed her on.

I can see Modella fitting more into the category of a guilt ridden golden child. The kind that still holds empathy for their siblings and growing into adulthood would try to find a way to mend the rift that was formed between them.

Now, with Lunchbox, there is a distinct difference in how he behaves compared to Modella. There is, of course, a stark age difference between the two, so there is a gap of maturity, but we do see him delight in his sister's exclusion. Already, we see Lunchbox being praised for simply existing.

Is he as talented as Modella? We really don't know the answer, but my guess is that no. He is not.

But even still, Lunchbox is being set up to be the new golden child, but this time, it is simply on the merit of his gender.

This should not be a surprise in a town with such dated culture as Moralton. Lunchbox is Mrs. Hymentacts first son, and therefore his value is automatically higher than both of her daughters.

No matter how talented Modella is, she has no chance to compete with Lunchbox and the talent that was cultivated by her family suddenly becomes less valuable. Though unlike Bloberta she isn't ostracized and ignored because she still has that pedigree that her mother can make use of.

Into adulthood I imagine Lunchbox growing into the more toxic flavor of the golden child. The kind that buys into the excessive validation and hype of the offending parent, and truly believes that they are better than everyone else.

So between him and Modella the two would mature into very different sides of the golden child's hypothetical paths.

The Invisible Child-

This then brings us to Bloberta, who fills the role of the invisible child. Bloberta is not hated enough to be a scapegoat, she is instead treated as if she doesn't exist. In her mother's eyes she holds little value. So little, in fact, that she is barely acknowledged.

When Bloberta chimes into her family's singing, her mother doesn't even register the thought that it could be her. Instead, she chides Modella despite the high praise she has for her. Bloberta simply doesn't register as a part of her mother's world until she speaks up.

“Um, mom, that was me singing… Along with the family.”

Now she can be recognized, if only for a moment, but only to be brought down and further relegated into her role.

“Really, Bloberta, you know we don't need two Sopranos, and your older sister has perfect pitch.”

Here we see a small glimpse into her mother's thought process. Bloberta is redundant when compared to her sister, and is seen as less talented in her eyes. But in reality it is far more likely that Bloberta’s talents were simply not given the attention they needed to develop properly. Which is common with invisible children. They are not given the notice they need to develop socially and within their interests.

So, she continues to relegate herself to the background. Though she still tries to make attempts to be seen, it seems as though they fall on deaf ears.

Unseen and unheard by all but one person, her father.

This leads to a fragile connection between the two. Where their presence makes the other feel more validated.

From Raymond’s perspective he is able to make some sort of conscious effort towards making Bloberta feel seen but he will never do anything to change what is happening within the family as he himself is not valued and does not have the courage to stand against the toxicity of his wife's actions.

So even though their situation remains in limbo, Bloberta feels seen and valued thanks to his presence, but even that is fleeting.

Emotionally, he is still distant, closed off, and unable to provide the affection she craves that will allow her to feel truly emotionally validated. He can't even reciprocate the affirmations of her love towards him. He doesn't even acknowledge them.

“Okay… I'll shut back up.”

So still, she suffers socially and is unable to form any genuine connections that go deeper than surface level even with the family member she sees herself as closest to. 

Though we know there is one significant trait that she learned to mirror from her Father. 

We have no clue how early she started drinking, but this could've been somewhere in  her early early teens as a form of mirroring the emotional capacity of the parent who did notice her. 

The one parent she felt she had a valid connection to.

Turning to some form of unhealthy coping is not uncommon in invisible children, and it can go as far as being a cry for attention to become more noticed by their family. 

An invisible child may be at risk of being unseen even into their adult life, and in Bloberta's case, this is true as well. 

We see her being obsessed with the concept of being helpful, but even that can be seen as a way to gain the usefulness that was built up as so important in her home and that she so distinctly lacked. There are societal aspects to this side of her character as well, but the two coincide. 

In adult life, she put herself into a situation where, similarly to her childhood, she is undervalued and unseen. 

From the beginning, she may have even noticed the signs of that, but simply didn't see them as strange due to what she experienced in her homelife. 

In order to circumvent this, we see her fully occupy herself with things that are deemed useful in her role, in another outward attempt to gain favor and become seen. Though these cries, similarly to the ones of her childhood, go unnoticed by many around her. 

She is essentially a ghost within her home, as if nothing has changed.

So she seeks validation elsewhere, and eventually, she receives it. But in the end, that too is superficial and results in a cycle that anoints a new lost child.

Though the factors that cause Bloberta to relegate Shapey into this role are different than those of her mother, Bloberta is repeating the neglect that she experienced with her own son. 

Be it because she was never able to fully grow socially and emotionally, or if she sees him as a reminder of a loveless affair. 

Either way, she has perpetuated the cycle and put her child on a path not dissimilar from her own. 

But there is still time to break that cycle, and allow his voice to be heard…

[silvercoloredskiess]

Toxic Minho Moon (XO KITTY) x Genderless Reader

Synopsis: You and Minho were arranged into dating by his and your parents. But he was way out of your league. You have to deal with the very toxic red flag, Minho Moon.

Word Count: 2,305

Warnings: Very OOC Minho, controlling behavior, unhealthy comparisons, reader is a little insecure, Minho weight-shames reader once. One or two suggestive comments made by him. Gaslighting. There's some swear words in here. Let me know if I missed any.

Note: First time writing something that isn't squid game so I hope this is enjoyable. Treat this story as fiction and not an accurate representation of Minho and his family.

Sorry if this is bad I know this isn't the type of stuff I do. But consider this a valentine's day special

Have fun reading ! :-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were sitting in your dorm room. It was a wonder on how you were even accepted at K.I.S.S in the first place. Was there anything special about you? You never really saw your full potential. If the scholarship wasn't there you'd have no chance. But that wasn't the only thing on your mind.

And that was your arranged relationship with a boy your age, Minho Moon. You've never heard of this student before. Except in class rankings. He scored very high in all tests. You found this out by scrolling through to see your rank, which was nearly abysmal. Your stay at K.I.S.S may be over before you know it if you didn't get your grades up.

If only you had the mental space to study, but no. Instead you fixated on this boy you'd have to meet tomorrow. You hoped he was nice. You had met some nice boys at campus. Maybe perhaps, Minho was one of them?

It was best to stay optimistic for the sake of being able to sleep that night, and studying your class material. You dozed off after around an hour of studying with a smile on your face. You woke up at around 7 AM to meet the Moon family.

At 8:00, you arrived at the place and waited nervously for Minho. When he came out of the hallway, you noticed he was very handsome. But looks can be deceiving. That's what you learned when he groaned,

"Ugh.. this is the person you two wanted me to date?" He complained to his parents.

You felt very insecure at that moment as you stared at the floor. The urge to leave was burning.

"Yes, Minho. This is (y/n). You two will be dating. Reason being is because their family is close to us, and we'd like to continue this legacy. Treat her well, please." Minho's father said. In reality he knew his son was notorious for mistreating people.

"It's nice to.... to meet you all." You said with a shaky voice. Couldn't you just get this all over with?

Minho's mother chimed in, "Please make sure to be nice to our son. Respect is a two way street."

The Moons and you had brunch together. Minho was quiet for most of the meal. You could feel him silently judging you for getting an extra glass of orange juice and a some more breakfast potatoes. You happened to be very hungry.

After brunch, you and him left the place and went back to K.I.S.S. Your privilege of having a dorm room to yourself ended as soon as Minho stepped into it.

"Your dorm is a mess, (l/n). What are you, a pig?" He scoffs, "When's the last time you cleaned?"

"I actually just cleaned yesterday. I was preparing a midnight snack last night, and wasn't too concerned about cleanliness at that moment. But it's still pretty cle-"

Minho interrupted you by saying, "No it's not. It looks like a category five hurricane went through your dorm. I never left my dorm without it looking clean. So I expect the same thing for our shared one."

"But I-"

"Whatever I say, goes. And that's how it's gonna go all the time. Got that, (l/n)?"

"Um yeah I guess." You muttered, while picking up the closed food containers off the couch.

Minho got settled in the bedroom next to yours. It was good you got your separate area. At least there was some escape. You weren't planning on studying today and wanted to go out. Having saved enough money this month to eat out, you decided to go to a Korean hot pot restaurant. It would've been better if you had friends, but whatever.

So later that day, as the sky got darker, you put your shoes on and was about to leave. But...

"Where do you think you're going, (l/n)?" Minho asked condescendingly.

"I was going to eat some hot pot. Already booked a spot so I won't be staying back."

Minho laughed. "How about you lose some weight instead?"

You were angry. "That's rude. What the hell, Minho?"

"Well it's kinda true. If you want me to be proud of you as my partner, you're gonna need to step it up."

"I'm not proud of being yours in the slightest!" You shoot back, opening the door.

"I'm certainly better than those disgusting guys on campus who hide their gross fantasies behind a bright smile and being polite. I've hung around them before. At least I speak my mind."

"I can see that, Minho..." You groan. "No mystery figuring you out. Anyways bye."

You shut the door, leaving him there snickering. "That (y/n). Very stubborn."

------------------------------------------------------

Hot Pot was fun, at least. It wasn't fun seeing the large friend groups eat together and share memories. There was this one friend group that you memorized the names of because they talked so much; Kitty, Yuri, Praveena, Dae, Q, and Stella.

You went back to your dorm around 9 PM, to see a vain Minho doing his skincare. The mirror was his best friend. It was kind of annoying seeing him caring more about himself than even greeting you back. Ugh.

He spent at least an hour in that bathroom the two of you had to share. At some point you really had to go to the bathroom. You knocked on the door to ask if you could go, but he ignored you.

"Come on, Minho! I have to go super bad!!" You kept knocking on the door until he let you in and he left. While washing your hands, you eyed the plethora of skincare products he left on the counter. There was at least 11 products there. You couldn't pronounce half of those names..

"You done there yet?" Minho groaned, leaning against the wall by the door. You left the bathroom and allowed him to finish his self-absorbed skincare routine.

"Y'know (l/n), have you considered using a skincare routine? Your face says otherwise-"

"I mean, I've thought of it. It's hard comparing myself to those pretty students at school..."

You mentally cursed yourself for allowing yourself to be even the slightest vulnerable.

"Then you should start having a skincare routine. My skin is much better than yours because I actually care for my appearance." He scoffed, looking at your face.

"I don't have unlimited money. For me, soap on my face during a shower is good enough."

"Perhaps I'll buy you a little skincare set so you can see how much better you'd look.."

"I'd rather not. I'd be more insecure than I am right now" You told him before going to your separate room.

The next morning, you slept in by a lot. When you woke up, you smelled something very good. Apparently Minho was making breakfast. "Surprise to see you cooking" You teased.

Minho turned to you. "Good morning, (l/n). You look like a zombie."

"Why do you refer to me as my last name? Sounds so condescending.. ugh" You rub your eyes.

"It's to be more gentlemanly. And don't you see I'm cooking us breakfast? Maybe Minho isn't so bad after all."

You mumbled, "I guess so..." . How could you fall for this manipulation?

Admittedly, his cooking skills were amazing for someone that lived a lavish lifestyle. Minho looked at you. "So since it's Sunday, we should enjoy the last day of the weekend together."

Your eyes lit up. "Sure! I see you've improved... where would you want to go?"

"I was thinking of walking through Seoul and seeing what we do when we get there. Up for that?" He asked with a grin.

You nodded your head happily and continued eating your breakfast. After the both of you got ready and headed out to the main streets of Seoul, it seemed like he changed. He wore a smile on his face and was kind. But something in your mind told you this was too good to be true.

He took you to play arcade games, and you got to try yummy Korean food. While you were walking together, hands held, a group of students came up and wanted your attention.

"Hey, were you that (y/n) (l/n) someone was talking about?" One of them asked.

"We just wanted to say, we thought you were incredible in music class Friday. Shame you didn't get ranked higher." Another one of them said.

You almost forgot the singing unit the class had to do, where they had to sing in front of the class. You thought your singing was terrible, and your rank confirmed that. But you were glad some people saw you as good.

Minho got pissed though. "Can't you see me and (l/n) are enjoying ourselves here? Leave us alone!"

The group got surprised and so did you. "Minho, they aren't bothering me. They just wanted to say a compliment. What's your problem?"

The group went away because of Minho's scary expression. He took a deep breath before saying, "I don't need others interfering between us."

"Uhhh... I guess so... hmm.. but it was rude."

"And was all the things I did for you today rude as well? He scowled.

"No.. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"That's right, (l/n). Now you understand."

"Ugh.. I'd like you to call me by my first name. I hate how condescending it is!"

He ignored you and gripped your hand tight as you two kept walking. The both of you sat down at a cafe and ordered some boba tea.

"Y'know (y/n), now that we're a couple now... don't you think we should discuss about... getting intimate?"

You nearly spit out your drink. "Excuse me!?"

He laughed. "Such a prude. It's just a joke. But some say I'm quite the good lay. If you get what I'm saying."

"Uhm.. you've had other partners before?"

"Mhm. But they weren't arranged like we were. But I'd like to focus on us now anyway."

"I'd like to ask why they broke up with you. How many exes do you have?"

"About 5. And they were all crazy."

"Alright.... thanks for answering honestly.."

The next day, you decided to wear the new outfit you bought last week. Maybe then you would impress Minho. But when you left your bedroom and saw him sitting in the living room, he rolled his eyes.

"And what are you wearing, (y/n)?" Scoffed Minho.

"Thanks for at least addressing me as my first name, but... You don't like my outfit?

"Just said that. Please change. I can't have my partner out in that. The shirt looks so tacky, and your pants are so plain. Let me choose your outfit." "But it's no uniform day. Can't I wear what I want?" You asked. "Come on Minho this legit never happens at this damn school."

"Ugh, NO!" He snapped, "I'm choosing your outfit, and you're gonna like it."

You tried to stop him but alas, he picked out an outfit that was definitely not your style. It was stylish, sure. And very expensive...

"There. I was going to wear this outfit, but since your style is abysmal, I did what I had to do."

You weren't shocked considering his family was rich as hell. You reluctantly changed into the outfit and came back out.

He grinned, getting up from his chair. "That's much better on you. We'll look so good together. Let's go to class."

Throughout your classes, Minho kept you very close to where he was sitting and never let you chat with others. You couldn't go any longer with this unbearable relationship.

From controlling what you ate, backhanded compliments, condescending jokes, and not allowing you to connect with others. But how would you put an end to all of this? It's only been two weeks now.

Minho approached you sometime later.

"My family and us will be having a dinner next week, I need you to behave and not talk about me at all. Just keep your mouth shut. Or else."

That's when an idea popped into your mind.

So when his family and you had an evening dinner that week, You sat across from him and ate the delicious meal prepared by the Moon family's personal chefs. After some basic conversation, you were ready to say the truth.

"All this conversation is great and all, but I'd like to bring up... more serious matters. It's about your son."

Minho's parents looked at you with surprise. "Is something wrong?" His mother asked.

Your voice raised, "Your son sucks. He's controlling, rude, entitled, and condescending!"

His father got angry. "You're just like every one of Minho's exes. Same entitled behavior. There is nothing wrong with Minho, he's just very outspoken."

His mother was a little concerned and was willing to hear you out. But her voice didn't match her husband's. He was so adamant to prove you wrong at this time.

"Look, he's been super shitty to me everyday we've spent for the past three weeks. I'd like to break up with your son. I don't care if we're arranged, I'd like out of this!" You stated. "Go find him someone else that's tolerating of this. Hopefully nobody else has to deal with it though."

You walked out of the mansion, storming off without a word. You didn't feel like confronting his father. You knew from the start it wasn't worth it. And you were going to tell your parents too, since they did agree to this arranged relationship.

You called a ride service back to K.I.S.S, and refused to contact the Moons anymore. Minho's parents decided it wouldn't be worth it for their son to pursue such a "stubborn" person. Your love life was plain after that, but maybe that was for the better just for now.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Nice While it Lasted

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn

A/N: Manga readers.... I... I'm so sorry for this chapter.

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Tomura Shigaraki didn’t dream.

Or at least, he didn’t consider the series of thoughts, images, and sensations that he experienced in his rare stints with sleep to be dreams. Dreams in his mind were fantasies. Visions of a hopeful future or irrational exercises in imagination. Dreams were nonsensical, removed from corporeality and truth. The things that happened in dreams weren’t real.

This is not what Shigaraki experienced when he slept.  

While the flashes in his mind always felt nonsensical at the time, coming in and out of his mind in orderless bits and pieces like a corrupted stream, whenever he came to his senses, he was always able to sort them out. He knew that they weren’t his imagination. These were memories, things that truly happened to him. Even if they didn’t stick with him for long after, he knew that much. Everything he saw when he slept was a horrible, undeniable truth.

Which is why when he shot up in bed around three in the morning with visions of her fresh on his mind he felt particularly unsettled.

He wasn’t sure where they were exactly, somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere endless. The light around them was too blindingly bright to see it clearly. A city sidewalk maybe, he could faintly recognize the hum of conversation and commuters walking past him in all directions, minding their own business.

They stood facing each other, a considerable distance between them, just staring. She wore an expression that should’ve comforted him (and in many cases had) a small smile and a soft, relaxed gaze. She looked content, completely satisfied with everything around them. 

But it unnerved him here, considering the fact that she was just watching him, ragged, desperate and tearing at his own throat with reckless abandon in the middle of the street. She should’ve been horrified by the sight, worried about him. She always had been, even in the beginning of all this, she never wanted to see him hurt.

So why did she look so happy watching it now?

“You told me everything. Gave up everything,” she repeated words he didn’t recall saying, “No… More like that creepy Sensei gave up on you, right?”

He couldn’t speak anymore, didn’t know if ever could actually. His voice was gone, trapped by a burning closure in his throat. He couldn’t even nod. All he could do was stare at her, stuck in a shell-shocked muck of despair.

“You have nothing…” she clapped her hands together happily, “ Finally, you have nothing!”

He couldn’t breathe. The weight of the world, of her horrible joy crashing down around him was too heavy. 

“Oh come on… Don’t look at me like that,” she tilted her head, a taunting little pout on her lips, “There’s no way this can be a surprise. After everything you did to me, did you honestly think that I’d forgive you? That I’d love you?”

The completely shattered expression on his face was answer enough. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“What an idiot…”

Finally, horribly, she started walking towards him.

“It’s a shitty feeling isn’t it? Having nothing. You’ve felt it before. I’ve felt it…” 

She planted her hands on his shoulders, tight. Painfully tight, like they were breaking him to pieces.

“And you deserve to feel that way for the rest of your life.”

He wasn’t imagining the pain. It was a searing, cracking feeling surging through his muscles and neck, his joints and very being. He snapped down to look at his shoulders as it intensified, as he began to crack and crumble under her fingers, his entire body decaying away into dust. It hurt and it emptied him, which only served to destroy him further, faster. The feeling of having nothing, of turning into nothing, all while she stood smiling in front of him, happy he was gone. And as his eyes started to go, he could see everyone around them suddenly stop to stare at him, to watch the wind sweep his remains up away into the blinding, parting clouds above.

They were happy to see him disappear too.

Before the last of him faded away was when he finally woke up, body lurching forward, sending the game controller abandoned on his chest clattering onto the floor. 

Lit only by the Game Over screen of whatever he’d fallen asleep playing, he couldn’t remember. It didn’t ultimately matter. Right now all that mattered was the tightness in his chest, the burning in his lungs as he gasped for breath like he hadn’t taken one in hours. It certainly felt like he hadn’t. He definitely hadn’t breathed that entire dream.

No… Not a dream, he reminded himself. After all, Tomura Shigaraki didn’t dream. In his sleep, he only ever saw the truth — horrible and desolate as it was. But this was strange. That interaction between them, he knew that it wasn’t something that had happened between them before.

Which meant it was going to happen in the future.

Continue on AO3

[aceandurmom]

Obsession Wears a Crown (Four)

ONLY ON TUMBLR UNDER ACEANDURMOM <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS: unhealthy relationship, Doflamingo, mentioned slavery, previous SA

Robin had managed to be someone you were comfortable around. If these pirates were okay with a former assistant to the dictator of Alabsta then you would be fine. Or maybe they were just overlooking such a detail since she was so valuable. You really didn’t know how to feel about it. They were so trusting of her, other than Zoro as he was the only one who looked at her longer than the others. Usopp was skittish but was quickly warming up to her, never staying away from her long since he was around Luffy and Chopper more often than not. And the former two were constantly fluttering by her and asking questions.

And then there was you. Playing the runaway slave that was terrified of their previous master. Nami had been the one to attach herself to you, always by your side and asking if you needed anything. You told her no every time, but she constantly checked on you. Sanji wasn’t much better, bringing you meals that were smaller but packed with nutrients that you needed. You refused to eat much, not wanting to gorge yourself on the delicacies that the North Blue chef cooked. His accent had stood out, telling you of his true nationality and where he reigned from. Even more noticeable were the eyebrows he tried so hard to hide. You had seen those before on five others, and one of them had died. Or so you thought, perhaps only one had passed and the young boy had survived. Judge Vinsmoke was an avid visitor of Dressrosa, the man making you sick to even think about. His sons weren’t much better, but you could tolerate Reiju and Yonji. The older two of the brothers were insufferable, annoying on the best occasions But Sanji was nothing like them, kind in ways you would have never expected considering he came from Judge of all people. But Sora, from what you’ve heard, was an amazing woman who was strong enough to go against the King. She was kind and headstrong, brave in the ways that mattered. You could see her in the boy as he catered to his new found family. He was thriving here. 

Away from your thoughts, you watched as the crew ate at the table. They had spots that they preferred, but sometimes Luffy would switch it up and randomly sit in another spot. He also never made himself head of the table, very intentionally removing chairs if they happened to be there. He refused to have anyone sit there, adamant of the fact without saying it outright. It was odd, yourself and Doffy taking those seats without another thought, it was just how it worked. Even so, you enjoyed the change in this smaller crew as no one fought for dominance or planned a coup against their easygoing captain. You stayed outside the door, watching as the crew ate together. You didn’t want to ruin the scene, choosing to instead observe their habits. You wanted to know more about them all, but you didn’t want to get too close. You had an awful habit of getting attached rather easily, and you didn’t want to jeopardize your mission.

Luffy’s head perked up as you stepped back, the wood creaking under your subtle weight change. His eyes were in your direction, wide and intense. He caught your eye and smiled wide, pausing as he thought for a moment. He stood without much time passing, quietly opening the door and shutting it behind him. You could no longer see the others, not able to see how they reacted at such an unusual motion. Luffy never left food unattended to. 

“You're hungry.”

“Yes.”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what was going on. He could never truly understand you, that he knew without a doubt. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite place, but that was why he had taken you along with him. Despite the stories you told and the way you acted, there was something just under the surface. It was wild yet tamed, feral but kind. It was intriguing. 

“Then come eat with us, no one’s gonna hurt you on the Merry, promise.”

He was serious, not a hint of amusement on his face. You softened.

“I know, I just don’t want to intrude, Mr. Luffy.”

He groaned, outwardly frowning.

“‘M not a Mr., I told you to just call me Luffy!”

“I can try, it’s a habit.”

You tried to bypass the conversation, not wanting to speak anymore. But Luffy was pushy. 

“That’s okay, you just keep trying, okay? But come on, I want you to come sit by me!”

He turned back around to face the door before reaching out his hand. His eyes locking in on how your hands were shaking at the very idea of being around all of them at once. You really didn’t want to be around people more than necessary, especially with those you didn’t understand just yet. Still, he was waiting so patiently and letting you make your own decision, he was not forcing you to do anything you truly felt uncomfortable with. You gave in, hand gently taking his own and giving your choice to him. 

He smiled, bright but subdued, comforting in his bold encouragement. The door flew open, the captain emerging with you in tow. A week on the ship and you still had yet to eat with all of them. You spent more time by yourself than anything, not letting yourself be in an open space for longer than needed. They had given you your space, letting you take it on your own time. 

The girls parked up at your arrival, Sanji and Chopper doing the same. Usopp smiled, inviting. Zoro nodded at you, making no big deal of you finally joining them. He had actually rather you have done so on your own, but he knew how Luff could be, how convincing he could be when he really wanted. There was no saying ‘no’ to the guy, and that was coming from him of all people. He shook his head with a smirk, gulping down the sake in the process. 

Luffy ushered you to sit down beside him, having you closest to the door and facing the entire room. The chef jumped up and grabbed a plate, quickly plating the food he had served tonight with a thoughtful look on his face. He paused before scanning it once more and then finally placing it on the table in front of you. You muttered your appreciation before looking to the side. You hesitated, noting how the silverware wasn’t in a specific order or the way it was supposed to be. Doffy had made sure you knew the basics before you took to his side at the table in front of the family. It was ingrained in you by now, not being able to function properly without things being a certain way. Eye unconsciously twitching, you breathed deep before picking up the closest matching utensil you could find. Robin noted the action, paying close attention to the little ticks of yours. She was fascinated by you, having not met someone of your status personally before. But even without having done so, there was something that wasn’t adding up. Your demeanor was timid, yes, but there were other things you did that tipped her off. But she couldn’t put her finger on it just yet. 

You ate as expected, not listening to the conversation that had started to flow again. It wasn’t until you were finished that you finally tuned in and the others noticed. It was kind of them to be patient with you, but you could see the way they eyed you from afar, wanting to know about whatever you would tell them. 

It was, of course, Luffy who managed to speak up first.

“So, where are you from!?”

His eyes were sparkling, wide and bright. It was hard to deny him of things when he asked like that, and you were already starting to want to keep this boy, wanting to treat him much like you do Baby 5 and Dellinger. Clearing your throat and dismissing the invasive thought, you put the utensil down and folded your hands in your lap. Closing your eyes, you pretended to think of an appropriate response. 

“Well, the man I was serving was the captain of a huge pirate crew as well as the king of the island of Dressrosa residing in the New World.”

Opening your eyes, you nodded to Luffy. He looked at you but didn’t yet understand how far away it truly was. So he looked to Nami. 

She was already gaping, eyes wide and mouth wide. Her voice trembled.

“The New World!? How the hell did you manage to end up in Alabasta of all places, it’s at the beginning of the Grandline!”

You flushed, eyed averting her own as the others leaned in in interest. 

“W-well, while I was under the Young Master I came into contact with one of his…associates. You see, the Young Master is… never mind.”

You trailed off, allowing them to become invested in the story before you gave the big reveal. 

Robin leaned further, intrigue sparking. She could tell you were playing them, could see how you manipulated the conversation. But she gave in either way, curiosity flaring brighter than her care for that at the moment. 

“This Young Master, he was more than just a pirate captain, wasn’t he? If I can remember there’s a certain man that has his followers call him such a title that my prior boss pretended he wasn’t fond of. Would I be correct in my assumption?”

A knowing glint was all you needed, pretending to reluctantly nod.

“Y-yes ma’am-”

“Who is it then!?”

The table chorused, Zoro included in the exasperation. It was starting to become tense and he was needing some elaboration to understand the conversation. He wasn’t the only one, the others just as lost. 

“The Young Master is also a fellow Warlord of the Sea, associate of Sir Crocodile. They were known to become intimate in the past so it’s not surprising that Ms. Nico Robin knows of him.”

“You’re telling me that you were a slave for a Warlord??? How the fuck did you manage to escape that?!”

Usopp interjected, unable to keep his mouth shut. You curled into yourself, arms holding onto each other. 

“That leads me back to the associate I mentioned before. Another Warlord, Bartholomew Kuma, has a teleportation Devil Fruit and he took pity on me. In a moment of weakness I broke in front of him and begged for him to send me anywhere else in the Grandline. I woke up on Alabasta, somewhere in Nanohana.”

“That’s where you met Luffy then.”

You nodded, confirming the statement. 

“Yes, that’s where I met your captain. He was the first person I saw that didn’t seem to be from the island. I had also seen a Wanted poster with his face on it, so I knew he would be on the move.”

“Why didn’t you go to the Marines straight away? Surely they would’ve taken you in?”

Robin asked, playing along with your narrative. She was trying to poke holes in your explanation, but you had spent many nights thinking about every possible scenario. 

“I could’ve, but the chances that someone would recognize me were high considering my duties under the Young Master. I came into contact frequently with guests to Dressrosa, more of a…comforting presence so to speak.”

And that was more truthful than any other word you had said, Robin seeing the hesitance to admit such. You were used in the same way under another, having been a warm body for others to find solace in. You were combining your real experiences with your imagined one under Doflamingo. Hopefully that way there were some hard truths in there they couldn’t deny. Chopper had seen the very real wounds and scars from such a past, so there was nothing they could accuse that he wouldn’t refute with evidence. 

Nami quieted her own questions, moth forming a harsh line at hearing the statement. She had thought of her own time under Arlong as soon as she had seen the jolly roger on your back. The memories came hard and fast causing her to cringe. 

“So what’s his name? You keep saying ‘Young Master’ but you aren’t his slave anymore.”

You shook your head, genuine in your next words.

“You don’t understand. The Young Master is Donquixote Doflamingo, King of Dressrosa and Captain of the Donquixote pirates. Owner of slave houses, auctions, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, and artificial Devil Fruit manufacturers. Not to mention the counts of mass murder, genocide, patricide, fratricide, torture, and enslavement.”

You let the list linger in the air as they took in the information. 

“That man has branded my skin implying that he owns me. And he does- body and mind. The scars will last my entire life and I find myself constantly in a state of fear of his arrival, that he’ll somehow find me or his allies will. I can’t escape him, his reach is further than any other pirate I personally know. He’s even got the Navy on his side.”

Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Nah, he can’t own anybody. You can’t do that.”

Your head rose, snapping to look in Luffy’s direction. 

“You don’t understand-”

“Don’t need to. No one can own another person. You still have your personality, your dreams…”

He trailed off, eyes growing distant before promptly refocusing. He turned toward you, question lingering.

“What’s your dream?”

Your mouth opened and closed, searching for an answer. You truthfully didn’t have one, not like you knew they had. The tears in your eyes fell, damn you were a good actor. You mentally patted your own back. 

“I don’t have one.”

“Then we’ll help you find one. First, we have to get rid of that Mingo guy, right? Cuz you’re scared of him so you can’t be free.”

You sputtered, eyes widening in legitimate disbelief. You rose from your chair, hands planting on the table. 

“Y-You’re out of your depth here, kid! The Young Master is stronger than everyone on this fucking ship, stronger than the majority of the Warlords and more cunning too! I-I can’t even think of a time someone went up against the man and won! When you fight Donquixote Doflamingo you either survive and live a horrible rest of your short life or die! Y-you can’t-”

You cut yourself off, backing away from the table and shutting yourself up. Their eyes were wide, every single one of them looking at you differently. You had gotten passionate, too into the conversation and lost yourself for a moment. You flinched as Nami reached out from across the table trying to bring you back, but you took a step back. Your head faced the ground as you pushed in your chair. 

“Forgive me, it seems as if it’s getting late. I’ll be retiring for the night.”

You turned your back, rushing out of the door. 

Or attempting to. 

Zoro caught your hand, the first person on the ship to touch you without prior confirmation. You tensed, not at all enjoying the feeling of his hand on your skin. It made your skin crawl, anyone touching you that wasn’t Doflamingo. You withheld your reaction, already given in too much tonight to your genuine emotions. 

“How strong is he. Do we stand even a chance against him as we are now?”

He was serious, but he wasn’t really asking. There was something else he was looking for in your answer. 

“No. Nothing you try to attack him with will make a difference, especially since none of you even use Haki. You would die as soon as he met eyes with you all.”

His grip loosened but still stayed. 

“Haki. Do you know how to use it?”

You thought of how to respond, but you decided you already enjoyed their captain’s presence and his attitude. You would do them a favor it seemed.

“Yes. I was one of the higher slaves, one that was coveted.”

Another truth that made your hair raise.

“I was taught things to keep the other slaves in line and safe.”

You already knew what he was going to ask, especially after seeing Luffy pay more attention. You didn’t want this boy to die, not the one who ensured freedom of all his nakama. 

“Teach us.”

Robin leaned in, eyes narrowed in thought and not of distrust. She had heard of a slave that was well-behaved and trustworthy of being a keeper of sorts for the others. But it was a hierarchy more often seen in Celestial Dragon’s captivity. She pondered the thought before pushing it away, she would think more on it later. 

“We’ll start in the morning then. And the only way I know how to teach it is how I learned it, so that is how I will be doing it. Prepare yourself for dawn.”

You left the room, shaking off Zoro’s hand and fleeing as the chance arrived. They let you leave, letting you run from the situation and back into your safe space. They had yet to find where you stowed yourself away and from everyone on board. In truth, you hid your Haki presence and jumped overboard and into the mouth of the figurehead. You curled up tight in your hole and closed your eyes, listening to the waves crash on the ship. Feeling for anyone around or on top of the goat head as Luffy sometimes did, you relaxed as everyone was still in the Galley. You fished out the baby DenDen that was hidden in your boot. Dialing the number you knew by heart and waited, anxiety stirring heavy in your chest. 

One ring. 

And then another. 

He picked up on the third ring, much too long to wait in your opinion.

“Mi amor?”

He breathed, his voice deep. You didn’t know how much the time difference was, but you could hear the sleep still heavy in his voice. It spurred something in you, the raspiness of his tone thrilling. It reminded you of when he was angry and those were always times you looked forward to…he was never angry at you after all. 

“I should make you be like a dog for making me wait so long to hear your voice.”

He sighed, smiling wistfully at your attitude. He had missed every part of you, even the one where you smarted off at him and gave him what he deserved. He shuddered at the look you must be making right now, the frustration in your eyes and the scowl on your face. Doflamingo so desperately wanted to see you face to face. The month you had been gone (both on Alabasta and now the Merry) was too much, a day was too much. But he held strong, knowing how determined you could get when in the right mindset. And he knew how badly you wanted Law to join the Donquixote pirates, to be in the Heart Seat you thought he belonged. 

“I would love nothing more. But that’s not the reason you called, was it?”

“Hm, I suppose not.”

“So what are you so excited to tell me then?”

“Well, since our last talk I have successfully boarded the Going Merry, the caravel belonging to StrawHat Luffy.”

An intake of breath. 

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? I thought it would take a lot more to convince rookie pirates of their caliber. Especially considering the lineage of Monkey D. Luffy.”

“I thought so too, you would think Garp would teach his grandkid about taking in strangers.”

“On the other hand, they have also managed to recruit Nico Robin, Sir Crocodile’s former second hand.”

The line went quiet as your lover took it in. You knew how much he had loved the man, had adored him before you. But even you could admit you didn’t know what had happened to the man in the aftermath. 

“And-?”

“I don’t know, my love. “

And the conversation came back. He told you of everything going on in Dressrosa, about how Dellinger and Baby were behaving so far. But of course their daily arguments continued. You hadn’t expected anything less, pleased at having them not try to kill each other. 

Dawn was on the rise as you finished talking, wavering in your stance and wanting to stay on the line with him. But you had let go after sensing the others starting to rise. 

“I’ll speak to you later, mi rey. I have to go, the others are waking up.”

“Be careful, not that you need it. Make sure you let me know if things go downhill, I’ll be there in minutes, I swear it.”

Your heart fluttered, the affection not unnoticed or unappreciated.

“I know.”

And the line went dead just as a ship came into the horizon. It seemed as if your impromptu Haki lesson would have to wait.

[loth-creatures]

I’d love to hear your wall of text about the Sion’s voyage!

Aight, so if there's one thing I hated about the show it's that the journey to a whole ass new galaxy felt like it took 5 minutes. So in my star war it takes roughly 7 weeks and it fucking SUCKS

Disclaimer; this is just a huge mess from my head, nothing is set in stone, and I'm only really planning to comicify the last few parts ;)

Also cw for some implied self-harm ideation, terrible coping mechanisms, deteriorating mental health, violence and injuries (just mentioned, not in detail)

To set the scene, they're using the training/rec room as Sabine’s prison bc Wolfbine is too big for the actual brig lol. Much to the entire crew's irritation. The first week or two they just handcuff her in a corner at blasterpoint whenever they want to use it I guess, and find a closet to lock loose equipment in. At least she gets some entertainment. She probably also gets beat up a few times (you should see the other guy) for commenting on people's techniques. But eventually they decide she probably won't try anything and stop caring she's there, so she's left alone for the most part.

She spends a lot of time working out, bc otherwise she is strongly considering bashing her head into the wall. Having to sit alone as a human and pace in circles as a wolf for days on end with the weight of her decision and all kinds of fresh guilt is doing terrible things to her head...She is also spending a lot of time trying and failing not to sob and scream in the shower when no one's around. There is also a viewport in the rec room and Sabine spends an unhealthy amount of time staring into the rainbow swirl of hyperspace. She can't tell whether or not she's hallucinating the strange shapes that occasionally drift into view, singing strange songs that she can feel more than hear. It reminds her of the ocean and she shudders and dreams of drowning, being crushed by the depths. And she dreams of Ezra alone and lost in this void. There's no easy way to break free of such thoughts when she's essentially trapped in a fish bowl.

Meanwhile, Shin hates Sabine even more now for making her a Wolfwalker. She is not adjusting well to turning into a giant beast every time she tries to sleep and on a cramped vessel with little space to stretch those legs. Having been bitten only just before boarding the Sion, she hasn't had the chance to run wild for miles with the wind in her fur; all she knows is that the journey feels twice as long and horrid when she's consious 24/7. Baylan, on the other hand, is like DO YOU REALIZE HOW AWESOME THIS IS?! YOU SHOULD BE THANKING HER. He's not jealous persay, but. Well. Careful what you wish for...

Wolf Sabine and Shin are both getting major zoochosis smh. It's a miracle Shin hasn't killed a random crew member yet. Wolfbine behaves for maybe a week before she starts chewing up the flooring and howling and screaming husky style just to be a little shit. See how long it takes before someone threatens to shoot her, muzzle her, throw her out the airlock (not long). She can't afford to antagonize the crew too much bc there is only one person on the entire ship who wants her there and he has limited authority. Baylan is quick to remind her of this.

He also makes several attempts to talk to her and get on better terms, as he would like to learn more about the wolves. He tells her of the old fragments of stories of Wolfwalkers he found in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant and his facsination with them and how chasing such tales lead to his other ambitions. Lowkey info-dumping about all the fairy-tales and mythalogical stuff that Shin never took an interest in. Sabine is deathly bored enough to tolerate it to extent, but she is not forgiving him for 'killing' Ahsoka, for digging in her head, for putting her in this situation, and she is absolutely kicking herself for having bitten Shin. For letting anyone affiliated with the Empire close to Lothal's secrets. Too her it's put a deep crack through her promise to protect Lothal, perhaps not as much as having given Thrawn a way home, but she's going to try her damnest to undo that one, and shoves that looming guilt aside as best she can, instead spiraling about the fact that she made Shin a Wolfwalker and short of killing her there is no undoing that. So most of her conversations with Baylan end with telling him to go fuck himself.

Just now realizing I've never gone into detail about why Sabine bit Shin. It was a complete accident. Split second reaction out of pain after taking another small slice from Shin’s lightsaber during their fight on Seatos, which she was able to heal herself but it slowed her down enough for Shin to escape. With a nasty little nip to the arm.

That all said Sabine does not want to kill Shin, in fact she's just starting to feel sorry for her. Shin might be all MY ARCH NEMESIS SABINE WREN, but from the beginning Sabine is just like ugh can this random chick stop making my life harder 🙄

And if she's this miserable as a wolf rn, she can imagine what Shin's going through as a first timer, which is all her fault :( plus the fact that as wolves they are instinctively drawn to other wolves and each of their suffering seems to exacerbate the other's. They are both so lonely. 2 weeks in and (human)Sabine is bored and desperate enough to try heckling Shin into sparring with her, on the rare occasion she passes by (Shin’s been avoiding that room). 3 weeks in and Shin's gotten bored and desperate enough to accept the invitation.

I hc that during a friendly match, most Force-users will refrain from using the Force against a non-Force-user for the most part. Shin is not interested in friendly and absolutely hammers Sabine unless Baylan is there to remind her to play nice. Sabine is fine with this. She wants Shin to use the Force (come at me bro). If anyone's gonna be holding back it's Sabine. She wants to get as familiar as possible with Shin's fighting skill and habits without revealing the full extent of her own, while also slowly learning to anticipate and work around Shin’s use of the Force. That way she'll have an advantage the next time they fight for reals. It's difficult to impossible to hold back though, while still presenting enough of a challenge to keep Shin coming back for more.

While Sabine is more experienced, with a wider range of techniques and more refined skill, Shin is still skilled and powerful and it's hardly a fair fight without her armor and gear. She gets her shit rocked.

Sabine is very rarely able to beat Shin when she's using the Force. But she can withstand her. Many of their fights don't end with a quick, decisive victory so much as Shin just wearing Sabine down until she physically can't fight anymore though she refuses to tap out or surrender. Because for one, it's pissing Shin off, which is fun. And for two, ending the fight means returning to the hell that is sitting alone and staring out that window until it makes her sick in the head. She would kill a man for a single can of paint.

While Shin is toying with Sabine and using her as a bunching bag on the basis that she asked for it, keeps asking for it, doesn't know when to give up, and totally deserves it 😤, she is no easy opponent and Shin is continuously shocked by Sabine's ability to survive her. She was supposed to be just another enemy to tear through, yet has survived two murder attempts, and Shin is now stuck with her on this godforsaken ship for some reason, and she doesn't even have the grace to admit when she's defeated. Unstoppable force has met unmovable object.

Shin simultaneously resents and admires her, though doesn't quite respect her yet. And she definitely fears her a little (though she would never admit that). I kinda get the vibe that Shin’s never really lost a fight, has never truly been left for dead at the end of a battle, and the thought terrifies her. Either she is invincible or she is dead. Meanwhile Sabine can be coughing up blood and she'll be like 'cool see you tmr'✌️😎 The fact that Shin probably deleted one of Sabine's kidneys on Lothal and she seems hardly intimidated is well. Intimidating. And annoying. And hot.

I feel like at some point Baylan would point out that Shin could probably learn a thing or two from Sabine if she would stop beating the shit out of her for two seconds. Shin is already aware of that but doesn't want to admit it.

Meanwhile Sabine just doesn't care anymore what happens to her as long as she lives long enough to get off this accursed vessel, doesn't care how hurt she gets, as long as it passes the time and distracts her from her spiraling thoughts. She's offered a medic multiple times and refuses each time. She doesn't want them seeing the full extent of her injuries and then finding out she can heal herself with the wolf-magic, bc the Empire doesn't need to know about that. She only heals the worst injuries and then gaslights Shin about it. 'You did not break any ribs lol I'm fine quit flattering yourself.' Shin’s like how the fuck are you still standing.

This routine of brutally taking out their frustrations on each other is gonna get old though, and is completely unsustainable. Eventually Shin’s convinced that Sabine is just using her for pain. Which isn't wrong even if it's not the only or even primary reason Sabine keeps asking. Sabine calls her out on fighting like a coward and enjoying hurting her anyway. Shin goes and sulks for a few days after that (not without punching Sabine in face first).

Ok time out. What the hell is Shin’s deal anyway. I have only some half-baked ideas about Baylan and Shin’s...thing. They're like the closest thing we've gotten to 'grey Jedi?' I guess? I've been operating under the assumption that that's what they're essentially trying to be (though it's not what they'd call themselves), something more than Jedi, Baylan says, and that 'more' is just chasing power. They will inevitably fall completely. Probably need to watch the show again to get a better read on them tbh but I would rather not. It will hurt my feelings again :( Baylan is like the mountain. He's calm, he's steady and the darkness erodes him slowly. He thinks he's successfully toeing the line with the dark side, but his faults are most evident in Shin's training. She is like a hurricane. The Force rips through her, chaotic and volatile and her control is iron yet brittle. She hasn't known inner peace a day in her life. She just taught herself restraint in the sense that she suppresses her power until she needs it to plow through her enemies. She will fall far more quickly than her master. Baylan's teachings follow the Jedi's to an extent but once the darkness is let in, those lessons become skewed and contradicted, and Shin is a mess because of it, only mirroring her master's control on the surface. Baylan isn't the worst teacher but he is not a good one. While Shin loves and trusts Baylan, she is getting tired and frustrated following his mysterious whispers of legends to an end he never explains clearly. And she is afraid.

ANYWAY, once Shin’s done sulking, one of these days her and Sabine are gonna have a genuine conversation or two and maybe agree to an actually friendly sparring match in which they agree to not just blindly pulverize each other. They take breaks and drink water and tend to their wounds like adults. And Sabine is like you know, we could just. Hang out. As wolves at least. It would suck sooo much less if you'd come play with me as a wolf xoxo. They slowly transition into a more definitive Truce.

Shin does start hanging out in the rec room as a wolf. Sabine still isn't volunteering info on the wolf magic but she does talk about what its like being wolfwalker in general. They tussel and chase each other around, often getting too rough but also loud enough that someone will come yell at them to stfu before they really hurt each other. It's much easier to take naps as wolves too after they've had a chance to burn some energy which makes the entire ship more peaceful.

However, you can't just be the first vessel in centuries to cross between galaxies and not have some kind of disaster right? Well it turns out the strange shapes out the viewport were not hallucinations. The Sion is essentially traveling through the cosmic deep ocean and there are bigger, older things than even the Purrgil out there. Nothing has an interest in attacking the Sion, but at some point something very large drifts close enough to jolt the Sion off course and shorts out the entire system. This ends up forcing them to drop out of hyperspace in the middle of absolute fucking nowhere.

It takes a few days to get the ship running again and recalculate the jump. And here's where Sabine gets to be a hero and earn some respect around here, bc most of their mechanics are droids which also shorted out and lost power. Seeing as they are at risk of losing life support, they let Sabine help with repairs and turns out she's one of the best mechanics on board, even considering the newer technology she doesn't have as much experience with. This also allows her to get more familar with the ship and find the best places to hide out when she eventually makes her escape, while simultaneously giving the crew more reason to let their guard down on her. Including Shin.

That first loss of power is the worst but there are several more blackouts along the way. Human Sabine and Shin are almost getting along now. They still don't like each other but they are hooking up (it does not fix them), and playing card games by flashlight and truth or dare. Maybe Shin even scrounges up some art supplies for Bean. Now she can pass the time hiding sharpie dicks all over the place. They are almost friends by the time there are three days left in the journey and Sabine is preparing to make her move.

Baylan was probably the one to initiate letting Sabine have her lightsaber to sparr occasionally. He wanted to test her metal as well. I think it would be interesting if they sparred a couple times. Baylan is much more chivalrous than Shin and also goes into teacher mode about sword fighting. Sabine isn't a novice anymore but he's still far more experienced. Shin is like no no no we are not adopting her Dad NO-

So anyway escape day comes, Sabine almost cronches Baylan to death, and Shin is beyond angry. Mostly at herself for letting her guard down enough to allow this to happen, she didn't really expect Sabine to not pull something like this in the end right? It's stupid to feel betrayed when it was so inevitable. She is still 100% gonna take it out on Sabine though, especially for almost killing her master.

Despite the escape attempt, Thrawn lets Sabine go as he does in the show, in the hope that she'll lead them to Ezra’s human body. He figures if anyone could find him, it would be a fellow wolfwalker who considers him dear enough to risk the fate of her entire galaxy. Everyone else is like you're just letting her go?? After all that??? And Thrawn's just like lol what did you expect from her? That's Sabine Wren. They probably do attempt to scan the ship for sabotage but it's so huge and her kyber bomb is so small and rudimentary that they don't find it.

At this point, Sabine is run utterly ragged. Bedraggled even. Having not slept in 2 days,(no room to wolf in the Sion's walls so she just had to stay awake 💀) suffered a heart attack at Baylan's hand, and got beat up by WolfShin again. She's visibly about to collapse and Thrawn's probably like 'do you...want to spend the night before you go? And a medic?' He knows he's most likely sending her to perish in the wilderness anyway, but was hoping to give her at least a chance at finding human Ezra for them. Sabine says hell no I'm getting out of here before you change your mind.

She rides until she actually does collapse, hides her body as best she can and continues as a wolf. She figures they let her go for a reason, and plans to run in erratic circles all night every night to hopefully throw them off, only later investigating any clues she finds as human for a few sporadic hours in the day. Thrawn does send Shin to track her at a distance. If she happens to find the trail of Wolf!Ezra first, kill her. This hunt through the wild will go on for several days at least, before there's any sign of Ezra.

[streets-and-sodium-lights]

your love is a murder

Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz (Birds of Prey), Rated M, fluff, but it's them so it's unhealthy af. more or less a missing scene from the movie after Roman talks with Mr. Keo.

beta'd by @jowoanofheart

~~~

“Mr. Zsasz,” Roman said, his voice a drunken drawl over the noise of the Black Mask Club. It was almost three in the morning, and Roman had been indulging in his club more than usual tonight. As Victor walked over, Roman grasped at his collar roughly, like he was trying to pull Victor to the ground. “Mr. Zsasz, would you get me a drink?” he asked sweetly. “A martini, the way I like them?” His head lolled to one side as he spoke. He was absolutely wasted.

Victor put a hand on Roman’s shoulder to steady him. “Sure, Boss,” he replied as Roman leaned into the touch. God, he was an affectionate drunk. Victor slowly pulled his hand away and Roman tried to reach out for it, trying to follow it back to his lover. No one was supposed to know, according to Roman, but when he was drunk, it was more than clear what they were to one another. The other people at Roman’s table- a group of three twenty-something girls and a smug-looking man- all diverted their gazes, knowing that this moment was something they weren’t supposed to see.

Victor pulled his hand away and walked across the club to the bar without so much as looking back, but he knew Roman’s eyes were on him. Victor knew damn well that if that fool had another martini, he’d black out, and Roman hated to be seen as weak.

“One vodka martini, dirty, two olives, no lemon twist,” he said to the bartender; some new guy who was under-experienced but pretty enough that Roman hired him anyway. Roman liked pretty things. Often, Victor wondered why in the world Roman kept him; scarred, aging, and jaded, when he had all of them.

He returned to the table with Roman’s favorite drink. It was said that putting two olives in a martini was an omen of bad luck, but that hadn’t served Roman poorly yet. “Here,” he said, holding out the drink. Roman looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He had his arm around one of the women at the table, a beautiful blonde with small, high breasts and a sheer blue dress. When she saw Victor, her smile disappeared and she leaned away from Roman.

“What was that for?” Roman asked, and although his tone was still calm, Victor could feel the man’s anger rising to the surface. 

Victor swallowed tensely. He hated watching Roman when he acted like this, so he did something he didn’t usually do when Roman was this drunk- he brought out the marionette strings. “Seems like she’s scared of you, Boss.”

Roman quickly turned his attention to Victor. “Scared of me?” He grinned and turned back to the blonde, who had now fully recoiled away from him and moved towards another woman at the table, probably a friend who she’d started the night with, entirely unaware of who owned the club she was headed to. “You should be,” Roman said. “All of you should be!” He was yelling now, making a scene. “Do you know who I am? I don’t need cowardly filth like you in my club!” He got up from the booth and stood beside Victor, one arm around him and the other pointing towards the door. “Go! GO!”

The four civilians took little time to disperse before Roman reached for the martini Victor had brought him. Victor knocked over the glass before Roman could reach it, spilling its contents onto the rich, dark wood of the table. 

“What’d you do that for?” Roman asked as if he was personally offended by the act. “You’re dead drunk, Boss,” Victor said. He shifted the weight of Roman’s arm on his shoulders, allowing him to lean on Victor. Sure enough, he did.

“Are you saying I can’t handle my liquor, Mr. Zsasz?” Roman asked with a small, weak hiccup.

“Of course not, Boss,” Victor said quietly. “That was upsetting… how those four betrayed you. Let’s go upstairs, finish this night well.”

Roman considered Victor’s words before he finally nodded. “Right. Good thinking, Mr. Zsasz.”

Victor nodded and adjusted Roman’s arms so that he was leaning most of his weight on Victor as they walked. The club would be fine. They’d left it unattended enough nights now that the workers knew how to manage without Roman’s watchful eyes, not that he had to know that.

Roman more or less stumbled upstairs to the apartment, where Victor led him to the bathroom and sat him on the floor in front of the toilet. It was only a matter of time before Roman’s body realized that it needed to purge itself of the mix of expensive spirits he’d downed. 

“I don’t want to throw up,” Roman said, suddenly distraught. “It’s so gross. I hate gross things, Victor.” There it was, his first name. Roman was his again, not some random blonde’s. A sickly happiness bloomed in Victor’s chest.

“I know,” he said with a sigh. He sat down on the floor with Roman, his back against the cabinet under the marble sink so he could watch him. “What did you have tonight? Just alcohol?”

Roman shrugged cluelessly. 

“It was that Keo jackass, wasn’t it?” Victor took out his folding knife and popped it open and closed, open and closed. “We’ll kill him, slow and painful. We’ll peel his face off.”

Roman looked at him with adoring eyes. “Victor,” he said, the name leaving his lips like a dead man’s last breath. Then he looked back at the toilet and Victor got up to hold the crime lord’s hair back as he threw up. 

“So fucking gross,” Roman choked out. “Fuck.” Then he retched uselessly for a while before he threw up again.

Victor leaned his head against Roman’s back. “Done?” he asked him.

“God, let’s hope so,” Roman groaned. 

Victor nodded and picked Roman up from under his arms like a cat and guided him into the shower, where he got to work on undressing him, starting with his monogrammed gloves. “Feel better?” Victor asked, making quick work of the buttons on the man’s velvet blazer. 

“Not by much,” Roman replied. When Victor’s hands drifted to try and take off Roman’s tank top, he brushed them off and did it himself. He started to bend over to take off his shoes, but stopped himself suddenly. Evidently, he was still nauseous. 

“Don’t,” Victor said as he knelt down to untie his partner’s shoes. He removed them easily, then stripped Roman of the rest of his clothes. Another time, all this would lead to a very different night, but at the moment, he was just here to take care of his drunk partner. “Cold or hot?” Victor asked as he reached for the handle of the shower’s temperature valve. 

Roman reached for Victor’s hand and kissed it. “Hot. Will you join me?”

Victor sighed. Roman was drunk enough that he didn’t care that his designer velvet blazer was on the bathroom floor in a pile. “Come on. You’re wasted.” 

“I just want to be with you,” Roman said, his rarely-seen romantic side emerging once again. “Please, Victor?”

He nodded and stepped out of the shower to pile his clothes next to Roman’s. He said nothing as he got in beside Roman and turned the water on. Everything about Roman was at least slightly sexual, and he usually didn’t mind one bit, but tonight he just stood behind him and helped him clean himself off. There wasn’t much to clean. In Roman’s eyes, though, he was sure they both seemed grimy. Once Roman figured out that Victor was helping him wash off, he gave up trying to do it on his own and stood there, lifeless, and watched as Victor scrubbed at his arms, his hair, his back until he was clean. Even now, he was Roman’s right hand, doing all of the things Roman lost patience for.

Roman traced one of Victor’s newer scars. “Who was this?” he whispered.

“That idiot acid dealer you had me kill last month, the one who was broking deals in your club without your permission.” “It’s brokering,” Roman corrected crossly. “I don’t remember him.” 

Victor slicked Roman’s wet hair back to get it out of his face. “You don’t need to, Boss, that’s my job.” 

Roman leaned his head on Victor’s scarred chest and wrapped his arms around him. Victor was done bathing them both. At this point, they were just standing under the warm water. “What would I do without you?” he asked. 

“You would be the crime lord who owns the finest club in the city, just as you are now,” Victor said, although he knew that probably wouldn’t be the case.

Roman said the truth for them both: “I’d be in Arkham.” Victor was the only one who could calm him down, the only one who could reach him during an episode. They both knew that Roman had little power or sense of self on his own, despite his claims that he owned Zsasz like he was an object. No, Victor was there by choice, but no one outside these walls had to know that.

Victor turned off the water, and Roman crowded even closer to him, shivering in the sudden cold. “Let’s get you to bed,” Victor said. 

It was raining outside the tall glass windows of the apartment, Victor realized as he walked out to get Roman’s robe, buck naked because he couldn’t care less these days. He found Roman’s robe and walked back to the bathroom.

“Someone could see you, you know,” Roman said as he walked back in. He was definitely still drunk, but now he was content and clean, and that had sobered him slightly.

“So what?” Victor replied. “Get dressed, brush your teeth, and I’ll find you something to eat.” As he walked to the kitchen, he spotted a group of young blonde women laughing, stumbling down the street. He tried not to think about that blonde in the sheer dress, but she came to the forefront of his mind all too easily. Roman needed him. Roman should want him, too.

“Thank you, Victor,” Roman said as Victor walked into the bedroom- their bedroom, really, as the one that used to be Victor’s was rarely used these days. Victor set down a tray of charcuterie the chef had prepared earlier that day. “Wine?” Roman suggested.

“Water,” Victor replied, handing him a glass of ice-cold water with a thin slice of lemon in it. He sat down on the bed next to Roman as the man began to pick at his food. “How’s your memory of tonight?” Victor asked.

“Vague, but not absent,” he answered, gesturing to the tray. “You can have some too.”

Victor shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“No, you’re upset,” Roman replied. “What about, I don’t know. You’re insufferable sometimes.” He plucked a grape off of the tray and fed it to Victor with a careful hand. Victor crunched it obediently, despite his annoyance.

Roman sighed. His hand drifted to Victor’s upper thigh, but Victor shook his head negatively and pushed it away.

“Pity,” Roman replied. “What is it that’s on your mind?” He reached over and brought Victor’s face close to his own and looked him in the eyes before he kissed him. “Hm?” he prodded. He ran his hand down Victor’s chest, but Victor moved it before he got too far.

“The blonde,” Victor said, his face still inches from Roman’s. “The one in the blue dress, the one you were flirting with.”

“I was flirting with a blonde?” Roman asked. “I don’t remember her. All I remember is you walking me upstairs, taking off my blazer, your hands in my hair in the shower,” he murmured, kissing Victor again. “You should kill her tomorrow,” he suggested. “Make it agonizing. Show her the cost of flirting with the Black Mask tonight.” He ran a finger down a scar, old enough to fade, but young enough to be a kill he made at Roman’s command. Years of death, all for him. “Mark your territory, Mr. Zsasz.”

So Victor kissed Roman again and crawled on top of him possessively, pinning Roman’s arms to the sheets. The man looked entirely unthreatened. “What happened to ‘no sex, I’m upset?’” Roman asked, but he was smiling. Victor kicked the tray of fruit and cheeses across the bed and onto the floor, prompting Roman to grin even wider and lean in for another kiss, violent and fast. Roman should’ve cared about the mess, but he was distracted. “Go on,” Roman encouraged. He wrenched his arm out from under Victor’s to trace the edge of his jaw. “I enjoy pretty things, you know that.”

He kissed Roman again as he worked on the loose knot that held his robe closed.

~~~

The next morning, Victor woke to find Roman tangled up in blankets, sleeping with his head on Victor’s shoulder. God, what the world would think if they could see Roman Sionis now, asleep on his subordinate’s shoulder. Victor ran his hand through Roman’s matted hair. He’d be mad about that when he woke up, but for now, he was nothing more than a sleeping lover, with no sign of the Black Mask’s aggression or mania. Victor couldn’t decide which version of Roman he preferred. After some time, the spell broke, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” Victor greeted him. “How do you feel?”

“Hungover,” Roman responded, his voice rough from sleep. As he ran his hand through his hair, he paused, shocked. “Shit, I slept on it wet.”

“It was probably more than just you sleeping on it wet,” Victor said.

Roman exhaled frustratedly. “This is unacceptable. I have things to do today. Where’s my robe?”

Victor picked up the red robe off the floor on his side of the bed and tossed it at Roman. “Here. You should go get ready.”

Roman nodded. “I should. And I should fix this fucking headache.”

“You should let me make you a little hangover cure,” Victor suggested. When he was fully sober, Roman was always more receptive to orders when they were phrased as suggestions.

“Yes, do that,” Roman agreed. “I’ll be right back.” Actually, he would be about an hour, maybe more if he decided to put on eyeliner, because he was particular about that. Appropriately, Victor allowed himself a few more minutes in bed while Roman showered yet again and preened his feathers. Victor’s timing was perfect. Just as Roman emerged from the bathroom, he handed him a weak cocktail that would ward off his hangover a bit longer. “You look good, Boss,” he said as he handed it to him.

“I do, don’t I?” Roman agreed. He ran his fingertips across Victor’s short bleached hair and pinched the collar of the bowling shirt he was wearing. “Change your shirt and throw this one away while you’re at it,” he ordered. “This puce color makes you look absolutely pallid.”

Victor nodded and left to pick something he knew Roman would like before he returned, dropping the sickly pink shirt in the kitchen trash on his way back into the living area.

“Well, well, well,” Roman mused as he leaned on the windowsill, his robe slipping down his arm. “Could that be our little Miss Lance? All these years I thought she was just a pretty face and a fine set of lungs.” Roman sighed, calm and happy as if he’d been drugged. For a split second, Victor started to feel jealous, but then Roman turned around to look at him, and all the jealousy left Victor’s body, only an obsessive, all-consuming attraction left. “Oh, Mr. Zsasz,” he breathed, wrapping an arm around Victor affectionately, “I’ve had an amazing idea.”

[laura1633]

https://x.com/yuristappen/status/1821693567070314786?s=46&t=che4X6KyMSM-OuXsQeE6IA

i think people need to stop talking about this, and ok if it’s just some stupid tweet (its not okey to post but people are dumb) but in an interview? telling person that he’s fat? and how everyone around max is laughing and he is not understanding what is that so funny…

This actually made me really angry because just look at his sad little face 🥺 . I have so many thoughts but I don't even think I can get them down coherently so this is going to be a whole mess of an answer.

Also, I know this response is probably all out of proportion compared to the 10 second clip so please feel free to skip.

I don't think the reporter meant to call him 'fat' as such but was probably trying to point out that he was heavier pre-season (and things got lost in translation.) Or at least I hope that is what happened rather than her straight out calling him fat. HOWEVER and it's a huge however, I don't think she should even be asking about his weight. Whilst translation issues might have made it sound even harsher I can't understand at what point she decided this was a good or even interesting or useful question to ask. Image getting to interview someone who has achieved as much as Max and deciding that one of the handful of questions is going to be pointing out that he was heavier pre season when his workout regime had loosened a little (like yeah no shit!)

There have been lots of stories of drivers struggling with weight and going to unhealthy lengths to keep themselves lighter so there is clearly an issue around this in the sport so to ask a question like this with so little regard to that is just so unprofessional.

Max gets called out a lot for what he says and how that might impact younger generations then you get reporters (and I am talking in wider terms than this interview because I've heard sky say things in the past about driver's weights) getting away with making all sorts of comments and asking all sorts of questions without thinking of the wider implications.

I do like to give people the benefit of doubt so the Red Bull press officer (is that Gemma? I'm bad with names) laughing may just have been that she was so taken aback by it. I did notice that as soon as she saw Max's face she did place her hand on his back rather comfortingly and tried to somehow contextualise the question as being about how his training is different during winter break. Really he shouldn't have had to answer that question but it would have drawn even more attention to it if someone had stepped in and shut it down (even though I think he shouldn't have to answer stupid questions like that).

I hate that we are in a place where Max's pre-season figure is even considered fat. Perhaps social media and filters have warped peoples views or people can only comprehend a professional athlete having one very specific body type. I mean even if he had been "fat" its his body and he's a three time world champion, he knows what he needs to do to be at his best.

I will say that this clip was included in the documentary for a reason, perhaps a small statement on what drivers have to put up with.

And just to finish, I know that Max laughs with Crane on streams about Crane being bigger but there is something very different about joking with friends (who you hopefully know well enough to know what is and isn't a sensitive issue) and a professional interviewer asking questions about someone's weight.

Sorry for that huge wall of text 😂

[amethystunarmed]

A John Herschel Character Study

I have a lot of feelings about John that go into how I characterize him so I decided to organize them in an “essay” for Day 14: Family of @pulpmusicalsfortnight2024. This is my deep dive into how John's family and childhood affect him today, going into his character arc in the three published episodes of Pulp Musicals. Obviously your mileage may vary but this is the basis for my characterization of John when I write him. Inspired by @eggingtontoast's wonderful analyses of Karen Chasity and Jeri from the Hatchetfield series. Huge thanks to @snarky-wallflower for betaing this for me!

So starting in his childhood:

In the few lines we get about him, John's father is described as being firm and no nonsense.

In Polaris, John says that his father would be “unamused” by him playing a game with his astronomy knowledge and that would say “[You're] just tracing lines 'round things [I] spent [my] life to find.” Specifically, John noted that his father would be against it as it provided “no real benefit to society.” To me, these quotes are just a little too specific to be speculation; I bet William Herschel said this to John before, especially since John knows all the constellations despite his father apparently believing them to be unimportant.

I speculate that William Herschel has constantly reinforced this concept in John, that science isn't fun, it's important and respectable, and that John needed to be important and respectable in turn. And I think John took it to heart over the years. John's reputation is clearly incredibly important to him. He is also deeply concerned about what his father thinks of him, almost to the point of terror, in my opinion. 

He moved his entire project thousands of miles away and constructed it in total secrecy just so his father wouldn't learn if he failed. Samuel is so sure John's dad must be proud of him, but all John seems to feel is afraid. 

His reputation is tied so tightly together with his father's, that John's own failings will reflect onto him, and John's life is a constant comparison to his father's works. John even says that people consider his actions to be an extension of his father's “dreams... hopes, and fears” in Through a Glass. The shadow is long and all-encompassing, and John seems to feel the weight of it heavily. “The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, when they put a glass to me.” 

Whether William Herschel intended this or not, the constant pressure from both his father and society has led John to develop an unhealthy fear of failure and being seen as lacking, and all of this ties into his public persona. He needs to be taken seriously, and puts on this front of being stern and unflappable.  

His isolation only adds to this. He claims that he prefers being alone when he speaks to Rose in It's a Hoax (Reprise)/Carry On. “I should be in another hemisphere alone with the milky way.” We know he gets letters from Anna, his exception, the one person (so far) that he lets his walls down around, but other than that, he is utterly alone. He is “away from the world, but close to [his] heart.” He even admits this was intentional in the Shifts Reprise, that he “built a wall ten miles high of essays, books, and quips.” All John needs is his studies and the sky. He has removed himself from humanity entirely, and has been that way for three years.

This is the John we meet in Before the Storm and It's a Hoax (Reprise)/Carry On.

John comes in and is immediately uptight and no nonsense. This makes sense, given the ramifications of the hoax; John's reputation and most likely his father's opinion are highly on the line. He seems unpleasant at first, an antagonist to the twins’ writing dreams but... He is very quickly taken with Rose.

He doesn't want to be, initially seeming confused and standoffish towards her questions about his work, but she barrels through his defenses. He enjoys that connection, softens, calls her Rose.

Until he learns what she's done and that persona snaps right back in place, his commitment to his reputation and the validity of his name superseding that genuine human connection.

Then, John witnesses something impossible. Margaret glowing. The Radiance. A scientific marvel straight out of a fairy tale.

And we've reached John's Choice.

Because in my opinion, it is not just John's Choice for the story, but of what kind of man he is going to be.

This is where Benjamin comes in. Benjamin serves as John's foil in the Great Moon Hoax. We've witnessed his story; of Benjamin's initial wonder with Hoax, the way the writing moved him enough that he risked everything and gave it a platform, only to betray both it and the Stratfords in the end. 

Benjamin loved the story but there was always that undercurrent of greed and a focus on the money and social status that could be gained, i.e. his “We'll be rich by the end of the day.” in Is it True?

On the other hand, though John came in upset over the story and the damage it could do to his reputation, he has always been a little enamored with the Hoax. He says it was good! He mostly focuses on the science, but also says that in another life, he and the writer could have gotten along. He likes it, despite himself.

The Hoax lit that spark in him again, the one William Herschel saw no value in. Margaret's Radiance fanned the flames.

And so, when push comes to shove, John chooses the Hoax, the story. He chooses the whimsy and creativity and a world with no laws of gravity. He laughs. He becomes the story teller for a theoretical Great Astronomical Discoveries #4, and he “gives it all” to the crowd gathered. He even assists in getting Chester Thomas to continue publishing fiction!

As Benjamin writes himself out of the story, John writes himself into it.

And we see a whole different side to John in the Brick Satellite as this shift in his values continues! He has moments of that initial stuffiness, when he gets all huffy over the Moon Hoax (but never truly mad, not in the way Margaret is), but he shows more of himself, removing bricks from his own personal walls as they add the bricks to the Satellite.

He plays games with Rose on the ship during Polaris, he reveals his vulnerabilities to Samuel in Through a Glass. Samuel even recognizes him as one of their own during this song. When John says, “Imagining’s what you do,” Samuel replies, “A trait I share with you.” John isn't just a scientist, he's a dreamer who imagines a better world, just like the Stratfords. 

This culminates in John and the Earth, the tipping point. Because, the roles are fully reversed from so long ago in South Africa. John looks down at the Earth, at all the people he had walled himself away with for so long, and he loves them so fiercely he cries. He stands in the gift he created for humanity on his own dime with no recompense expected and he says “Heaven's not up here in the sky, heaven’s down there.”

He has looked to the heavens his whole life. It was what was expected of him, the footsteps he was supposed to follow. But looking at the Earth, he sees it. Sees what matters. He has never “felt so small”, away from all the fame and status his name and reputation give him. But he has also never felt “more part of it all.” Because that is John's story, the astronomer who falls in love with the Earth again.

(And falls in love with Rose, but he's still working on that one.)