#do people think about that? do people think about th-

[kurooh]

❆ BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE !

KINKMAS 2024 — holiday hatefucking + sukuna ryōmen

❆ desc. a record breaking blizzard blasts through your city, causing thousands of power outages & frozen pipes. what’re you & your sworn enemy of a roommate to do when it seems to last all night?

❆ warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, hatefucking, some degradation, pussy slaps, orgasm control, arguing, resolving misunderstandings, facesitting, one bed trope. | 6.0k words

“just like everything else, this is all your fault!”

“really, princess? last i checked, i can’t control fucking climate change.”

sukuna’s always been testing your patience, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with daily arguments and snarky comments. you let out a peeved sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. “of course you’d refer to weather as climate change. if i were you, i’d at least mask my stupidity better.”

“tch,” he manages, wordlessly rolling his eyes as he lamely tries to think of a comeback. anger boils in his stomach and burns through his veins, hot as magma. “you’re calling me stupid when you’re the one who fell into the toilet a few days ago, at three in the morning.”

“yes, and that happened because my inconsiderate asshole of a roommate didn’t put the lid down!”

“you deserved it,” sukuna scoffs, dismissing you with a wave of his hand as he turns on his heel. “go take your toilet ass to bed. g’night.”

you’re fuming with anger, but there’s no point in saying anything now that he’s walking away with no intention to listen to you. sukuna’s footsteps disappear into the darkness of his room, and he slams the door behind him.

how insufferable.

living with sukuna ryōmen meant you could never catch a break. between his occasional apartment-trashing parties and stormy demeanor, there was zero chance to turn things around. the feuds had started not long after you first met, and surprisingly, the two of you had actually hit it off pretty well.

your first meeting took place on a street corner downtown, right in the middle of the college district. after a horrible date, you had found yourself waiting on the corner for your delayed uber when sukuna pulled up on his motorcycle, extending his hand. at the time, you didn’t question his kindness, wrapping your arms around him and talking his ear off about being a student. he dropped you off at your apartment and offered to help you sign a new lease, after you had confessed how hard it was living in a dorm with so many fees.

initially, living with sukuna went well. the sexual tension was at an all-time high, but the two of you were always too busy (or afraid?) to make a move on it, so you remained friends. it was when his friends came over for a party during an important study night for you that things changed for the worse. they had been lounging on the couch, drunk and talking way too loudly about you.

remembering the things they said about you still makes you grind your teeth as you stomp down the hallway, pausing at the darkened screen of the thermostat.

“sukuna!” you yell, reading the numbers. “the temperature’s dropping further!”

“. . it’s a power outage,” he calls back after a moment, his voice muffled by the door. “what do you expect?”

it’s pointless but it makes you feel better, so you raise your middle finger to his door before walking off to your room. your door swings open, and you slide off your slippers, preparing to get into bed and wait it out, but you’re met with the not so soft material of the bare mattress.

oh, that’s right.

not long ago, the tv had been glowing with endless reports of the incoming blizzard. it was supposed to hit the city full force in a few hours. expecting a power outage, you’d thrown all of your sheets and blankets into the wash so you’d sleep well during the night in a warm, clean bed. it was as if the blizzard had a personal score to settle—it barreled through the city and prepared to stay, leaving hundreds of people without power or functioning pipes due to the freeze.

now that your apartment has no electricity at all, your sheets and blankets are left soaking in the washing machine downstairs. instead of breaking down and screaming out of frustration, you manage to pull it together with a few deep breaths before marching over to sukuna’s room. it’s entirely sickening that you even have to ask him for something like this, but you put the thought out of your mind and raise your closed fist to the door.

sukuna’s ears twitch when he hears the thumping at his door, and he gets out of his bed to go investigate. he rubs the tiredness away from his eyes and opens the door to see you standing in front of him.

“what now? did you come to tell me it’s snowing outside?”

“no, i didn’t,” you grit out, wringing your hands together, “remember i put my all my bedding in to be washed?”

“remember when i told you not to?”

“yes, thank you!” you reply brightly, “they’re currently soaking in the washing machine and i have nowhere to sleep without getting a bad case of hypothermia.”

“hm. you could always try the couch and some paper towels from the kitchen,” he suggests dryly, pulling the door shut. stubbornly, you push your foot in the way to stop him. “woman,” he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “if you think i won’t slam this door on your foot, you are sorely mistaken.”

it’s a risk you’ll have to take; you don’t budge an inch, looking up at him furiously. “just for tonight, i’m asking you to let me sleep in your bed.”

“i thought you hated me,” he hisses, “i could feel your little middle finger through the door.”

“i do, but if you had this problem, i’d actually help you, because i’m a good person!”

“keep telling yourself that,” sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically, letting his jaw go slack to mock your stupidity, “i would never have this kind of problem, because i’m not as dumb as you are.”

the wooden edge of the door starts to press into your slipper and a rush of panic strikes you square in the chest. your jaw tightens as hesitate, frustrated with the idea you have to convince him with. finally, your lips part, and the words tumble out sloppily, piling up into a debt you’ll be obligated to pay. “fine, fine . . . sometime i can make it up to you. i’ll even clean up the apartment after a party without any lip.”

sukuna crosses his arms, and the veins ripple beneath the skin with the movement. “oh, i hadn’t thought of that. i would love to see you clean the place without complaining as you usually do. although . . you did say anything.”

“yes, that’s right.”

where is he going with this?

his crimson eyes gleam with some kind of wolfish delight as he mulls over everything he could possibly impose on you. “perhaps i’ll save it and torment you while i think of something.”

“so, can i share the bed?” you urge, slipper tapping on the carpet impatiently.

sukuna offers a hand, and you can feel his black nails dig into your skin when you accept it. he moves out of the doorway at last, sticking out his foot and successfully making you stumble. you nearly faceplant into the carpet but manage to save yourself, biting your tongue even though all you want to do is shout at him.

sukuna simply gets into bed and tugs the blankets over his body, but he looks over at you in confusion when he notices you stacking a wall of pillows between your bodies.

“god, i am not that vile. i showered earlier and i washed my sheets yesterday,” he grouses, eyebrows pulling downwards in annoyance.

“i’m sure you did,” you assuage him dismissively, “i just wanna make sure we don’t touch once in the time that we sleep in this bed.”

sukuna fiddles with his silver lip piercings, tongue prodding into the backings impatiently while his fingers twist at the small spikes. “damn. are you done yet? goodnight.”

“goodnight.” you mutter, dropping down hard against the bed with your back facing his.

sukuna is what every daredevil wishes they could be. he is unique, with different piercings and dark, sharply lined tattoos that compliment his features naturally. all of his piercings had been acquired from bets or dares—he’d gotten his eyebrow done after his brother yuji beat him in a fight (he let him win because he wanted the piercing), his snake bites because he’d been dared (he did it himself with a hot needle and bent paperclips to keep the holes open since it was 1 am and all the jewelry stores were closed), and his ears when he won an eating contest (it was on yuji’s dime, so he got the most expensive jewelry too).

as you drift off, feeling warmer beneath all the blankets, you feel the tension leaving your body. for tonight, you’ll let go of your anger towards him and enjoy the pleasant moment and his rare generosity.

your eyes blearily open to the soft rays of morning sunlight shining through the gaps between the curtains, illuminating the dust in their thin columns over the bed. you let out a yawn, snuggling further into the soft pillows you’d set up the night before—but then your heart jumps into your throat and heat sears its away across your face when you register the warm body nestled against yours.

the position is so natural that it’s as if you slept like this for hours; it’s abhorrent, seeing sukuna sleeping like a baby, his breaths nothing more than quiet huffs into your neck. as the vestiges of sleep start to fade away, you’re all too aware of the sculpted muscle pressing firmly against your body. at some point, sukuna decided to take off his shirt, as evidenced by his bare chest against you.

outside, the sky looks to be a little cloudy, and the branches of bare trees are weighed down with layers of snow. looks like the blizzard came to a stop sometime in the middle of the night.

sukuna’s hand squeezes your side lightly, and he lets out a soft groan, tugging you closer. “ew, what the hell!?” you jerk back immediately, heart pounding wildly in your chest like a caged bird. an uncomfortable heat settles over you as the reality of the situation fully sinks in. he’s still asleep, fumbling around to grip onto you. your breath catches in your throat with each of his confused movements, and the warmth of his strong body leaves you dazed for a moment before you consider how wrong this feels. he firmly grabs ahold of your ass to pull you in, and you gasp, slapping his arm as hard as you can.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

he grunts out a curse, letting go of you and blinking awake slowly. his once relaxed face quickly shifts into one of annoyance, and he fixes you with a displeased glare.

“what’s your problem now, woman?”

“you were cuddling me, man.”

sukuna rolls his eyes so hard you wonder if they’ll ever return to their original place.

“to wake me up over something that trivial is ridiculous. it was a cold night and likely happened by accident.”

“no, sukuna!” you protest, hips swiveling as you push yourself into a sitting position. he hisses, jaw clenching firmly; the words die in your throat when you realize the problem—rather, his problem.

“wipe that fucking look off your face,” he snaps automatically. “ever heard of morning wood?”

“excuse me? you were all over—”

immediately, sukuna claps a hand over your mouth, his palm feeling hot against the lower half of your face. your words are muffled, but he knows you’re swearing and protesting at him—the way your eyebrows angrily move tells him enough.

eventually, you go still, opting to lick his skin. he recoils in disgust, wiping his sticky palm on your shirt to get it off. “you’re nasty, woman.”

“that’s not what you were thinking when you were wrapped around me like a koala five minutes ago.”

he doesn’t even know what to say. anger and something more bubbles up fast, scorching through his body before it finally exits through his mouth. “shut the fuck up. you started it last night, pulling me in and shit.”

“me?” you burst out incredulously, eyebrows furrowing as you lean forward, your stare burning holes the size of bullets into his face. “you’re the one who’s embarrassed for having enjoyed it, if your face is any indicator. you know how much i hate you, i’d never—”

you’re too close. beneath the blankets and sheets, your lower body thrashes while you speak, hips knocking into his a few times. each touch has his cock growing harder, throbbing painfully beneath his boxers and pajama pants.

“god, if you’d just stop touching me!” he barks, cheeks ultra hot now. sukuna’s lips pull into a scowl and he glares at you, annoyed with your sudden cluelessness.

“what is your problem now?!”

“it’s you,” he shouts, throwing off the blanket and startling you. “it’s always been you. since we moved in, since the blizzard, since i even agreed to sharing a bed with you! you’re always—” sukuna’s voice splinters and he swallows, pushing forward, leaving mere inches between your faces. “fuck. you’re always driving me insane.”

“back off,” you hiss, voice trembling. a crackling tension hangs in the air between you, heavy with unspoken words and growing anticipation.

“make me.”

“you’re really asking for it, aren’t you, sukuna?”

his lips curl into a wolfish smile and his eyes gleam with a similar intensity, anger blending with something more carnal. “maybe you can show me how much you love to hate me, princess.”

the demeaning nickname falls from his lips easily, as it always does, and you’re determined to make him choke on it.

“don’t you ever shut up?” your nose crinkles at the puffs of breath that brush over your lips. one of sukuna’s eyebrows quirks upward challengingly—your voice no longer has the bite it usually does.

“i only would if you let me use my mouth another way.”

your heart hammers in your chest, and anger still rushes through every inch of your body, but it’s much hotter now, leaving your skin sweltering beneath your clothes. giving in to sukuna ryōmen is a mistake—he’s your insufferable roommate who regularly makes your fists clench with anger, but he’s also the object of your deepest desires.

you’re too far in to back away now.

“go ahead,” you pause to let out a breath. “right now, i’m all yours.”

when you finally lean in to close the distance, your lips collide in a kiss that’s equal parts animosity and desire. it isn’t gentle, and it isn’t soft—it’s raw and furious, so overwhelming he loses himself and pulls you in, black nails digging crescents into your skin. in a manner that’s just as forceful, your hand finds its way to the nape of his neck and yanks him in, causing your teeth to click together sharply. the hungry kiss deepens, and his tongue slips into your mouth, stroking against your own. the deep-seated anger and tension that had been piling on top of each other is finally dissolving into something far worse—something so intoxicating you begin to wonder how you were living without it.

sukuna pulls back breathlessly, unable to look anywhere but your face. a small, glossy string of saliva connects your lips together, a sign of an encouragement to test the waters and continue. surely a heated makeout session would lead you to a crossroads, where you’d be left wondering how much further this could go, with only each other to figure it out.

sukuna coughs out a rueful laugh. “it’s funny, isn’t it?"

“what is it?” you demand, lips tingly from the kiss.

“i find it amusing this took so long to happen. of course, it was bound to eventually.”

“well, it’s only because you can’t keep it in your pants, sukuna.”

“and you can’t keep yours on,” he retorts, hooking his fingers into the flimsy waistband of your pajama pants before sliding them off your legs. now, only a thin layer of fabric hides the place he wants to see most. effectively silenced and now matching his black underwear, you take him in, eyes sweeping over his features. beneath his black tattoos, his skin flushes red, all the way up to the tips of his ears; his mouth is slick and shiny with a mixture of your spit and his own, and the silver spikes beneath his lip gleam temptingly.

“what’s wrong?” he questions expectantly, fingers curling around your chin with surprising force and tugging you forward. “cat got your tongue?”

“maybe i’m just waiting for the right moment to pounce,” you push forward stubbornly, forcing him onto his back so you can straddle him. you silence anything he would’ve said with another kiss, and sukuna’s hands travel from your hips to your ass. he gifts it with a squeeze and a pleasured groan slips out against your lips before he slides his fingers into your underwear.

the rough pads of his fingertips stroke over the skin of your ass while you suck on his tongue impatiently, hips occasionally rolling against his own. to add to each movement of your hips, you tease him a little more, using your teeth to lightly tug at the jewelry of his lip piercings. each moment of friction is something between solace and torture for his cock—it’s adequate, but it’s not enough and he’s dying for more.

you smile against his lips, sneaking a hand between your bodies to play with his cock. it’s an experimental gesture to test the waters, see how he reacts; the moment your fingers come into contact with his thick bulge, he groans, leaning up. one squeeze has him rushing to sit up so quickly his forehead knocks into yours. ordinarily, sukuna would’ve made a scathing comment, but he doesn’t have much to say when he grabs ahold of your wrist and pushes it into his boxers.

it’s a decision that further stokes the long burning fire that’s been ablaze beneath all the arguments and unbearable conversations; it’s something that has it roaring into an all consuming inferno.

“fuck,” sukuna chokes out, nipples hard against your loose shirt while he rests his hands on your ass. “you’re making me fucking crazy.”

you ignore him, rolling your eyes dismissively at his heavy panting and clenching abs. instead, you focus on lavishing his neck with attention in the form of wet kisses along the skin. he shudders a little as your tongue darts out to wet his skin before he eventually decides he’s had enough and cages you in his arms. you’re startled when you’re caught in something akin to an alligator death roll, opening your eyes to see that you’re pinned down beneath him.

“then do something about it,” you suggest, legs spreading without him having to ask.

sukuna groans deeply, his head spinning at the sight of you being this vulnerable in front of him. “take off that shirt now.”

the demand strikes you hard, his voice reverberating to your core. while you busy yourself with doing as he asked, sukuna kicks the pillows and blankets off the bed before positioning himself on his stomach. now, he’s eye level with your thinly covered pussy. he hasn’t seen it yet, but it’s sure to be everything he’s dreamed of. saliva pools on his tongue while impatience propels him forward, and he skates his fingers along your thighs, taking in the softness of your skin.

it’s not enough to simply touch you.

no, sukuna needs to smell you, taste you, feel you, devour you.

he intends to do so.

“what’re you—?” your voice trembles as you look downwards, nipples hardening at the sensual sight. sukuna’s nose is pressed to your thigh, and he’s breathing in with every inch upwards. you had expected something faster, more filthy, but sukuna’s behaving like he’s absolutely been dying for this.

the dull spikes of his lip piercings press into your plush skin and over a small area of your panties when he finally makes it to your hip. wordlessly, he slips his hands under your ass and raises you up while he takes a bit of your panties between his teeth. slowly, they slide down your legs.

a sweltering heat surges up your neck and to your face while another pools in your tummy like magma beneath a volcano. you writhe on the bed eagerly, too excited to have your panties finally out of the way. those fervent crimson eyes stare at your pussy and watch it flutter around nothing before flickering up to yours.

“don’t blame me if you can’t walk later.”

your face drops in annoyance. “why do you always have to ruin good moments?”

“a warning is hardly enough to ruin this.”

“but—”

a harsh, smarting slap to your pussy has you cutting yourself off with a pitched cry of delight that bounces off the walls and into sukuna’s long term memory. he raises an eyebrow, watching you closely as your legs settle and you return to your spread position.

“you liked it, didn’t you?”

“liked? it hurt.”

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” he says, eyeing your dripping, clenching cunt. “i’ll just do it again.”

you roll your eyes, bucking toward him impatiently. you want him inside you, and he’s hung up on moving slow to torture you.

“whatever. just fuck me alr—”

“ah ah,” he admonishes you with a slap that’s much rougher and directed to your clit. against the mattress, his cock swells with arousal. “i intend to fuck you my way. if you have a problem with that, i’d love to see you fight to be on top.”

tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill over and cascade down your cheeks. desperation and unbridled need easily shifts to frustration and anger that has you spitting, “i hate you.”

“don’t be like that. you’re soaking wet,” he points out with a self assured smirk. sukuna spreads your thighs impossibly wider and leans in, letting the tip of his nose graze your clit. the featherlight touch makes your skin prickle all over.

to be honest, you didn’t expect the events of last night to lead you here in the morning. in fact, you assumed you’d wake up on your respective sides of the bed and argue a little about snoring before departing. since most of your interactions usually go that route, this entire situation is shocking—but a small part of you is extremely thankful it’s finally happening.

there had been days so tense you’d considered sex as a solution, but never brought it up.

“s-sukuna!” you moan helplessly, grabbing at the sheets and twisting them beneath your fingers. with his teeth, he playfully nibbles at your folds, savoring the sudden catch of breath in your throat and whimpery cries. your quivering legs settle over his shoulders, and he appreciates the change, utilizing the new angle to pull you closer.

that sharp tongue of his can certainly do more than hurl creative insults all day long—it’s killer, and entirely hypnotic as he sloppily mouths at your cunt. wet slurps and lewd smacks of his lips have you shuddering, eyes rolling back into your skull.

“‘kuna,” you whine, long and drawn out, “don’t stop, d-don’t fuckin’ stop.”

he pushes his thumb into your clit and looks up, lips shiny with your bittersweet slick. “what did you just call me?”

“sukuna,” you lie nervously, trembling beneath his touch and craving more.

“now, girl,” he scoffs, and the new nickname doesn’t sound as demeaning as the usuals. “that isn’t what you said. go ahead and say it again for me.”

you look him in the eyes, feeling small beneath his heavy gaze. “‘kuna. that’s what i said.”

sukuna offers a gratified hum before returning to your sloppy pussy. a glob of spit sparkles in the morning light as it slips down your hole, making more of a mess. “keep calling me that, i like it.”

white hot euphoria zips through sukuna’s nerves as he dines on the wet dessert your pussy is. it’s the best breakfast he could’ve ever had—sweet as sugar and made even better with your decadent moans spurring him on. oh, the way you shakily card your hands through his hair and let your nails scratch over his scalp . . each electrifying touch shoots straight to his cock, and he discreetly ruts into the matress.

his tongue dips between your folds and he groans against you, eyes rolling back when you squeeze down on him like a vice. the once cold room is hot, your bodies feeling feverish from your own shared heat—if you were outside, you’d have melted the snow into puddles.

sukuna has always had an abnormally long tongue. he ponders your reaction to him pushing deeper, but the fluttering of your walls leaves no room for second thoughts.

“sukuna, holy fuck,” you sob, a tear or two running down the bridge of your nose. “y-your tongue, it’s so big—w-wait, wait a second.”

it’s painful to lose the fullness of his tongue, but you pull back and cup his face in your hands, looking down at him with a desperate look he won’t be able to refuse. “can . . can i ride your face, ‘kuna?”

you’re so cute with that little pout and those glossy eyes begging for more. sukuna smiles meanly, the lower half of his face dripping with your essence while his teeth gleam sharply.

“you liked my tongue that much, huh?” you nod, looking a little dazed as he gets onto his back. he helps you swing a leg over him, but before you sit down, his hand lands hard against your ass. “shit, you’re such a dirty girl. jus’ begging for me to get you off, aren’t cha? show me how much you fucking want it.”

you whimper, gasping out some kind of affirmative answer. sukuna tenses his tongue and sticks it upwards, then tugs you down impatiently.

“shit!” you squeal, startled by how fucking long his tongue is. it fills you up almost entirely, probably an inch and a half short of your cervix. whiny ooh’s and ah’s fall from your lips as you unsteadily rut your hips into his face, grinding your clit hard into his nose. “sukuna, ‘m close, you’re gonna make me cum . . ”

“you’re gonna make yourself cum, girl. ‘s all you.”

his voice is muffled, but you can somewhat hear him over the lewd squelches and noisy moans that fill the room. despite it all, he’s got stars in his eyes as he watches you ride his tongue to oblivion—stringy drool slips past your lips and your tits bounce deliciously while your face crumbles in euphoria.

“oh my god,” you weep, voice breaking, “‘m gonna cum on your fuckin’ tongue—”

one blissful tremor is the precursor to so many more. your jaw becomes slack and tears run down your face as you finally reach your high.

“‘kuna, ‘m cumming!”

the stifling tightness in your tummy finally snaps and leaves you a convulsing mess on his tongue, shaking so hard your teeth inevitably begin to chatter. sukuna smacks his lips, almost entirely satisfied—but then he roughly lifts you and sits you down on his chest.

you’ve got hearts in your eyes and you’re obviously drunk on him, ready for more.

“clean it up,” he demands, tilting his head to the side. without question, you lean forward and kiss him, tasting yourself with a moan. a groan rumbles deep in his chest when you pull back and start to sloppily lick at his cheek, tongue running over his tattoos. “good girl.”

“sukuna, i need—i want . . ” you flounder breathlessly, unsure of how to ask him.

he slaps your ass, scarlet eyes darkening lustfully. sukuna clicks his tongue, egging you on. “beg for it.”

“beg?” you ask incredulously, grinding your cunt into his abs. “i hate begging.”

“then you don’t get what you want, simple as that.”

“but—”

“no buts, girl.”

“f-fine,” you cede, afraid of being left unsatisfied, “please, i need your cock inside me . . i need you to fuck me hard.”

“there she is,” sukuna coos, flipping you over and reversing your positions so he’s above you, “my nasty slut. you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

you nod weakly, which has him flipping you onto your stomach and huskily growling into your ear. “fucking say it, princess.”

“all yours,” you slur your words, limply letting him maneuver your body.

“on your knees,” he pauses to gather your wrists together behind your back, pulling you toward him. “that’s right.”

with his free hand, sukuna tugs his boxers down so quickly the fabric audibly tears, and he tosses them over his shoulder.

the room is a disaster. blankets and sheets hang off the foot of his bed while pillows litter the carpeted floor in every direction. not to mention the discarded pajamas and underwear scattered around as well, evidence of the storm between yourself and your roommate.

your cunt is throbbing by the time he guides the tip of his spit slicked cock between your folds. it’s bulbous and fucking huge as it presses into you, slow and deep. sukuna tosses his head back with a loud groan when his cock bottoms out, pulsing against your cervix.

“loosen up, girl,” he grunts, your sticky walls bearing down hard around his cock, “can’t fucking move.”

“w-wait,” you whimper, nearly falling forward. your jaw hangs open loosely as you try to fathom the stretch and fullness his cock imposes. “‘kuna, you’re too big, i can’t—”

“please, this sloppy pussy was made for me,” he huffs, drawing his hips back and leaving merely the tip of his cock inside of you. “jus’ take it. you can and you will.”

he says nothing else before shoving forward, plunging his cock as deep as it can go inside you. it thickly pushes past rings of muscle and stretches you open, filling your ears with wet squelches. he sets a ruthless rhythm into place, focusing on taking your ability to walk tomorrow. tears pathetically pour down your cheeks and fall from your jaw to the damp sheets below, and you no longer can control all the noise you’re making. babbled cries of yes! and inaudible moans fall from your bitten lips, all of it spurring sukuna on.

“hah, shit,” he rasps, unable to tear his eyes away from where you’re connected—his cock slides in and out of your creamy pussy rapidly, the smacks of skin against skin sounding like an applause. “b-been waiting for this, goddamn.”

“i thought you hated me,” you wail desperately, feeling each thrust of his cock in your lungs. whenever the tip roughly kisses your cervix, your cunt squeezes around him while you cry out something incomprehensible.

sukuna pushes his tongue into his cheek, digging his black nails into your wrists tightly. “you were the one who hated me the whole time.”

“i-i didn’t!” you protest weakly, struggling to recall what you were just about to say. “it was you who started it—with your friends!”

“what’d we do?” he groans, pushing his free hand through his hair to remove the strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“uh, you—right there!—you were . . ”

“did i already fuck you dumb, girl?” sukuna snarks, his palm coming down hard across your ass. “can’t even remember, hm? perhaps if you weren’t so busy slutting yourself out for me you’d have something to fuckin’ say.”

his words are bitter, but they manage to help you recall your memory. “you were talking shit about me, a-and you threw that party the night before a big test i had—shit, ‘m gonna cum!”

“ah ah,” he snaps, voice edged with something domineering and dangerous. you’re pulled back by your numb wrists, and sukuna leans forward to speak directly into your ear: “you don’t get to cum until i fuckin’ tell you to. now, girl—finish that story for me.”

a miserable sob tears past your lips, “sukuna, i-i can’t, ‘m gonna cum right now—”

your wrists are released, making you fall forward into the mattress. your head can’t stop spinning and you’re in no state to catch yourself, so instead you accept the new position mutely.

the palm of sukuna’s hand presses into the crown of your head and his nails dig into your scalp while his warm breath fans against the shell of your ear. “don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses arbitrarily. “i said to finish the story.”

“i-i heard them saying horrible things about me!” you babble gaspingly, “i think you went along with it . . i didn’t hear you telling them to stop.”

“so that’s why you hated me?”

“yes! god, but i didn’t really—i wanted to talk about it s-sometime, but not right now!”

he chuckles ruefully, letting your head go. “now, girl. if i’d known something so stupid was the reason you’ve supposedly hated me, i would’ve taken care of it much sooner.”

you cry into the sheets, feeling the telltale throb of his thick cock deep inside you. “please—please lemme cum!” the words slur together, making you sound truly cock drunk.

“alright, princess,” sukuna hisses, teeth sinking into his lower lip, “go ‘head and let it allll out. cum all over this fucking cock, lemme feel it.”

stars flicker across your vision, and you cum with a broken cry that tears from your throat almost painfully. your gummy walls grip him like a vice, sucking the cum out of his cock. with a drawn out groan, he finally cums, collapsing on top of you and panting into your shoulder.

as you come down together, high pitched beeps fill the house. the microwave and oven come back to life, and the lights in every room snap on as the power is restored at last.

“goddamn,” he huffs, pulling you into a sideways spooning position without letting his cock slip out of you.

“tired?” you ask hoarsely, tired eyes running over his sweaty, flushed face. “clearly, that took a lot out of you.”

“me?” sukuna barks in offense. “look at you, you’re the one covered in tears.”

you pull out of his arms, whimpering breathily as his cock slides out of your pulsing cunt. the base of it is covered in creamy rings while the rest of his length shines wetly. sukuna spreads your trembling thighs and groans loudly at the sight—frothy globs of cum spill from your weeping hole, which clenches around nothing hungrily.

truthfully, sukuna would never be able to rid himself of the memory of your cunt swallowing his cock eagerly. the slip and slide paired with the immense heat had nearly made him cum on the spot . .

sukuna’s chest heaves with each breath as he lolls his head to the side to observe you. “for the record, i’m no longer friends with those vile people. cut it off right after they came into my home and started talking shit about you.”

embarrassment crashes over you like a wave. “wait, you never told me about that!”

“you stopped talking to me and decided to be argumentative all the goddamn time.”

you roll your eyes, looking off the bed awkwardly. a few pillows are scattered on your side, and you reach over to pick them up, tossing them to the foot of the bed.

“anyway, how did my pillow wall get destroyed?”

“don’t get upset.”

“what did you do?” you question him accusingly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“after you fell asleep, i moved two of them.”

“i used six different pillows!”

he dismisses you with a wave of his hand, smirking at the frustrated shock that takes over your features. “i thought it’d help me figure out what your problem was in the morning. obviously, it did.”

you snatch a pillow and hit him right in the face with it, savoring the moment of justice like high quality chocolate. “there. that’s what you get.”

sukuna rips the pillow from your hands and hurls it across the room, turning over to you with a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“you were saying?”

[rancidslime]

Hold on I'd actually love to talk about Archie comics and the forces behind Riverdale for a second because they're legitimately fascinating.

So, before we talk about why Riverdale's so bonkers, we gotta talk about Kevin Keller. Archie's cast and those of its spinoffs being thrown into Situations of wildly differing tone and periods is a time-honored classic of the series, but that started to mean more than just "here's a story about the gang finding out what kissing is in prehistoric times" after the successful introduction of Kevin in 2010. For those who may not know, Kevin was the first openly gay character in the Archie comics, and his release was kind of a huge deal - Archie had always been seen as this squeaky-clean symbol of (white) Americana, so something like that happening in the new 10's - to fucking Archie - was legitimately groundbreaking. (He's since been followed up with characters like Toni Topaz and Eliza Han, but Kev was the first.)

Remember, Archie is the kids' comic book in America, for better or worse. Superhero comics can vary wildly in tone and intended audience, but if a parent grabs their kid an Archie comic from the shelf at a grocery store, they basically know what they're getting and don't have to worry about someone's neck getting ripped out on-panel. Getting something like Kevin in the "safest" comic short of Family Circus was kind of a watershed moment.

(As an aside: some have pointed out that Kevin isn't a terribly interesting character, being something of a masc everyman All-American Boy™, but I would argue that that's basically all Archie is, and at a time where all the "gay representation" kids were getting were horrible caricatures of fem men as envisioned by straight people, whitebread masc guy Kevin is kind of exactly what the doctor ordered. I would go so far as to argue that presenting this gay teen as unquestionably part of the gang, slotting into Archie's idealized 50's aesthetics perfectly, was one of the best moves they could have made for the era and surrounding climate. This was a time when "Gay men are just as capable of performing masculinity as straight men" was a legitimately transgressive statement. I'm a Kevin apologist. A Kevin defender.)

So, Kevin's release is huge. He's very popular with kids and adults alike, to the point where his introductory comic and miniseries sell out faster than any other Archie comic in history. He got his own spinoff within two years. People love Kevin.

So what does this have to do with Riverdale, beyond Kevin being a character in it? Well, Kevin Keller proves to the leads behind Archie that modernizing the series has the potential to be very lucrative indeed, and this is where Archie starts to get shockingly experimental. (Relatively speaking, anyway.) The new 10's see the release of Life With Archie: The Married Life, (a dual-timeline soap opera exploration of his married life with either Betty or Veronica) Afterlife with Archie, (a zombie story incited by Sabrina trying to bring Jughead's dog back after he was struck by a car) and of course, the infamous Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. (This one got a Netflix adaptation, but in case you need the cliff's notes, basically it's Sabrina the Teenage Witch only the witches get the power from worshiping Satan.)

These series were also well-received. Enter Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, the guy behind the aforementioned Afterlife with Archie. After the success of the title, he was made Chief Creative Officer, and he's also the showrunner of Riverdale, and here is the reason Riverdale is Like That.

So while Riverdale is undoubtedly an incredibly weird cultural object, I think a lot of people who aren't familiar with the show or franchise get the wrong idea about it. I think the biggest point of confusion among onlookers is "How in on the bit is Riverdale?" and I would respond: extremely. Are you kidding? Why is there even any doubt about this? Sacasa is a gay guy who got cease-and-desisted for writing a play that reimagined Archie as gay in 2003. This dude got promoted specifically for playing with genre and making Archie weird as Hell back when it used to be considered a dull, whitebread relic. You think shit like the "I'm weird. I'm a weirdo." speech and "That means that you haven't known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of high school football." happened by accident? You think it just stumbled into doing an entire Hedwig and the Angry Inch episode? Oh, no, my friend. That shit was the result of a demented fag writer doing what demented fag writers do best; produce camp masterpieces. Everything about Riverdale is completely intentional.

Now, is it good? No, of course not. It is, however, great fucking television. I don't really watch the show outside of a few isolated episodes, but I am really glad it exists.

Gritty sci-fi webcomic where partway through the third major arc the protagonists get trapped in some sort of utopian false reality by a mysterious godlike being, except they never escape and the comic just changes genres to quirky coffee-shop slice of life until it's unceremoniously cancelled six years later.

[harmonysanreads]

harmony, do you have any advice on writing sunday?? been trying to write in his pov for like, days now and i feel i'm making him too generic tbh

Hi Psyscio! I apologize for the slight delay in writing this, I've just been a bit occupied with irl things ^^; I do hope you find these helpful!

— FOR POINT OF VIEW

Based on significance, we can divide Sunday's character thus far in three parts : early childhood, Bronze Melodia period and Oak Family Head.

The Stellaron disaster was undoubtedly the spark that ignited his later concerns. We see from the conversation about the Charmony dove that Sunday was an empathetic and inquisitive boy, albeit, his concerns mostly centered around others.

During his Bronze Melodia days, the segment where he's questioning Ena (I assume), we see a sort of overlap between concerns for himself and for others. It seems that he's projecting the doubts, insecurities and helplessness he feels for himself through the suffering that he's observed in the outer world. We can also see this as a kind of a protective barrier.

This is the time where he's already reached his conclusion and has started (or has already finished) the planning for the utopian dreamscape. One point which I think is very important to remember is that, despite how he presents himself, a small part of him has always doubted this method. But since he was never able to share his ideas with others (since they'd expose his entanglement with the Order) and since Gopher Wood never addressed the faulty nature of them, he wasn't able to think deeper into them. Which is why, even during his boss fight, he's inviting the Astral Express to prove him wrong — to give evidence to the doubts he's always had.

After these three, we have post-Penacony-arc Sunday. He isn't going to be a completely different person, of course. From the snippets we've gotten so far, we see this pattern : Sunday reminisces about [x] thing and how he used to do that in the past, he comments that there's no need to be as rigid as he used to be but he isn't completely ready to fully embrace that and circles back to his previous belief. Which is fine, old habits are never easy to get rid of.

When you listen to Sunday's ideas, you'll find yourself simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing. Similarly, there's a sense of obscurity in the flow of his emotions. This is intentional of course. So, I think it's alright if you notice this convolution while writing him. Emotions and thoughts are abstract by nature. But the way I'd recommend doing this, is pointing out that vagueness after that flow or an action has passed.

Thanks to Sunday's Myriad Celestia, we know that there's a sense of discord between his inner voices. We see him as both the interrogator and the answerer. The former appears to be firm, harsh and disappointed, while the latter appears nostalgic, remorseful and tired. You can use these voices to address his inner conflict.

Speaking of inner conflict, I think it's one of the most powerful tools you can use to write his perspective. I recommend not dodging it.

I've personally never agreed on the opinion of Sunday being delusional. He's quite lucid and we've received many hints of it. There's a difference between just being aware of something and acting upon that awareness. Sunday has many restraints that prevent him from acting, but it doesn't mean that he's ignorant. Oftentimes, the truth is just in his peripheral, but he can't bring himself to look at it due to a lack of support.

Sunday probably overdoses on psychoanalyzing people. Luckily, perceptive characters are very versatile. Now, I think Sunday prefers to see the best in everyone, unless he's been pushed far enough or has a particular history with an individual, he isn't one to harbor antagonist thoughts about someone. According to this post, Halovians can read the minds of people within a certain distance and use telepathy to communicate with other Halovians. Consider how you might use these together.

I like to have this mental image that Sunday is always holding onto a set number of ‘straws’ in his head. Events and people gradually come, ‘snap’ those metaphorical straws and he allows them to, to an extent — until he's left grasping onto the last of them. Use a mix of allegories and ‘telling’ to illustrate this.

— FOR BASIC CHARACTERIZATION

Sunday is in the ‘emotions revealed through unintentional body language’ group. But I think, when he's confronted with unwanted emotions, he gets even more rigid and guarded (as we saw during that scene with Gallagher). There's the popular hc that his wings flutter in certain ways in response to emotions, so, you can use that as well.

Sunday often thinks about the collective instead of the individual, which is sensible considering he's a leader and all. A romantic interest will challenge this, you can use the ways he breaks his own rules to illustrate how deep his investment in the person goes.

I think having a reader who makes him feel safe or understands him can save you a good amount of emotional turmoil. But of course, I also believe in unexpected pairings. Trust that Sunday, being who he is, can always find something worth appreciating about anyone.

One of the most fascinating things I've observed about Sunday are the similarities between him and Aventurine, as addressed by Ratio. Studying them side by side was very fruitful for me.

For resources to better understand Sunday, I recommend this video and this video.

— FOR DIALOGUE

I mentioned this in my Aventurine post, but in case you missed it, there's this channel that compiles character dialogues individually which can be helpful if you're seeking to refresh your memory. However, I'd like to add here that listening to how a character interacts with others ; as in, how they respond to what, can be even more useful for dialogues.

I've only observed Sunday's English voiceover so I'm not sure how the performance differs in other languages. Based on my observation, Sunday prefers to maintain a gentle, almost airy tone. This appears to be a result of practice though. Sometimes his manner of speech gives this impression that he's viewing you from an elevated space, where he's seeing everything about you. We hear his true voice when the people he cares about are in danger, or, when he's alone with his thoughts.

— MISC. TIPS

Sunday may appear hypocritical, you'll notice dissonance between his words, actions and subconscious — which is okay, characters and people aren't meant to be flawless. What you need to remember is that all of these discrepancies are intentional and results of his upbringing.

Sunday has been groomed by Gopher Wood for the Order's propaganda. In addition, he has survivor's guilt, religious trauma, trust and attachment issues and (possibly) Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Do your research on how these affect people in relationships.

It's okay if you struggle to fully grasp his character, he isn't understood within the game either. In my opinion, it's a very well done representation of how little we'll know about other people. Fiction allows us to gaze into the inner world of a character and see them from different perspectives. This isn't possible in reality and that's okay. Approach Sunday's character with an objective mindset, because the beauty of his writing is not centralized, but scattered.

[thetarotyapper]

how do people view you? (pick-a-card reading)

1. 2. 3.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

(how to pick a card? observe the given image and choose the one which you feel the most drawn to. select the image based on the number provided below and scroll down to read about the pile you have chosen. remember, this is a general reading, so take what resonates!)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

۶ৎ pile 1۶ৎ

right off the bat, i'm getting the words ‘disappointed’, ‘hurt’, ‘burden’ and ‘pain’ here. so pile 1, the first thing i'm sensing here is that people think you’re carrying a lot of unnecessary burden. as in like you seem like someone who has very high expectations for oneself and majority of the time you feel like you are not meeting your standards. this makes you second guess your worth and you tend to devalue yourself. i'm sensing that you have a lot of regrets and or you’re currently dissatisfied with you situation and people feel like you spend a lot of time overthinking about situations/things that don't deserve your time and energy. people view you as someone who is very good at communication. you seem like someone who is very direct and you don't keep anything at heart. you’re not someone who is ‘fake’ - in a sense that you do not pretend to be someone you are not. you stick to your point and say what's needed. i'm getting the message here that sometimes you might say things that might be harsh or hurtful (this is because you’re someone who is honest) and people might not like this because you call people out on things that they don't want others to know about them.

i'm also seeing here that you might be someone who is commanding or you might have been in a really good position in your workspace or any setting, but recently you might have lost that ‘position’ and maybe this might be one of the reasons why the words ‘disappointed’ and such popped up first in your reading. people see you as someone who is dominant and authoritative and i don't think people like this trait. you might also come off as someone who is very reserved and distant. you don't like to get close to anyone or maybe you’re just afraid to get close to anyone.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

۶ৎ pile 2۶ৎ

i see that in the past you might have been stuck in some sort of situation or there might have been some sort of blockage that had stopped you from progressing forward. but however, i see that you have fortunately broken this negative energy and stood your ground and proved justice to yourself. i see that people view you as someone who is good at planning, a good logical thinker and someone who is always looking out for oneself regarding the future. you might be someone who is into art, literature, history and such (maybe that's your profession or might even be a hobby). people view you as someone who is very passionate about the things you do. you might be someone who is an earth sign or a water sign.

pile 2, i feel like you guys contemplate a lot before taking an action and i feel like this quality of yours is affecting you negatively. i'm saying this because i see a lot of missed opportunities here and i'm getting the message that your ‘contemplation period’ is the reason for these missed opportunities. for example, an idea or a job opportunity was proposed to you and you might spend a lot of time thinking before making a decision and by the time you come to a conclusion, that opportunity would slip away from you. and because of this you might be sad and people notice this about you. as in like people are aware of the negative impact it has on you - because of this habit of yours.

people view you as someone who is wise and trustworthy and they can rely on you. you also seem to be giving a lot of yourself to people who need your help. you prioritize others needs over yours and sometimes your efforts are noticed and appreciated but other times people don't bother crediting you or thanking you for your efforts. the thing here is that you are aware of your efforts going unnoticed but you turn a blind eye to this. i think you need to work on this area because spending your time and energy over someone who does not deserve it will only cause you sadness while the other party will be doing well. i'm not telling you to change, pile 2. change is a very strong word. i'm only suggesting that you look out for yourself because at the end of the day, it's only you who is going to be there for yourself<3

people also view you as someone who is adventurous.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

۶ৎ pile 3۶ৎ

people view you as someone who is never satisfied with what you have even though you actually have better things/opportunities/luck compared to other people. as in like you’re actually fortunate with good things than other people. people also view you as someone who is very indecisive and you might have a difficult time making up your mind when you have to make a decision. i'm getting a ‘trickster’ energy here. you might be someone who is good at getting things done your way and maybe y’all might be good at manipulation. you don't necessarily ‘manipulate’ people in a way to hurt them (you might also be doing this subconsciously).

people also view you as someone who has a lot of love to offer and i'm sensing that you guys might be very social and this is a very attractive factor about you. you come off as someone who is very charming and you know what to say and when to say things. i'm also getting a very strong ‘manifesting’ energy here, as in like you have the power to manifest what you want but you’re dissatisfied with what you have. but the things that you have are a lot better compared to other people. like your current situation is actually good but you fail to notice this. you're always aiming for something better but when the 'better' comes, you're dissatisfied because it isn't the 'best'.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

hi loves!! i hope this reading finds you in good health and i hope you are doing well. take care of yourself and i will see you in my next reading. thank you for being here<3　　　

(note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!) 　

[jaggedamethyst]

…look for the light

joel miller x f!reader | 2.7k

pairing: joel miller (tlou) x fem reader

content: you're tired of hearing that old slogan from the fireflies...but maybe you should give it a chance.

notes: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut for the girlies (smfh + side eye) also unprotected in the heat of the moment unfortunately…dont be like them! angst because it's my specialty, mental health depictions (illusions to death, depression, etc. do not read if that's a serious trigger) this takes place in the time jump between tlou 1 and tlou 2…tons of existential crisis otw, grief, everything unfortunately…and i still don’t believe in proofreading

also this is the longest i've written so far...of course it involves joel too...hashtag need that.

 ࿐ ࿔*:·ﾟ🍂🌿༄。°          ° 。༄🌿🍂·ﾟ*࿔ ࿐

You hadn’t arrived in Jackson on your own. At the time, you were one of a family of four. As time passed, the number dwindled along with your will to live. Back when everything was normal--or as normal as it could’ve been in a world that corrupt, you saw a therapist. You knew it was in their career description to listen. It helped sometimes, others it didn’t. Overall, though, you’d say they’d done a shit job if at the first sign of loss, you wanted to cease to exist. 

When you weren’t overthinking, you found yourself on patrol. It became ironic that you rejoiced at the sight of a fresh dead body. Knowing that the person before you had made a mistake you could now avoid lit a small fire in you. The flame didn’t last long though, quickly blown out every day with a speed just as fast as its ignition. 

To be candid, there was this guy. Well, this man. You couldn’t do him the injustice of calling him anything but a man. You saw him often--sometimes to himself, others with this girl. No matter the circumstance, though, he rarely spoke. You liked that. Something about people who acknowledged their capability to not speak made you extremely happy. Silence is a valid option. 

As an observer, you learned his name was Joel, the girl Ellie. They’d arrived about the same time as you, which explained the lack of interaction. This was, of course, aside from glances, the fake half-ass smiles you exchanged, and your time on patrol together. 

Unfortunately, he was the worst. It absolutely burned you up. That, and the fact that even when he annoyed you, you wanted to have extremely private time with him. 

The first time you actually spoke, he’d found you by a stream. You didn’t know he was showing the girl, Ellie, something that day. But as you lay with your eyes closed, taking in the sunlight--a shadow cascaded over you. 

You opened one eye to see who’d stepped in the way. Before you could get a word out, he spoke, “You from Jackson?”

“Who’s asking?” You created a sort of visor over your eyes with your hand. 

He huffed, “someone from Jackson.” 

Resuming your position on the ground, you spoke, “You some sort of Jackson cop? You seem like the cop type.” 

He scoffed. You realized he did that a lot, not speaking, making annoyed sounds. Not answering questions directly. 

“You should get back.” 

With a quirked brow, you replied, “I’m good, thanks.” 

“Wasn’t really a question.”

“Didn’t say it was.” 

By this point you’d opened your eyes again, surveying the man. You kind of felt bad for being snippy but honestly, he interrupted your “alone with my thoughts” time. Some people can cope without thinking of the same incidents in a constant loop. Not you--you liked the hurt. It reminded you to be safe. To not trust people. 

Even in that position, though, you observed the man. He looked rough, but in a way that motioned toward experience. There were hints of gray in his hair, yet he didn’t look old. His shirt was slightly opened, tattered. The sheen of sweat covering him made him all the more alluring in the sunlight. 

“Are you gonna get the hell up and get a move on or what?” 

You didn’t know him at the time, or that he was trying to surprise Ellie on her birthday. Even worse, that on this day, he’d thought of his daughter. He was coping. Anyone or anything out of place was shattering the amazing plan he had made to go a day without feeling like a disappointment. 

He didn’t know that your “alone with my thoughts” time often consisted of thinking of your family. You’d willed yourself to shut your eyes tight, picturing those you lost; it was the only time you could see them. If you got lucky, you could dream of them. If you were unlucky, you’d see images of their mangled bodies. 

It seemed that even awake, your luck was the fucking worst. 

With swift and silent movements, you stood and turned to leave. Avoiding eye contact was the only way to hide the tears prickling in your eyes. 

“Dude,” a young voice called out, “you hurt her feelings!”

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to, Ellie!” 

Like you said, he was the worst. But you definitely took it to the next level at every opportunity. 

That’s how you found yourself on patrol with Joel giving him the silent treatment. It was customary at this point. If you two went alone, he would bark out orders, you’d follow if you felt like it. If someone else happened to be there, you two would rely on an unspoken rule to only speak to them and not one another. It worked…until today. 

Entrapment wasn’t a new feeling for you. Often on patrol specifically, you would have to maneuver your way out of dangerous positions to return. But the realization of there being nobody to return to hit you today. So even when Joel and Jesse said to stay back, you proceeded. It was a miracle none of you three were bitten or worse. Your reckless act left the trek back to Jackson completely silent. 

When you reached the gate safely, Jesse spoke first. It was obvious he was shaken up but even more annoyed with you. “Kinda fucked up you did that. Did you even consider that you would put me and Joel in danger?” 

“Nobody told you to follow me, to be honest.” 

“I don’t give a fuck! When we leave, we work together… or we don’t go.” 

Joel shook his head silently, observing the way Jesse continued to rip into you. You continued the back and forth until Jesse hit extremely low. 

“Look, I know you lost people…I remember them-”

You spoke over him, a finger out in warning, “Don’t-” 

“And just because you feel like there is no worth left in your sorry ass life, doesn’t mean I wanna die right now. Not for you. Not on a stupid patrol mission.” 

It felt like he punched you. Square in the face. The way your breath left you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Not since the day you realized your entire family was gone. As a result of that day, you grew accustomed to silent walks back to your house. You got used to the sounds your house made between the silence. 

You didn’t hear Joel’s faint footsteps and persistent calls to you as he followed behind. It wasn’t until the unusual sound of your door not immediately closing behind you that you turned around to see him there. 

“You didn’t even stop him, you just stood there like you always do!”

His signature sigh and no response. Just a sort of expectant look on his face. 

“Get. Out. Please.” 

You begged him to leave, your voice breaking. It was somewhere in the midst of you slowly falling toward the floor that he reached you. He knew what you were experiencing right now. The dull panging in your body, a faint scream at you, and a feeling that of anyone it should’ve been you to go, not your family. 

He didn’t want to admit that he recognized the bubble of sadness around you, as he’d be forced to acknowledge his own. The least he could do was to comfort you in a way he had yearned for when he lost Sarah. When he lost Tess. When he thought Tommy was gone. But he failed, as he always did, crying with you. 

He urged you to quiet your sobs, “It’s okay, shhh.” 

His attempts at soothing you were a sort of reassurance to himself--that it was okay. It could be okay. He eventually grasped your face, too, forcing you to look at him. He wanted you to believe him, despite the lack of conviction in his voice. The eye contact shocked you both. You had never seen the man cry let alone been this close to him. From a distance, it's easy to think that any dark-colored eye is just black but his…

“Brown…” You mumbled incoherently. 

“What?”

“Your eyes. I’ve never really looked at ‘em.” 

He was confused, “yeah, brown.” 

“It's just that, it's easy to overlook things…” when you’re so stuck in the past, you wanted to say. But you left it. You had a feeling he understood. 

It was hard to not lean into his touch, even harder to not want to be near him. He noticed you staring, but there was still so much left unsaid. Thinking about it, he never really allowed himself to carry out a conversation with you. But there was an unspoken attraction between you. It was easy to minimize said attraction to one where you needed each other. It was suffice to say that it was more tantamount to the way particles were reliant on one another. Even more, the way symbiosis occurred. Despite the urge to push one another away, you knew that you did, in fact, need each other. 

If not for a long time, at least for now. 

Without a word, you pushed up a bit, meeting your lips with his. He was obviously taken aback; there was so much behind the kiss…but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

You pulled at his shirt, that damned shirt he always liked to wear. Always opened slightly, but never enough to give you what you needed.

“Can I?” You broke the kiss and motioned toward the buttons, breaking eye contact for a second. 

Joel let out a characteristic sound, affirming you, “Mhm, yeah…” 

You moved your hands lower, stopping at the close of his top. “Are you sure?” 

The man understood you. The shirt acted as a sort of metaphorical barrier between the two of you. As much as it scared the both of you to cross that line, there was an unspoken respect for one another. 

He noticed your apprehension, bearing the task of taking down that wall for you both. 

Joel unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, intentional in his action. 

He watched you shiver, “I haven’t…I want…I mean-” 

That same alluring stare maintained its gaze at you, Joel allowing you the time to process and say what you wanted to. 

“I want to feel…be close to you. Not because I want to use you or something…I just,” You searched for words that seemed to escape you. 

His words interrupted your thought process, a gentle but calloused hand returning to your face. 

“You don’t have to have a reason. Use me.” 

That was enough to make you attack him full force. You’d thought of each other so long that there was an urgency. There wasn’t time for niceties or the pleasantries of preparing yourself for him. You just wanted each other immediately. 

The trail of clothing that led to your room was something out of one of those old movies you watched. Before everything went to shit. You allowed yourself a smirk at the thought--Joel hot on your trail. 

Joel observed how clean your place was. He was one to keep tidy, too. Not for the thought of expecting someone, but for lack of people except him. There were few things he held near and dear, so a large space like his home was often unused save for his bed and couch. It seemed you echoed this thought, and that made him even more eager. Knowing you had so much in common made him insatiable.

You found yourselves kissing again, seeking comfort in each other. It was sweet and slow. You couldn’t handle it, the lack of him. 

“Joel, please,” you backed towards the bed. Now fully available for him. With you demanding everything be so structured to protect yourself these days, you were willing to let go for once. 

He didn’t say anything, he never did. But the way he hovered over you, maintained eye contact and pushed into you said enough. 

His pace was somewhere between painfully slow and slower. He felt your wetness, the way you were ready for him already, and it made him harder. He knew he wouldn’t last long if he went any faster. 

You reached up, pushing the hair out of his face. It was a distraction from how good it felt, even the purposely slow pressure, but you wanted more. 

You bucked up into him. He hissed and grunted in your ear, that’s new. 

The southern drawl was even more apparent on the man. “Shit. I’m tryin’ to…make it last,” his head met your shoulder, breath against your skin. “Cant.” 

“Don’t.” 

You couldn’t see his face, but you figured a look of surprise flashed there. It only took a second for him to pick up the pace. Those grunts filled the room; his wordless communication was now music to your ears. 

You continued that way for not much longer--but the high was unlike any other. He reached down to rub between you, making sure you’d finish. The thought of him caring about you in that way and the pointed pressure of his strong hands doing so was enough to make your body pulse against him. 

He pushed you back down, keeping you still, “Don’t move, baby.” 

It was a lot. 

His movements became even more erratic, but it felt so damn good. 

“Where should I?” 

You arched a brow, “You want a little Joel running around here somewhere?” 

He chuckled, so sweetly, too. Fuck. 

“Wow, even full like this you still got a mouth on ya. I’m gonna work on that.” 

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could even complain, latched his mouth onto you until he finished and your voice went dry from calling out his name. 

Okay…

The usual urge to freshen up never came. The smell of Joel was all over you, and you liked it that way. You breathed in and out, processing what happened, fighting to stay awake. The sound of the man’s snores was enough to keep you awake in itself. 

It wasn’t until you heard the snores stop and Joel stirring that you spoke again.

“I’m sorry.” 

Joel turned his head toward you, clearly still half asleep, “For?” 

“For that day, in the woods, when we first met. I was mean.” 

“I understand. A random guy shows up asking questions. You get defensive. It happens to the best of ‘em.” 

There was silence. One long enough that Joel sat up to get out of bed--you stopped him when you spoke. 

“I was thinking of my family,” a pause, and with it, your eyes burned a bit. “I don’t know why I act the way I do. I don’t know why I’m… harsh. Part of me thinks it's because they are always looking at who I have become and are so disappointed. The other part of me thinks that they don’t see me at all…or that they can’t…that there’s nothing more after this. I dunno which feels worse but I know it drives me fucking crazy.” 

He silently reached for your hand, deliberate in his response. “I like to think that the big moments we share with the people we lose are more important than anything after.” He nodded, assuring himself before continuing. “Good or bad, their memory only survives as long as we are thinking of them.” He paused to look toward his wrist, almost out of muscle memory. “Our families may not be here, but even mentioning them proves that they were real. I know my baby girl was real, I can’t fail her by going on like she wasn’t.” He inched closer to you, “If it takes me being sad to know that there was someone I loved here before, I’ll stomach it any day.” 

You nodded slightly. 

“Thanks.” 

A hum resonated from him, and he made his way out of your house. He was elusive as always, and definitely just as attractive..if not more so now. But his words stuck with you. 

That stupid catchphrase from the Fireflies…you’d heard it often. The aftershocks of the group persisted even after they’d slowly dwindled in numbers. When you’re lost in the darkness…

Wiping your eyes, you pulled the covers back a bit more. A lot of time had passed, but for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like it was ripped from you. 

After a few minutes, the Sun started to rise, heat emanating from your window. You felt the warmth slowly reach your face--closing your eyes. 

For once, you’d look forward to sleep, and even more, the possibility of dreaming.

[cpvnksabm]

hey rtc fandom. i wanted to talk about some of the more common ableist stereotypes that affect how society views disabled people. i don't see ricky as being much of a stereotype in canon, however i sometimes see fanworks where he's depicted in stereotypical ways that really don't line up with how he's portrayed in canon, and i find this worrying. i think there's a lack of awareness around these stereotypes and people often aren't realizing that what they're doing can be harmful

Infantilization of disabled people

This is basically just the idea that disabled people are somehow mentally younger than their actual age, or should be treated as younger than their actual age. This idea is mainly used against people with neurodevelopmental disabilities, intellectual disability in particular, but it is also sometimes applied to people outside that group. And this stereotype is really harmful because of how frequently it results in disabled people's freedom being limited. based on a false idea that disabled adults are "mentally too young" to drink alcohol, swear, or make their own life decisions.

You can see this stereotype in the musical itself, with how Ocean treats Ricky. Despite only being six months older than him, she refers to him as "Sweet Little Ricky Potts", expresses shock when he talks about sexual topics, and claims in her song that "he'll never learn to read".

But you can also see in the musical that Ocean is wrong to treat him this way. Ocean's character development, culminating in her decision to choose Jane over herself at the end, is a huge part of the musical! Ricky's entire song focuses on him expressing his creativity and talking about sexual fantasies, which he has just like most teens do. And his dialogue after the song focuses on talking about his worldview, showing that he does have thoughts that are worth sharing.

So I find it concerning when the fandom also gravitates toward treating Ricky like a child - sometimes talking about him using the same infantilizing language that Ocean uses. RTC might not have had a scene where Ocean turns directly to the audience and says "By the way, I was wrong to infantilize Ricky and this was due to my own ableist biases!", but that doesn't mean you're supposed to agree with everything she says.

Ricky might be the youngest of the choir, but only by a few months. It's not appropriate to talk about him as though he's a small child. Please be mindful of the words you're using for Ricky, particularly words that are used to infantilize him in canon like the "sweet little ricky potts" nickname, and try to talk about him just like you would talk about any other seventeen-year-old character.

Disabled people getting "special treatment"

This is just the idea that disabled people automatically have access to special privileges because of being disabled - that we can easily get away with things that abled people would be punished for, that we get given anything we want without having to work for it, that we are automatically treated better, etc etc.

This stereotype is twofold. First of all, it involves framing basic things like mobility aids and accommodations as "special privileges", when in reality, these things mainly exist to level the playing field. They don't give us an automatic advantage over abled people - they just help mitigate the advantage abled people generally have over us. And second of all, this stereotype involves assuming that these basic things, such as mobility aids and accommodations, are automatically given to us.

In reality, disabled people are not automatically treated well for being disabled. The opposite is true - we are frequently discriminated against in a variety of ways. Even extremely important things, like medical treatment or mobility aids, are often a struggle to access.

Despite all of this, people in the RTC fandom sometimes talk about Ricky getting special treatment or extra attention for his disability. In fact, that claim was the one that inspired this whole post.

And yet in canon this couldn't be further from the case! Karnak literally emphasises that Ricky was treated with "the worst cruelty humanity can muster - complete apathy". We see him being constantly ignored by his classmates and expressing that the choir, in the afterlife, are the first people to actually listen to him. The most "special treatment" he gets is his classmate, who infantilises him, singing about how his life isn't worth living because of his disability. And that's barely even special, she sings like that about most of the characters!

The idea that Ricky gets any "special treatment" for being disabled is clearly not inspired by anything in the musical itself. And it's also not accurate to real disabled peoples' experiences. It's just a completely wrong stereotype.

I've touched on this in previous posts but just a reminder - you should never be trying to "fix" RTC's disability rep without doing research. I think that sometimes people wrongly believe the ableism ricky faced in canon was unrealistic, and that they're improving canon by having him be automatically treated well for his disability - this is not true at all. Please look into real disabled peoples' experiences as inspiration for changing or expanding on canon, and please put in the effort to make sure your idea of "realism" isn't just based in stereotypes.

The "all disabilities are the same" idea

This one is simple - it's the idea that all disabilities can be treated interchangeably. For example, that two people with different disabilities (such as autism and arthritis) will automatically have similar life experiences, just because they're both disabled.

This is a ridiculous stereotype. "Disabled" is an extremely broad term which describes an extremely wide range of things. Not everyone benefits from the same sorts of aids or accommodations, and not everyone has the same experiences.

What this means in regards to Ricky is that you cannot swap his canon disability out for another one and have that not be erasure. Ricky canonically has a rare degenerative disease (heavily implied to be neuromuscular), which causes mobility impairment (resulting in him needing mobility aids), inability to speak, and a reduced lifespan. None of these aspects of his disability are interchangeable with other disabilities.

It's not okay to remove aspects of Ricky's disability just to give him another, different disability. They are not interchangeable.

It's perfectly okay to give him disabilities he isn't implied to have in canon - people frequently do have multiple unrelated disabilities! Just please make sure this is in addition to his canonically implied neuromuscular disability, and not replacing it.

Conclusion / TL;DR

I'm all for death-of-the-author and interpreting characters in various ways but it's a little concerning when I see fanworks and the like pigeonholing ricky into specific ableist stereotypes, when canon almost went out of its way to avoid them. we all know that stereotyping isn't polite or accurate so there's really no reason to depict ricky in these ways. i assume people aren't realizing the potential harm or sometimes think they're improving on canon by making it more stereotypical? this is why it's important to research rather than assuming you know what would be the right way to depict ricky

i didn't cover everything in this post because there were some issues that i thought were complex enough to justify a separate post. but reminder that my asks are always open if you'd like a disabled person's perspective on something specific! please dont hesitate to ask for advice!

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

A great article and a fairly quick read.

By Sadhbh O'Sullivan

Nathalie MacDermott, a paediatric infectious diseases doctor, she says: 'If we had another pandemic tomorrow, I think we would make the same mistakes again'

Nathalie MacDermott is a paediatric infectious diseases doctor and clinical lecturer at King’s College London. While working on a Covid ward at Great Ormond Street in May 2020, she contracted Covid, leading to a spinal injury that impairs her ability to work until this day. She is part of Long Covid Doctors for Action, an advocacy group that is filing a class action lawsuit with the NHS for not adequately protecting healthcare workers from the risks of infection.

Here, she explains to i why she’s part of the movement to sue the NHS.

I do a mixture of research and clinical work, and in March 2020 I went to work at Great Ormond Street during the Covid pandemic. I was initially looking after children with infectious diseases and immunological conditions, and got Covid for the first time at the end of March, likely through a shared office.

At the time, we weren’t permitted to wear surgical face masks or PPE in offices, just on the wards, I think due to concern over the availability of PPE – it was prioritised for use on wards. But because we couldn’t socially distance in offices, people were understandably concerned. By the time I recovered and returned to work, they’d introduced a mask policy in offices due to pressure from the staff.

After I recovered, I went back to work on the Covid ward for children with multisystem inflammatory syndrome, a condition associated with acute Covid. It was not an intensive care ward where staff were allowed to wear full PPE, but a standard ward where the level of PPE was lower.

I was very concerned about the level of PPE that we were provided with at the time, and raised my concerns repeatedly over five weeks, trying to get to the people who would actually listen. But they just kept saying they were following the guidance from the NHS, and we didn’t really know where that guidance was coming from at that time. We were just given surgical face masks, small aprons to cover the torso, and a pair of gloves.

The reason given was that they were prioritising PPE for people exposed to what they consider aerosol generating procedures [medical procedures that lead to aerosols or air being released from a person’s respiratory tract] like being on a ventilator. The crazy thing is that the concept of aerosol generating procedures is a fairly nebulous one: at the time they were saying resuscitation (where you’re pushing on someone’s chest) wasn’t AGP, but someone on a filtered, closed circuit ventilator was. We now have fairly solid data that shows coughing is probably the biggest generator of aerosols, above and beyond other procedures.

I think there was a denial at the time [from the NHS as a whole, not the individual NHS trusts] that Covid was airborne. Plus, there wasn’t adequate ventilation on the ward because it was a repurposed building that didn’t have the air filtered at appropriate intervals; we couldn’t open the windows because there was dust everywhere from building works going on, and it was cold.

I worked at the forefront of the Ebola epidemic in Liberia and my PhD investigated the community spread of Ebola in Sierra Leone. It meant I was even more aware that there were risks of after effects with a viral infection. We know that just because you survive something like Ebola or glandular fever it doesn’t mean you won’t have ongoing symptoms for a long time afterward. I think it meant I was more willing to fight for better PPE and was very familiar with infection prevention, control procedures and personal protective equipment. Despite that, people still didn’t want to listen to what I had to say.

It was incredibly frustrating, not so much for myself but because I was very concerned about my colleagues. Around the time I was on that ward in 2020 we’d just lost one of the most senior nurses in my department to Covid. And even that wasn’t enough to convince people that we should have a better grade of PPE.

I continued to challenge the PPE guidance until I got Covid again in May 2020. After my initial acute Covid symptoms settled, I noticed I was still getting a lot of nerve pain in my feet, which then developed into limiting my ability to walk. It’s thought that Covid somehow damaged my spinal cord, but it’s not entirely clear how or what exactly happened.

I now struggle to lift my legs off the ground, so I can only walk very short distances on my own, and a bit longer on crutches. I also suffer from fatigue and get tired easily, I have bladder and bowel impairment, I have issues with dry eyes and mouth. Are they Covid related? Who knows, but that’s when they started for me. Either way, these symptoms haven’t changed in the last three and a half years.

The impact has limited me. I’m able to work nowadays, when many of my colleagues aren’t, but I largely work from home and do research. A full-time clinical job is physically too demanding for me. I did have a mobility scooter to help me get around wards, but even that was quite exhausting. Even going up a flight of stairs some days is a real challenge.

My passion has always been doing disaster and epidemic response with a non-governmental organisation, and obviously it’s quite difficult to send a doctor who’s disabled out to a war zone or epidemic situation. This has cost me my career in some respects, as I won’t be able to be the paediatric infectious diseases consultant I was hoping to be.

The whole purpose of our class action lawsuit is to prevent this situation happening again and we encourage any healthcare worker who has been affected to join the action.

We now understand that the NHS guidance on PPE had been issued by the Infection Prevention and Control cell that was part of the NHS pandemic strategy. Unfortunately, the IPC cell remains somewhat shrouded in mystery because its membership and minutes have never been made public. We have no idea about the decision making.

Despite the fact we now know that there is clearly aerosol spread of Covid, the PPE guidance still hasn’t changed. They’re recommending that full PPE should only be worn for aerosol generating procedures, even now when there are no more concerns about shortages.

There’s a study that was conducted at Cambridge University Hospitals that showed once they introduced full PPE (high grade masks) on their Covid wards, they went from having a relatively high incidence of infection in healthcare workers to having almost no infection. There’s good evidence now to suggest it certainly would have protected us on the ward.

But if we had another pandemic tomorrow, I think we would make the same mistakes again.

We’re bringing this action because we want doctors and all healthcare workers to feel represented. We want the NHS to recognise that it had a duty of care and still does have a duty of care to its staff, and that means providing the absolute best it can for its staff, not a halfway measure.

We want long Covid to be recognised as an industrial disease by the industrial injuries advisory council, meaning it’s eligible for an industrial payout through a government scheme. As yet it’s not being recognised as it’s very difficult to define what long Covid actually is.

For me, this isn’t about money – it’s about holding people accountable and ensuring we don’t make the same mistakes again in the future. For some of my colleagues, though, who have lost their livelihoods and their jobs and have been unable to work for many years, and are unemployed and applying for universal credit, and using food banks, then I think a pay out is justified and of significant benefit to them because of the struggles they have at the moment financially.

[nanamis-bigtie]

kindest lies

"It's… rather urgent." Next to exhaustion there's hesitation in the assistant's words. As if she dreaded sharing the data with you. "There's a huge risk of civilian casualties. We suspect it might be an act of jujutsu terrorism."

Five people get cursed under atypical circumstances. For the tracking and locking properties of your cursed technique you're requested to assist Atsuya during the investigation. Following the curse user's trail, you sink together into the world of izakayas, night clubs and love hotels. And you do everything in your might to not think about last summer's day that has irreversibly changed the terms between you two.

Written for gender neutral reader. No gendered language, no body descriptions, they/them pronouns may appear as pronoun placeholder if necessary in dialogues. Y/N used as a name placeholder.

↬ kusakabe atsuya x gender neutral reader

↬ cw: coworkers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, canon-typical violence, investigations, hurt/comfort, alcohol, forced proximity, self confidence issues, eventual smut, MINORS DON'T INTERACT

↬ chapter directory: chapter 1 (you're here) | ...more to come

↬ word count: 3,138

↬ a/n: The idea for this fic got born out of secret santa prompts given by @clumsyraccoon. It was supposed to be a simple one-shot but it just kept eating my brain space, until it couldn't be contained within a single chapter - and then waited for the right time (aka when I'll refill strength after a massive burn out & stop being such a chicken). It's been almost a year but it's finally here. Coony, I hope you will forgive me this extremely long wait 😅

Chapter 1

It feels like you've barely closed your eyes when the phone vibrations under your cheek force them open again. 

Darkness around you only adds to the impression; the curtains you always keep shut tight for the night deal even with full noon light, making it impossible to estimate the time right. With a groan, you turn your head to the other side and press it into the pillow, hoping it's just a dream, wrong number or a pushy call center, not an emergency or worse—another mission. Hell, you would take even an earthquake warning, if you wouldn't have to crawl out of your apartment because of it.

Luck is not on your side. Vibrations cease only for a few seconds, just enough for the stubborn person on the other side of the call to choose your number again. Dull buzzing starts anew, bright light from the screen sneaks under your tortured eyelids, and finally jolts you awake. You sit and wipe your face, then squint at the clock and the name of the insistent intruder. You can't match it with a face but there might be only one kind of a person who would scramble for attention this early in the morning.

5 a.m. What sins did you commit to deserve it?

"It better be something important." You screech into the speaker instead of a greeting. When clearing your throat doesn't help, you put the phone on the speaker and reach for the half-empty bottle left on the bed stand.

It's lukewarm and tastes of plastic.

"Y/N? I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" The woman on the other side sounds as miserable and tired as you. She must have been heading home from the night shift or forced out of the bed even earlier than you. The peak cursed season doesn't discriminate, it sucks everyone dry, from the bottom to the top of the sorcery ladder and is probably the closest to the fair share you can experience in this damned profession. Everyone is perpetually exhausted and looking forward to September when the tension will mellow down to the usual levels.

Thinking back, you feel a little sorry that you couldn't bring yourself to be at least a little nicer to her. But you bet the woman doesn't resent you for being grumpy. She definitely heard worse than your exasperated lack of manners.

She introduces herself and gives you her identification number and the code confirming she indeed is an assigned assistant. She's specific to a fault and you're grateful for that. You're not sure if the scrambled remains of your brain would be able to pick the crucial information if she beat around the bush.

"Sorry, I think I'm out of commission for now," you say quickly right after fulfilling your part of the greet-and-identify ritual. You don't want to take this job but at this point you won't fall back asleep, so you sit down and firmly place your feet on the cold floor to chase the drowsy feeling away. You need a shower and fresh clothes; it was a little before 1 a.m. when you crawled into your apartment, stripped to your underwear and fell face down into the bed. Hell, you could use some breakfast too...if there was anything left in the fridge. You can't remember the last time you ran groceries.

"It's a personal request." The assistant cuts in before you can continue with your excuses. Her voice is as apologetic as determined to deliver her part of the job—or at least to fight hard enough for the higher ups to not hold her responsible for your refusal. You can't blame her, really.

"An assistance?" You take a wild guess. 

Peak season meant also peak mortality, leaving the "lucky" survivors with huge gaps to fill regardless of their specialization, which leads to many frantic reshuffles when the situation turns out to be too risky for a blind escapade. This demand touches especially the sorcerers whose skills can cover a wide range of crises, like you. Hard tasks are almost always assigned to heavy hitters—and heavy hitters look for support on their own account. For help with barriers and rituals, for cursed technique boosters, and for all the technical details that don't look as impressive in the CV as The Big Strong Cursed Techniques do, but often require even more skill to be performed safely.

Unless you are Gojo Satoru, sooner or later you will run into a mission where you need a helping hand to be able to use your own cursed technique.

And unless you have one of those Big Strong Cursed Techniques, you will play the helping hand role more often than doing your job solo.

The math is easy and, at least in your opinion, weirdly fair when it comes to covering the pay gap. Being a second grade, you would need to cover thrice as many solo missions to climb to the same financial level as those from the top. Depending on the person calling for assistance, support can be paid almost the same as an average solo for your grade—or even more, if it's the first grade who tend to overuse their privilege of getting round the path through the officials. There's also more regular contact with those on the top—who can whisper a word where it's needed, spiraling your chances for a promotion.

If only it wasn't so fucking exhausting once the peak season hits...

"Look, I would love to—" Your strategy is to not let the assistant pull you into discussion. They have their tricks to manipulate reluctant sorcerers into taking new missions. And you hate to admit some of them work on you every single time. "—but I've just come back. I have twelve hours of rest protection secured in my contract. Ask someone else, it's Tokyo, there's definitely someone—"

"I've checked." Now it's her turn to butt in your word. "I know you're under protection, I looked through the agendas of every sorcerer active from here to Miyagi, and everyone is already assigned. I did what I could, Y/N. There's literally no one else to replace you."

"Postpone it?"

The situation is dire. If an assistant—who's usually on the sorcerers' side in this everlasting game of tug of war between them and the higher ups—says nothing can be done, it really means it. At this point you know you're taking it, but negotiations won't hurt. It's not your first rodeo, you know with high demand comes incline towards meeting halfway and bandying bonuses around.

"It's… rather urgent." Next to exhaustion there's hesitation in the assistant's words. As if she dreaded sharing the data with you. "There's a huge risk of civilian casualties. We suspect it might be an act of jujutsu terrorism."

You don't answer immediately, weighing words and options. The deeper you dig, the thicker this cesspool becomes. But before you find a way to fend off this stick, there goes the ultimate carrot, "It's paid extra, too."

"How much?"

You swallow that bait as if she coated it with your favorite dessert—and you curse yourself in thoughts for letting that question slip. You don't think of yourself as a greedy person, but hardly anyone does this job out of a kind heart.

"We haven't got official approval yet but given the circumstances and the request itself? That's gonna be the standard rate, not support."

"So, you're sending me somewhere in Miyagi?" You sigh into the silence on the other side of the speaker. The assistant said everything she had to say and is just waiting for the inevitable, her determined chirping replaced now by the hum of the car and subdued music on her radio. You can't recognize the band playing but you can tell it's one of the older western ones.

"Okay. Who's calling?" You give up when the quiet gets awkward. There's still some water left in the bottle; you swirl it a few times before bringing it to your parched lips.

"Kusakabe."

Your hand trembles, some water spills down your chin and neck. You haven't choked but your sore throat still answers with coughing. Fighting against the spasms, you even forget the shock that caused everything, at least until the concerned assistant snaps you back, "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." Nothing is alright, it's just gotten significantly worse, but you'd be rather cursed than return to negotiations—even if you've just become even more reluctant to take this mission. "I just took a weird sip."

"I'll be at your place in about thirty minutes, will you make it?"

Trying to stuff the panic at the very back of your exhausted brain, you do a quick run through the mental map of your current state. You should find some fresh clothes. Coffee? No time for it but there should be an emergency bottle of green tea somewhere. Breakfast? No chance, even if you by miracle saved something in the fridge. Shower? Yes, this one is possible.

"Yeah, if you grab me a sandwich and something warm and caffeinated."

"On it."

You want to scream.

First few minutes of your precious time you spend lying flat across the bed and staring at the ceiling. You're nothing but a pile of refusal and exhaustion far different than physical. Why him, of all possible options? Why not Nanami and his dry demeanor, professional to a fault and ready to throw hands for the sake of even pay? Why not Usami who wouldn't exchange a needless word and let you work in peace? Hell, you would take even Mei and the risk of being abandoned with the slightest inconvenience over...that.

How are you supposed to work in those conditions? How are you supposed to look him in the eyes after what happened between you two?

The solitary life of a sorcerer has, despite everything, its perks—comfort of avoiding people you don't want to see the biggest of them. Unless you get called on the carpet or are forced to partake in a group mission, you rarely see anyone other than randomly assigned assistants and windows. Meetings outside the work are easy to avoid and since that day, you've become a master of excuses. You worked hard for the distance between you two, almost a year now since you've exchanged more words than sparse greetings while passing by. Not even once your eyes met, his flying far above your head, as if you were made of thin air, yours stubbornly boring into the floor as you quickened your pace and hid behind the first corner possible, before anyone would see, before either of you two would get a very bad idea.

At the beginning, he tried. He tried but you were faster than his incoherent attempts of starting conversation. He once even caught your wrist and pulled you as you started walking away—but released you as soon as your eyes met for the last time.

You would love to claim that you forgot, both that day and the look in his eyes before he turned on his heel and retreated. Up to now], if you closed your eyes, you could recall the feel of the anguished clench of his hand.

You peel eyes off the ceiling and look at your wrist, half-expecting bruises shaped like his fingers, but your skin is as clean as ever. Just in a desperate need of a shower.

Twenty-five minutes to go.

Hope dies last. You peek into your box with coffee pods (empty), into the fridge (empty bar a moldy tomato), into the cupboard (empty, no emergency tea left). You gather dirty clothes you find on the way to the bathroom and stuff them into the laundry basket (overloaded). You don't have time to wait for the right temperature, so you jump into the shower (dirty) right as it is. It's more energizing than you thought but you must get out right as it warms up to the right level and your mood immediately drops back.

Soapy stains on the mirror diffuse your reflection: parched lips, pale unhealthy-looking skin, red eyes and gigantic shadows under them. If you survive both Kusakabe Atsuya and whatever cursed crap he's called you for, you're going to call the contract cleaners and spend the forced day out in a hotel with a spa. Maybe a set of good sushi, too. Or a night out with friends, to drink and forget whatever awaits you—and something tells you it's going to be one hell of a pile to wash down.

"It better be a really good pay", you mutter to yourself with half a heart.

You hate this day, you hate this job, you hate yourself for how mushy you feel right under the layer of exhaustion and panic.

The only clean clothes you have left are worn-out jeans and a nerdy t-shirt you use for your no pants days. You're going to regret this when the summer reaches its peak later that day, but so far, it's still somewhat crisply outside. Perfect time for coffee...if you had it, that's it, you recall not without an irritated huff as you lean against the lantern in front of your apartment complex. The streets are empty and silent, life around is barely starting and stretching its limbs. In moments like this you almost like Tokyo.

The assistant surely takes her time and by the time she finally finds you, sleepiness has already crawled back on you. In your current state you stand out like a sore thumb next to that damned elegant car all assistants are driving, at least until you collapse on the backseat and realize the inside is no better than your apartment. Under other circumstances you wouldn't be thrilled to drive all the way to another prefecture next to empty McDonald's bags, with empty energy drink cans between your feet, but at this point you just don't care. You're going to pass out soon anyway.

"Yeah, a total state," the assistant hands you an iPad before your drink and sandwich. You're not sure if she meant her car or whatever awaits you in the case files.

Screen brightness is set to maximum; you squint your eyes, suddenly painfully aware that sand under your eyelids is rather a glass wool at this point. It's impossible to read like this but you grin and bear it, with, hopefully, an expression not as miserable as you feel. At least you can tell that the notes were taken in a hurry, they lack the typical formatting and order, making the job much harder for you, of course, but you feel less shitty for giving up and relying on the assistant and her explanations.

Coffee is black, strong, and with an ungodly amount of sugar. Oh, she knew what kind of boost your brain would need.

You're waiting for the perfect moment to attack with questions when a call comes, almost shaking the car with the volume alone. Assistant flounders in an apology and hands you a tissue but you don't bother to wipe those few droplets of coffee off your pants when that name peeks at you straight from the car's touchscreen. A solid 3/10 you were giving this morning so far has dropped far below zero, together with your heart, rolling now somewhere between Monster Energy cans.

"Nakagawa, is Y/N with you already?" Atsuya's voice is all around you, tacky, drowsy, with that characteristic hoarseness of a pulled all-nighter. You wish you hadn't known him enough to imagine how he looks now so easily. Maybe your body wouldn't react in such a... pathetic way. 

Wagging your tail like this just at the sound of him so close? Do you have no shame?

"I'm here." For once you're glad you're so tired. Tension in your voice can easily pass as dryness of the throat—and you add to it with a hearty cough. "Morning."

"Oh. Hi." There's a change in how he sounds. A slight but still is. Oh, how you hate yourself for being able to pick it up. "Good morning."

There's a click of an opened can, a few deep sips, and a long, relieved exhale—that has little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You hear gravel under his feet, an eerie feeling of being approached; you tense shoulders and let a peek to the side slip, as if he really, physically came to you, about to casually tap your back, that infuriatingly casual habit of his.

Before you even liked how straightforward he is. After just a thought of being touched fills you with a maelstrom of conflicted feelings. You haven't even gotten rid of his fingers off your wrist yet. You wouldn't wipe that comforting—impertinent—tap off for ages.

"You can scratch the risk of civilian casualties out." Atsuya's steps finally still, he either sits down or leans against something with a little groan to it. "One guy just tapped out."

You hide an awkward grunt behind another sip of coffee. People get cursed and die every day, in a job like this you're getting used to it fast—or you tap out yourself. It doesn't get any easier to hear about it, though, even if it's better to pretend otherwise.

"A corpse in a resume even before I seriously started. Fucking crap. I wanna go home." Atsuya doesn't care and it's something you still envy him. To shake it off just like that, to treat human life like another paperwork to deal with instead of spending the night in an izakaya or in front of tv. "This is going to get ugly really fast. That woman from number two... When did it happen? Eh, whatever, Nakagawa will give you the details. But I don't think she'll make it, we found her pretty late, too."

There are five names on the list; the signs are blurred for your tired eyes, but you can tell as much. You highlight the first line and mark it red.

Four cursed ones remain.

"Grab some sleep, if you can." Atsuya's voice grows softer, bringing out that mushy, soft feeling that's been lurking at the edges of your mind. "I'm gonna catch up, too. I'm counting on you."

He leaves the car in silence, thick like tar and having your muscles painfully tense. You need a deeper breath but you're afraid you're going to betray all your thoughts and emotions, so you run on short, barely audible ones.

"Kojima Eitaro, forty-six, salaryman." Nakagawa tries to pull your attention towards the case, but she could as well just speak to the wall. "Found unconscious by the door of his apartment on Thursday, August 3rd, around seven in the morning. The source of the curse: unknown."

ao3 version // jjk masterlist // kofi // dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[bobalegsanji]

I've got you

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the feeling of the warm hands on his face. ‘’Please…’’ he whispers, ‘’I… Please. Promise me you will if I ask.’’

Zosan. Words: 3,976. WCI spoilers!

Trigger Warnings: self-worth issues, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced childhood abuse

One Piece Masterlist

Splat. Splat. Splat.

The dripping of the water got on his nerves.

It’s too loud in the empty storage room. Like a metronome that keeps track of every agonising second he’s sitting there. 

Splat. Splat.

It’s too dark to see the source. The pantry is too small for any windows. Sanji could turn on the light, but getting up from his sitting position against the door feels like an impossible task. 

He should be bothered by the darkness, or the annoying torture of a sound. He should be figuring out where the water is coming from, or at least let Franky or Usopp know, so they can fix whatever it is, but he has no energy to stand up. 

He barely has energy to breathe.

Whatever, it’s not like the ship is going to sink. Every man of the sea knows water won’t trickle into a sailing ship. Water is like a God, all powerful and demanding. A leak in the ship would make itself known, pushing everything out of their way to do the one task Poseidon has laid upon it: to take away oxygen.

Plus, if the ship would really sink right now, Sanji wouldn’t care.

-

-

No one would

-

-

Sanji shakes his head, mentally begging the intrusive thoughts to please, leave him alone. 

The hands in his hair tighten. It doesn’t ground him whatsoever.

When he was a kid, he learned physical harm won’t take away the pain.

His brothers tried to teach him first. They didn’t step down for emotional torture; reminding him he wasn’t loved, humiliating him and threatening to kill him weren’t unusual situations. Ichiji was the worst. He always knew exactly what to say and when to say it. 

Yonji and Niji preferred the physical harm. They’re the ones to teach him that physical pain will never be able to overshadow his mental burdens. No matter how much he bled and cried, or locked up and starved, the thoughts were worse. 

Sanji hates to think of them. They’re part of who he is and, though he doesn’t want to think about it, who he’ll always be. The melancholy and demons of his past are intertwined in every part of his being. 

Every time he feeds his crew, he makes sure to make his own portion a little smaller. He makes sure to wake up a little earlier and go to bed a little later than anyone else. He puts in extra effort to make his crew’s favourite food, drinks and desserts on special days, but never his own. In fights, he’d give up his life for his nakama in the split of a second. 

They’re all small reminders of remains of a past that taught him he’s less than others. 

He breathes deeply. The anxiety in his bones doesn’t settle. 

The mixed signals his body is sending him are making him dizzy. He wants to scratch his arms until he bleeds. He wants to hit his head against the wall until he blacks out. Wants to kick against the door until his legs give in. He wants to scream until his lungs double down, until his body hits the floor, and he gets a couple of seconds of peace.

But that’s now how it works. 

His body has no energy to fuel itself to do anything. Sanji wonders where the energy to keep his heart beating is coming from.

Splat .

A small smile plays on his lips.

His life is a fucking joke.

-

-

Soft footsteps walk above him.

He opens his eyes slowly.

The darkness is still present. His back hurts from being in a very uncomfortable sitting position for too long. How long has he been asleep?

A knock right above his head makes him shiver. 

“Sanji-kun?” Nami’s voice is soft and elegant. It’s beautiful, just like her.

He doesn’t want to respond, but all hell will break loose if they think they’ve lost him somewhere on the big broad sea. If Nami’s searching for him of all people, his nakama is definitely worried.

“Yes, dear?” He responds breathlessly, glad he locked the door before he fell asleep.

As expected, the handle goes down, but the door doesn’t budge. The handle hits the top of his head. Sanji closes his eyes in annoyance, but doesn’t react otherwise. It hurts only a bit, but it feels comforting.

“Are you coming for dinner? Why is the door locked?”

Sanji rolls his eyes. Is it so hard for the crew to leave him alone? He made them dinner. It’s neatly placed on the counter of his beloved kitchen. All they have to do is heat it up, and he’s pretty sure even Luffy could manage to do that. 

“Go ahead and eat, my sweet. I’ve had dinner already,” he tells her as convincingly as possible.

His stomach rumbles softly, but luckily not loud enough for her to hear. The thought of food makes his stomach twist and turn. If she keeps pestering him, he might throw up.

“Oh…” She responds. “Well, will you sit with us then? You can sit between Robin and me.”

In normal circumstances, Sanji would jump at the chance. He’d be their footstool during meals if they asked, but not today. 

The empty feeling will only get worse if he accepts. Seeing his friends, his nakama, enjoy their day and talk while he feels so disconnected and stuck in the past will only bring more torture. He learned his lesson way back in Arrabasta.

“I’m kind of busy right now,” he says softly. His eyes are clenched closed as he says it, already regretting but having to accept the situation.

The handle gets pushed again, and once more, Sanji feels the cold metal make contact with his head. This time there’s less force behind it. Nami already knows it won’t work, but it doesn’t stop her desperate attempt to try and pry open the door again.

“Sanji, come on,” she says softly. “What’s wrong? Is it because of what happened at Whole Cake? Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. Even if Nami can’t see it, he has to shake away the images of Judge. A wave of embarrassment flushes over him. He wishes they had never learned of his past.

It should’ve been easy. He had never told anyone his last name, never told them anything about his childhood or his brothers... What a twisted play of fate that she decided to reveal his darkest secrets to his new family. 

They know he’s pathetic. They’ve seen his family first hand. They haven’t seen the bruises, or the mental scars that will never leave, but they understand. 

He pushes up his sleeves without looking. His hands search his wrists on both sides, where he feels a ragged line. Whose father would put his own son in handcuffs for long enough that he’s scarred? They’re like his own personal handcuffs, keeping him tied to the dark memories of Germa. 

A singular tear rolls from his eye. He hopes his voice doesn’t show any emotion.

“I really need to finish this, Nami. Please leave me alone.” 

He hears her ragged breath, proof of her hesitation. It pains him to realise; they don’t trust him on his own.

The worst part is, he knows they’re right. He’s in no position to be left alone, but he can’t ask them for help. What would they even help him with? Luffy had promised him the revelations of Whole Cake would change nothing - so they have no reason to suddenly meddle with his self-depreciation issues. 

The sound of her footsteps slowly fading away bleeds through the door. Sanji asked for this, basically begging the orange-haired woman to leave him alone, but he can’t help the nails he unconsciously digs into his wrists. 

She doesn’t care about you

Mindlessly, he stares at the stock of cheap alcohol in front of him. Technically, it’s Zoro’s, but everyone knows the pantry is Sanji’s territory, so that gives him at least some authority over the superfluous amount of sake, right?

He downs a bottle before he can really think about it. It’s messy, Sanji has never been very good at downing something quickly. Droplets fall down the side of his mouth, on his shirt, his trousers.

He wipes his face clean with his hand before grabbing a second. The wetness feels sticky, and the taste is disgusting, but that doesn’t matter.

The burn in his throat feels nice. It grounds him more than the pain of his cuffs in Whole Cake ever had.

-

-

The swaying of the ship feels weird. His centre of balance has shifted from alcohol from pretty good to non-existent. His back’s now against the cupboard with liquor. His eyes keep falling closed involuntarily, but it doesn’t matter. Not like the door is very interesting to look at, anyway. 

Sanji could hear Zoro walking through the corridors from a mile away. It’s good they don’t fish during the night, when Zoro is usually awake, or he’d scare every living creature in a thirty-mile radius to death.

He giggles softly at his own joke.

‘’Cook? Everyone went to bed, come out before I open the door myself,’’ Zoro’s voice doesn’t waver, leaving absolutely no space for arguments. 

‘’Try me, brute,’’ Sanji laughs, taking another swig of - what was it again?

‘’Are you drinking my fucking sake?’’ Zoro sounds angry.

That was it! Sake.

Sanji plops the empty bottle down on the ground. It makes a hollow sound in the otherwise abandoned part of the ship.

‘’I swear to God, I will cut down this fucking door if you don’t open it right now, Cook,’’ Zoro grits through his teeth.

Sanji doesn’t respond. He closes his eyes to try and focus more on the sounds and vibrations of the ship. How is there so little sound? He can hear the waves crash against the side of the ship in a rhythm. His stomach churns a bit at the constant movement, but it’s something you get accustomed to after a life at sea.

The sound of Wado being taken out of its saya triggers Sanji’s fight or flight response. All his muscles tense as his eyes immediately open, he automatically looks around the room in search of any danger. He’s conditioned to link the sound to a fight.

‘’Wait!’’ He stammered. ‘’Don’t - I’ll, I’ll open it.’’ 

It takes some stumbling before he’s up and twists the lock open. 

Zoro pushes the door open as soon as he hears the click. Not taking Sanji’s current state into account - who needed a couple more seconds to grasp the change of situation - the door gets slammed against Sanji’s shoulder, who immediately loses his balance.

The pathetic sight in front of him makes Zoro sigh. Sanji fell down and is currently pouting up at the swordsman with a mean glare, next to several bottles of empty liquor. He quickly counts them.

‘’Seven? You drank seven bottles of MY sake?’’ Zoro screams angrily, pointing somewhere in the direction of the bottles or Sanji - the pantry isn’t that big.

‘’Try to outdrink me, Mosshead,’’ Sanji says simply, picking up another bottle.

Zoro quickly takes it out of his hand, earning another angry glare from the blond. ‘’You’re an idiot, you know that? I’ve outdrank you more times than I can count, and you’re not supposed to last after five.’’

‘’Oh, haven’t you heard?’’ Sanji laughs, amused. ‘’I’m a superhuman now! I can do whatever the fuck I want, also, fuck you.’’

Zoro closes his eyes in annoyance. He hadn’t heard the full story of Whole Cake yet. No one really seemed eager to talk about it, and Zoro’s never been one to gossip, not taking into account it’s only been days since they’d left Wano. 

‘’Does this have to do with that stupid question you asked me in Wano?’’ he asks. 

‘’Which one?’’ Sanji asks curiously.

‘’You know-’’ Zoro says awkwardly. They haven’t really talked about it, not really. ‘’About the… The promise.’’

‘’Oh!’’ Sanji suddenly seems to remember. He tries to stand up, but the sea hasn’t been very kind this night- a particularly strong wave makes him crash down onto the floor again. 

Zoro gives him a hand to help him up.

‘’About killing me?’’ Sanji asks, tightly holding Zoro’s hand. 

They stand still for a couple of seconds, awkwardly staring at each other, until Zoro tugs his hand back. ‘’Yes, that one.’’

Sanji smiles as he steadies himself against the wall with one hand. ‘’Yes and no. Everything has to do with each other, can’t you see?’’ He laughs as he says it, but it’s the most emotionless thing Zoro’s ever heard him say.

Zoro stares at Sanji for a second before realising this isn’t going to help. He promised the crew to get the cook to bed as soon as his watch started - he would’ve picked the blond up three hours ago at dinner time if Nami hadn’t stood on giving Sanji some alone time. 

Look what that brought them. Now, drunk Sanji is his problem. He’s going to curse that witch one day.

‘’Come, we’re going outside. It surprises me you haven’t tried to smoke and light the ship on fire in there,’’ Zoro sighs, grabbing Sanji’s hand and dragging him with him to the deck. 

The idea of finally smoking makes Sanji sound a relieved moan. Zoro feels a blush creep up all the way to his ears. 

‘’Quiet down,’’ he says, annoyed, ‘’if you wake someone up with your whining I’m going to be blamed.’’

The door to the deck gets opened, and Sanji basks in the feel of the cold night air.

‘’So? Don’t want them to think we’re having a little tumble between the sheets, Mossy?’’

Zoro curses loudly. He has half a mind to throw Sanji overboard and act like he has nothing to do with it, but in this state he’s never going to figure out a way to get on dry land again. 

Instead, he opts to take a deep breath. ‘’What is your fucking problem today? First you make everyone worry, then you drink and make it my problem, and now you’re coming onto me?’’

‘’I’m not coming onto you,’’ Sanji says absentmindedly, trying to talk and fish a cigarette out of his chest pocket is harder than it looks when you’re swaying from left to right with no centre of gravity, ‘’but I’m too drunk to do anything against it, so this is your chance.’’

Zoro knows the noble thing would be to let the blond have a cigarette, give him a glass of water and toss him into bed, but he can’t. He’s too curious. The cook is always so closed off, prissy and uncomfortable about any personal conversation - this is his chance to get some information out of Sanji. 

He’s a man of honour, but this is a unique situation. One where he can make a little exception to learn about the annoying, irritable guy he hasn’t been able to get out of his head for months.

Sanji’s standing against the railing. His legs tremble, it only takes a slight push from Zoro to get him on the ground. 

‘’Sit down,’’ he says, already getting seated next to the man. ‘’You’re not - You’re not into men, right?’’

Sanji lets out a lighthearted laughter, but once again, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘’Only into the pretty ones.’’

Zoro raises his eyes, but Sanji doesn’t react. Zoro’s not even sure if Sanji realises all the shit he’s sprouting right now. ‘’The pretty ones?’’

‘’Mhmm,’’ Sanji mumbles, taking a big drag out of his cigarette. ‘’Like Ace.’’

Zoro’s jaw drops at this information. ‘’You had a thing for Ace?’’

‘’No, my love,’’ Sanji smiles. The nickname hits Zoro right where it hurts. ‘’We had a thing.’’ 

Zoro can feel the sadness radiate off of the man like a heater.

‘’Truthfully, I’m… I’m happy I wasn’t at Marineford. I don’t think… I would’ve been able to comfort Luffy.’’ He sighs deeply, staring out onto the deck. His voice grows even more soft and fragile, ‘’I wish I was there for Luffy, but… I think I would’ve broke, too, right on that battlefield.’’

Zoro is not sure how to react. He didn’t expect Sanji to have a thing for Luffy’s brother, let alone for said brother to reciprocate those feelings. Were they feelings? A relationship? Or just casual sex? 

The question seems rude to ask now that Sanji sounds so sad.

He’s nervous about being turned down, but also desperately wants to comfort the cook in some way. He’s no stranger to grief, and knows the painful feeling that worms its way into your heart like a parasite, only to never let go. 

Zoro quietly grabs Sanji’s hand, the one not holding a cigarette, and hopes fiercely he doesn’t get turned down.

Sanji doesn’t. Instead, the blond quietly weaves their fingers together.

‘’What about you?’’ He asks.

‘’Hm?’’ Zoro asks. ‘’What about me?’’

Sanji turns his head to look him in the eye. He looks handsome. The moonlight paints his hair a softer colour than it actually is, and makes his one visible eye light up like… like the all blue Sanji always goes on about.

If only he knew he’s carrying his own dream in the iris of his eye.

Sanji's smile is a mix between misschievous and sad. The perfect explanation for this weird night - kind of sad, but it also gives a thrill to see Sanji like this, so honest and unfiltered. 

‘’Are you into pretty men?’’

Zoro nods worthlessly. How could he explain that the most beautiful man he could ever imagine is sitting right in front of him? 

Sanji laughs softly. ‘’Thought so.’’

‘’What does that mean?’’ Zoro asks, slightly annoyed. What a way to mess up their conversation.

‘’It’s nothing bad. You just never seem to appreciate the beauty of a lady.’’

Zoro hums softly. ‘’I’ve never really liked women.’’

‘’Not one?’’ Sanji sounds surprised. ‘’Not even Hiyori?’’

Zoro shakes his head. ‘’She was sweet, but I can’t let anyone distract me from my goal.’’

‘’Not even a beautiful man?’’

Zoro smiles softly. ‘’Only if that man has the same goal as me.’’ The moment the words leave his lips, an anxious feeling creeps up on him. Is this too much information? Will Sanji figure out this little, one-sided crush he has? 

He cringes, but Sanji just tightens the grip on his hand. ‘’I understand that.’’ 

The swordsman’s clenched muscles relax, and he sighs relieved. Sanji’s drunk, and how could he forget, kind. 

‘’Can I -’’ he starts, scared to bring up the conversation, but it has to happen. Sanji doesn’t seem that drunk anymore, and the possibility of ever bringing up this topic without getting a kick in the face again seems small. He has to know ‘’Can I ask about Wano?’’

‘’The question?’’ Sanji asks.

Zoro hums softly.

It’s quiet between the two. The waves rhythmically crash against the boat. Sanji’s lighter clicks once to light another cigarette. 

Zoro sighs deeply, maybe it was wrong to bring it up, but Sanji hasn’t let go of his hand yet.

‘’I wanted to be sure I’d be dealt with properly… if something happened to me,’’ Sanji sighs. ‘’I didn’t want to hurt our crew.’’

‘’You would never hurt our crew. Why would you think that?’’ Zoro is starting to realise that maybe he did miss a big part of Whole Cake. 

Sanji’s eyes linger on their hands. Zoro doesn’t comment on it.

The quietness resumes until Sanji finishes his cigarette. He turns the hand they’re holding around, so his palms are up in the air. With the other hand, he slowly moves up his sleeve.

The scars around his wrist look deep. They’re not fully settled yet- but it hurts to imagine what it used to look like. Zoro moves their hands around to get a better look, confirming for himself that the scar is a circle around his complete wrist- but it’s not linear, it’s ragged.

‘’Who did this to you?’’ Zoro is very aware of the protective tone in his voice, but he can’t help it. Whoever dared to touch their cook needs to be dealt with.

Sanji grips Zoro’s hand a little tighter before responding, ‘’my father.’’

Zoro looks up, the fresh tears in the blond’s eye make him nauseous. ‘’What?’’

The small, pathetic smile on Sanji’s lips feels like a kick to the chest.

‘’He’s… not a great man. He cuffed me on Whole Cake. If I went against him, they’d blow up. Remember the collars of the slaves of the world nobles in Sabaody?’’

Zoro nods softly.

‘’It was like that.’’ Sanji’s eyes fall down to his wrists. ‘’He did more to me… To my body... I wanted to be sure that if he did something irreversible, you’d keep the crew safe… From me.’’ The last word is accompanied by a sob.

Zoro immediately lets go of his hand to throw his arms around the cook’s shoulders.

Soft sobs make Sanji’s shoulders shake, but it’s quiet. He barely makes a sound as he breaks in Zoro’s arms.

‘’Don’t cry now, Curls,’’ Zoro whispers in his ears. His hand plays with the blond locks around his neck. ‘’I’ve got you. We’ll make him pay, okay? I promise.’’

Sanji shakes his head, but makes no move to leave the embrace. ‘’I can’t.’’

Zoro tries to pull back to look Sanji in the eyes, but the hold on his body is too strong, so he just lets him. 

‘’Why not?’’

‘’He’s my father,’’ Sanji whispers against Zoro’s neck. ‘’I can’t…’’ He takes a couple of deep breaths to steady his voice. Once he’s ready, he doesn’t move away as Zoro expected, he moves closer , nuzzling his nose in Zoro’s neck. ‘’My mother loved him, in some kind of way. I can’t hurt him. For her.’’

Zoro mindlessly plays with Sanji’s hair. ‘’I can do it quickly?’’

Sanji breaks the embrace, slowly pushing the man away from him. ‘’No, you brute,’’ he says with no insulting undertone. 

Zoro knows he might cross a boundary with his next move, but he can’t help it. 

He cups Sanji’s face with his hands, wiping away the tears that have fallen. He’s not used to the kindness in Sanji’s heart, even to people who don’t deserve it, but what Sanji wants, Sanji gets. ‘’Okay. But we’ve got you, yeah? No one is killing anybody, then.’’

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the feeling of the warm hands on his face. ‘’Please…’’ he whispers, ‘’I… Please. Promise me you will if I ask.’’

‘’Your father? I will kill him in a heartbeat if you as much as point in his direction.’’

Sanji shakes his head, not opening his eyes and heavily leaning on Zoro’s hands. 

‘’No. I need you to kill me if I ask.’’

‘’Sanji…’’

‘’Just promise me,’’ Sanji opens his eyes, fresh tears are ready to fall and his bottom lip quivers, but he bravely talks without letting his voice quiver, ‘’I need to know you’ve got my back.’’

Zoro plays with Sanji’s hair, moving it out of the way and softly stroking the side that’s not always in front of his face. He knows the cook long enough to know which part of his face he wants to keep covered, even if he has never understood why. He’s so beautiful.

‘’I always got your back,’’ Zoro whispers softly. ‘’But I won’t mindlessly kill you. You’re too important to the crew. And to me.’’

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the touch of Zoro’s hand. He sighs so deeply, it almost worries Zoro. 

‘’I’m not that impo-’’ he stops himself before finishing. ‘’Will you kill me if I go insane, then?’’

‘’Curly, I know you better than anyone. I’ll catch you before you go insane.’’

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

the newlywed series- first time introducing each other as husband and wife

newlywed!Mark x f!wife!reader

summary: A honeymoon presents new opportunities to introduce yourselves to strangers, as husband and wife. Luckily, these opportunities are abundant but that doesn’t mean the novelty will wear off anytime soon

word count: ~1.3k

the newlywed series

-

Waking up in a Mediterranean paradise was nice, sure. Mark couldn’t argue with the fact that it felt good to wake up to the sound of waves crashing on the shore tens of feet away from the balcony and feeling the sun warming his skin through the white linen curtains. Of course, it felt nice, but it was nothing compared to waking up to you. Waking up to you, his wife, was a dream. Waking up to you tangled in the crisp, white sheets, hair spread across the pillows, he was even enamored by your drooling. 

He couldn’t believe how much his life had changed in such a short amount of time. Every morning since the wedding he woke up to a Mediterranean paradise with his wife by his side, still having memories from the wedding run around his mind. The flowers, the centerpieces, the music, the guests, his suit, your dress, the vows, it was all a dream. A dream that he was still stuck in since you were both trapped in a perfect love bubble heaven. 

He had been stunned to near silence when the concierge at the resort smiled at the two of you and welcomed you both as the resort’s “newest husband and wife.” The warm smile on her face was similar to that of the gate attendant at the airport who helped “the new Mr. and Mrs. Lee” find your seats. Even as you both left the venue, he found himself remembering the bright excited smile on your face as you and your friend screamed, “you’re a wife!” “I’m a wife!” He truly didn’t think that hearing him referred to as your husband or you referred to as his wife would ever stop making him feel shy or stop making him blush.

You roused from your sleep, nuzzling the pillow under your head while blinking at the bright sun that streamed through the curtains. You stretched your arms up to release the tension of the night before and turned to Mark with a sleepy smile, “Good morning, husband.”

He leaned in, his cheeks rosy from hearing you refer to him as “husband,” and placed a kiss on your forehead, “Good morning wife. Do you think it’s time to leave the room and explore the resort a little?”

“Are you finally ready to let me leave the room? God, are you going to be able to control yourself if I dare put my clothes on?” You tease with a tired smirk.

He scoffs while he narrows his eyes at you, “God forbid I spend some alone time with my brand new wife, in bed, making love like married couples do. How dare I? Seriously, send me to jail.”

You laugh, pulling the blankets over his face, “Shut up, Mark. Let’s go get ready to eat. I heard your stomach growl during your weird little rant.”

You both get ready quickly, not making an effort to make yourselves look too put together since you only had intentions of lounging by the hotel pool all day. You both enjoyed your breakfasts, laughing and making small talk about what you both wanted to do before your honeymoon came to an end. 

Once you were finished eating, you both wandered over to the hotel pool and found lounge chairs to relax in before you got in the pool. You had your sunglasses pulled over your face while Mark people-watched for a bit. The pool slowly but surely became more busy, soon an older couple took over the lounge chairs beside the two of you. The older gentleman smiled at the sight of you and Mark holding hands and talking to each other quietly. 

“You both remind me of my wife and I,” he stated suddenly.

Mark turned with a shy smile, “Oh, thank you sir.”

“We’re husband and wife now! And we’re on our honeymoon!” You add excitedly.

The man laughs heartily and introduces himself to the both of you with a handshake. Mark quickly responds with your name and his own, “and we’re the Lees.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lee, that has a nice ring to it, enjoy your honeymoon lovebirds,” the man smiles warmly before turning to his own wife.

You pull Mark closer in a fit of poorly contained elation, he’s mostly on your lounger by now, “We’re the Lees!”

Mark smiles with a blush, nuzzling into your neck as you pepper his forehead with a flurry of kisses. The Lees. Mr. and Mrs. Lee, that was you and Mark. He was your husband and you were his wife. He still couldn’t believe it. You could hardly believe it yourself. You were so excited and giddy to finally be married.

After a day at the pool, you both walked to a restaurant in the resort, greeting the host. “Ah yes, Mr. and Mrs. Lee, it's so nice to see you around the resort. How are you finding your honeymoon so far?” Mark finds himself zoning out, lost once again in the daze that hearing the both of you known as “Mr. and Mrs. Lee” throws him in. 

“It’s been so amazing, the resort has so much to do,” you answer with a polite smile. 

“I’m so glad to hear that, our finest table for our honeymooning husband and wife,” the host smiles as you come up to your table.

Mark rushes to pull out your chair and helps you move closer to the table, “it sounds so official.”

You hum, looking over the menu, “What does, my love?”

“Husband and wife.”

You look up with an arched brow, “Is that not what we are?”

“No, we are!” Mark reassures quickly, “I just meant that it sounds strange- in a good way. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for so many years, then we were fiancés for a bit, but now…. Now we’re husband and wife, like for real.” 

You stare at him in awe, “I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way. This is the last title we’ll ever have for each other, no more changes.”

Mark laughs and places his hands on either side of his face, “Baby, we’re going to be husband and wife for the rest of history. Like generations from now, people will look at pictures of us and describe us as husband and wife!”

“Mark! Can we focus on getting through our first week as husband and wife before you think 50 years into the future?”

“I can’t help it, wife! I’m just so excited to be your husband and like, you’re my wife!”

“Yes, my love, that’s what the whole ceremony was for, the rings too, and this honeymoon,” you explain slowly, making sure he’s both hearing and understanding you.

Mark scoffs, reaching across the table to take your hand in his own, his thumb playing with the diamond on your ring finger, “Yes, I know that, thank you. I think it’s going to take me a while before I get used to hearing us call each other husband and wife.”

“I don’t want you to get used to it,” you pout at him, “I want you to be this excited and amazed about you being my husband forever.”

“Of course I’m going to be excited forever. If anything, I think my heart will skip a beat every time you call me your husband just like my heart still skips a beat when you look at me,” Mark smiles softly, admiring the way the warm light of the candle on the table illuminates your face. He thinks you’re the most beautiful human he’s ever laid his eyes on.

You squeeze his hand, averting your gaze to the menu in front of you again to hide your embarrassment, “you’re a sweet talker, Mark.”

Mark laughs and shrugs nonchalantly, “part of the reason you married me, right my wonderful wife?”

“That and many, many more, my handsome husband,” you smile at Mark, your wonderful husband.

[arkhamabyssfiles]

Loading FILE...RED_HOOD_MEMORY_13 BRUCE WAYNE: AGE, 38 JASON TODD: AGE, 17

Jason yawned and stretched, it had been a slow night, which was all good with him as Finals were coming and he had to study. He passed Bruce by the Batcomputer and was in the process of debating with himself for the eleventh time this week if he should bring up the fact that Helena had…confessed to having feelings towards him...again. And this time—it somehow seemed more serious even when she’d said it when she’d been half asleep and tired to the bone. While carrying her upstairs it had slipped her, and he knew by her awkward and flustered reaction the next day that she remembered it. Jason had nearly dropped her when she’d said that in his ear, he felt his face grow slightly flushed at the memory so he waved it away.

But he felt guilty for some reason, and he believed it was his duty to inform Bruce.

“What is it, Jason?” Bruce asked without turning on the chair, startling Jason who’d spaced out behind him.

Jason swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I—There’s something I think you should know…”

Now, Bruce did turn the chair around. An expectant look in his eyes—if you could call it that. It unnerved Jason, but now he’d reached this point he might as well go through with it.

“It’s about Helena…She—She kind of—said she had a thing for me…”

There was a moment of awkward silence and Jason looked up at Bruce’s eyes. He wasn’t expecting to find him smiling, or as close to smiling as he got, in amusement.

“Yes. She’s had a thing for you for quite some time now.”

“I—You knew?” Jason asked trying to swallow his dismay at the situation.

“I’m afraid so. I think you were the last one to realize it.”

“Fuck,” Jason passed his hand over his face. This was even worse than he’d been expecting. Bruce had been laughing at him all this fucking time…

“Language,” Bruce corrected without much heart behind it. 

Jason dropped his hand from his face, “Aren’t you going to—I don’t know, say something?”

“Like what?”

“Like to stay away from her.”

The slightest downturn of his lips showed Jason he was surprised, or at least not quite expecting that. Ha, that was something at least.

“No.”

Jason really wished Bruce could be more eloquent from time to time without prompting, talking to him about normal day-to-day stuff was sometimes like pulling teeth.

“Then you’re fine—”

“It was to be expected. Both of you are close in age, and see each other almost every day… And you’re opposites in background, interests, and personality...” Bruce said so matter-of-factly that it exasperated Jason.

“But I’m no good!” Jason burst.

Again the smallest of changes in Bruce’s face appeared and piercing eyes searched him. “Is that what you believe?”

Jason looked away, cursing himself for uttering such nonsensical insecurities in front of Batman of all people.

“She thinks you’re more than good,” Bruce pointed out.

Jason’s heart squeezed, what about him? Did Bruce think he was good enough as well?

“You’ve come a long way, Jason, from the life you were born into…” Bruce stood up from the chair and walked towards him, but still left some space between them—“it’s not easy to walk away unscathed. But that doesn’t mean you’re bad or less for it. You’ve not only survived but taken a path to make the world a better place. I’ve seen enough of said world to assure you, that there are very few people who choose to do so. Most will never go beyond thinking that as long as they do no wrong they’re already helping the world. But you know better than anyone how that ends, don’t you?”

Now he closed the space and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“And another thing that matters is what you want, Jason. Don’t think of going or not going along with her just because out of some duty to me or anyone. Figure out what you want for your future, and do what you can to achieve it. If you don’t think you’re ready yet, then work slowly towards it. You’re young, you don’t need to rush.” He gave him an encouraging pat and returned to the chair of the Batcomputer. Before turning away to the screens again he added, “And I would prefer for Helena to be where I can easily keep an eye on her if she were to get a boyfriend.”

Jason cringed so hard at the idea of him being anyone’s boyfriend…He’d never given it much thought beyond thinking it must be nice to have someone love you and love back romantically in a far-off way—like how it was in books.

“I—I’ll think about it,” Jason muttered, unable to think of anything else to say, because his head was a messy tangle of thoughts and realizations that left him even worse than how he’d started.

END OF MEMORY... For more FILES check previous entries...

[nutellaenjoyer]

Mha manga spoilers

Even though Bakugo is 15th that doesn't mean he isn't the strongest, I can confidently say he is stronger than all of them I mean he did defeat afo which at the time no. 1 Endeavour couldn't do (I haven't read the manga so correct me if there are any mistakes) also the war won bc of Bakugo and Midoriya

Ofc I'm upset about hero rankings but they apparently changed rules I haven't read these last chapters but I think the public is the key in hero rankings so maybe people hate his attitude lmao idk😭

But if it is bc of the attitude then how th did Endeavour get his ranking so high back then😭

Horikoshi just wants to mess with us lol

[laugtherhyena]

I need to have ibis taken away from me so that i stop expanding Ayame's family tree-

Quite literally the most random thing ever, at one point earlier this week i remembered this throwaway from Asoot's puppetmaster arc at the scene where Akane goes to spend the night at Ayame's house;

This was, obviously, done because back then none of us had any ideas let alone designs and character traits for Ayame's family, hence the need for an excuse to why they're not present.

Cut to present year where i went and made characters for her parents and thought back to this line like "Hey i should make that", since i wrote Bashira as a single child that means this is an aunt from Ippei's side of the family; Mai Hatano!

And hey i was actually nice this time around so she's actually alive post-tragedy :] so here's some general info on her:

-She's 9 years younger than Ippei, the parents were going through a rocky part of their relationship and the mom thought maybe having another kid could save their marriage but it really only made everything worse and the husband left around the time Mai was turning 2 years old.

-The deal is that the father as some kind of businessman that was having an affair with a coworker and would excuse him coming up late or not even back home by saying he was piled up with work and blaming the wife or being “insensitive about his efforts”, but she knew he was bullshitting and could tell he had someone else. So again, she thought maybe if they had another kid that would fix things but it only led to somewhat constantly arguing for over an year until he left with his lover and cut contact with the rest of the family.

-This ties into why later in life Ippei choose financial stability over following his music career, the family struggled quite a bit over the years with just the mom and two kids, they had to move a few times and Ippei even got his job as a waiter during his mid to late teens to help out with money. I guess this also ties into why he and Bashira planned so much to have Ayame, i think his parents married pretty young and inexperienced so he wanted to avoid that and have a normal family.

-On Mai’s side she felt like she was at fault for “ruining her parent's marriage” for a good chunk of her childhood and early adolescence. She's over that as an adult, though it did lead to her avoiding serious relationships with anyone though most of her life. At most she's had some flings/one night stands, but never a proper boyfriend or anything official.

-On top of that Mai is generally pretty bad at dealing with emotions, both of other people and her own. She has no idea how to comfort anyone or help when they're in some emotional turmoil or need someone to vent to, so oftentimes she is kinda just changes the subject or gives a pretty standard response of like “Damn that sucks” before doing so and proceeds to ignore the issue as in sorta of a “forget about it” way. (As you can probably guess, she's not the one to show her hurt to others for a similar reason. When she received the news that her brother and his family had died she didn't express much of a reaction at all at the foundation and only cried when she was back home because she did genuinely care for them, though her odd reaction gave the impression to some coworkers that this wasn't the case.)

-She is a very stubborn person so she doesn't talk to people about this problem of hers, much less seek help when it comes to it because the fact that she can't truly help the people she cares for when they need emotional support really hurts her so she'd rather ignore and forget than deal with her lack of abilities in the area. 

-Stubbornness and ignorance are notably her most negative traits (“I was never taught and I will not learn” sorta thing). This extends to circumstances other than her loved ones emotional needs because a lot of the time she will be dismissive or ignorant about certain things solely because they don't affect her directly nor anyone she cares for.

-That being said, she is very outwardly nice and shows care to others. Very chatty and outgoing, pretty much the opposite of her brother and niece since she can talk to people very easily. She's on good terms with pretty much everyone from Tsurugi's division and talks quite frequently to other foundation workers as well. Though she is rather blunt and says whatever comes to her mind at any given moment.

-Before the tragedy she worked as a personal bodyguard in Towa city, this busy and sometimes dangerous lifestyle led to her distancing herself from her brother a lot as they grew older. It wasn't anything intentional, just life bringing them in separate ways so while she did love her brother and his family a lot they didn't see each other super often, it was mostly during holidays, funerals or events like some of Ayame’s competitions or similar situations. This became one of her biggest regrets late in life as she wishes she could have spent more time with them.

-She broke her arm pretty badly when a client was getting ambushed and was set to stay out of business until recovered. Once she was dispatched from the hospital Ippei and Bashira came to drive her home and help her settle back, alongside doing some catching-up. That was the last time they saw each other.

-When the tragedy broke out she became stranded in Towa city because of all the chaos and the Warriors of hope hunting down the adults. Her arm was still broken then, but Mai is a rather reckless person and went around fighting despairs and rescuing other citizens in spite of her injury, which led to her injured arm getting broken and slashed in many other places which then led her developing a nasty infection that she just kept fighting on her own for months until she and a group of adults managed to leave the city.

-She was brought to a hospital pretty much immediately after by the group's leader and by that point she pretty much couldn't feel or move her hand anymore and the whole area around her arm gave her immense pain. When she started getting treated the staff tried to contact any family member which led to them contacting the Kisaragi foundation and upon informing them that she was in their care Rei requested that Mai should be moved to the foundation’s hospital facility, which was where she stayed for the majority of her recovery.

-There wasn't much Hikaru or any of the medical scaff could do to save her injured arm so she had to have it amputated to avoid further spread of infection, but at this point Mai couldn't even think much about the fact and just told them to do whatever it takes to make the pain stop. On top of losing her arm, she also became prone to infections out of how bad hers was.

-It was when she was recovering from surgery that Tsurugi came to speak to her, he apologized for the foundation taking so long to rescue her, alongside informing her how the place functions and most importantly letting Mai know that her brother and his family had died. It was only after he left that the weight of this information and everything Mai had gone settled in and, for the first time ever since the tragedy started, she cried.

-The thing is that unlike her brother, an overthinker who thinks ahead and carefully plans everything in life, Mai tends to throw herself into things head on just hoping that it will all work out in the end and while she's going through things she doesn't stop to think much about the details until it's over. So it was only as she was recovering in the hospital that she thought about everything she had gone through, everything she had lost, and for once tried to think of what her next course of action should be while going through these feelings.

-That being said, she never fell into a depression or took the loss as hard as someone like Keisuke did because that's just not the kind of person Mai is. Somewhat similar to her ignorant demeanor, her way of dealing with grief is mainly by occupying her mind with other things, like going places she enjoys or focusing on training and work. The last one being the reason she joined Tsurugi's division pretty much immediately after being dispatched from the medbay.

-Mai’s an action woman! She has a lot of energy and loves getting into fights, especially if it is to protect others, so it's no surprise she joined his division and not Rei’s or Teruya's. But when it comes to Tsurugi's ideals Mai is by no means a follower, she thinks he's insane, way too radical, but so far his black and white mortality hasn't affected her or anyone she cares for directly so she turns a blind eye to it, this is the guy who pays her after all. (This does change post Sdra2, especially after Keisuke almost shoots Midori)

-She was assigned to be in charge of the new members basic physical combat and self defense training, especially for those like Ryutaro and Keisuke who had no experience in this line of work before. This is part of how she ended up becoming a close friend of theirs, though Mai tends to treat Ryutaro (and Midori by extension) more like younger siblings rather than coworkers.

-The foundation provides her a prosthetic for use only during missions (by Tsurugi's orders). Mai doesn't mind that since she doesn't actually like having the prosthetic on, it feels more like a trouble to put on and use than it's worth, she much prefers not having one at all.

-On a similar vein, Mai isn't a fan of the work uniform, she finds it way too stuffy and clunky so she only puts it on right before going on a mission, alongside the prosthetic arm. Tsurugi doesn't take that well, as he sees it as Mai not taking work as seriously as she should, but she is one of his best soldiers so he refrains from picking up on her.

-Onto some more miscellaneous information. Mai’s apartment is rather disorganized and messy, but for her it’s fine because she knows where everything is, even if it's not in the right place per say. Bashira used to jokingly pick up on her over it.

-She’s also a pretty bad cook, can only really pull off simple meals which is why she's a huge fan of takeout and fast food in general.

-Back in Ippei's late teens/early 20s she was the one to keep pushing him to take initiative and ask out Bashira, though that help absolutely came alongside teasing her brother for being so shy.

-They were really close then, Ippei would even pick her up from school everyday n all. This strong care stayed strong over the years even after they started seeing each other less and less after moving out of their childhood home, and even less after their mother passed away from old age sometime around the late 2000s.

-She never spent much time with Ayame but oftentimes when she would feel self conscious about her lack of femininity her parents would mention how she's just like her aunt on that aspect

-Mai has her brother's collection of music vinyls at her place, she's not the biggest fan of classical music, but listening to it reminds her of him.

[the-fabled-void]

*emerges from lab, with messy hair, eyebags, and carrying a conspiracy board*

We've been thinking about Frisk's personality the wrong way! They're not either merciful or murderous, or flirty or childish. They're all of them at once. Their personality is one of possibly. They aren't one individual option, but choice itself.

They represent something we don't consider a part of their personality as a human, and that's something that makes them *so* human. Because humans aren't a set of choices, but all of those choices combined, and the drive and possibly to make any of them at any given moment.

They're not a blank slate or something you project yourself onto. They're their own character, you just help them choose.

The choices are always there, Frisk always has them. The choices are not ours, they're theirs.

The Frisk who flirts with every monster, being silly and becoming friends with them? That's Frisk.

The Frisk that's pissed off at everyone but still wants to be friends? That's Frisk.

The goody two shoes who's as nice as possible? That's Frisk.

The Frisk that does what is necessary to achieve the best ending? Frisk.

And the Frisk who kills off everyone, just to see what happens? Still Frisk.

They only allow the player to choose between a very specific set of actions. Fight, Act, Item, Mercy. And the ACTS change from monster to monster, only a few they seem really fond of staying the same.

As expected from a kid, they seem to be driven by curiosity. They want to know as much as possible about a given Monster. Conversations- there's quite the extensive set of options when calling someone. You don't have to give them any input for what to say if they choose to call anyone. Simply calling is enough.

It's implied they made quite a dirty joke if they're told to flirt with Toriel after calling her mom. Because believe it or not, kids sometimes know about weird topics without engaging in them.

Even their expression could be used as evidence: -_- is now they look- their eyes closed, they're allowing you to guide them.

Despite how people portray them, they're not a silent protagonist, they're not speechless. They're actually quite talkative.

It's like they recognize that you want to play the game, and that you can only do that by giving them choices. And they allow you to give them choices. But only those specific ones.

It's like they're saying "you can play, but you gotta play by my rules"

Not to mention the circumstances that have to happen for you to know their name.

Because despite all these options, the kid does have a preference. They want to be friends with everyone. Or at least, they want everyone to be as happy as they can make them. That's why, only once you manage to help them free everyone, you get to learn that they're called Frisk.

"You're not really [Player Name], are you?"

That? That's Asriel, not just acknowledging that Frisk is not his childhood friend and kindered spirit. The one he misconstrued in order to relate to them, who wasn't perfect, but still trying their best. He knows Frisk not them.

No, he's acknowledging that, despite everything, despite the choices made in their regard, Frisk is happy. Someone chose for them, but they did it by their rules. Everyone is happy, just like they wanted. And Frisk did not change as a person.

You do not learn Frisk's name if you do not appease them.

Instead, they disown your choices, and you by refusing to let you know who they are, if you don't make them happy.

If you do the opposite of what they want you to do, you only get what you've been doing reflected back at you.

By someone bearing your name but not your face.

And they? [Your name]? Chara? ? They will remind you, even if Frisk is gone, that you were the one to drive them away.

"You didn't follow the rules, you betrayed the trust I gave you. You proved yourself unworthy of control. I won't even allow you the illusion of playing through me anymore."

You thought you could do what you want with them, but now, they're rejecting you.

Despite how little control they seem to have, Frisk is the one pulling the strings.

This is their game.

[mythalism]

i feel like i can maybe bring some comfort or at least some clarity to that anon & other fans taking datv so hard as someone who's been playing EA's sims: fortnite for like. a decade.

for those who don't like life simming games i have to preface this by saying the first three sims games had their own lore, timelines, easter eggs and theories and storylines imbedded into the world to make it feel more livelier and less of a Click Here Go Here game. when EA took over maxis they covered sims 3 with paywalled bullshit known as "sims points" where you unlock base game content / new towns through. paying money to get fake money.

anyway. when sims 4 came out we didn't have toddlers, pools, or shit that was basically a base game item since the sims 2. but the create a sim was soooooo immersive!!!! and that was kind of the biggest marketing for the game (lolz. deja vu anyone) and for about three years EA & the sims devs gaslit the players into saying shit like a pool or a roofing system were just too difficult to include. as someone who's spent an atrocious amount of money on sims DLC, much of which for the past 5 years has been broken, as in, your game fucking crashes and is unplayable, broken and still unfixed, i had no hope for veilguard lol.

like i'm not gonna lie, we got fucked, like royally, and i expected no less. but considering that ea has managed to strip the soul of a game which the entire point of is "create your own world!" and you can't even do that without 30GB of immersion mods and custom content, i'd say bioware did an ok job at keeping veilguard slightly above the Fuck You, Pay Me EA gaming model.

i also have to say ea as a parent company does not care about players. i don't know the intricacies of why they bought bioware and maxis apart from the fact that they held franchise potential, and i don't pretend to know. but EA's end goal with veilguard was always to milk it as much as they can from the baseline consumer (fifa, battlefield, that dogshit star wars multiplayer) and not bioware enjoyers.

i won't talk ab the writing bc everytime i hear "it's up to interpretation" all i hear is either we were forbidden from having difficult/nuanced conversations about anything or we ourselves don't care enough because the state & quality of bioware's writing has always been subpar and constantly pandering to a very specific audience that think racially or sexually diverse character = pinnacle of good writing & representation even if said character has nothing else going on storywise (like how taash's quest is literally just WOE. ROOK CHOOSES THEIR IDENTITY with no nuance or care to tell their story outside or LGBT BE UPON YE or MISGENDER BE UPON YE if you don't do their quest, or the returning hypersexualization of isabela being ignored cus yaasss slayyy girl power. it's empowering to wear a bra & thong during battle! pussy out during the blight shes a thief but shes so kind and woke and cares about the little man!!!!)

also the allegories for elves, dwarves & qun as people of color esp indigenous people when a huge chunk of biowares writing & creative dept is all white people. well. ✋🙂‍↔️ let me be quiet lest the ire of VOTE YOUR WAY INTO THE REVOLUTION crowd finds me. but it's always been questionable it's just more obvious now with EA breathing down their neck like a velociraptor bc they need that sweet sweet MAGA money they get from musty 30yo men stroking it to FIFA24 to invest in veilguard

nodding along sagely. i was a sims 2 & 3 lover as a child and i bought 4 when it came out, played it for like 2 days and never picked it up again lol so i fully agree that dragon age made it out pretty damn good in comparison on its fourth entry. i also agree that we should be careful to absolve bioware as a studio itself too much.... the games have always been full of racism, misogyny, islamophobia and generally insensitive and reckless portrayals of real-life cultures and issues for the sake of their games. veilguard, i think, takes that deserved criticism and course corrects in the complete wrong direction - instead of correcting the racism they uhhhhhhh just got rid of any sort of sociopolitical commentary. and actually kept the racism so it didnt even work. anyway. yeah companies dont care about us LOL. but thats why we have each other here on this silly website <3

[invidiatechdemo]

itty bitty preview of a halloween-specific wip that, full disclosure, probably will be heavily reworked before i post the finished product b/c there's a number of design elements i wanted in that aren't getting conveyed in this atp.

hoder's really cool and normal. i feel awful for her.