#except he has so much time and so much power and it's just

[seventeendeer]

it's easy to get emotionally invested in the main plot and characters of Deltarune, but I think one of those quiet little side stories that have fucked me up the most is what happened to Ramb. or didn't happen, I guess

like ... it's such a major theme of both Deltarune and Undertale that everyone has someone who would miss them if they were gone. no one is expendable, no matter how "unimportant" they seem from your perspective. it's one of the first major genre subversions that Undertale explicitly spells out for you

a major twist at the end of Undertale is that even Flowey has the capacity to miss someone who is gone. everyone is connected in some way, no one is truly alone. Deltarune elaborates on this theme; Susie is ostracized in the beginning, but Noelle always wanted to be closer with her, Toriel divorced Asgore, but she still prays for him, Carol is feared by those closest to her, but the town she runs appreciates her efforts, King is a tyrant, but Lancer still loves his dad despite everything, many people in Cyber World are afraid of Queen, but the Swatchlings are devoted to her, Jevil was close with Seam once. if the player allows it, even Tenna, defined by his loneliness and obsolescence, can go on to be exactly what someone else (Mettaton) needs. Tenna himself seems to miss Spamton on some level, who is otherwise widely hated.

but not one character is shown to care about Ramb, and when he "dies", a random colleague shrugs it off and says no one will miss him. and not because he was uniquely evil or anything, he was just kind of annoying and no one around him found a reason to look past it. Tenna's a shitty boss who actively abuses the power he holds over his world to make others' lives miserable, but he's also tragic and fun and charismatic, so those around him warm up to him despite his problems. when the Knight cuts him up, depending on circumstance, there will be people around him to fix him up again, or at least to mourn him.

this even extends to a meta level. Tenna's character is fully explored and his popularity with fans is through the roof. Ramb is a blip on the fandom's radar by comparison. we just don't get to know him that well, and he's just not that engaging. he's just some guy, friendly enough to us, but with much subtler characterization than most of the quirky personalities in this game. Tenna is loved in part because he has a huge, ugly, violent meltdown; it makes him exciting! relatable! Ramb never seems to directly hurt anybody. no doubt if he actually had been chapter 3's secret boss, as was hinted he might be before that pattern was subverted, he would have been more popular. but he wasn't the secret boss. really, there's no solid evidence he ever wanted anything except to help Kris in the only way he knew how.

I wonder if Kris cared about him. I want to say "of course they did" because he's an old item they used to love playing with come to life, but there are hints that Kris has a complicated relationship to the Darkners in general, so I actually don't want to say for sure. the player is compelled to care about Ramb at least a little because he's friendly to us and ultimately enables us, but we are not Kris, and the path Ramb enables the player to take is clearly emotionally distressing to Kris.

idk. there's just something about someone dying unloved and unmissed. not because they "deserve" it, but mostly out of happenstance. he didn't meet the right people for him. he was kind of aggravating and nothing about him was interesting or charming enough for anyone to want to look past it. after he's gone, the only person who takes note of his passing takes time out of their day to figuratively spit on his grave. in a story that is so warm and so full of love, where everyone is so connected, he just kind of ... slipped through the cracks

[mrsmanofthemonth]

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs - ʙᴏʙ ʀᴇʏɴᴏʟᴅs x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ғᴛ. ᴘʙ&ᴊᴊ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ - ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ, ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴏʙ ᴡᴀs ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅ. ʜᴇ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ʟʏɪɴɢ. ʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟғʀɪᴇɴᴅ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs - ғʟᴜғғ, ᴅᴏᴍᴇsᴛɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴏs, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴏs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ǫᴜᴀᴅ.

ᴍᴀʏᴏʀ ᴍᴀɴᴅʏ’s ɴᴇᴡs ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ 📮- ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ ʙᴏʙ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ sᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀss ᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ғᴀɴᴛᴀsᴛɪᴄ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴘʙ&ᴊᴊ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ sᴀɪᴅ, “ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ?” ᴇxᴄᴜsᴇ ᴍᴇ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ sᴘᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs ᴏʀ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀʀ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs. ɪ’ᴍ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴜsᴛʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀᴅ sᴇʟғ ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇɴᴛ ɪ ᴀssᴜᴍᴇ. ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʙsᴏʟᴜᴛᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴜᴘ ᴏғ ᴄᴏғғᴇᴇ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ - 𝟹,𝟶𝟻𝟶+

sᴜɴɴʏʙʀᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ ⛅️

For a man who glowed gold was and one of the most powerful beings on earth, Bob Reynolds had an exceptional talent for going unnoticed.

It wasn’t that the others didn’t care—Peter, Joaquin, and Johnny were deeply invested in the man’s life, if only because they lived with him, breathed the same air, and occasionally panicked when he muttered to himself or some out, hoping he was still holding on to his sanity. But Bob had always been a bit of a mystery. He’d drift in and out of rooms in silent patters, bud in conversations, half-listening and half-lost in thought, his eyes always a few seconds slower than his smile.

So when he said—offhandedly, between bites of cereal one Wednesday morning—that he might be seeing someone, none of the boys really heard him. Or, paid attention rather.

Peter was fiddling with a malfunctioning gadget of his that he made out of an old toaster. Joaquin was working the blender, making his morning protein shake and doing that thing where he whisper-sang reggaetón lyrics. And Johnny was shirtless, eating flaming hot Cheetos puffs from the family size bag, his fingers beat red while the other hands scrolled his phone.

“I think I have a girlfriend now.” Bob had said, blinking once, spoon halfway to his mouth.

Peter, without looking up, mumbled. “That’s great, man.” But he was barely heard over the sound of the blender at Joaquin didn’t stop, and they weren’t even sure if he heard the conversation happening.

“Is she physically real or, like, some celestial being in your mind?” Johnny asked, wiggling his fingers around his head before wiping Cheeto dust on a dish towel that very much did not belong to him.

“Ha ha, funny.” Bob monotoned, glaring over at the man across from him. “She’s very real, if you must know. And it feels celestial.” Bob said firmly.

Joaquin simply smirked but didn’t take it seriously, more satisfied with the fact that he got under Bob’s skin. And then the conversation ended there, all the men going back to their shared task within the kitchen.

It’s not that the men didn’t believe that such a thing could happen to their friend. It was simply something none of them have just thought about. Bob soent his free time, which was all the time since the guy was unemployed, dressed in flannel pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, buried under a weighted blanket. He loved messy reality tv and sometimes stared out the window at birds that would land on the fire escape. Joaquin even slightly remembers a story of the man befriend a crow or something through animal crackers.

But they adored him. He was their roommate. Their teammate. Their unique and lovable Bob. Their Bob.

And according to Bob himself — he was now someone’s boyfriend.

About a week after that, he stood before them in the kitchen again, dressed in grey sweats and hoodie, nothing new from his usual wear, besides his tennis shoes. “I won’t be home tonight.” He mumbled, spooning Cap’n Crunch into his mouth with unbothered serenity.

Peter, eyes still crusty with sleep, had looked up as he scratched his bottom through his boxer briefs. “What? Where are you going?” Be grumbled in his morning voice.

“Out.” The man answered simply. He didn’t even have time to register his own response and how rude it kind of sounded, before Johnny, who was making himself some sunny side up eggs, shirtless behind an apron with a skillet in his inflamed hand, turned to him. “Out?” He questioned.

“With my girlfriend.” Bob said, looking over at him.

The room had then gone quiet. Peter pausing with his nana halfway out of his mouth while Joaquin raised his head from his laid position on the couch.

Johnny had snorted loud enough to shake the pan, almost dropping it from his hand. “Okay, sure, Bob. Your girlfriend. The same way I’ve got a pet unicorn and Joaquin’s got a gluten allergy.”

“…I actually do have a gluten allergy.” Joaquin mumbled, flipping through the channels on the television with a dull look of interest.

Bob just blinked at them as he finished eating. “Her name’s Y/N.” He stated, moving over to place his dishes in the sink. “She’s actually really cool. We met in the park where she was walking her cat.”

This only caused the boys to not believe him more, squinting at him. “Who walks a cat?” Peter questioned, which was a bit muffled due to the banana he was chewing. He then looked down at the empty peel in his hand, before simply tossing it behind him, the moist peel hitting the wall before sliding into the trash can.

“A lot of people, actually.” Bob stated a bit enthusiastically, turning back around to look at them, as if he was ecstatic to tell a new piece of information he’s recently learned. “But it’s her grandma’s fat calico. He needs a daily trek.” He said with a nod, looking between them all.

And they gave Bob their usual stares of a look that was a mix between pity and slight confusion before mumbling words of simple acknowledgement and moving about their day.

And that was that.

But now it had been weeks of him mentioning her every now and then. And Bob kept disappearing.

It started innocently enough. Jaquan was the first to notice.

“Bob?” He called, walking through the loft with a mug in hand, still bleary-eyed. “Have you seen my—wait. Where’s Bob?” He questioned, stopping in the open floor between the kitchenette and the living room.

Johnny, stretched across the couch in pajama pants and nothing else, barely opened one eye. “Bedroom?”

Joaquin checked the room on the other side of the loft, up the stairs and in the first room on the right. Empty, with a bed that was perfectly made. Too perfectly. Meaning he was either in a chipper mood or angry. Which was hard to tell if he wasn’t here.

Peter came in next, hoodie slung over his shoulder as he waked out of his room, looking down the hall at Johnny. “What’s up?” He questioned the slightly confused man.

“Bob’s gone.” He said, a subtle frown on his face. “Like, not here gone.” He emphasized as they walked back downstairs.

“He’s probably on the roof.” Johnny shrugged. “Somebody needs to use the perks of this penthouse.” He mumbled.

“But he didn’t say anything.” Joaquin muttered, concern tugging at his brow. “He always leaves a note. Or, like, sends a text.”

“Bob texts you?” Peter stopped at, turning to the man from the kitchen pantry, coming out with an adornment of snacks in his hands. “He doesn’t even have my number saved.”

“Bob has a phone?” Johnny questioned, raising his head from the couch. “Is that the number that’s been sending memes in the group chat?”

Joaquin ignored them as he walked into the kitchen and sat down his mug on the island. “Maybe he just went to get coffee.” He shrugged, not wanting to dive into his friend’s unnecessarily convoluted patterns.

And it continued, the celestial like altered man would shuffle out of the penthouse apartment in his usual hoodie, a dreamy twinkle in his eye, smelling faintly of lavender and something else that was spicy and warm — not his usual scent of floral laundry detergent. Hers, maybe?

Peter raised the question gently over tea that Joaquin made after training, and Johnny refused to entertain the idea at all.

“Bob can barely open the front door without panicking.” He insisted. “He’s either lying or she’s some sort of chatbot at an Internet cafe.”

And then, one Sunday morning, the universe answered all their questions that…weren’t really weighing on them, to be quite honest.

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, which was rare in a household where Joaquin never stopped dribbling a soccer ball and Johnny did everything loudly on purpose. Peter wandered into the kitchen mid-yawn, looking for Bob, only to find an empty table. No cereal. No discarded slippers left in the middle of the floor. No soft humming of ’70s soul music coming from the hallway.

“Huh.” Peter mumbled. “Bob’s not here.”

Johnny looked up from where he was organizing and cleaning his rings, while the baseball game played loudly. “Maybe he went to the corner bodega again to feel the oranges before he buys them.” He said, his eyes bouncing between the tv and his roommate. “Remember that phase? Man loves a citrus, I guess.”

Joaquin poked his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. “Didn’t he say something about a picnic?”

Johnny groaned. “Right, the girlfriend. Again. Sure. He’s been dating this mystery woman for, what, a month now? Never brings her around? Doesn’t, I don’t know, spend the night at her place?” He listed dramatically, waving his hands.

Peter shrugged. “He might just be private.”

Johnny scoffed. “Bob tells me his dreams every morning over breakfast. He’s not private, he’s just weird.”

Then they heard it — laughter — muffled, through the front windows and the sound of fans yelling and commentators on the tv.

The three of them froze.

It wasn’t their laughter. Or that of anyone they knew. It was light, feminine, soft and genuine. It was then followed by the soft thud of a bag, the click of a door, and another laugh, deeper this time, unmistakably Bob’s.

They ran to the window next to the door like nosy neighbors in a sitcom, scattering across the hardwood floor in their socks.

Outside, in the sun lit hall from the window down the hall of the penthouse building, was Bob.

And a woman.

She had her hand in his — fingers laced tight — and was laughing at something he said as she leaned into his shoulder. Her smile was wide and radiant, the kind that made you feel warm just looking at her. Mauve cheeks with a matching lip shade. Her curly hair was pulled into a loose pony at the back of her head, some pieces hanging to frame her frame, gold diamond earrings flashing in the sun, and she was wearing a ‘Coolsville’ hoodie far too large to be hers.

Bob’s hoodie.

Their Bob.

Johnny dropped the curtain like it burned him, which was a bit ironic considering he was the Human Torch™️. “No. Freakin’. Way.”

Peter’s mouth was slightly open. “That’s her?” He asked, his eyes glazing over as he gazed at the woman his roommate had on his arm.

Joaquin was still pressed to the glass. “She’s hot.” he breathed out, breath fogging the glass.

“I know!” Peter exclaimed.

“She’s holding his hand! Like she likes him!” Johnny added, an excited and almost proud smile on his face.

“He’s smiling!” Joaquin cried. “Look at him! He’s, like, glowing!” He grinned. And they gave themselves a millisecond more to celebrate before they scattered like roaches when the doorknob turned.

Bob walked in with a dreamy expression, cheeks slightly pink, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his curls. And he wore jeans, with sneakers. Behind him, she entered too, her gaze bouncing around the shared space with casual curiosity.

The guys stood in a weird line, shoulder to shoulder, each one with a matching look of disbelief that they were trying to mask.

Bob blinked. “Hey.” His gaze burning between them.

Y/N smiled, cheeks still glowing from the walk. “Hi.” She said, giving them a wave.

Johnny pointed an accusing finger. “You have a girlfriend.” He stated bluntly, not even trying to beat around the bush. Bob’s face heated more, red risking up his neck while both Joaquin and Peter winced at their friend’s words.

“Johnny.” They hissed.

“It’s fine.” The girl spoke up, a bashful smile on her face. And her voice was as beautiful as she looked, gentle but deep and sultry. She glanced over at Bob, who was already looking at her. Her eyes seemed to shined, his the same as they made eye contact, before he looked back over at them. “Uh… yes?” He answered.

Peter pointed dramatically. “When were you going to tell us?”

“I did tell you.”Bob replied mildly, sipping his drink. “Over cereal. Weeks ago. And again last Wednesday.”

“You said you might be seeing someone!” Johnny accused, pacing. “You didn’t say you were dating a daughter of Aphrodite!”

“Oh, stop it.” The girl said, her smile widening a bit as she waved him off. Bob tightened his hand around hers, eyes the blonde across from him. “Yeah, stop it.” He said, glancing between the girl and his friends.

Joaquin then stepped forward, gaze flicking between her and Bob. “You’re really with him?” He questioned, crossing his arms, and neither of the pair could tell if he was posting fun or trying to be intimidating.

She nodded, still holding Bob’s hand. “Six months now.”

Joaquin audibly choked. “SIX MONTHS?!”

Peter, who had moved over to the kitchen, nearly dropped his mug. “Bob! You’ve been sneaking out?!”

“I do not sneak out!” The man was quick to add, sparking a glance with the woman next to him. “I am a grown man.”

“Yeah, well, you forgot to do the dishes before you left, grown man.” Johnny sassed, giving Bob as look as he placed his hands on his hips. “Now, come, you almost missed the game.” He said, not wanting before he turned around, waving them over to the couch he was walking towards.

Bob stepped beside her and gently touched her waist, a quiet gesture that said she’s with me, and be nice.

Y/N leaned into him, easy and unbothered. “You must be Peter, right? And you”—she pointed at Joaquin—“Joaquin, are the one who puts socks in the freezer?”

Joaquin flushed. “How did—?”

“Bob talks.”

“My feet run hot, okay.”

She then looked at Johnny last. Her eyes glinted. “And you must be the one who thought I was some chatbot.” She said, amusement clear in her tone.

Johnny almost turned crimson at the smile he gave him, but it didn’t show, because he was always one to keep things cool. Which was funny consideri— “I mean, I just didn’t—he’s—you know—Bob.”

Bob just raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means we didn’t think you could pull.” Peter blurted out. “Sorry.”

To everyone’s surprise, Bob just smiled, though there was still a slight look of confusion on his face.

Y/N leaned over and kissed his cheek, lips brushing warm and soft over stubble. “I told you they wouldn’t believe me.” Bob said, turning his head towards her, their nose brushing.

“Well, I’m here now.” She shrugged, looking Bob in his deep blue eyes. They stood there, smiling and giggling like two people wrapped in their own little world, completely at ease.

Joaquin crossed his arms. “Six months you say?”

“Yup.” Y/N nodded.

Johnny blinked. “That’s way longer than when Peter dated the girl down at the bodega.”

Peter mumbled, “Let it die, Johnny.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about this Amber story?” She asked, looking between them all.

Bob, very seriously, said “Not even a little.” And the guys couldn’t help but notice that there was something different about him now — almost softer and more grounded. He wasn’t floating in space within his own mind, or mumbling about the void. He looked like a man who had somewhere to be, something to hold. Someone.

“So.” She said, glancing around. “Is anyone gonna show me the lizard I keep hearing about?”

Peter pointed. “That’s Picante. He lives in Joaquin’s room but has no respect for guests. Or anyone besides Joaquin.”

“Oh, great.” She muttered. “I was surprised to hear you guys had a beaded dragon considering Bob’s afraid of geckos and such”

“I’m not—okay, I screamed once.” The shaggy hairs man insisted.

“You climbed onto the clinic table.”

“It startled me!”

The guys just stared at them, still stunned, still processing, still watching Bob — their Bob — fall in love right in front of them like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Y/N caught their expressions and smiled. “I’m a vet.” She explained, gaining subtle nods from them. “And when I gave Bob a tour of the black and showed him some of our office animals, he freaked out.” She said. “But he was good with the horses.” She nodded, and Joaquin’s eyes widened a bit.

“Horses?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “They loved the guy. Don’t look so surprised.” She uttered before looking back over at him, connecting eyes once again, a favorite pastime of hers. “He’s kind of incredible once you get past the sleep-talking and thirty-seven pairs of gray sweatpants.”

“Forty,” Bob muttered.

“And now.” She said brightly, “I’m stealing your boy. For picnic plans and all.”

“Speaking of, we have reservations.” Bob said, standing with her hands in his, and that shocked his roommates more, their eyes watching his every move they began to walk back to the door.

“You guys have reservations? You have reservations?” Johnny cut in, causing the pair to stop, particularly eyeing his friend. “Bob, you tried garlic bread for the first time last week.” He said, and she let out a small chuckle at that while Bob sent Johnny a deadpanned look. “We’re having dinner at her grandparents house on their ranch, so don’t wait up. Her grandfathers a really great cook. And funnily enough, he’s an Italian man who loves garlic.” He explained, his tone a bit firm, causing their heads to jerk back in slight shock at the man putting his foot down.

She grabbed Bob’s hand again and led him toward the door, pausing only to flash a dazzling smile at the three stunned men left behind.

“Bye, boys.”

The door closed behind them, laughter echoing down the hallway.

Johnny blinked. “Bob’s got a girlfriend.”

Peter nodded. “Bob’s got a girlfriend.”

Joaquin flopped onto the couch, dazed. “We’ve entered a new timeline.” He breathed out.

Johnny only scratched his head. “I feel weirdly… proud. And a bit betrayed.”

“She really is out of his league.” Peter said, crossing his arms as he propped his feet up on the couch, leaning further into the cushions.

Joaquin frowned. “Hey. Maybe we’re the problem.”

They sat there in silence for a long beat.

“…Nah.” They said in unison.

[cakypa120]

Okay so I've been getting back into adventure Time and as an adventure time I mean Simon and Betty and now I can't stop imagining the same thing with Billy and Danny

Danny being forced to become the goose King and in turn but having to do so runs off and ends up meeting Billy who's around this time just starting to get into being the champion of magic

The observant decided that they're going to keep putting Billy and everyone else lives endanger until Danny agrees to come to Ghost King and turn for doing it Danny makes a wish to keep Billy safe

After doing that just like Betty and adventure Time Danny gets some type of terrifying ghost king form with too many eyes always watching always looking out and and stars dust for our body and a terrifying content looking crown

And turn Billy asked the gods if he listens to everything he tells them promises forever to be their attack dog if they can bring back Danny

So now boom Billy who is forever stuck at the age of 13 until he gets Danny back it's been so far 100 years since the actual incident and Danny who is stuck in that cosmic chloroform watching over everything death and life to make sure Billy stay safe

So now you have Billy as Captain Marvel who's actively trying his best to be the weapon of the gods so he can get back Danny So the Justice League don't know a lot about him other than the fact that he's connected to the gods they don't know or not if he's a real person or if he's just a puppet all they know is that he's Captain Marvel and he's there by the gods will

Now I'm just imagining anytime Billy does something the gods really want him to do and he succeeds at it he gets to see Danny again and one of those times the Justice League ends up following him

And the Justice League are just seeing their colleague they don't know a lot about Go on and on about how much he loves this terrifying looking being staring at him out of one of The Lazarus pits it's body was so tall that they had to crane their necks up to look at it and it takes Superman minutes to fly all the way up there to get good look at it face

My main thoughts with something like this

Billy: Oh my beautiful beautiful Danny my sir of the Stars, My Prince My everything, The watcher of my life how beautiful you are today how beautiful you are every time you see you

Justice League: What the fuck is that thing And what the fuck is wrong with our teammate

I just find that idea so lovely heartbreaking for Billy and Danny confusing for the Justice League

Billy was happy, holding the artifact that the Gods wanted. He and the League were lucky to get this powerful weapon, forged by Hephaestus himself.

Marvel: Thank you for your help!

Batman: What are you going to do with this?

Marvel: Return it to the Gods, of course.

The further conversation is interrupted by the roar of the wind and frost creeping along the ground. All the heroes shudder. Except for Marvel, who smiled impatiently. The ground split in half, revealing green waters. The heroes step aside, looking with alarm at the waters that began to boil.

Flash: Marvel! Get away from there!

Marvel does not have time to answer. A huge hand grabs him. A second hand appears behind the hand and from the puddle appears a huge thing with dozens of green eyes. The white pupils constantly moved from side to side. Marvel was lifted up.

Superman: Marvel!!!

He flies up to free his colleague. But he moves too slowly, as if something was deliberately slowing him down. Superman manages to break through and fly up. What he sees makes him think that he has gone crazy.

Marvel hugged the cheek of this strange something and smiled happily. Were those tears? Meanwhile, the creature made some kind of contented sound, similar to the creaking of an old car.

Superman: Um, Marvel?

Marvel: Oh, Superman!! Fly closer, don't be afraid! He won't hurt you!

Clark flies up, looking at the creature with apprehension. Three eyes looked at him, and a chill ran down his spine because of this. The sound of the old car is repeated.

Marvel: Yes, he is my colleague!! A good man, a good friend, and a good defense against Batman!

The huge shoulders shake in a quiet laugh, and Marvel gently touches the creature's cheek.

Marvel: You are so beautiful.

The creature's cheeks darken, and its eyes look away in embarrassment. Clark hovered nearby with his mouth open. Marvel smiles and gives him a kiss on the cheek. The creature presses closer to Marvel. Clark feels a little uncomfortable.

The sound of the old machine repeats. Marvel's face becomes sad. He touches his forehead to the creature, which began to disintegrate into fine green dust.

Batman (on the comm): The creature began to disintegrate into dust. Superman, what's going on?

Superman: I don't know?

Marvel: He's going back to his world.

The creature completely disappeared into the dust. Marvel and Superman hung in the air and there was silence between them. Then Marvel takes a deep breath and goes down.

Flash: Dude, who was that?

Marvel: Um, my boyfriend?

Diana: Your what?

Marvel: It's not official yet, but I hope it will be.

Batman: Why did he show up?

Marvel: The gods let me see him. We have different spheres of influence. And he's kind of tied to one place. That's the only way I can see him.

Superman: I'm so sorry, Marvel.

Marvel: It's not your fault. Well, I saw him, so the year wasn't wasted! See you tomorrow! Bye!

The heroes exchange glances. What should they do now? How can they cheer up Marvel? Could they have helped?

Diana turns to Zeus with this question. That's how she learns about the deal between Marvel and the Gods.

[a-purple-obsessed-girl]

for my third part of talking about my theories of kpop demon hunters’ future, it’s the turn of the second movie, that should focus on mira and the theme of family:

first thing first: jinu is dead. he’s not coming back to life neither makes the sword sentient. i don’t know about korean spiritual/religious beliefs, so if i say something wrong let me know, but from the movie i got the idea that jinu redeemed himself and freed himself from the corruption of the demon’s king, allowing his soul to move on and became part of the universe (and the honmoon), one with the universe, to become energy, kinda

we know that mira had problems with her family, so that of course will be the main thing: understanding what is family, that goes beyond blood and that sometimes the chosen family will be there when the blood one won’t

so, the idea is that huntr/x got a request to exhibit at some hotel that belongs to mira’s family (i mean, they are rich, surely have some kind of hotel/establishment). of course mira thinks that’s her parents way to reconnect with her (because, yeah, she got over being perceived as the problem child, but she misses her family). but obviously her parents don’t care: they wanted huntr/x just because it’s the most famous group and they want to show their power/riches; still don’t approve of their daughter life’s choice and aren’t particularly happy to be remembered that their daughter is in the group (not that they deny she is their daughter, but if it’s not made super public would be better)

as a contrast, zoey has zero problema regarding her family: they are all supportive. maybe they are at the show and we got to see the difference. maybe there is zoey’s grandma that adopts all three of them as granddaughters (after all they’re zoey’s girlfriends, of course she will adopt them)

and lastly, celine realizes how much she fucked up with rumi, apologizes and tries to fix things. and tells rumi the story about her parents (or maybe she finds rumi’s mother’s diary with the story and she too learns what really happened for the first time)

rumi’s parents story is important for understanding more about demons (that is also a very important part of the movie): rumi’s father was just a (good normal) man that fell in love with her mother, was somehow corrupted by gwi-ma (maybe trying to make a deal to keep his wife safe), hid the patterns from his wife, became a father giving his daughter patterns, ended somehow betraying/ambushing the sunlight sisters, but at the last moment realized what he was doing and stopped, sacrificing himself to try to save his family but unfortunately also his wife died. the important detail is that he didn’t died a demon, because was able to overcame gwi-ma’s influence (kinda like jinu, but before he died)

(maybe here i can make an exception and allow for an appearance from jinu, in a dream, to kinda confirm rumi this story because after dieing he can see sone “soul energy” around rumi and can confirm her that not only she isn’t a mistake, she never was, and actually she is very loved)

so the demon’s hunters part of the story is the girls learning they can stop people to became demons: maybe mira realizes that her brother is showing some patterns because is being tempted by gwi-ma in order to be the perfect son for their parents and feels the pressure, and maybe is envious that mira got out. so mira tries to reason and reconcile with her brother, helping him break free and repairing their relationship

they also realize that a lot of people are in this situation and in the end the girls sang to help them all understand they don’t need to listen to the voice of doubt and self-hatred in them; in this way huntr/x reduces even more gwi-ma influence on the earth

it’s super important to me that mira’s parents aren’t the one becoming demons, like maybe gwi-ma tried: tried to guilt one of them like “it’s your fault, your daughter’s like this because of your failing” but them are “no, i did my best, i give her the best education i could, now that’s on her if she choses to do that with her life, i don’t have to blame myself”. so gwi-ma tries to make a deal with the other parent to have back the daughter they wanted, but they too are “she made her choices, terrible choices for sure, and i don’t support them and i don’t want to have to deal with her anymore, but that’s all on her, and i won’t force her to change her mind”. i just want her parents to be terrible parents with their rigid views and values, but not outright terrible people; and maybe by the end they could learn to be a little less rigid with the brother, since he kinda wants to do what his parents want of him, but, like, with less pressure

of course there are songs, and one is mostly sung by mira. also, i would love if mira asks zoey to help her express her feelings through the song: like, kinda explains what she wants to say and then has a dance already coreographed and zoey from here writes down the lyrics while rumi helps with the melody

[calmcoldevening]

Slashers x reader who is very dependent on them and very clingy

Slashers x clingy!reader

Michael Myers

• Michael isn't particularly tactile, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like it. If you take his hand, he won't let go, whether there are people around or not. If you climb into his lap while watching a horror movie, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and just sit there.

• He's a big cuddling pillow for sleeping, if that's what you want. He lies next to you, and you usually cuddle his arm or his body. Michael doesn't mind. He's not sleeping, and he'll just keep lying there, staring at the ceiling. If he doesn't want to lie there all night, he'll stand by your bed or by the window like a loyal dog.

• Michael allows you to be around him at any time, even when he's in the middle of his "work." You're an honor to his territory and his space, so he's even a little proud to have you by his side.

• You're his, and he's always protecting his own, and no one dares to question it. If anyone dares to harm you, Michael is already nailing their body to the wall with a knife.

• To some extent, he even enjoys your dependence on him. You trust him, you're not afraid to be around him, and you don't scream. You're an exception to his rules.

• He's always there to protect your back, even if you can't see him. That white mask follows you like an invisible shadow, making even the most terrifying pervert afraid to approach you.

Jason Voorhees

• Jason loves you. As a child, he was only exposed to hatred, so even the slightest display of love from you brings him great joy.

• Jason enjoys having you follow him around like a lost puppy. He often takes you on walks in the woods or by the lake, showering you with love and gifts. These usually include flowers and interesting items from his victims.

• He falls asleep cuddled up with you like a little child. You are his greatest treasure, and he doesn't let go of you even in his dreams.

• He really enjoys your clinginess because he has a significant tactile hunger himself. He always tries to hug you, hold your hand, stroke your hair, or something similar. He has strong hands, so he likes to give you massages.

• He found an old gramophone and some records in one of the old cabins. Now, he often organizes "music nights" with you. In fact, he's a very awkward dancer due to his size, but he really tries. He gently takes you by the waist, wraps his arms around you, and sway with you to the gentle music. He believes that spending time together can satisfy your hunger for touch.

Thomas Hewitt

• You are the embodiment of his "normality." You make him feel needed and loved, worthy.

• At first, it was difficult for Thomas to get used to your affection. He wasn't used to anyone wanting to hug and touch him, except for his mother. Over time, he got used to it. However, you are still the one who initiates hugs and kisses.

• You are so clingy and so much his, and he feels obligated to protect you. If someone even looks at you with the wrong eyes, he's already turning on the chainsaw.

• Thomas has a quiet love. He doesn't say much, but his actions speak louder than words. He's always fixing your broken things, cooking your favorite meals, and making you feel comfortable. His hands are always there to stroke your hair or embrace your body.

• Thomas has learned to make a delicious, soothing herbal tea using his mother's recipe. Now while you're sitting and cuddling before bed, he gives you this tea. It saves you from insomnia in this heat.

Bo Sinclair

• He loves that you can't do without him or his touch. It makes him feel so cool and powerful. He will feed your affection with his gentle actions, so you know that "you'll never find anyone better than me." But in reality, he's trapped himself and can't live without you.

• Bo always takes you with him to the gas station. You sit on the hood of the car or on his desk while he works, and sometimes you even help him by holding his tools.

• He loves to carry you in his arms, and if you're talking to someone, he'll just walk up, throw you over his shoulder, and leave with the words, "Actually, this is my partner."

• His love is a mix of tenderness and cruelty. One moment, he's kissing and hugging you, and the next, he's grabbing your hair and pushing you into the mattress.

• But your affection has melted his heart and turned this monster into a real person, baby.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Siren!au

Lucifer was sailing on one of the last pirate vessels, and the law and government were cracking down on those who ruled the seas and many innocent people were caught in the cross fire.

But Lucifer was interested in the stories of those hunted on sea and land. Pirates had always fascinated him, but he preferred the safety of being on land, working amongst the bankers and office workers. But he was always ready to jump at something new, and a few years ago, the portable camera was invented. That's when he took the leap and did something that would have terrified him: joined one of the last pirate crews and set sail with them for five months.

Everything was smooth sailing, the crewmen would tell Lucifer tales and he took photos, that was until some men started to see something in the water. Lucifer heard screeching and wailing, leaning over the railing with his camera in hand, he wanted to catch whatever was making the strange noises but he was grabbed and pulled away.

The crew was talking about something called a siren, but how could Lucifer believe them without proof?

The noises continued for three nights until something attacked and crawled on board, killing the crewmen until it was only the captain, a few older members and Lucifer.

But soon enough, the captain was killed. It was quick and large- and Lucifer could only see the outline of the body.

He took off running, making it outside onto the deck- just in time to see the ship sailing at full speed towards an island. Bracing himself for impact, Lucifer was jolted and thrown around once it hit land. He smacked his head against something, making up on the sand, hearing only the waves of the sea and distant screams.

That's when he saw the captain running along the beach before being jumped by something and brought to the ground. His mind went blank, like he was on autopilot. He reached for his camera and snapped a picture. The shutter sound was distorted and sounded broken but it still caught the creature's attention.

Lucifer watched as the creature started pulling itself along the sand before slowly standing on long, powerful legs.

He took another photo. And another. He pressed his fingers ger down on the capture button, but this time, the flash lit up, showing Lucifer the creature for a second before it screeched and covered it's eyes.

Lucifer finally snapped back to reality. It looked like a man, except this man had a long, fish-like tail and bony, fin-like prongs sticking out over its body. Once he realised what he was looking at definitely wasn't human, he started running towards an old, abandoned cabin and taking refuge.

((It's shit and short but I'm tired and it's time to catch the train to sleepy time junction 😝))

AHHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!

A slow burn.~

-

Lucifer felt like he was running forever he didn't know if that..... Thing could or would follow him but he couldn't leave it to chance.

He was having so many regrets now, he should be back home working in a shop but no, he just had to want adventure.

Well he has it now.

Panting, Lucifer stopped to catch his breath. He needed to be smart if he was going to survive.

Food, water, shelter.

Looking around he saw some coconuts, that covered two out of three. Reaching up he climbed the tree to knock a bunch down before finding a rock to crack one open.

He greedily slurped the coconut water before eating some of the softer coconut flesh.

Lucifer: I should find more.....

He can't live off of them.... Well he could but he would run out and who knows how long it takes them to regrow.

[deaths-accountant]

why do you disbelieve in the power of the market? friedrich hayek. friedrich whats the other man. milton friedman. murray bothbard

Because the market is inefficient in a number of ways.

The first, and most traditionally socialist reason is allocation- private ownership of the means of production requires that a large amount of wealth go to those who already have wealth, so that wealth tends to concentrate, leading to vast inequality. This is an inefficient allocation of resources because someone making £25,000 a year benefits far more from an extra £1,000 than someone making £250,000 a year.

Friedman would not have any counterargument here, and would just say this is an irreconcilable difference in values. Hayek would argue that the wealth is deserved because it is 'earned'. I would argue that there is no meaningful sense in which a landlord who inherits their property is 'earning' their money, so there is no moral justification for them to have that money, certainly not one that outweighs the imperative to alleviate the poverty of their tenants.

This vast inequality, combined with systems like private schooling and billionaire financing of election campaigns, make governance much worse, as the political leadership will tend to come from the upper middle class or upper class, and will be heavily incentivised to court the support of the super-rich. This means the concerns of the poor get systematically neglected, and leftist reforms- even ones that would benefit everyone- become far harder to push though. This is in addition to concerns about general competence, which gets eroded by corruption and by the political and media leadership all coming from the same background who are benefiting from the way things currently are.

Friedman and Hayek would say that the solution to corruption is a smaller government, so that the government is less powerful and their is less incentive to corruption. I think this suffers from the same kind of 'end of politics' conceptions as many leftists- there is always going to be wrangling over the size of the state, as long as there are states, and there is always going to be the possibility of regulating industries that are not nationalised, so every industry is always going to be within the purview of corruption- the current size of the government can't change that. Hayek would say that means the government is already involved in the kind of unacceptable arbitrariness that he says is The Road To Serfdom. I, like Keynes, would say that Hayek failed to realise that the state of affairs Hayek warned about in his book is government-as-usual.

The market has huge problems with externalities- economics textbooks tend to portray these as small exceptions to the usual state of the economy, which can be easily fixed with a small tax/subsidy, but they are in fact large and omnipresent. The most obvious being climate change- an economy that decarbonised at the socially optimal rate would look very different to our current economy, including having very different prices. This means that the effect of carbon externalities is not just the price of energy being a little bit off, but all the the prices in the economy being a long way off.

And climate change is only one of these externalities- resource depletion and pandemic risk are other huge externalities, but there are uncountable smaller, but still important, externalities. Externalities are supposed to be addressed by Pigouvian taxes, so that a market system can still produce efficient outcomes, but the size of the problem, and the lobbying interest in it, makes it practically extremely difficult within a political environment that is used to giving primacy to the market (as opposed to e.g. China, which is still capitalist, but has an easier time making changes like this).

Moreover, many externalities can't be addressed within markets because they are too hard to measure in order to tax them. There are many more minor pollutants, but there are also things like human capital formation at work- companies are heavily incentivised to under-invest in training for their workforce, like the beauty and character of an area, and like the impact on surrounding infrastructure.

Friedman would argue that these externalities can be addressed by the market itself if you just expand property rights, but this is impossible because you can't give a company ownership of the air, or ownership of a stake in the health and skills of workers.

Hayek would correctly argue that the market doesn't reach an optimum anyway, as it is constantly changing, and instead the achievement of the market is in being able to dynamically respond to new circumstances, and account for information that would not be available to central planners. He would argue that non-market methods of addressing externalities would undercut this. I would argue that the size of these externalities is large enough that any concerns about how dynamic the market is are less socially consequential, and also that the sluggishness of many non-market methods to respond to changes in circumstances is not set in stone, and is a consequence, in part, of a culture of market primacy and of regulations aimed at preventing adverse impacts on market actors or, ironically, at preventing government waste.

Bothbard would sit on his bals then say ooh I sat on my bals.

An important case of externalities is land value- an acre of land in central london is very valuable not because the soil is very good quality for crops, or because of the weather conditions, but because of the easy access it provides to central London- the value is created by activities in the surrounding area, and was not compensated. This means most of the value of most properties in the UK come from externalities, amounting to an enormous misallocation of resources (in addition to the component of house prices that comes from lobbying and voting to keep house prices high).

Specifically, it is unnecessary to add housing to an existing town, which might not appreciate it, when you could just build a new town, and once built, the value of those houses would be just as high as the housing in an existing town, even though the land started out cheaper than land in an existing town. But market actors rarely have the resources to build an entire town from scratch, much less an entire city, so they are stuck adding to existing towns.

This creates problems like gentrification, where a wealthy town has to be gradually built on top of a poorer town, rather than just built somewhere else, because it can only be built gradually and the initial developments wouldn't be profitable otherwise. It leads to megacities, that have grown far past the point that any residents would like, and to regional inequality because one city will grown largest, have the highest land value, and so receive the most new developments. The market gets stuck going further and further along one path and fail to explore travel new ones.

Basically, the market can only optimise 'locally'- what increases value by the largest marginal increment right now, ignoring effect on adjacent land. Whereas planning can take a global approach, noticing that one house on its own in the middle of nowhere isn't worth very much, but once all the rest of the houses around it have been built, an entire extra town in a new location is more valuable than an extra town sized addition to an existing city that is already struggling under its own size. Admittedly this might not be a problem in the future due to increasing adoption of working from home.

Capital markets are inefficient in terms of social welfare- if they were efficient, investors would be asking about how much the firm benefits its stakeholders- or equivalent questions phrased in terms of prices. However the questions tend instead to be about barriers to entry and ability to build a brand, and on the stock market stocks get valued based on very limited information that largely ignores anything of relevance to social welfare, and encourages short-termism, as long-term strategy is difficult to commercially trade on. This leads to an enormous degree of misinvestment, which is rarely recognised, and I am being quite heterodox in claiming that it exists. Admittedly it is very difficult to invest well, with respect for various social priorities over long timescales- but in ignoring these priorities entirely, capital markets do a far worse job than intentional economic planning, or some hybrid system would.

Friedman would reject the possibility of so much misinvestment, at least once externalities are priced into the market, so that this is reducible to just the problem with externalities. He would argue that e.g. correctly predicting that a company is overvalued given the likely increase in the price of carbon over the coming decades and the difficulty they will have in adapting their business model to lower carbon methods would allow you to beat the market- to make above-market returns. Thus, if anyone is able to predict this, it will get arbitraged out, and the market will incorporate that knowledge into its prediction- making the capital market very accurate in valuing the company.

However, making money on a prediction like this requires consistently shorting that company's stocks over decades, waiting for the market to realise it was overpriced- and when they finally do, the mispricing will be small relative to share price. This uses up a lot of liquidity, and likely manpower, for returns that are only slightly better than the market in expectation, and have a high risk, as all sorts of other things will be affecting that company's share price at the same time. This makes it very difficult to diversify and get the reliable returns that investors want. Hence why more short-term trading based on shallower financial indicators tends to be so favoured, and why mispricing can be so persistent. Bothbard would accuse a butterfly of violating the non-aggression principle for landing on his face and shoot it.

The market will fail to provide services to niche markets- e.g. a free market would not provide disability accommodations for buses, as the small increase in demand would not pay for the costs of adaptation. In theory disabled people should be much more willing to pay, so that buses could charge disabled people far more, and then this would pay for the accommodations, but disabled people don't have that kind of money. This also applies to accessibility in shops, on websites, etc. so that the market has a strong tendency to systematically exclude disabled people from every aspect of life. Similarly, the market would not provide postal service to those in remote areas.

Friedman would argue that this is efficient- the service isn't provided because the willingness to pay is exceeded by the cost of provision. But lack of universal provision causes a lot of problems- what if someone needs to receive a legal summons? You end up having to design alternative and more complicated procedures for a wide range of things, which ends up being more expensive and less just than universal provision.

Other specific examples are provision of allergen-free food, niche medicines, and lawyers for the poor.

The market similarly has a tendency to exclude poor people from every aspect of life. If someone becomes homeless, for example, it is disadvantageous to hire them, and if someone doesn't have a job, no one will rent to them. The poor also have no ability to hire lawyers if they are wrongfully evicted, or injured as a result of workplace policies, or if they are a victim of crime. In absence of state systems to protect the poor they become an underclass who can be preyed on without repercussion. This similarly applies to people fleeing domestic abuse, or who were stay-at-home partners in a marriage and don't get awarded compensation in a divorce.

The market cannot deal well with services with large fixed costs, like telecommunications, and especially information including scientific discoveries. This is because to meet their revenue requirements, private corporations need to charge at above their marginal cost, which results in an inefficient level of production. In cases like social media websites, marginal social cost may actually be negative, due to network externalities. With scientific discoveries and artistic creations, this is addressed through intellectual property, deliberately turning the market into a monopoly. I think this is a bad approach for reasons I have outlined elsewhere. I could add that intellectual property has worrying fee speech implications.

The market involves a lot of waste, like advertising, loyalty programs, keeping things secrets because they would look bad to customers- e.g. a consulting firm not letting a client know how simplistic their 'methodology' really is, and the amount of cost involved in managing transactions and protecting property rights. This could largely be dispensed with if an industry was managed through non-market approaches, e.g. if medicine was free there would be no need to wait in line to pay at the pharmacy for 20 minutes every time I have to pick it up.

This is just a pure social saving, which means that even if a non-market approach is 'inherently' less efficient, it may still be more socially efficient. Some of these costs can't be fully dispensed of- if capitalism is abolished there would still need to be police dealing with property crime, for when people steal each others' possessions. And some level of transaction processing would be necessary to ration access to resources.

Advertising is also more than just wasteful spending, but can be actively harmful, such as clothing adverts that present extremely thin bodies as an ideal. More generally, advertising works best when it is unchallenging, so it tends to reinforce existing social norms.

Many services cannot be provided well by the market due to what economists would call asymmetric information. When you hire a lawyer, you don't understand the law, so you can't judge if they are doing a good job. The same with doctors, care homes, complicated machines like cars, and builders. Where something isn't measurable to customers there is a strong incentive to cut costs until provision becomes poor enough that is is measurable to customers. So for doctors, the incentive is to deny expensive medical tests except where the patient is sophisticated enough to be able to tell that doing this is malpractice, or for a builder the incentive is to use materials of quality almost poor enough that the building will fall down. When in 25 years a hurricane hits and all of those buildings fall down you've already made your money.

Friedman would probably argue that these can be addressed by hiring your own experts- you hire a surveyor before buying a house who you hope will tell you if it is structurally unsound. But this just moves the problem one step along, because you can't tell if the surveyor is doing their job properly either- and they often don't. It also adds a bunch of costs that non-market approaches don't have to worry about when you have to keep surveying and resurveying, searching for surveyors, and surveying the reviews of surveyors. Also surveyors don't really exist for many industries, like doctors.

Hayek might argue that these are information problems any economic system has to deal with- it's always going to be difficult to judge from the outside whether a doctor is doing a good job, and capitalism, in practice, does a good enough job that the market basically functions, at least (ignoring that when doctors were less regulated they were largely quacks, and quacks persist where they can escape regulation). But that oversight of doctors doesn't have to happen on the customer (patient) level. If responsibility for assessing the quality of services is put onto the state, instead of the customer, it becomes practical to spend a lot more time seeking out qualified, competent inspectors, as well as gaining the possibility of e.g. accessing the back of house to assess the hygiene of a restaurant. This doesn't trivialise the problem, as you still need to inspect the inspectors, and keep standards up to date, etc. but it makes the information problem far more tractable for a system that leans socialist than for a market system.

Bothbard would eat a burger and then another burger and then very many burgers and then throw up.

The asymmetric information problem is a particularly big deal for the job market, as employment is where most people spend half of their waking life, yet it's very difficult to know what it will be like working somewhere until you're in, and then it's costly to leave. Employees that warn prospective employees about poor working conditions risk being punished for doing so.

In addition to natural resources being used up more than is socially optimal due to externalities of extraction not being priced in, they also get used to too quickly because markets tend to be short-termist. This is because they use the real interest rate as the market discount rate. The discount rate tells how apples today you would trade for an apple tomorrow. If there is no discounting, you care about the present and future equally. The market does not treat an apple now as equal to an apple in the future, because you could earn interest with that apple- you could plant it and have many apples in the future. So a positive discount rate makes sense- resources are less valuable in the future because if we had them now we could turn them into more resources in the future.

However this creates a problem with natural resources like water levels in certain aquifers, or cobalt ore of a certain grade, or air with a given concentration of CO2, as these replenish slowly, so if we use them all up now, we won't have any left in the future. But businesses extracting those resources are subject to the same interest rates as everyone else, so have the same incentive to extract it all now, rather than waiting for later.

Friedman would probably argue that they aren't extracted more quickly than is economically efficient, because if they will be scarcer in the future, that means their price will be higher in the future, creating an incentive to wait. Theoretically, these increasing prices and positive interest rates perfectly balance the needs of the future against the needs of the present. If the rate of growth of the price is less than the interest rate, that means extracting the resources now, then using those resources to produce further value once you have them (cobalt goes into a laptop, which is used to do accountancy, etc.) will produce more value than leaving the resources and extracting them later. However, this depends on future prices being judged accurately, even accounting accurately for low-probability high-impact scenarios. This is very difficult for capital markets to do, but it is capital markets making these decisions.

Furthermore, this depends on the real interest rate being the actual social discount rate. The real interest rate is theoretically an estimate of the ratio of your marginal private value of income now and your marginal private value of income later, so it can be split into two parts: part of the reason why your MPV is lower later is that you will be richer later, so extra money matters less to you. And part of the reason is that you care less about the future than you care about the present. Which means that that second part is also getting baked into the market interest rate- that the market is assuming that the future is inherently less valuable than the present. Which is a bad assumption when it comes to management of natural resources.

Furthermore, the increase in income component of why real interest rates are positive is different on a social and individual level because of lifecycle effects- people tend to get richer with age, relative to the average of their society, whereas the interest rate that determines the social usefulness of a given resource is one based on the average increase in wealth of society as a whole. That means that interest rates set by a market according to individual preferences will undervalue the future relative to the present, from a social point of view. Essentially it bakes in 'well I'll have made my fortune by then, so who cares' as a principle governing the intertemporal decisionmaking of the entire economy. I think I am being quite heterodox in pointing this out too, though it seems a pretty inescapable conclusion so perhaps this is widely recognised and just wasn't addressed in my education.

Friedman and Hayek would likely argue that this difference between individual and social time-preferences is small, and that markets setting interest rates improves their accuracy more than it hinders it. I agree that setting interest rates through central planning would be extremely difficult, but I reject that this is a small effect. A small change in interest rates can make a large difference to how economical it is to extract now vs later, so that this makes a large difference to rate of extraction. And people in the future will be making the same extract now vs extract later decisions with whatever resources they have left, so if this mispricing causes extraction to happen 1% faster than it should, that means over time we are exponentially deviating from where we should be at a rate of 1% per year.

Bothbard would sit on his bals again.

Not all activity can practically happen within the market- childrearing, for example, has traditionally happened outside of the market. But when most of the economy is a market economy, only labour within the market will award you a claim to a share of society's production- non-maket labour goes unrewarded. This has traditionally left women in the position of being completely dependent on their husbands.

Friedman, if he was on board with feminist critiques, might have argued that this could be solved by making childcare part of the market- have husbands pay their wives a wage to take care of the children (or wives pay their husbands). However for obvious reasons this doesn't usually happen, and where it does happen it doesn't happen in a court-enforceable way, leaving all the economic power still in the hands of the person in paid employment. This is a non-solution, predicated on the idea that everything can easily be brought inside of the market. Children, also, are kept out of the market and thus denied economic power, made completely dependent on their parents.

Bothbard would say who cares because children are the property of their parents and I would say die bothbard die die die and shoot him.

Markets have done a surprisingly poor job of equalising wealth around the world. One would expect that labour costs being lower in one part of the world than another would mean that the capital goes there, to take advantage of the lower wages, but raises wages in the process, until this reaches an equilibrium where wages are the same everywhere. Human capital is sometimes proposed as an explanation- education is worse in poorer countries, so people there can't actually do as good a job, and they are being paid what their labour is 'worth'. However it is clear that people in poorer countries- and even recent immigrants vs citizens in the same country, are paid very different amounts for the same work. I do not think human capital can explain most of the difference.

I do not have a confident account of why global inequality has been so persistent, but it is clear that people in the Global South are not paid what they are worth, ethically speaking, given the amount of work they do, how important it is, and even how skilled they are. Contrary to popular belief and apologia, the market has no tendency to pay people 'what they are worth', in the sense of deserving, only in the sense of marginal productivity of labour- which is a very different thing.

Hayek would reject that the wages someone deserves can be different from what someone is willing to pay them- such a distinction depends on taking a global, non-transactional view of ethics, and adopting a different meaning of 'deserving'. To Friedman, what you deserve is what is contractually obliged to you, and if you have received it, no injustice has been done to you. This approach would say that workers in the Global South don't deserve more- they are treated fairly. This treats the gigantic chasm of a power disparity between workers in the Global South and Global North as irrelevant to the moral legitimacy of the contracts, and so as being as good a reason as any for them to be underpaid. Die Hayek die die die.

So this post turned out a little longer than I was expecting. I have probably also missed quite a few things. I'm not really trying to be comprehensive here, just to cover what immediately sprang to mind. Perhaps I should split this out into several posts on @gamingavickreyauction. But don't count on it. Die Friedman die die die.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

i am VIBRATING, teen stan and vamp bill teamup is so inspired. also. if i may. the idea that ford here hasnt acknowledged that bill is evil, sure, but also unstable for a reason. ford is trying to get stan away from bill without fully processing that stan is becoming unstable too. he's focused on his new goal, he has to save his brother and do all sorts of dubiously ethical science.

then he finds himself walking into the aftermath of stans latest blood frenzy.

bill isnt there, because as delightful as it is to see stan tear through the annoyances, hes not stupid. he knows stan would go for bill too.

stan isnt there either. at least not mentally. the only thing in control right now is the vamp trap because keeping vamp instincts and real stan separate is the only thing thats been keeping him sane so far even if the line keeps blurring with bill in a way thats hard to ignore.

just. GAH!! i dont know where else im going with this. stans stuck between two hard places and theres a rock about to crash right down on top of him. he doesnt have any other friends. he has nowhere to go. hes dead. he died before he even reached adulthood. he was thrown out for childish dreams and now he'll never grow beyond them and if he thinks about it too long he's going to crash on that shore with no lighthouse to steer him. you and all the people who submit aus/asks/scenarios are too smart and im going insane all the time

Glad the team up of the worlds most unstable teens tickles your fancy! I admit, i'm also charmed by how much of a train wreck they are, especially with Ford added to the mix.

Right up until he starts seeing Bill with Stan, Ford wrote off a lot of Bill's behavior as 'insane evil vampire lord' behavior. Bill's obsession was an unwanted quirk, his inability to take things seriously him being insane, his lack of empathy or care towards humans and society to him him being evil.

Except Stan behaves in a similar manner. They both obsess over something so they don't focus on the fact that time has passed without them. Bill's aware he's a teen forever, and uses 'games' and Ford to help distract himself from the horror of everything he ever knew being gone and the fact that he knows he can never grow up (not into a better person, just into a mature one), While Stan uses fun schemes for the same thing, with added denial if anyone asks (he's totally almost thirty! He is! Its been ten years, so he should be thirty! just ignore the mirrors!). Neither are very serious so they can hide their self worth and horror with humor, Bill doesn't care for human lives because he's so old and seen so many people die (and killed even more) that he sees people as game pieces more than living things, with the added bonus of them being in that teen stage of not quite realizing other people have their own lives and being focused on their own issues.

If Bill wasn't full of vampiric blood lust and high on power he'd be a typical asshole teenager. It was harder to see when he was slaughtering people and draining them dry, but Ford runs into Stan and Bill doing something like, putting graffiti on a statue or something equally harmless and typical teen behavior and gets hit with Bill being just as into it with the same enthusiasm he had ripping someones head off. Stan is actually a good?? Influence?? In that he's more likely to suggest somewhat more harmless fun and Bill will jump to hang out with his best teen friend and loves pranking people, even if its more PG than he'd prefer he's still having fun doing vandalism and TPing city hall.

Stan's not enough to combat centuries of Bill telling himself he can do whatever he wants and shoving his negative thoughts into a hole of course, but the fact that he can convince Bill that shooting fireworks off in the middle of a city is a fun cool thing to do instead of replacing the water supply with blood is a feat on its own.

Then Ford is not seeing it of course. He's seeing it! And not at all. He's seeing all the ways Bill is like Stan and nodding his head going 'ah, a teenager. How did I not see it before' while blatantly ignoring the fact that while Stan is getting Bill to do less murderous schemes, Bill is also getting Stan to do more bloody ones. Nothing huge (Stan's still in his denial stage after all, Bill's saving all the really fun stuff for when he snaps), but things that definitely put lives in danger or lead to someone getting killed or hurt, like destroying infrastructure, breaking into homes with people there, Doing crazy stunt driving and not really bothering to pay attention to collateral damage, etc.

Stan is his poor innocent brother he's rescuing from Bill, one who's life was tragically cut short but still fundamentally himself. Ford doesn't see Stan's fragile mental state because he only runs into him when he's firmly 'Stan' and having fun, then running off with Bill because Fords 'not his boss', 'not their ma', and 'can't show up after ten years and act like he has any say in Stan's friends'.

Which would last right up until he saw Stan in a more vampiric state.

Just busts into a room in wherever Bill was holding vampiric dominion over, maybe heard the screaming, maybe just clearing it out to find Bill, only to stumble onto Stan finishing up whatever vampires had annoyed or disappointed Bill and were sentenced to death for it. Door's locked and reinforced so nothing can escape while Stan goes to town, room splattered in blood, Stan's eyes red and gold, licking his lips and squinting, pretty full but also kinda drugged and shoving all his human thoughts away so he can't see what he's doing.

Then Fords there, and he gets to watch Stan shove all his actions away in a thin veneer of normalcy. Blinks a lot until the red fades, refuses to stare at the bodies at his feet, wipes his mouth on his sleeve and doesn't acknowledge the fact that his front's covered in blood. Just sorta 'oh hey Ford what are you doing here'. Ignores any question or comments about all the blood and dead vampires, just bulldozes his way into 'did you break in? Now who's the criminal'.

And then Ford can see it, see the ways Stan's on the edge, hanging onto sanity by ignoring the problem completely. Bill's already fallen, revealing in bloodshed and the glee of never having to learn from anything, and Stan can hold on as long as no one makes him Look. Bill won't, he won't mention time or responsibilities, and with him lifes a blur of fun Stan doesn't have to think about the little details, and now Fords tempted not to either, just to make sure Stan doesn't lose it completely.

Either way Stan loses here. Bill's the only one who can understand him and the horror of being an eternal teenager, but he's also insane and evil. Ford's a full grown adult, a living reminder of what Stan should be, a puzzle piece that should fit perfectly but has grown and changed into a different person while Stan's stuck where he is.

Really only two ways this could go, in a very Bill vs Ford manner. Stan can't ignore it forever and he's either gonna snap and go on a murderous rampage (that won't just affect vampires, as Stan's gonna start helping Bill in his vampire takeover and doesn't have to eat everything he's killing) or collapse into a miserable heap and slam his hands over his ears while he screams. Either way he loses Bill as his friend or Ford works to put him in vampire jail until he can cure him.

[idksmtms]

Arabesque et Attitude (Ballet Master!Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!reader)

A/N: The amazing @urlivingdeadgirl sent me some really good prompts for another part to ‘Plie, Jete, Releve,’ so you know I HAD TO write it. Thank you so much for sending these in, and I hope I ticked all the boxes! Sorry for taking forever…

Also! Sorry for the weirdly specific details about ‘Still Life At The Penguin Cafe’, but that’s like the only proper ballet/dance showcase-thing I know and I love it so it’s like my only reference :’)

Summary: You continue to attend practice like nothing has happened except… you cannot pretend that nothing has happened. 

Word count:  6,425 

Trigger Warnings/Tags: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, technically a teacher/student relationship, mean/toxic!Cillian, kinda pouty (maybe slightly bratty) reader, SMUT (PinV, Dom!Cillian), unprotected sex, pull-out (but be so fr rn…), power imbalance (so technically dub-con?), slight humiliation/embarrassment (kind of a kink, kind of not), probs a toxic teaching environment, jealousy,  (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

It had been an entire week since you and Mr Murphy… had your private session. An entire week, during which you saw him every day, and nothing else had happened. 

That evening he had pulled away from you and wished you a good night, and you had been so dazed, so out of it from the dancing and the orgasm that you had simply nodded and walked out. Your entire journey home had been on autopilot. But when you had showered and gotten into bed that night, you had stayed awake, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling as it dawned on you that it had actually happened. Mr Murphy had actually kissed you and… done all of that. You couldn’t believe it. You just… couldn’t. 

The next morning you woke up early, dressed and ready well in time for rehearsal. You had arrived twenty minutes prior, though you stayed outside with the other ballerinas getting your shoes ready and doing some last minute touch-ups. Your leotard was pristine, black and clean without even the littlest bit of fluff to mar it. Your shoes were fresh but broken in, the perfect balance and stiffness and just the right amount of stretch. Even your tights were new. 

You had walked in with the others, readying yourself in a line as Mr Murphy fiddled with the music system and mumbled a quick and distracted hello to you all. You stood with your back straight, posture perfect, ready to dance your best for this rehearsal, and perhaps… for him. He glanced over you as he came to stand in front of everyone and begin giving orders for exercises, and that was all. The entire lesson you were just another ballerina once more, dancing at his level, but worthy only of corrections, no praise. 

You left it feeling a bit spun around (for lack of a better term). But you also reasoned with yourself that perhaps he was also reeling from it. You were a ballerina, his ballerina, and at the end of the day there was a line that the two of you had crossed and couldn’t come back from now. Perhaps he needed some more time to process what you two had done. Perhaps he needed the space and the day after he would call you back after class and speak to you. 

No such thing happened. The next day was as uneventful as the first. You arrived on time, danced as you were meant to, and other than one or two minor calls to point your feet a little more or raise higher on your pirouette, he said nothing to you. There was no call of your name, no order to return after class for extra training, nothing. He didn’t even spare you more of a glance than he needed, didn’t even bestow a look on you that was longer than a second. 

And the days continued to pass in this way. Each day arrived and ended without any sort of acknowledgement from him, and it was beginning to drive you mad. How could he have done that and now be pretending that nothing had happened? If anything, you should be the one pretending like nothing has happened! He should be desperate for you to speak to him or repeat those events, and you should be the one pretending like you were uninterested. So why the fuck was the world upside down? 

You had arrived on time every day that week. You had been the perfect ballerina during every single one of those grueling days full of dancing and rehearsing the same pieces over and over again. If he couldn’t speak to you about what had happened, the least he could do is offer you some miniscule bit of praise other than a head nod. But nothing. He was as stoic as a plain white wall. And you truly were beginning to lose your mind over it. 

Of course your streak of being organised couldn’t last. Apparently you just weren’t built that way. And here you were, running into the room late once more. Though it was only two minutes this time, every minute of life itself seemed precious to that bastard of a man, and he raised his eyebrow at you as you slid into place at the back of the line of ballerinas by the barre. He stood there, black socks, black joggers, black jumper, hands on his waist and piercing blue eyes trained solely on you. You gulped, hands shaking as you met his gaze before dropping your eyes to the floor just in front of you. 

“Ms L/n,” he began, “it seems that try as I might, you will never learn the importance of being punctual. You’ll stay back for 2 hours this evening, one hour for every minute you were late. Let that be a lesson to all of you.” Then he turned away and began directing everyone. 

Though it was meant to be a punishment, you couldn’t help but feel a tingle of excitement through all the shame. You would be alone together again. You would be in the exact environment that had led to something in the first place. Perhaps this was his way of making it happen again, naturally and with discretion. You only needed a mistake for him to be able to get you there again. You simply nodded in response. 

Your dancing had returned to its former glory and you focused hard on every move, every sequence, during that day’s rehearsals. You were one of the few dancers who was consistently in the background for many of the pieces in the entire ballet, in addition to your own starring role in one of them, and this required you to work extra hard. You lost yourself in the music and the burning of your muscles during those hours, and soon enough it was time for everyone to leave. 

“I want you back here in no more than ten minutes,” he told you, looking you directly in the eyes as he said it. You nodded, your heart suddenly in your throat again, and quickly followed the other ballerinas out of the room. 

You sat by your bag, sipping a steady stream of water from your bottle as you used every single one of those ten minutes to rest. Your limbs were already jelly and you knew you would be wincing with every step when you finally left the studio two hours later. 

At the last minute you went back in. You stood by the door for a moment, watched him listen to the music and hum along, his foot tapping along a little. He was focused, brows just furrowed and jaw just on the edge of being clenched. His face was at the perfect angle under the lights, and you could see all the freckles that decorated his skin, perfectly placed little details that made him look so… ethereal. He turned and saw you standing by the door and raised an eyebrow as you jumped into action to enter the room, the burn of embarrassment heating your skin. 

Mr Murphy starts you on drills for the first hour. You cycle between stretches at the barre, ten million pirouettes, the deepest pliés you’ve ever performed, and a hundred other exercises that make your mind spin and your muscles begin to turn numb. He stands close by, watches you carefully, never giving you a moment’s rest from his gaze. 

And occasionally, he’ll tut, move in close and correct whatever little bit of you is out of place. It doesn’t feel that simple. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel necessary. He’ll click his tongue, drag his hand all the way up your arm just to press down on your shoulder the tiniest amount. Or he’ll go ‘ah’ and then grab your waist with both his hands just to turn you barely a degree more. Once he simply shakes his head, runs his hand up your shin and onto your thigh, grasping the inside just to lift your leg half an inch higher. You almost fell then, almost turned into a piece of flimsy satin that would have dripped through his fingers. You could still feel the indent of his fingertips against your inner thigh, the pressure that was simply too good, fuel for sex dreams. 

He finally gives you a break at the end of the first hour, and you simply collapse on the floor where you had been standing. You splayed your arms and legs out, huffing and puffing as you closed your eyes against the bright lights. You lay there panting for a few moments before you dare to lift your head and look at him. 

Mr Murphy is standing by his desk in the corner, one hand on the trackpad of his laptop. But he’s watching you. Those cold, cold, eyes, as if his insides were made of ice and those eyes were the only evidence of it, a peek into him. He didn’t avert his gaze when you looked at him, didn’t shyly glance away or clear his throat or even blush, he simply continued to watch you, the way your chest rose and fell, the tremble in your hands and the drop of sweat gliding down the side of your neck. You felt your insides clench and a renewed sense of heat building below your stomach. 

You pushed to sit up, pulling your heels in so your thighs stretched but your knees stayed bent and pressed your hands on top of your feet. You glanced up at him again, then back at the floor, then up at him again. You pressed your lips together, moving them back and forth a little before sighing out a long, deep, breath. 

“Why are you pretending like nothing happened?” You finally asked the question that had been weighing on you like nothing else. It had sat in your chest every moment since your first encounter alone, had pulsed at the tip of your tongue, begging to be let loose, yet you couldn’t ask it. But now that you, now that it was released into the air, something inside you seemed to click into place. Perhaps a sense of freedom, perhaps something sadder that now pricked at your eyes as you averted them to the floor. 

He didn’t say anything for a little while, just let the heavy silence blanket you and the room, let it almost choke you before he asked, 

“Does it bother you?” 

It was a simple question, so simple, yet it made you feel like you’d just been lurched. Like you were sitting in the front seat and someone had just slammed on the brakes. 

“Yes,” you breathed out, a touch exasperated, and you looked back up at him like a child on the verge of becoming upset. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, the corners of your mouth tilted down and your lip was just in a pout. 

“Come here,” he responded, again so simple, and beckoned you with his hand. You rushed to comply, taking quick steps until you stood right in front of him, your toes almost touching his. You looked up at him and felt all that tension again, all the heaviness you had been dragging with you for the past week, and it pricked even harder at your eyes. Tears collect at your lash line and your lower lip is pushed out into a full pout. You almost want to reach out and clench your hands into his jumper. You can almost feel it in your hands, how soft it is, how nice it would feel to just grab onto it and bury yourself against his body. 

And his face is so close, the pink of his lips right there, all the gentle flecks of freckles like an artist was deliberate with their paint brush. His hair, black and thick but greying at the temples, and his eyes, that vibrant blue that was surely the first thing anyone ever commented on. 

Mr Murphy reached up and gently pressed on the underside of your chin with the side of his index finger. It was soft, you couldn’t really tell what his skin felt like, only the pressure of it. He lifted your face until you were looking directly into his eyes, and he leaned down a little closer. You could feel his breaths against your mouth, could see the black blur of his lashes around the blue of his eyes, could feel the traitorous locks of his hair that fell forward as he dipped down and brushed your forehead. You had reached the point of almost crying by then, your eyes filling and becoming blurry, but you refused to blink and let the tears fall.

��He bent his head and gently pressed his lips to yours. It was soft, barely there, like a slightly firm press, lasting barely two seconds. The kind of kiss one presses to a cheek or the side of their child’s head, then he pulls away. He looks at you for one more moment before tapping you under the chin and saying, “get back to work.” 

You stood there, face slackened and eyes dazed as you stared after him. But he had already turned back to his computer and was reloading the music sequence for one of your background parts in the showcase. You returned to the centre of the room and allowed him to direct you for the next hour. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except follow his instructions and get lost in the music. The hour was up so quickly you felt as though you had only just blinked for the first time since he kissed you. 

“You’re free to go,” he nodded, and turned away from you. You stood there in the middle of the room for a few moments before nodding, delayed and directed at his back, before making your way to the door. Just as you pulled it open, he called your name. You turned back, face open and surprised as you met his eyes. “Good work,” and then he returned his focus to his computer. You paused there in the doorway, staring at him, before you turned around and let the door close behind you. 

You thought that had meant something. You thought the kiss had meant something. Except it was followed by another week of nothing. No special glances, no punishments, no invitations to stay another hour or two after class. Nothing. It was exactly like the first week all over again. He barely even corrected you let alone complimented you. 

And the anger in you was beginning to simmer again. It was a fire in your chest that made you almost tremble as the days went on. Each time you looked at him as another day of rehearsals passed, it felt like your head was being put through a hydraulic press and soon you would explode. But despite all the anger that was boiling and building inside you, you refused to say anything. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not again. 

And the anger was quickly put to the backburner anyway, because that week the partnerwork began. This particular ballet required everyone to have partners to dance with at different points of the piece, so the male ballet troupe was brought in to perform it with you. Everyone was rather excited, the male ballet troupe was full of friends and even boyfriends of the girls in your troupe and it wasn’t often that your groups got to mingle anyway. 

You hadn’t met your partner before, but that was also what rehearsal was for, to get familiar with each other and learn your rhythms. Tommy seemed sweet thus far, offering you a soft smile when he introduced himself and shook your hand. He was pretty (you supposed that worked well for a performer) and if you squinted he sort of looked like Mr Murphy with his black hair, blue eyes, and freckles. He was taller than you and had the well-defined muscles of a dancer, and he seemed happy enough to chat with you. 

“How’s your rehearsals been going then?” He asked as he propped his leg up on the bar and began stretching it. 

“Oh,” you paused for a moment, flashes of Mr Murphy’s anger aimed at you, the nights alone, his face so close to yours, flickering through your mind, “alright, I guess.” You shrugged before lifting your own foot onto the bar, stretching facing Tommy. “Well, I mean, they’ve been good,” you added quickly, fumbling about with your words, feeling the burn of embarrassment inside you, but Tommy just laughed and shook his head. 

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. Good but could be better, and it doesn’t help that Mr Murphy might genuinely be the most terrifying man you could ever meet,” he responded, and you let out a little laugh, a huffing thing that pressed your diaphragm and made you curl a little into your stretch. 

“Oy,” and suddenly there he was, pointing at the two of you, eyes like stone, “less chatting, more stretching.” 

“Sorry, sir,” you quickly responded, ducking your head down, but there was something akin to triumph brewing in you, a little tinge of something that made you feel like you’d won a prize. That’s the most attention he’d given you the entire week, negative or not, and like a spoiled child, you wanted more. You kept your head down as you stretched, but you turned to face Tommy a little and met his eyes. The two of you had to press your faces to your legs to hide the mischievous giggles that left you. 

“Right,” and Mr Murphy clapped his hands loudly, “audience is that way, get into positions please,” he called out to everyone, and went to stand at the front of the room where the audience would “be”. You and Tommy were off stage for the first bit before entering, and you needed to make sure the two of you ended up by the back of the stage so you could run off for your speedy costume change in the real piece. 

The first bit went well. Mostly everyone did the right things at the right times, but eventually Mr Murphy wanted to focus on the three ballerinas right at the beginning so the rest of you gladly took a break on the sidelines of the studio. You plonked yourself down, leaning against the wall as you tapped your feet to the music. You watched the other ballerinas for a bit, but eventually your gaze moved to watch Mr Murphy, as it always did. 

He had this habit of rubbing at his bottom lip when he was in thought, one hand at his waist and the other gently running back and forth over the plushness of his mouth. You had felt those lips on your own, knew what he tasted like, what they felt like skimming the skin of your neck and ear. You could feel your pulse between your legs all of a sudden and you turned to Tommy who had just grabbed his water from outside and came to sit down next to you. 

“Alright,” he greeted, nodding at you, and you smiled and nodded in return. 

“All good, yeah,” you fiddled with your shoes, smoothing out some of the edges before scratching at the scuff marks. 

“So what’s the ram head like then?” He asked, and the suddenness of the question made you huff out a laugh again. 

“Quite heavy, actually,” you responded, smiling brightly at him. “The girls backstage are gonna have to help me put it on and I can only just about see out of the absolute tiniest eyeholes they’ve carved in for me. Feels like a torture device, I won’t lie.” He laughed at that, eyes crinkling as he leaned a little closer. 

“Well, you won’t have to worry about falling, the boys and I will be there to catch you,” he responded with a wink, but the two of you just dissolved into laughter again. 

“Yeah, right, because that’ll go down so well with the sergeant over there,” you nodded your head in Mr Murphy’s direction but Tommy just shook his head. 

“Oof, you’re right about that one. ‘If it’s not flawless, it’s not worth it’, and that would not be flawless.” He made a little ‘yeesh’ sound and stretched his lips out in a grimace. You just laughed and shook your head, pressing your forehead to your knee before a shadow descended over you two. You slowly raised your head to find Mr Murphy standing there, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched. 

It was always the little things that displayed his mounting fury. He was like a stone, firm and sharp surely, but his anger never showed in big outbursts of yelling or flailed hands. It was always quiet, with a clenched jaw and eyes that belonged to an executioner. You looked up at him almost fearfully. Though he had been angry with you before, it had never been this obvious. You were not often the object of his ire, at least not until recently… 

“D’you think it’s respectful to constantly disturb others when they’re trying to work?” He asked, one eyebrow raised and jaw clenched. You felt the embarrassment burn through you, hot and searing through your cheeks, down your neck and into the pit of your stomach. “I understand that you may not understand the concept of hard work, but d’you think it’s right to disturb others who do?” Your face dropped, lips pressed together and drooping a little at the corners. He waited, as if giving you the space to say something, but you knew better and simply swallowed a gulp, the lump in your throat growing bigger and more painful by the second. He waited until the silence was torturously awkward before continuing. “You’ll stay behind after rehearsal,” he added simply before turning around and walking away. 

You were rigid with mortification. Each limb was tense with the biblical levels of embarrassment and fear you were feeling, and you couldn’t move for a moment. Tommy shifted uncomfortably beside you, waiting until Mr Murphy was out of earshot before turning to face you. 

“Are you ok? That was…” 

But the pity in his voice made you clench up. You bit into your jaw and looked off into the distance, simultaneously fighting tears and the need to scream. Your eyes glanced over him and pinned on the door. When Tommy tried to settle a hand on your shoulder, you shrugged him off. 

“I’m fine,” you spoke low, voice just shy of wavering, then got up and skirted around the room until you got to the door and slipped out, waiting until you were in the bathroom for the tears to fall. 

You sat on one of the toilet seats and seethed. You wanted to lash out, to throw things and scream until your voice was hoarse. Why the fuck did he treat you this way, you wanted to ask. Why did he never look at you positively? Never a smile or a compliment at hand. It was always dismissal, always anger, or a chaste kiss like a pet that had been particularly cute that day. And it was always you. 

You spent ten minutes there battling your tears of anger and frustration until your breath finally evened out and you were left with nothing but that aching exhaustion that always seemed to follow a bout of anger and crying. Eventually another ballerina came in to tell you that you were needed for the next section of rehearsal, so you wiped at your eyes and face and left the bathroom, hoping everyone would ignore your shiny nose and puffy, red-limned eyelids. 

When you reentered the studio, you focused all your energy on dancing. You kept your head held high, eyes hard and focused, and followed each step with a clenched jaw. You barely looked in Mr Murphy’s direction, simply following whatever orders or critiques he gave you, and brushed off the looks of concern that Tommy offered you the entire time. 

When the session had finally ended and everyone else had said their goodbyes, you had simply stayed put in the studio, wanting to get your punishment over with. You stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped in front of you, and watched him. He was at his desk in the corner, stood just behind it with his glasses on as he looked at something on his laptop. The white light shined up onto his chest and face and for a brief moment you realised he was wearing the black jumper he had worn that first time… 

“Hold an arabesque,” he ordered. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from the laptop. You paused, staring at him, but when he glanced up, eyebrow raised, you quickly followed his instruction, bending slightly at the waist, spreading your hands out and stretching your leg behind you. Your head raised high, your back arched, you were in the perfect arabesque. No further order came, and so you held the position. 

“For how long?” you asked quietly when, after five minutes, he still hadn’t said anything else. 

“Until I say so,” he simply responded, still typing and tapping away at his laptop. 

You gritted your teeth and held the position until your thigh began to shake and your arm muscles were trembling more than paper in a storm. And still you stayed up, fighting the weakening of your body until finally you crumpled and brought your other leg down so you wouldn’t topple over. You quickly curled your arms around yourself, hoping to quell their shaking by pressing them tight to your body for a moment before letting them hang at your sides. Mr Murphy looked up as you came down onto your feet. He allowed you almost a minute to just stand there before saying, “again.” You stared at him across the room, eyes wide, body trembling, but you chose to clench your jaw and keep your mouth shut. You returned to the arabesque, switching the leg you stood on. 

You could feel it bubbling inside you, the anger from earlier in the day, or rather, the anger that had begun a few weeks ago after he had led you to a sparkling orgasm then refused to acknowledge it. It was like molten lava, boiling and popping deep inside you. You could almost see the orange of the heat and fire in your eyes. 

You held the arabesque for as long as you could, though it was a lot shorter this time. Your arms couldn’t take their own weight for as long anymore, and both legs were weakened from their previous stints. You were a wobbly mess and had almost fallen over at least three times. And each time he said was “again”. The plainest of orders, but it was like fuel to the fire inside you, like a sharpener to the blade of your anger. 

When he said “again” for the fifth time, you hit your limit. Your hands clenched at your sides and you stood straight up. You were glaring at him, eyes narrowed and jaw so tight you could have crushed walnuts between your teeth. 

“Ugh!” You let out, loud and full of frustration. It was almost childish in its sincere aggression. “No! No, no, no!” You yelled, your own voice echoing back at you in the empty studio. 

Mr Murphy looked up at you, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. You were huffing and puffing where you stood. 

“This is fucking sadistic! You’re punishing me and putting me through hell for no fucking reason,” you spat, shaking with rage. He didn’t say anything in response, simply watching you burst. “You’re a fucking jealous prick!” You were panting now, your entire body almost moving up and down with each breath. His eyebrows had lowered again and he was watching you with a stony expression. His lips were in a straight line and his eyes had hardened. Slowly, Mr Murphy walked over to you, stopping a few feet in front of you. 

“I’m what?” He asked, voice low, like gravel pieces moving against each other. He was close now, not oppressively but within arm’s reach and it made you pause. You gulped, tongue gently wetting your lips as your eyes frantically moved all over his face. Your hands were shaking when you unclenched them for a moment, but you fisted them again. 

“You’re-you’re jealous,” your voice was quieter now, your chin jutting out in defiance despite the cold edge of fear touching the base of your spine. “You were jealous that I was actually having a good time with Tommy. You couldn’t handle that I could actually feel satisfaction without you.” 

Mr Murphy’s jaw clenched. You could see the muscle there shift under the pale skin. The fear was sharper now, spiking through your arms and legs, whispering to your shoulders to curl in on themselves and your hands to press closer into yourself. He reached out and gripped your face, the point of your chin resting on the skin stretched between his thumb and forefinger. Your head was forced up, face tilted to his, and if he hadn’t been gripping it, you were sure your jaw would tremble. He was close now, the fabric of his jumper brushing your leotard, and you realised he was breathing just as hard as you, nostrils flaring. 

He stared down at you in return, blue eyes blazing, alive with a fire you had never seen before. You trembled in his grip. His grip tightened. Then his mouth was on yours like a crash. Your eyes were still open when he pressed his lips to yours, but you were quickly pulled into the frenzy. His other arm wrapped around you, hoisting you closer until you couldn’t be pressed any closer. Your arms reached up and wrapped around his torso as he plunged his tongue between your lips, the hand on your chin moving until his fingers wrapped around the back of your head and his thumb webbing cradled your ear. You were panting into each other’s mouths as he began moving you backward, your feet stumbling over the hardwood as he walked forward without detaching from you. His mouth moved over your cheek and began sucking on a spot just below your ear. The bar at the side of the room hit your tailbone and you let out a little ‘mph!’, gripping him tighter at the flash of pain before throwing your head back and moaning as he licked up from the base of your throat to the bottom of your ear. He bit at your neck, neither hard nor gentle, before pulling away. He gripped you by the hips and lifted you onto the bar, your hands shooting out behind you to grip the windowsill to the left as your back leaned against the strip of wall between the two windows. He leaned into the space between your legs, slotting his hips there and pressing his entire torso to yours. He kissed you again, but it was barely a kiss, more so his tongue delving into your mouth. You moaned around it, your arms draping over his shoulders and your hands digging through his hair. 

Mr Murphy curved away a little, his head dropping between you two as he gripped your thighs and spread your legs a little wide. He moved your leotard to the crease of your thigh and you shifted a little at the awkward feeling. His movements were hurried as he simply gripped your tights and pulled them apart. They tore with a loud rip and you gasped, a flutter of air brushing your pussy. You looked down between you, the flimsy pink fabric receding down your leg. You looked back up as Mr Murphy pressed his fingers to your lips, waiting for you to part them and engulf them into the heat of your mouth. He watched with hooded eyes and shallow breath as you sucked on them, swirling your tongue around the digits until the drool began pushing at the corners of your mouth. He pulled them until they popped out then gently pressed them through the lips of your pussy.

You could feel them against your clit, wet but drying quickly in the air. They were a little cold and you shivered as he pressed them a little harder, allowing the little nub to slip and slide under his fingertips. Your breaths trembled and you moaned quietly at first, the sounds pushing out between puffs of air. He slipped his fingers down until they were pressing inside you, and the slide in was easy with all the slick that had begun to paint you. You let out a little high pitched “heh!” as he pressed his fingers as deep as they would go. You clenched tightly around them, pressing the back of your head to the wall and tightening your grip around his hair. 

He was quick to pull his hand away after that, rushing to shove his joggers and boxers down past his waist and pressing his cock into the space between your thighs. You felt it nudge at you, felt it move against the skin of your inner thighs before pressing into you. You moaned, loud and long as he buried himself to the hilt, his hips snug between your thighs. He groaned a little, huffing into the space between your shoulder and neck. 

You could feel him inside you, the heavy weight, the rubbing of his veins against your walls and that wet glide each time he moved even a little. His hips were pressed so tight to you that his pelvis squished your clit so everything felt like it was touched by sparks and electricity.

And then he was moving, bowed over you, face pressed to your neck, hips shoving in and out. You dug your hands into his shoulders, clenching the fabric. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was hard, fast. It was huffs of breath and the shove of him inside you. It was his fingertips digging into the muscles of your back as he wrapped his arms around you and held you tight to his chest. It was the bar under your ass, precarious and rubbing your skin raw. Your legs trembled but you kept them wrapped around his hips. Your core, your stomach, was alight with the pleasure, warm then hot then blazing, building and building with each thrust. 

You were teetering over the edge, moaning a little louder, a little higher, and you were sure he could feel each fluttering clench. He lifted up a little, pressing his mouth to yours as he moaned, a low groan rather than a moan. 

You clenched your eyes shut and your core tightened around him. Your insides fluttered, your legs pressed as close as possible around his waist, and you keened loudly right into his mouth, his tongue licking at your lips. Your entire body was suddenly too light, tingling and trembling uncontrollably, but his arms still held you there, the only thing keeping you from falling off the bar. But then he was pulling his hips away, grunting as his cock left you, and you could feel little droplets hit your stomach. It took a moment for the wetness to seep into your leotard, but you could feel how hot they were. 

You let your head loll back and you stared at the ceiling, not quite returned to your body. Your limbs were jelly, your lips a little sore from how hard he had kissed you. You were numb between your legs and slick with sweat. You could feel the flyaways sticking up at the edges of your forehead and you wanted nothing more than for him to let you go so you could slide onto the nice cold floor. 

The two of you didn’t stand there for long. He was soon pulling his boxers and joggers back over his hips before helping you set your feet onto the floor. He ran a hand through his hair, erasing the evidence of your hands, and watched you for a moment. You had pulled your leotard back into place but you were still sitting against the bar, the hole in your tights gaping around your inner thighs. You were shiny with sweat and your bun was a lot more messy than it had been before. Your neck was splotched with red and your chest was still heaving, but you were watching him in return. 

“D’you have a spare pair of joggers?” He asked, voice as authoritative as ever. You nodded, eyes still a little dazed and he nodded in return. “Get dressed,” and he pointed his thumb behind him before walking back to his desk. 

You followed his order and went outside, pulling your spare clothes from your duffel and heading to the bathroom. You changed into a simple t-shirt and a pair of bright pink joggers and when you came back out Mr Murphy was locking the door to the studio. He watched you shuffle over to your bag in your socks, ruined clothes in your arms and pointe shoes dangling from your fingers. He stared at your chest, at the nipples poking through your shirt, and a little shiver went down your spine. He stayed standing, waiting for you to zip up your bag and hoist it onto your shoulder before following you out of the studio and into the elevator. You pulled your water bottle from your bag and sipped on it quietly on the ride down. You both got out at the same level of the car park and he walked you to your car. 

He stayed until you had deposited your bag into the backseat and were standing just by the driver’s side door. You looked up at him, standing so close your nipples brushed his chest. His eyes flitted about your face and then he leaned down and kissed you again. It was long, firm, a gentle movement as he gripped the side of your neck with his right hand. And then he pulled away, turned, and walked off. 

The next morning you were right on time for rehearsal. Your neck was shiny and blurred from concealer and your tights were fresh and new. You followed each exercise precisely, prepared for your solo with care, and Mr Murphy simply nodded and glanced his eyes over you. 

Taglist: @4ria790, @suzysface, @vervainandspritz

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 13

prompt: Etho finds Gems address/town and starts to stalk her. Gem at first doesn't notice him (he's just another face at the supermarket) but when she sees this stranger at more and more places, she gets kind of paranoid. Things escalate on one of her hikes. (rpf)

cw: rpf, stalking, panic

On Tuesday, there’s a car parked outside Gem’s home when she takes Winnie out for her loop around the block before bed. She wouldn’t normally notice, except it’s directly in front of her driveway, blocking in her car. She’s not too concerned — has no plans to go anywhere for the night, and as soon as she’s back inside from their walk, she’s crawling into bed with a cup of tea and a book.

It’s dark outside — too dark for her to see if there’s anyone inside the vehicle — but as Gem passes the rear bumper, she glances back at the license. It’s a standard plate, not from out of town, and she lets Winnie sniff around a nearby tree for a moment as she opens her phone’s notes and jots it down — JEJ 371.

If she needs to call in a tow truck, she won’t have to creep around it again.

She spares it one last look and tucks her phone back into her pocket.

“C’mon,” she says softly, tugging at Winnie’s leash, starting to walk away.

The sooner they’re done, the sooner she can get back inside.

*

Gem’s self sufficient. She works hard to be able to take care of herself, to not be reliant on her family. But the one thing she can’t do is reach the top shelf at her local Sobeys.

Usually, if there’s no one around to see the indignity, she’ll try her best to climb. But on Wednesday there’s a man at the end of the aisle, who appears to be trying to decide which tin of beans he should buy.

He’s tall, dressed casually, and he doesn’t startle when Gem steps closer.

“Hey,” she says, hoping she doesn't sound too much like a maniac, and he glances down, gaze raking over her as though trying to figure out what she might want from him.

He tips his head in acknowledgement, so she powers through.

“You probably get this all the time, but could you grab that can of tomatoes off the top shelf for me?”

She points across the aisle and his gaze follows her finger.

He exhales, maybe in relief that it’s all she wants from him, and then he moves, grabbing the exact can she needs before handing it over.

Their fingers brush as she takes it — his skin warm, but work-rough — and she offers him an easy smile.

“Thank you,” she tells him. “I need you around whenever I’m here.”

He offers her a strangely breathy laugh and she watches him a moment longer, but he never speaks.

“Have a good day,” she says before turning back to her cart.

As far as social interactions go, it’s not her worst, and when she glances back over her shoulder, he’s watching her, a small smile on his face and something that looks like interest in his eyes.

*

“He’s abandoned us,” Bdubs says on Thursday, so dramatically that Gem can’t help but laugh.

“Who?”

“Who else?” he says, his character pacing. “Etho! He said he’d be online, but he’s not.”

Gem laughs again. “Did you check MCCI?”

“Don’t,” he warns, but there’s humor in his voice. “That’s like kicking me while I’m down.”

“Sorry,” she laughs. “Maybe he overslept.”

“He hasn’t been on all week.”

“Family?” she suggests instead, and Bdubs’ character looks toward the sky.

“No, we’ve been abandoned,” he declares and Gem snorts.

“I’ll let you know if I see him around.”

*

On Friday, Gem goes to the market.

She doesn’t need anything, but ends up buying a punnet of strawberries, a couple of peaches, a bag of clementines, and enough spinach to fuel her current addiction.

It’s busier than normal, maybe now that schools are out for summer, and Gem finds herself getting jostled a few times as she winds her way back toward her car.

She thinks she’s almost free when a young kid, less than ten, darts across her path, tripping her and sending her barreling into a man almost twice her size.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, her free hand shooting out, and the stranger catches her around the waist, stopping her from bouncing off of him to the floor.

She gets a faceful of his deodorant before she can right herself with the man’s help.

“Thank you,” she says when she steps back, finally getting a look at him. “Sorry again.”

But he seems in a hurry, too much to be concerned by the ordeal, because the second she’s back on her feet, he’s turning and heading in the opposite direction.

She watches him go, dazed and confused, but something tickles in the back of her mind as she takes a breath and continues on.

It’s not until she’s halfway home that she realizes she recognizes him.

He was the man from the grocery store a few days prior.

*

Gem’s adjusting Winnie’s harness when another car pulls into the trailhead’s dirt parking lot.

There are two other vehicles there, the occupants already gone, and Gem finds herself watching the new car with casual interest. Her gaze drops briefly to the license plate, and she pauses.

She turns back to Winnie, gesturing for her to sit while she takes a moment to pull out her phone, scrolling through to find her notes.

JEJ 371 — it’s the same car that was outside her house.

Gem doesn’t believe in coincidences, and something sour settles in her stomach.

Without thinking, she unlocks her car again, opening the hatchback.

“In,” she orders Winnie, who’s clearly confused, still expecting to go for a walk.

But Gem’s heart starts to pick up as she hears the sound of a door opening.

“In,” she orders again, and Winnie finally obeys, hopping into Gem’s SUV and whining quietly.

Carefully, she shuts the back, glancing over her shoulder, just in time to see a man climb out of the car behind.

The feeling in her stomach worsens as he catches her gaze.

It’s the stranger from before — from the market, from the grocery store. And now she knows his car was parked directly outside of her house.

She has the strong suspicion that he’s been stalking her, and she needs to leave before she finds out he’s some kind of deranged fan.

She turns away, heading for the driver’s side door. She’ll take Winnie for a walk elsewhere. It doesn’t matter.

“Gem!” a voice calls out behind her and Gem’s hand shakes as she tugs her door open.

She tosses her backpack into the passenger seat, and she’s not sure she’s going to be quick enough as she slides into her seat.

“Hey,” the man says, so much closer now, and when she tries to shut her door, his hand holds it open. “Gem.”

She scrambles blindly for her bag, almost sure she has pepper spray somewhere at the bottom — something her dad had given her way back when, citing an article about polar bears, as though she’d ever have to worry about them where she lives.

“Gem, it’s me,” he says, and despite the panic and fear, she finds herself pausing, staring over at the stranger.

He’s leaning against her door, eyes wide, and it looks as though he’s as terrified as she is.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “Don't call the cops.”

She knows that voice, even though it sounds a little different in person.

She breathes heavily, watching him a moment longer.

“Etho?”

He offers her a tentative smile and it has to be the adrenaline, because her eyes start to water, maybe from the relief that she’s not about to be murdered in the backwoods.

“No,” he says. “Don’t cry, Gem.”

His hand shifts from her door, moving to the side of her face, the touch too tender for someone she doesn’t know — not really. But she leans into it, shutting her eyes and trying to focus on catching her breath.

“Why didn’t you just message me?” she asks, and when she opens her eyes again, he drops his hand away.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“So you thought this was the best way?”

Etho’s weird on a good day, but this — this is beyond anything she could imagine.

She may not be scared of imminent death, but she’s still scared of the fact he’s done this, that he’s flown all this way, that he knows where she lives and has spent days following her, finding ways to be around her.

It’s not sane. She needs to be careful.

“Etho,” she says softly. “Why are you here?”

“I — ” he says, and then pauses, as though to gather his thoughts. “You — ”

He takes a breath, and then suddenly his hand is back on her face and he’s tilting her head as he leans down to kiss her.

Every thought in Gem’s head comes to an abrupt stop, and she makes a gentle noise against Etho’s mouth.

This was a grand romantic gesture, she realizes. Except that Gem didn’t get the memo beforehand and he did it in the worst way possible.

She never even realized this was on the cards.

She’s still not sure how she feels about the whole thing, but she finds herself shifting in her seat, turning enough to be able to kiss him back.

It’s clear he’s relieved at her response, because he breaks away, resting his forehead against hers.

“This was really fucking stupid, Etho,” she whispers. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

She feels him nod before he pulls back completely, looking at her again.

She stares openly in return, taking him in finally, and she blows out a breath.

“Bdubs is gonna be so mad,” she finds herself saying. “You stood him up.”

“He’ll survive,” Etho promises, and Gem smiles tentatively.

In the back of the car, Winnie barks, startling both of them, and Gem glances at where her head peeks over the rear seats, her tail thudding against the back window.

She exhales and then meets Etho's eyes again.

“You wanna join us for a hike?” she asks. “You can workshop your apology.”

“To you, or Bdubs?” he asks and Gem snorts.

“Both,” she tells him, and as much as she tries to play it off as a joke, it's clear Etho understands.

His expression is serious as he nods and he takes a step back, out of the doorway, holding out one hand to her.

She isn't trembling as badly as before when she reaches for him, but Etho keeps her steady, squeezing her hand gently like a silent thank you.

It's not much, but it's a start.

[satosugusthirdwheel]

Chance Encounter- ch.2

A DILF! Toji x CollegeStudent! Reader AU

18+ NSFW content warning heavy on this chapter

Masterlist link

Chapter Synopsis: 3 days after meeting Toji (and all that happened in his car), you finally reach out. Gotta get your favorite hoodie back, right? And maybe, just a little more than that. (Okay- a lot more than that),

Chapter warnings/content: age gap (toji is 42 user is 25), oral (69 female on top), AFAB reader, pet names (doll, pretty, sweets, etc), dirty talk, degradation (ishh), marijuana smoking (420 friendly), classmates dad (college, everyone over 18), power play, size fetish (if ya squint), unprotected (wrap it b4 u tap it people)

includes a few fake texts, hints of angst.

Authors note:

First for a lil context-in this AU, Toji stuck around to take care of Megumi and Tsumiki, and raised them. Sometimes absent with his job, so not father of the year, but they were provided for and they have decent relationships.

Secondly, I had a lot of fun with this chapter. I used a new app for making the texts and they look much better. I hope it's enjoyed by at least a few people. Tortured Toji just can't resistttt such an alluring woman. ((And I can't resist HIM- He's just too hot..))

I've got big plans for this story. Even Toji POV in the future 😈 stick around for more.

Chapter 2: WC ~7.5k

It had been 3 days since you had your encounter with Toji Fushiguro. That night, as you were debriefing with your best friend, you'd added his phone number to your contacts but you hadn't called. Not yet.

The day after was too exhausting to even think about anything except consuming copious amounts of caffeine and dragging yourself through classes. The next day, you'd spent some time thinking about your encounter with Toji. How you'd been drawn to him as soon as you'd fallen into him. You wondered if you should call him, or reach out for your hoodie at least, but you'd decided against it. You didn't want to seem too desperate.

Today, however, you're filled with a surprising amount of vigor. Its Saturday, which means you have no classes, free time to meet up or talk.

-I wonder if Tojis free.. Even if not, it would be good to text finally, right? Or get my damn hoodie back. Its my favorite..but I don't know- You think, lying in bed, still a little sleepy. You're staring at the ceiling, trying to find an excuse not to text him when suddenly a body plops into your bed. Your best friend, probably noticing your thoughtful expression. You'd learned over the years how to read each other, which was both a blessing and a curse.

“You're thinking about hot dad”

“His name is Toji”

“Whatever, stop avoiding texting him. Just do it. Besides, he said he doesn't do that often, right? Why'd he give you his number if he didn't want you to reach out?” She says, nudging you.

“Yeah.he said he wanted to hear from me. but should I, really? I don't know if I even want something right now.”

“Who says it has to be anything? You had fun right? He's hot! Either way, his balls are in your court, babe.”

“Thats not the saying, weirdo”

“Whatever. I know you're scared of getting attached or whatever but just start by getting your hoodie. Anndddd if you accidentally fall onto his-”

You cut her off by throwing a pillow at her face.

“Shut it!” You scold playfully, starting to laugh. “You're so dirty!”

She laughs, throwing the pillow back. “Text him or I'll do it FOR you”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT, you'd probably just message him like “you, me, your bed, 5mins”” You say, sitting up in your bed and grabbing your phone.

“I'm efficient..what can I say?”

You roll your eyes but open up your messages and finally decided to text him. Enough is enough.

Your best friend squeals alongside you as you text back and forth with Toji. When you finish texting, she's already asking what you're going to wear, giving suggestions and offering up her own clothes. You laugh, almost nervous after making plans, but always encouraged by her support. She would help you find an outfit 1,000 times in a row if you'd asked, especially if it's to meet up with THE “hot dad”.

You end up settling on a sundress, and a cute thin cardigan. You head to the bathroom to put on some light makeup, lotion and perfume. You style your hair, double checking in the mirror that you're happy with your appearance. It's 10:45 now, and you grab a bag, throwing in a couple essentials as you chat with your best friend for a few more minutes. Finally, you decide to head outside to wait for him, going to the same place he dropped you off the last time. You wait for a few minutes, and then you see his car pulling up. He rolls down the window as he does, turning down his music to call out to you.

“Damn, look at you. C'mon pretty” he says, reaching over to open the door. His voice sends tingles through your body, just like it had done every time he'd spoken to you.

-get it together!!-

“Hi, handsome. I take it you like the dress?” You ask as you climb in, buckling your seatbelt. Something about him is just so comfortable. You find yourself naturally wanting to tease him, or joke around as if you've known each other forever. He pulls away from the school, heading in the direction from the ramen shop.

“course I do..” he says, before quirking his lip up in a small smirk. “Handsome, eh?”

“Don't like the nickname?

“Mm. ‘s alright when you say it” He says. You can tell he's got the confidence of a man who could get whatever he wants.

He drives, one hand on the steering wheel, leaned back in his seat, looking completely cool. You wouldn't be able to tell that he was actually, for the first time in a long while, kind of excited to go out with someone.

“Well, handsome, you didn't have to pick me up. I could've taken the bus.”

“You want me to stop or somethin?” he says with a raise of his eyebrow. “I'm not always a gentleman, doll.”

“No, no. I just meant to say, thank you. I appreciate it”

“Don't mention it. You smell like a damn bakery again”

“Aww, thanks, that's what I was going for”

He continues driving, and as he does he lets his free hand rest on your thigh. His touch is exciting, even one so innocent. He's not even moving, and yet you're picturing so many things that hand could be doing. Skin tingling as you remember the way his fingers felt inside you.

“Thinking about somethin?”

“Oh! Um, no!”

“Uh huh. So then.. whys your face red?”

“It's not! You should focus on driving, you know”

“Oh, yeahhh, that's the worst distraction I've had right? Not your pretty little mouth, all stretched around my-”

“TOJI!” you say, smacking his toned bicep.

“Aww, the princess is shy?”

“No! Just, you don't have to be so vulgar about it!!” You say, hiding your face in your hands for a second.

“Doll, everything we did in this car was vulgar. Suddenly embarrassed?”

“No! I'm not embarrassed! You're just getting me a little flustered, Toji”

“There ya go sayin my name again.” He warns, his fingers tightening on your thigh ever so slightly.

You arrive at the little ramen shop, where you'd met only days earlier. Toji pulls the car into a parking spot, and reluctantly removes his hand from your thigh. Unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door, he steps out and walks around the car to you. You've unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door, but he extends a hand to help you step out of the car.

“Thanks. So chivalrous, Toji” You croon, knowing now just how much it affects him when you say his name.

“Not always. But for a pretty thing like you..” He says, putting a hand on the small of your back as he leads you to the doors. He opens it, allowing you to walk in first.

“Thank you” You say sweetly as you walk through the door. A friendly hostess smiles at you as you ask for a table for two, and you smile back. Tojis hand returns to your lower back while you follow the hostess. His thumb rubs almost absentmindedly, like he doesn't even notice he's doing it. It's a strangely gentle touch for a huge, brooding man, and you can't help but wonder if he touches all his dates like this.

You sit across from each other, his large frame swallowing the booth. You gaze at the menu, trying to decide on a drink, as you feel Toji's knee brush your own under the table. A waitress approaches, and you both order a coke to drink.

“So, you know what you're gonna get to eat?” You ask Toji, resting your chin on your hand.

“Somethin' with meat.” He says simply, eyes glancing up to you for one moment.

“I think I'll have the same ramen as last time” You reply, as the waitress comes back with your drinks. She takes your food orders, smiling politely before turning to put them in.

His phone rings and he checks it, before glancing back to you. “Gotta take this, it won't be long”

He answers as he's standing to walk away. “Hey, Miki. You all good?”

-Miki? It's a girls name… he doesn't sound gruff as he does in the interactions I've seen with the waitresses and such.-

As a few minutes pass, you pull out your phone, getting a little bored alone. The waitress comes back with your food, you thank her, and a moment later, Toji is walking back to the table. You can see his muscles beneath his tight shirt as he walks, your mind begins wandering to what he looks like underneath.

“Sorry. Glad I made it back right when our food got here”

“Its alright.” You say with a smile. “Who was it?”

He takes another bite of his food, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly. It's barely noticeable, but you see it.

-that seems nosy. why should he have to tell me??-

“If you're even comfortable answering, just curious” You add.

“Tsumiki. My daughter. Why, were ya worried there's something to be jealous of?” He drawls, low and teasing, as if he's entertained by the idea that you'd be jealous already.

“No, not jealous! Just curious. Megumi said he just lives with you, so I didn't know he had a sister.”

“Yeah,she lives off abroad. College. Bout a year older than Megumi. I adopted her when she was around 8” He says with a shrug, finishing his food after in the momentary silence.

“Adopted?” You take another bite of your ramen, enjoying the way it leaves a comfortable warmth in your stomach. It's just as delicious as the last time, and you add that to the list of reasons you're grateful to have found this place.

“Yeah. Was with Tsumiki's mom, she split, took everything she could. Bitch never came back, never even called. Couldn't just leave the kid”

“Wow, I had no idea. That's really noble, to take her in. A lot of people would just leave them up to the system.”

“Yeah yeah. Don't make it seem like I'm some great guy, Doll. You don't really know who I am.” He states, almost menacing. Sitting in a way that made him look bigger, as if trying to be more intimidating, hes warning you, of who he truly is. He's not a gentleman, not by a long shot, and he's not exactly a good person by most people's standards. He's had to do things no man should in all his years. And you're soft, sweet, looking innocent to his worn eyes.

“You're right. That's still a kind thing to do. I'm not saying you're a saint because I wouldn't know yet, but you deserve credit for good things."

“Sure. Guess so. Just woulda sucked for a lil girl to be alone. Not like she was a shitty kid or anything. Helped with everything she could.”

“And Megumi's yours? I mean, he looks just like you.”

“Nah..kid looks like his mom did.” He says, a flash of far, far away pain in his eyes before it's stamped out. “But yeah, my blood. Acts like his pops, just more damn sensitive”

“Did something happen..to her?” You ask, gently placing a hand on his. He tenses but doesn't pull away. A shuddering, faint breath escapes his lips, and if you weren't already paying attention you wouldn't have seen it. It seems Toji is surrounded by subtleties, the softness he'd locked down escaping in only the tiniest trickles.

“She died. Soon after megumi was born. I don't wanna get into it right now.” A darkness in his eyes that tells you he hasn't opened up about that, possibly not to anyone.

“Of course, I don't want to pry. I'm sorry” You say, an apologetic and soft tone to your sweet voice. He sees the gentle look in your eye, and though he hates the way it makes his heart clench, he likes the feel of your hand on his.

“‘s alright, ma. You didn't know. How's your food?”

“It's delicious!” You say, smiling at him. “I assume yours was good, since it's already gone” You say with a laugh, eyes lighting up, easily shifting the back to the playful tone you've had before.

"Guys gotta eat, brat” He shoots back.

You laugh, kicking him under the table at the name. “Brat? You're so rude!”

“Rude? Here I am payin for your ramen again and I'm rude? Tch” He crosses his arms, pulling his hand out from under your delicate one.

“Aww, you were gonna pay? Sooo, does that make this a date?”

“Don't know, doll. Don't really do the dating thing. Can't even remember the last time I took a girl out to eat”

“So I take it you weren't looking for a relationship either? Honestly I wasn't even looking for a hookup, you just fell into my lap. Or, I fell into your chest I guess.”

“Well, to put it bluntly, I don't know what I'm lookin for here. Don't wanna lead you on or nothin, Doll. Ive only been having some occasional quick fucks, but I'd be a liar if I said your company was bad."

“I don't know exactly what I want here either. Ive had some hookups but I really wasn't looking either. Maybe we can just see where this goes for now. I think we can have some fun together”

“Well, I'm not one to like missing out on all the fun” He says, corners of his lips quirked up in a slight smirk.

“I'm done eating, let's go get my hoodie. It's my favorite and it probably smells like man-house now”

“Man house? The fuck does that even mean?”

“You know, man air. Messes up pretty girls' hair and makeup, kills all perfume immediately, the like.”

“No, I don't know. Sounds like some made up bullshit.” He says, raising a brow at you. “Gotta be fake, cuz that thing's been making my bedroom smell like a damn pastry for days”

Before you can reply, he stands up and turns to walk away, headed off to pay the bill. As he strides away, you can't take your eyes off of his towering form, the muscles in his back. You stand up as he comes back to your table, following him to the doors and back to his car. He opens the door for you, and you slide into the passenger seat.

“Thanks, handsome”

“Tch. Stop flirtin woman” He says as he starts the car. He pulls out of the parking spot, looking irresistible behind the wheel. The way his large hands grip the wheel, the way his large body looks even larger inside the vehicle. He drives calm, casual, the house not far at all.

“Ohh, so I can't call you handsome, Toji?” You coo, knowing exactly what you're doing as you see his hands tighten on the wheel.

“You're playing with fire, Doll.” He warns, glancing over at you darkly for a moment. You can see that you're approaching his house already, recognizing it from the other day. He pulls into his driveway, slowing to a stop.

“Oh yeah, am I, Tojiii?” You ask, feigning innocence as you bat your lashes at him.

“Stop saying my name like that” He says, as you step out of his car.

“I'm not sure what you mean, Toojiii" You tease, following him into his house, slipping your shoes off at the door like last time.

“Fuck. I'm warning ya’, ma. I'm tryna be respectful here” He says, low and deep, a warning for you to stop.

“Warning me? Oooh of what? Should I be scared?” Following him deeper into his house, towards the hall that you remember must lead towards the bedrooms.

“Say my name like that again and you'll find out."

You smile, practically purring out “Tojii”

In a second, youre pinned to the wall in his hallway, a hand holding your chin possessively while his body cages you in. The lust in his eyes is deep, finally unleashing after all your teasing.

“Here I am, tryna be a gentleman. Tryna treat you nice. And you wanna test me, get me to turn you into a little slut again, don't you?”

He slides his hand around your throat and you smile, locking eyes with him. A challenge in your eyes, a dare to go further. Any nerves you'd had earlier before texting him, before being around him flew out the window. The unadulterated lust flowing through you throws all caution to the wind.

He shakes his head at your smile, his message clear: 'I can't believe this girl'

“Fuck, you do. Playin that damn princess act on the outside. All fuckin embarrassed when I talk about your mouth around my cock. But you know what you're doing, don't ya?”

“I don't know what you're talking about” You tease, batting your long lashes with a feigned innocence.

“Tch, brat. Tryna get what you want that way, huh?” He challenges, fingers tightening around your throat as his other hand trails down your body, between your legs. “Well, Doll, If you're too shy to ask me for what you want, I don't think you deserve it.” He says, suddenly removing his hands from your body. A whine escapes you immediately, desperately craving the return of his touch.

“Come onn Toji”

“If ya want it..then be a damn good girl, and ask for me to fuck your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Please..” You pout at him.

“Must not want it very bad, ma. What a shame”

“Ngh..fine. please, fuck me Toji…I wanna feel you inside me..” You finally break, face growing warm as you confess what you want him to do to you. You feel warmth growing elsewhere too..through your body, between your thighs.

“Knew you had it in ya, dirty girl.” He says, stepping forward and kissing your neck, his large hand trailing up your body to your breast.

Your breathing grows more ragged, beginning to feel the warmth growing inside. He hooks his hands under your thighs and picks you up, carrying you to his bedroom as he bites and sucks at your neck.

"Mm. Pretty girl like you, begging so dirty" He murmurs between bites.

Normally he wouldn't do things like this. He's gotten so used to quick fucks after jobs, finding any random chick who won't expect boyfriend treatment. He wasn't gazing longingly at women anymore, not bringing them to his home, surely not driving them around and opening doors. Not after pain followed him every time he’d let his guard down. Something about you, though, chipped away at that. Ever so slightly. He found himself wanting to stare, wanting to try to act like a gentleman, even wanting to sit back and watch you undress for him instead of only ripping your clothes off like some whore. He sets you down in front of his bed and takes a step back, leaning against his bed as his green eyes rake across your figure.

“Take off the dress” He instructs, leaving no room for argument. Although, he wouldn't find any resistance anyway with the way your body just naturally obeys.

Your hands come up to the tiny straps, feeling nerves building as his eyes stay glued to your body. His gaze is intense, filled with lust, and you feel yourself getting wetter the longer he stares at you. You slide the straps off your shoulder, letting them fall. You pull the dress down, the stretchy fabric coming down your body until it finally drops to your feet. He keeps his eyes on you, watching the fabric fall until it pools around your feet.

“Fuck, look at you. Take off more for me, Doll”

“I want to see you, too"

He chuckles, low and deep. It had been so long since he'd been this slow, this sensual, with a woman. Clothes were normally ripped off quickly, no attachment, no flirting. But with you, he can't resist the strange tugging in his chest telling him to take it slow, to enjoy you, to savor you.

He slowly pulls his shirt off, exposing his toned body, as your gaze lingers. You hadn't seen his body, not without a shirt, and his muscles are more toned than you even imagined. He's littered with some scars, and you find yourself wondering what they're from. They don't detract from his body's beauty though, if anything they enhance it, and your eyes can't break their gaze on him.

His smirk grows as he watches the way your eyes lock onto his body. He slowly reaches to his pants, pulling them down. His cock is visible beneath his boxers, bulging against the fabric like it could rip free. Seeing it begging for release from his boxers urges you to finally remove the rest of your clothes.

Your hands reach behind you to unclasp your bra and it falls to the floor with your dress. Toji lets out a hiss when he sees it fall, and before you can doubt yourself you slide your panties down. As you're sliding your panties off, Toji quickly removes his own boxers. His aching cock springs free, twitching as he looks at your naked form, and you finally get to see him fully. His muscles ripple, his huge cock bobs and twitches a little and the sight goes straight to your aching center. Everything on him is big, toned, strong.

“Get over here” He says, grabbing your wrists and pulling you closer. He catches your lips in a heated kiss, and you feel his thick cock resting against your belly.

You kiss him back feverishly, hands coming to his chest to grab the muscles there. They travel to his shoulders, to his biceps, your delicate hands excite him despite how much he wants to resist. Toji normally wouldn't let a woman touch him like this, so sensual and soft, but his hands tangle in your hair and he deepens the kiss, tongue exploring your mouth as if he needs you like air. He wasn't needy, wasn't desperate, but he was verging on it with you.

He grabs you behind your thighs and easily picks you up while he scoots himself back on the bed more. You're straddling over him now, on your knees. Finally, Toji pulls away from the kiss, breathing heavier now, and looks at your face.

“You want this?”

“Don't make me beg”

“Oh, I'll make you beg. But not yet.” He teases, bringing a hand between your legs and dragging a finger through your soaked slit. You're already dripping after all the anticipation, but he's not exactly easy to take. He knows how big he is, and it will definitely take some prep for you to be comfortable. His finger trails from your hole, up, slowly.

Shuddering breaths escape your mouth as his finger finally slides across your clit, rubbing teasing circles. At the sound of your moan, he seems to snap, grabbing your hips and lifting you as if you're a ragdoll.

Without warning, he's flipped you around, facing away from him, hovering above his salivating mouth. His arms are strong enough to hold you easily, and you can't help but be surprised.

In a moment he has you sat on his face, tongue working expertly around your folds. A surprised gasp falls from your lips, and you lean forward to take his large cock into your mouth.

“Ohhh, that mouth of yours. Nasty girl” He groans into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you.

He circles around your clit, swirling it capably across the sensitive nub. He devours it like a man starved, spurred on by the way your mouth works around him. Instinctively, your hips buck against him, and he wastes no time slurping every last drop of juices that fall onto his face.

You take him deeper into your mouth, drool beginning to pool out of your lips and down his shaft. Taking him even deeper, you bob your head up and down, gagging when he hits the back of your throat. As you start to suck him faster, you feel him press a finger into your dripping hole. He thrusts in and out as your moans grow louder, muffled by his cock thrusting quickly in and out of your mouth. He adds another finger, never slowing his pace. The feeling in your stomach grows more and more intense, like a tightly wound spring, pressure building more by the second. Fingers grip harshly into his thighs, gagging on his length again, breathing through your nose and continuing your pace.

He pulls away from your pussy for a moment, but continues his pumping fingers in and out, curling them to stroke against your sensitive walls.

“You're getting close, aren't you? Dirty fuckin' thing, I feel your cunt grip onto my fingers every time you gag on my dick” He teases, slapping your ass with a swift swing of his large hand.

Your yelp is lost in your stuffed mouth, and he chuckles a little at the jolt of your body, the rumble vibrating through you.

You pull your mouth off of his cock for one moment, just to desperately moan out to him.

“T-Toji..’m gonna cum!!” You cry, hips bucking, bouncing back against his fingers.

“Cum, then. But Im nowhere near finished with you” He says, gripping your hips to force you to hold still as he returns his mouth to your sopping cunt. You return your mouth to his cock, sucking desperately as you feel your orgasm washing over you. The way your walls clench around him like a vice, your moans around his cock, it's all only encouraging Toji to pump faster, throwing you over the edge of your orgasm. He doesn't slow down, just slurps the juices as they drip down his face. He could drown in it, completely suffocate in your pussy and he'd be in complete bliss. As your body shakes with pleasure, your head bobbing on his dick becomes more sporadic. He pulls your mouth off, allowing you a moment to catch your breath as you cum. Once you've come down a little, Toji has flipped you onto the bed. Lying on your back, chest heaving, you look up to his face. It's shiny, your juices still glistening on his skin.

“Kiss me, so I can..taste me on you”

“Fuck, lil slut” He growls as he leans in, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss. Your tongues dance easily, and you taste yourself on his tongue. The dirtiness of it all is so captivating. You deepen the kiss, bringing a hand up to hold his hair tightly as you feel his hands traveling across your body.

Finally, his fingers have returned between your legs, gathering some of your juices onto his large digits. He pulls away from the kiss, rising up so he's towering above your smaller body. He spreads your legs, pressing your thighs back to display your dripping, glistening cunt. He licks his lips, as if he's a fucking animal preparing to devour prey.

“ 's a big stretch, Doll. But don't worry, I'll make it fit” He teases, slowly, slowly pushing two fingers into your hole and pumping in and out, stretching your walls for him.

“You gonna do it or just talk about it?” You suddenly feel a fire growing in yourself, confidence coursing through you from the unbridled desire you felt. His fingers won't be enough, only all of him will do.

“Heh, getting cocky, baby? I won't waste any time, then” He slurs with a laugh. Pulling his fingers out, he notches his head at your entrance, feeling the resistance of your tightness, though you're so wet it's almost impossible to resist the urge to slide in. Slowly, he presses the head in, as your breath catches in your throat at the girth. It's big, the biggest you'd taken so far and you force yourself to relax so you don't tighten your muscles even more. You moan, gripping onto his large biceps and digging your nails in.

“so tight..shit. gettin wetter just because I put the tip in?” He teases, bringing his hands to your nipples so he can roll them between his fingers. Whimpers escape from your mouth at the touch, and he slowly slides more of his length in. You gasp, feeling him pushing deeper, stretching your soft walls. The sensation tingles through you, feeling the pressure building in your belly already.

"I'll try not to break ya"

“Nngh, god Toji, you're so big” you whine, breathing labored as the mix of pleasure and slight pain floods your body. He pushes deeper, and ghosts a hand over your body, down between your legs. His fingers rub your clit with just the right pressure, and you're melting into his touch within moments. He grips your hair with his other hand and forces your head to look between your legs. He's only halfway in, and youre already losing your mind. Your cheeks flush even more and your face drops into a slight surprised “o”

“Look at that, only takin half of it” He says with a tsk. “gonna take it all, slut? I know ya can”

“Y-yes, I can. Keep going”

“Thaaattt's a good fuckin’ girl” He says, before pushing further in with a groan. You gasp and close your eyes, and your head would've lolled back if it hadn't been for his grip in your hair.

“Ah ah ah, open em” He scolds, and you force your eyes open to watch him finally push himself in, bottoming out as you feel his bulge deep inside. You're sure you looked almost fucked dumb already and he hadn't even started thrusting yet. The pleasure comes through your body in waves as he pulls out, then pushes in fully. He was mean with his thrusts. Not harsh, but sharp, long and calculated. He thrusts as if he knows exactly how to hit your most sensitive spots, relentlessly prodding your walls. He releases your hair, allowing your head to fall back a little as you look at his face. His green eyes are piercing, the depth of his lust evident in them. You whine and moan, hips grinding against him and he groans, low in his throat.

“Tojiiii…oh god..it's so much” You cry out, loudly, clamping a hand over your mouth after realizing you didn't even know if anyone was home.

“Move. your. hand” He grits out, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand off roughly. “Nobody's home. So don't hold back a fuckin’ sound.” It's a demand, not a request.

You can't resist the sounds that escape your throat. You'd be embarrassed if he wasn't thrusting so deep he was practically kissing your cervix. Ecstacy overcomes your entire being, and you're babbling out “oh” “yes” “please, toji” as if reciting a prayer.

“Fuuucckkk. Fucked dumb on my cock like my little slut already, huh?” He teases as he thrusts harshly, smirking in an almost condescending way. He's looking at you as if he could break you, as if he's entertained by the way you're beginning to blubber on his twitching length.

You nod lazily with a smile, and he slaps your thigh. Hard enough to make you jump but not do any real damage. As if electricity flowing through you, pleasure shoots straight to your sex.

“Wanna hear it. Say it.”

“I'm your slut, Toji..f-fuck” you whimper out, eyes closing as you grip the sheets tighter, back arching. “‘s so much..I'm so close”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, gonna cum on my dick?”

“Yes!” you moan, hand coming down to try to push his hand away from your clit. The sensation is almost too much as you feel your climax building more and more. “Toji, slow down it- it's too much..” you're whining, eyes squeezing shut.

“No 's not, just feel it. Cum. Wanna feel that pretty little cunt twitch around my cock.” He says, gripping your hip with one hand, the other still continuing the relentless ministrations on your sensitive clit. With his words, you finally release, screaming out, his name fumbling out of your lips naturally. He pushes you through your orgasm, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through your body. It's like a tsunami overcoming you and you're just drowning in it. He doesn't stop as you come down, even as you become more sensitive from your second orgasm. You're becoming a mess, absolutely fucked stupid on his cock, and he's not done yet.

“Fuck. More. Ya want more? I know ya want fuckin’ more” He's growling out, not looking at you, but down, at his cock pounding into you. As if he's not even speaking to you, but your drenched cunt itself.

“Yeaahhhh, ya want it harder” He groans, thrusting so hard and long your body is bouncing against him.

Your eyes are filling with tears from the sheer pleasure that's teetering just on the edge of overwhelming. Your hands grasp at Toji's, still playing with your too-sensitive clit and with a deep, breathy chuckle he removes it. A mercy, you think. That assumption is proven incorrect when that hand moves up to splay below your belly button, and he pushes down, towards your spine. He lets out a short moan at the sensation, the tightness, the way this allows his cock to slam into your spongy walls so perfectly. He has to slow his thrusts slightly to resist finishing right then, your walls clenching him like a vice. It's like you were made to take him, perfectly.

“T-TOJI!” You gasp out, hands clutching his thighs, digging in with such force you're surely leaving crescent indents in his skin. A few tears in your eyes fall as you feel another orgasm impending, not even knowing if you'll be able to reach it.

“Breathe. Feels fuckin’ perfect, doesn't it?”

“ohh god, Toji!” You whimper, shaking your head, squeezing your eyes shut, but remembering to breathe like he instructs. "It's so much"

“Young lil thing can't keep up?” He teases, but then allows his tone to hold a seriousness.

“Need me to take it out, sweets?” He's asking, genuinely checking, because even though he's fucking you so dirty, so mean, he doesn't actually want to harm you.

“No! I just don't know...if I can cum again” you whimper, not even thinking before the words are spilling out of your mouth.

“Oh, I know she can. C'mon. That fuckin’ cunt has more. Give it to me, pretty girl.” He demands, thrusting his hips in sharp, long strokes. The steady pace pushes you closer and closer to your edge. Your body tenses, and you almost want to try to run from the pleasure, positive you'll drown in it.

Feet planting on the bed, you push, almost pulling away when the hand on your hip tightens. He thrusts again, then once more, and suddenly you're careening over the edge of bliss. You don't even know what sort of moans, words or sounds escape you as your vision momentarily blurs and sound fades. The orgasm washes over you and Toji pulls his throbbing dick out just in time for you to release and squirt all over him. He smirks, accompanied by a deep chuckle.

“Such a little princess but you make such a mess? All for me?”

His hand moves from your lower stomach to his dick and he strokes it, steadily but quick. When your vision is clearing as you come down, you take in the sight of him. Slightly sweaty, huge frame towering over you, hand around his cock, pushing himself to his climax.

“Yes, Toji” You almost-squeak out, breathless now.

“Fuck. Again. Say it again” He commands, eyes locking onto your face.

“Tojiii” You purr, bringing a hand to cup his balls, massaging them as you coax his orgasm out of him. His eyes close and his head falls back, and for a moment he looks completely at ease. Lost in complete bliss, his sharp features soften as he finally releases. Warm ropes of his cum coat your belly, dripping onto your hand. He breathes heavily, chest heaving as his cock softens. It's still big, even soft. His eyes take in the sight of you, flushed face, mussed up hair, covered in his seed.

Toji isn't always one for aftercare, but looking at you beneath him, he feels that tug again, the one he kept pushing back. That natural pull towards you, towards being slow, softer, more of a gentleman. He gets off the bed, walking to his attached bathroom and grabbing a few wash cloths, running them under warm water before bringing them back. He cleans the cum off of your body, in silence, even pushing your hair out of your face a little. It's a comfortable silence, there are no words needed right now. He cleans himself off, then gives you one more so you can wipe the cum from your hands until you're ready to wash them.

When you're all cleaned off, he speaks up finally, while taking the cloths to a hamper.

“Didn't push ya too far, did I?” He asks, a seriousness in his voice, as if he was, maybe, even worried about it. He grabs his boxers and sweatpants.

“No, that was..really good. I would've let you know if it was really too much. Thanks, for cleaning me up” You sit up now, a little cold now being so bare in the air.

“Yeah, don't mention it. Least I could do” He says, brushing it off, not wanting to focus on the way he liked taking care of you right now. He picks up your dress, handing it to you on the bed.

He steps into his boxers, then sweatpants. You climb off the bed, looking for your bra on the floor. Toji grabs your hoodie off his dresser and tosses it at you. It lands on your head, and you can't help but laugh.

“What the hell!” you shout, throwing it to the bed.

“Oops” He says with a shrug, not an ounce of remorse on his face. He actually looks like he's smiling, for just one moment.

You locate your underwear and bra that had been discarded on the floor, slipping them on before stepping into your dress. You walk into his bathroom, washing your hands under the warm water before returning to his bed and sitting down, tucking your legs under his covers.

Toji picks up your phone from the floor, handing it to you, then points to a bedside table.

“Imma get us some water, doll. Remote, charger, blunt all over there if you want. Just don't put any dumb shit on my tv” he says before leaving the room, heading to the kitchen to grab the water.

You lean over to his bedside table, grabbing the remote and flipping through his tv, looking for something to watch. Settling on some slasher film you'd seen 1,000 times, you pick up the blunt, examining it for a moment. Expertly rolled, as if he'd done it a million times. He probably had. As he comes back through the door, holding two bottles of water, he glances at the tv.

“Really? Slasher? You keep surprising me, woman.” He says, lounging on his bed casually, trading you a water for the blunt in your hand.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem all innocent n shit. The little colorful outfits and all that. But then you choose to watch a serial killer chase girls and kill ‘em.” He says

“Well that's on you for judging a book by its cover, isn't it?” You tease, opening the water and drinking some. The cool liquid is refreshing on your parched throat, and you realize just how thirsty you are as you drink.

Toji chuckles, quietly. “Guess so. You joining?” He asks, holding up the blunt and a lighter.

“Smoking with my scary movie? How could I say no?” You say, smiling at him, warmth in your eyes. Your eyes always seemed to glisten when you smiled at people. Against every single fiber in his very being screaming ‘this isn't you, Toji’, he wanted to keep seeing that sparkle.

The way you smile, it repeatedly stoked a tiny fire deep inside him, a fire that had long been extinguished. He tears his eyes away from you, though they showed no flash outwardly of his inner turmoil. Years doing what he does, working the difficult jobs he does, had taught him to conceal that. He grabs a nearby ashtray, sitting up and turning his attention to the tv.

You watch as he lights the blunt, the smoke coiling around his face making him more handsome, before turning back to the tv as well. He passes to you, and you inhale deep into your lungs, holding for a moment before exhaling slowly. You relish in the relaxation it brings, the calming of your mind, the looseness in your body.

As you take turns hitting the slowly-shortening blunt, you share the silence. Toji seems to appreciate that, as he looks relaxed, and watches the movie. He doesn't cuddle, or even touch you, aside from his leg that's against yours and the occasional brush of his hand against yours. But he allows you to sit under his covers, and doesn't call you a ride out, something against the norm for him. You finish the blunt after a while, and he puts it out, placing the burnt end in the ashtray and off to his end table.

You're half watching the familiar movie, half trying to keep your eyes open and not fall asleep. Eventually, though, you succumb to the tiredness that the sex and the weed have brought to you. Toji doesn't notice you've fallen asleep for a few moments, but when he does, he just gets up off the bed and moves to a chair. He doesn't cuddle, doesn't lay with women in bed, none of that pillow talk shit. Not anymore. And though the tiniest piece of him wanted to just stay there, on the bed, maybe even let your body curl against him, he pushes it down even deeper.

Before the movie has ended, he's dozing off himself for awhile, until his phone rings, waking you both from your sleep. As you blink your eyes open, you notice that Toji moved to the chair. He's blinking sleep from his eyes, too as he answers the call, the movie long over.

“What's up, kid? I'm sleeping” He answers, with a yawn. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Be there in an hour, alright?”

He hangs up the phone and runs a hand along his face. “Brat needs a ride. Love the kid and all but damn. He's gotta get his own wheels or somethin” He groans as he sits up straighter.

“Oh, that's alright. I should get back in a bit anyway. Shower and hang with the roomie before she goes outta town.” You say, sitting up and rubbing your eyes, clicking your phone on and seeing it's already 3pm.

“Sorry I stole your whole bed, I didn't even mean to fall asleep” You add.

You have a couple texts from your best friend, so you text her to let her know that you're alive, and doing fine.

-we can question whether my decision making skills are sound later -

“Trust me, woulda woken you up if it bugged me, Doll. Just don't think I'll make it a habit.” He says, and you can tell there's walls he's trying to ensure stay up.

You aren't sure exactly what you want from him, either, though. All you know is that you're having fun, and there's something about him that makes you crave more. He stands up, stretching, and you watch his muscles flex as he does so. Toji notices, of course. It seems he catches you staring every time, and he flashes you a devilish smirk while he grabs a shirt from his dresser. He pulls it on, a tight black t-shirt, and you climb off of his bed, stretching a little. The effects from the blunt are dissipating, but you still feel sleepy. You gather your phone, bag and hoodie, as he grabs his keys.

“You don't have to drive me if you've gotta go, Toji” you offer, trying to at least show that you don't mind the bus, and he doesn't *have to be so chivalrous if he doesn't want to.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Shut it.”

You don't push, it's obvious that the chivalry isn't exactly his strong suit. As you both head out the front door of his house, he unlocks the car door and you climb into the passenger seat. He climbs in, starting the ignition, and you speak up to fill the quiet.

“I had fun today. Even though I did miss half the movie”

“Yeah. Seems like you're as fun as you are pretty.” He says, sly as a fox. “I missed a lot, too. That shit really knocked me out. Was gonna make fun of your lightweight ass when you woke up until it hit me too”

“HA! I'm glad it wasn't just me. You're so rude, ya know? You were already planning your future teasing?”

“You call me rude an awful lot, princess.”

“Don't be so rude then”

“I can pull the car over and let you walk. That would be rude”

“Noo! Spare me!” You say, laughing, knowing you're being irritating, but finding it so fun to pick at him that you can't even stop.

“Lucky you're sexy cuz you're annoying” he says, rolling his eyes. Even though he looks annoyed, his free hand comes from the arm rest to sit on your thigh comfortably.

“Well now who's being rude AGAIN!!” you say, feigning offence, but leaning into his touch to your thigh.

It's like a conflicting dance. Your words teasing, picking fun at the other, while your bodies naturally connect, drawn to each other. You continue this way as he drives you home, the view of your college parking lot coming way too soon. As he pulls in, to the same place he's growing more familiar with, he takes his hand away from your thigh. You climb out, leaning back in to scoop up your hoodie from the floor, and pausing.

“I didn't forget anything this time. I hope I hear from you” you say, with a smile, but the message behind your words is clear. -will he keep this going, or disappear?- The same question Toji keeps asking himself.

He turns to you, meeting your eyes, and for a moment you see them flicker. “You will”

As you turn away from his car, you hear his music begin to play. He stays there until you're at the doors, where you turn back. You offer a wave and he slowly pulls out of the parking lot as you enter the building. You finally take a deep breath once you enter the doors. 

-hes just a guy. Why is he affecting me like this?, get it together!- you will yourself. But it's no use. Against all your wishes, against your better judgement, you can't shake the light, airy feeling you're left with. Even if this is just fun, just a fling or just a few heated meetups, something about him is drawing you in. Like a moth to a flame. You only hope you won't get yourself burned. 

©satosugusthirdwheel Do not translate, copy or post elsewhere without credit to @satosugusthirdwheel on Tumblr ♥️ 18+ only blog

[thickktae]

🧁 Rainy studio filth 🎨

🍒Intro

You should have left when the rain started.

But you stayed alone in the art studio with your sketchbook and all the lines you can’t draw right without him.

Now your sunbaenim is here wet hair, lazy grin, and hands that always touch too much.

Tonight, he’ll teach you how to ruin every clean page. And yourself.

Warning : 🔞 Heavy smut | Soft manipulation | Slow burn filth

Kinks:Manipulation / soft coercion,Subtle degradation,Praise kink, Backhug, neck kisses, teasing ,Breeding talk / coming inside , Semi-public ,Size kink / power play

✨ Pairing

Kim Taehyung (college AU) × Chubby/curvy art student reader

Senior (Sunbaenim) × junior

Enemies? Lovers? She can’t decide but she never says no.

🗝️ Summary

It’s late and the campus is empty, except for him.

She tries to focus on her drawing, but Taehyung her too-touchy senior has other plans.

A loose blouse, a knotted skirt, rain hitting the windows while he whispers praise and filth in her ear.

By the time he’s done, she’s on her knees sketchbook ruined, throat raw, hips sore from how good he teaches her.

“Y/N, you’re doing it all wrong…”

His voice so close to her ear, warm breath brushing the shell of it as the charcoal pencil trembles in her fingers. She knows she should pull away he always does this. The soft touch that never stays soft, the sweet praise that turns her legs to water.

But she doesn’t. She never does.

Taehyung hums when she doesn’t move lets him backhug her right there in front of the canvas, her thick curves pressed snug against his chest, the scent of paint and old linseed oil mixing with his cologne.

“Relax, sweetheart…” He murmurs, chin resting on her shoulder as his hands slip from her waist up slow, lazy, possessive. She gasps when his thumbs brush just under the swell of her breasts through the soft fabric of her white blouse.

“Sunbaenim…” She hates how weak it sounds.

“Shhh. I’m just teaching you.”

His fingers find the loose knot at the front of her blouse tugging gently until it slips apart, exposing the delicate lace bra barely holding her heavy breasts up. The cold air hits her skin just as his mouth finds the side of her throat, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses that make her hips twitch back against him.

She can feel him. Hard. Heavy. The thick bulge of him through his slacks pressed right against the curve of her ass. She tries to keep her hand steady on the canvas, but her wrist jerks when his palms cup her breasts fully big, veiny hands squeezing softly before his thumbs rub lazy circles over her nipples through the lace.

“Focus on the drawing, sweetheart…” His voice is so sweet it makes her want to cry. “Be a good girl for sunbaenim, yeah?”

Her pencil drags a crooked line down the canvas. She tries to fix it, but he pinches her nipple just a little harder, tongue tracing the curve of her neck.

“See? Still wrong.” He laughs under his breath when she whimpers the soft, broken sound bouncing off the studio walls. “Maybe you need… more help.”

One of his hands slides down her belly, bunching her skirt up just enough to slip between her thighs. She gasps, hips jerking when his fingers brush over her damp panties.

“Already wet? Naughty girl…” He clicks his tongue like he’s scolding her, but his grin against her throat is pure sin.

His fingers stroke slow circles over her clothed pussy, teasing her folds until she’s rocking her hips helplessly, breath stuttering as her pencil falls from her fingers and clatters to the floor.

“Pick it up,” Taehyung whispers, lips dragging over her pulse. “Be a good student. Keep drawing while I fix you, baby.”

She bends forward just enough to grab the pencil, but his hand cups her from behind the hard length of him grinding against her ass, his other hand squeezing her breast until she’s biting her lip to keep quiet.

“That’s it…” he purrs, rolling his hips against her, fingers slipping under the edge of her panties. “Let sunbaenim help you make something pretty… while you make a mess for me.”

Author's note :

🌙 Read the Full Drabble

> 💧 Read the full filthy scene on my Ko-fi unlocked for my sweet sinners:

Kofi

🖤 Like | Reblog | Comment | Tip - every bit keeps my filthy mind running wild for you.

[gydima]

I couldn't resist. I started turning this Eoin-gets-turned-on-when-Paddy-fights idea into something more fic-like. Will probably write more at some point.

Have some filth!

Men call Paddy Mayne an animal, and they’re not entirely wrong. He is a wild thing, beyond the control of any man - except himself and, occasionally, Eoin.

Eoin hasn’t brought Paddy under his control, though. Paddy’s given over the reins himself.

It starts because it gets Eoin’s blood up every time Paddy raises his fists to a man. Eoin doesn’t quite understand what’s happening the first few times, unsure why he feels as though he himself has been in a fight each time Paddy is. He always feels winded, wired and worshipful to see Paddy’s knuckles covered in blood, bruises blooming across his pale skin. He can’t tear his eyes away when Paddy fights. 

He backs Paddy up when needed, of course, but it’s rarely necessary. The first time Paddy fights FOR Eoin, though. That’s different. 

Eoin squares up to another man, and Paddy asks, “May I?” before Eoin can raise his fists. Curious, Eoin gives a nod, and Paddy takes it from there. Eoin stands back and watches Paddy beat the ever-loving hell out of the man who’s insulted everything from Eoin's ancestors to his religion, even though the man is a Prod just like Paddy.

When it’s over Paddy turns to Eoin with a bloody, triumphant grin, and Eoin drags him into a half-hug, slapping him on the back with a laugh and a promise to buy the rest of Paddy’s drinks for the night. 

He doesn’t wait long before he has to go to the toilets. His cock went hard the minute Paddy’s bloody smile was pointed in his direction. Sometimes he thinks… he thinks Paddy would give him anything in his power. 

He groans at the thought and opens his trousers enough to get his cock out and start stroking himself off. It’s perverse, how much he’d like Paddy to take him into that bloody mouth and leave smears of red on Eoin’s cock. 

The lust in his belly surges as he imagines how roughly Paddy might let Eoin use him. Eoin could hold Paddy’s head in his hands, keep him in place and fuck his pretty, bruised mouth while Paddy drooled on his cock. Maybe Eoin could even push deep into Paddy’s mouth and force his throat open around his cockhead, come so far down Paddy’s throat that he couldn’t even taste it. 

He comes so violently his knees give out on him, and he has to brace himself with one sticky hand against the bathroom wall.

***

Eoin doesn’t purposely start the next fight - at least not consciously. But he might do the one after that. Definitely the third one. 

But that time Eoin doesn’t wait for Paddy to offer to step in. He stares at his opponent, then steps back and says, “Paddy? Do you want this one?”

Paddy grins and moves into the spot Eoin’s left open. “You know, I really do,” he says, eyes sharp and eager. 

Seized by some strange madness, Eoin grabs a handful of Paddy’s hair and shakes him a bit, forcing Paddy’s head back until their gazes are locked. “Get him, then,” Eoin orders, and pushes Paddy into the fray. 

Eoin���s dick is hard even as the fight starts. There are moments Paddy could end it, that he could knock the other man out and be done with it. A few times he darts a dark glance at Eoin, bares his teeth and lets the fight drag on. He’s brutal, bloody, and magnificent.

They get kicked out of the pub for that one, and they’re hardly a block away before Eoin grabs Paddy by his already ripped shirtfront and drags him into a dark alley. Paddy’s eyes glint, one already partially swollen shut, and he meets Eoin’s gaze without a flinch even as Eoin backs him into the rough stone of a darkened building. 

He could say something. Maybe he should have thought of what he'd say after all this time. But he thinks, just maybe, words might not be needed just now. So he reaches down and finds just what he expected with the palm of his hand: Paddy’s hard cock straining against the front of his trousers. 

“Good boy,” Eoin praises him. “Is there something I can do for you now?”

Paddy doesn’t respond with words. He rolls his hips forward, pushing his cock into Eoin’s grip, and Eoin grinds the heel of his palm down. “Go ahead, then,” he says, and curves his other hand over one firm round cheek of Paddy’s ass, urging him to keep his hips moving, humping into Eoin’s touch. 

“That’s it,” he says as Paddy pants into the space between them. “You deserve to feel good. Do you want to come, hmm?”

“Please,” Paddy groans, hips jagging forward hard enough that Eoin has to push his thigh in between Paddy’s legs, give him something more solid to rub himself off against. Of course it also provides friction to Eoin’s cock, but he does his best to ignore the stimulation. He wants to watch Paddy fall apart. 

He does it beautifully. The jerk of his hips goes uneven and he makes strained little moans, head thrown back and teeth bared as his cock twitches and shoots inside his shorts. When he starts to slump forward a bit, Eoin takes hold of his hair again, keeping him upright and watching hazy eyes blink up at him slowly. 

“Well done,” Eoin tells him, rolling his own hips forward and relishing the overstimulated hiss Paddy lets out. “Do you want another treat?” he asks. “All you have to do is get on your knees and open your mouth.”

Paddy’s mouth falls open on a gasp, and when Eoin loosens the grip on his hair, Paddy goes to his knees hard, scrabbling to open Eoin’s trousers. 

Eoin lets him, smiling down fondly. He doesn’t even have to guide Paddy’s head, because Paddy swallows him down like he was starving for it, bobbing and sucking and choking himself on Eoin’s dick. It’s clear he could have some skill if he weren’t so desperate for it, the tightness of his throat welcoming the breach of Eoin’s cock more than once before Paddy chokes again and pulls off to cough and spit some excess saliva on the ground. When he moves to take Eoin back in his mouth, Eoin grabs his hair one more time to hold him still. 

“Can you stay there?” he asks, and Paddy nods eagerly, as much as Eoin allows him to. “That’s good. Just open your mouth and hold still.”

Paddy does, tongue extended obscenely. Eoin rubs the head of his cock against Paddy’s cheek, then bumps it against the soft wetness of Paddy’s tongue. “Perfect,” he sighs, and fists his cock roughly until he’s coming across Paddy’s face and in his open mouth.

“Swallow,” Eoin says, pleased that Paddy waited for the order.

Paddy whimpers and obeys.

[folklorebyswift]

behind the camera

fake dating & pr relationship with billie eilish

synopsis: Madison Cole is an aspiring actress with every advantage-wealth, connections, and a last name that opens doors in Hollywood. But privilege doesn't guarantee talent or fame, and Madison is eager to prove she's more than just a product of nepotism. When her powerful father orchestrates a PR relationship between her and global pop star Billie Eilish, Madison reluctantly agrees, knowing it could fast-track her rise.

What will spark when the cameras stop rolling?

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

———————————————————————————

Chapter 4 — chemistry

Madison's POV

The next morning, I park in the underground garage of my dads office building — one of those sterile high-rises in Century City with too much glass and too many people trying to pretend they're important. I know the drill. Take the private elevator, smile at his assistant, sit in the overly modern chair in the corner of his office until he's ready to look up.

Except this time, he's already waiting for me.

He wanted to see me. Said it was important.

"Madison," he says, standing when I walk in like he's about to pitch me a business deal. Which, knowing him, he probably is.

I sink into the chair across from his desk, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. "What's this about?"

He doesn't answer right away. Just watches me for a second, like he's weighing whether I'll be offended or interested.

"I heard something yesterday," he says finally. "From a friend over at Interscope. Billie Eilish's team is putting out feelers."

I blink. "For what? A feature film?"

"No," he says, leaning forward slightly. "They're looking for someone to date her."

I just stare at him.

"...What?"

"A PR relationship," he clarifies, like I'm the one being slow. "She's planning a new album rollout. There's a tour coming. Rumors are already starting about her love life. Everyone thinks she is 'queerbaiting'. They want to steer the narrative. So they're looking for a girl—someone interesting, someone attractive, someone the public doesn't already have pegged."

I just keep blinking.

"And you thought...me?"

He gives me a tight, unreadable smile. "It'd be mutually beneficial. She gets the intrigue, you get exposure. Name recognition. Association. Think about it, Mads—this could launch you overnight."

I shake my head, more out of disbelief than anything. "You want me to fake date Billie Eilish for publicity?"

"Not fake," he says, hands spread. "Just... curated."

"I'm not an accessory," I snap, sitting up straighter. "And I'm not doing some weird, exploitative marketing stunt so people will finally look at me."

Dad sighs, already preparing his defense. "You said you didn't want my help. This isn't me making a phone call or forcing a casting director's hand. This is about visibility. Being smart. Strategic."

"I want to be known for my work," I say. "Not because I kissed a Grammy winner in front of the paparazzi."

"I just thought," he continues, softer this time, "you might consider it. Because whether or not you want the spotlight—she has it. And a little borrowed light might be what you need."

Silence stretches between us. "Just go to the Barbie premiere with her."

It's a terrible idea.

It's a brilliant idea.

I look back at him. "And what does Billie get out of it?"

His smile returns, small and knowing. "A gorgeous actress with a clean image and no ex-boyfriends for the tabloids to drag up. You're the full package, Madison."

I take a breath and lean back in the chair, heart pounding in a way I can't quite name.

God help me.

"I'll think about it." I say, trying to keep my voice even, like I'm not already spiraling.

Dad leans back in his chair, folding his hands like he's done his part. Like this is just another meeting on his calendar.

"Well," he says casually, "you don't have much time to think."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

He checks his watch, completely unfazed. "Her team's going to be here in about twenty minutes."

I blink. "What?"

"They're on their way," he says, like this is totally normal. "Billie included. They want to meet you. See if there's chemistry. Vibe check, whatever they're calling it."

I shoot up in my chair. "You invited Billie Eilish here—without telling me?"

"You said you'd think about it. So think fast."

I just stare at him, heat rising in my cheeks. My brain is screaming. My heart's somewhere between panic and whiplash.

"You're insane," I say under my breath, standing abruptly. "You actually lost your mind."

He shrugs. "I call it being prepared."

"Jesus, Dad—this isn't a pitch meeting, it's my life."

"I know," he says, standing slowly. "Which is why I'm giving you the kind of opportunity people beg for."

I open my mouth to argue—but nothing comes out.

Because now I'm picturing it.

Her.

Walking in.

Seeing me.

I smooth my hands down the front of my jeans, suddenly regretting not dressing like someone who might accidentally fall into a PR relationship with a world-famous pop star.

The second I get into the private bathroom, I slam the door and stare at myself in the mirror.

Jesus.

My hair looks like it fought a pillow and lost. There's last night's mascara smudged just enough to be tragic. My hoodie's wrinkled, my jeans are too casual, and I look like someone who would not be dating Billie Eilish—PR or not.

"Okay," I mutter to my reflection. "We're fine. You're fine. You're hot. You're capable. You just have vodka in your bloodstream and fifteen minutes to become someone interesting."

I wet a paper towel and start damage control—fluff my hair, re-do my lip gloss, dab under my eyes, pray to literally anyone listening.

By some miracle, there's a concealer stick in my bag. I swipe it on like it's holy water, smooth down my hoodie, and stare at myself one last time.

Still not perfect.

But not a total disaster.

When I make it back to my dad's office, he's standing near the windows, looking entirely too calm.

I barely get out, "Do I look insane—?" before the door opens behind me.

In walks a team of three people, mid-conversation, laughing like this is just another meeting.

And right behind them—like a movie scene happening in real time—is her.

Billie Eilish.

And holy shit.

I've forgotten how fucking hot this woman is. Loose black pants, a dark button-up left half open over a tank top, a few layered silver necklaces, messy red rooted hair tucked under a beanie, and that exact energy I didn't want her to have.

Relaxed. Cool. Untouchable.

She's smiling as she shakes my dad's hand—polite, professional, vaguely bored. Until her eyes land on me.

She doesn't look away.

Her smile shifts. Slows.

Like it's just for me now.

A beat too long passes.

"Madison," my dad says, clearing his throat like he can feel the tension crackling already. "This is Billie. Billie—this is Madison."

Billie's eyes never leave mine as she steps forward.

"Hey," she says, voice low and smooth, like it's meant to be whispered in the back of a car. "Nice to meet you."

There's a spark of something behind her smirk—something amused, maybe a little intrigued.

Definitely dangerous.

I blink, trying not to let my brain short-circuit.

"You too," I say, hoping to God I sound normal.

She reaches out and shakes my hand.

Her fingers are cool. Her grip is easy. Confident.

She doesn't let go right away.

And she knows exactly what she's doing.

I can feel my dad watching us, but I can't look away from her.

She tilts her head. "You look better than your headshot."

My lips twitch. "You Googled me?"

Her smirk widens. "Had to make sure you weren't a total loser."

I laugh—too loud, too surprised—and Billie's grin sharpens.

And just like that, I know: I'm in trouble.

Because if this is going to be fake...

We're already doing a terrible job.

I take a seat across from Billie while the grown ups get into business mode.

Her manager is rattling off logistics with my dad like this is just another deal. NDA this, media strategy that, press cycles, contract length, potential red carpets, timing, social media rollout, blah blah blah.

But I can't focus on any of it.

Because Billie is sitting directly across from me, legs spread slightly, elbow propped on the armrest, her fingers lazily toying with the silver rings on her hand as she stares at me like I'm a song she's already halfway through writing.

I sit back, arms folded, trying to look casual. Composed.

But I can feel her watching me.

I glance up.

So does she.

Our eyes meet again.

Heat flashes across my skin like someone just turned the thermostat up five degrees. Her gaze is steady, almost unreadable—but there's something simmering just beneath it. A slow, quiet interest that feels like it might set fire to the room if I look too long.

I drop my gaze to her mouth.

Bad move.

She licks her lips and smirks. Like she knows. Like she likes that I looked.

She tilts her head a little, eyes dragging down my hoodie, pausing on my hands folded in my lap.

My breath catches, just barely.

"I'm assuming you two will need to spend some time together," one of her team members is saying, "before we make anything public. Build familiarity. Comfort. Chemistry. Do you agree Richard?" They look at my father.

I almost laugh out loud.

Comfort?

Chemistry?

We've got enough of that already. We're practically radiating it.

Billie hums softly under her breath, like she agrees, then flicks her gaze to the side as if to give me a break—but not for long.

Her foot bumps mine under the table.

Barely there. Just enough to be intentional.

I glance at her, startled.

She doesn't say a word.

Just quirks her eyebrow like, what are you gonna do about it?

I try to refocus on the conversation.

"...Timeline would probably roll out right before her first single," someone says. "A few staged run-ins, some posts, maybe a red carpet or two. Barbie premiere is a must."

I nod, pretending I'm still listening, but all I can hear is the thud of my heartbeat and the soft scrape of Billie's rings as she spins one around her index finger.

Her voice breaks through the haze. Low. Directed at me.

"You okay with all that, Maddie?"

The way she says my name—it's soft, like a dare.

I glance up.

She's got that same half-smile on her face. Dangerous. Inviting.

"I guess we'll see," I say quietly.

She leans back, eyes never leaving mine. "I guess we will." After some time, the meeting finally winds down, though you wouldn't know it by the way my father and Billie's manager are still rattling off emails and timelines like this is the launch of a tech company, not a fake relationship.

I stand, smoothing my hoodie and trying to gather what's left of my composure. I've said maybe four words in the last twenty minutes and Billie's said even fewer—but somehow, we've had an entire conversation without speaking.

I start toward the door, ready to escape before I melt into the carpet.

"Madison."

I turn.

Billie's leaning against the arm of the chair, one brow raised, lips tugging into that same knowing smile she's had since the second she walked in.

"You should probably give me your number," she says, casual as hell. "Figure we should meet up later. Y'know—once you've gotten that very obvious hangover under control."

I blink.

"Oh," I say, blinking again. "I'm not—well, maybe a little."

She laughs. It's low and quiet, and she stands up steps closer—close enough that her perfume hits me. Something smoky and soft and expensive.

Her voice drops just a little. "I don't mind. It's kind of hot, honestly. Gives you that messy, tragic actress vibe."

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling now. I hand her my phone. "Here. Before you turn this into a personality analysis."

She taps in her number, then holds it out to me. "Text me."

I grab the phone, fingers brushing hers again.

Her smile turns downright wicked. "Or don't. If you're too scared."

"I don't get scared," I say automatically.

"Good," she says, already turning toward her team. "Then I'll see you tonight." Tonight?

And just like that, she's gone.

I stand in the hallway staring at my phone like it's suddenly the most dangerous object I own.

Because the second I hit send, this whole thing officially starts.

And I have no idea what I just got myself into.

———————————————————————————

this book is a collab betweem me @/folklorebyswift and my bestie @/daddyb1ll1e on wattpad

new chapters are getting posted to wattpad before they get posted here! make sure to look it up there to read early :)

[ultimategazer]

i only completely memorized like 5 or so words in ASL im gonna be real💔 i can recognize a few others, but I can't really do them properly (zero practice and nobody i talk to often knows it)

"i feel like they would have a word for 'The Box' since they seemed to know it was coming from the ground" this makes it feel like 'ground' and 'The Box' would be similar words, or 'The Box' would be similar to 'elevator', as thats where The Box comes from, and what it is. Maybe a combination of both words?

"They would also need a word for 'Greenie'" I wonder if that sign would be like 'stupid', because the Gladers most definitely thought the Greenies were dumb. The assholes (affectionate).

"and something about 'alcohol' which they keep from Gally" i like to think that Gally figures out the word they made up for it, and so they have to scramble for a new one. They probably also keep it from Chuck, because that child is a menace on his own and does NOT need to be influenced by alcohol.

When Gally recognizes the signs Newt's doing, he immediately goes: "I KNOW THOSE DUMBASSES!!! HOW ARE THEY ALIVE?!!???" and the rest of Lawrence's group just kinda look at him because how on earth would he recognize these strange people who are very obviously not from the City, or even from outside it from how they behave?

If WICKED taught them multiple sign languages, do you think the boys would be confused on which one to use? Like in the Maze one of them is using Russian Sign Language and another is using Spanish and two of them are using ASL, except one of them is doing it poorly so noone has any idea what the other is saying.

"YOU DIDNT HAVE TO HURT ME LIKE THAT AFTER ALL THAT FUN SCIENCEY DISCUSSION" and then immediately throwing "When Newt dies, his vision goes before his hearing, like it always happens with living things. So he doesn't know if Thomas managed to sign anything before his death. He did. He signed "I love you" AHFYGHFHHHFJH 💔 SOBBING

"if anyone in the Safe Haven does it to Thomas, he laughs, but you can see the light in his eyes completely die" in the beginning, before his healing really starts, somebody does it to him in an insulting way, and he immediately punches them. because noone is going to use the memory of Newt against him, even unknowingly.

honestly, i dont even know how im coming up with these LMAO. mix of near constant day dreaming and free time, i guess?

"Every small group within the Gladers makes their own words, and sometimes teaches the others them around the campfire at the parties" how long would it take for the languages to unify? would they set some words before they left the Maze to be as quiet and understanding as possible? or would they unify in the Scorch, where they had to be as smart as possible so they didn't die or lose each other?

"While in the Scorch, they use it a LOT MORE, since they didn't want to open their mouths too much in the desert" once the thirst becomes just a little too much, i feel like the signs would get a lot more subtle, and use more body language and facial expressions, similar to how ASL does (to my understanding). it becomes harder to understand each other in the Scorch, especially with the different words the group uses for each thing, and that's why a lot of people are lost. miscommunication is rampant.

"Minho is almost completely deaf after the lightning strike, and so the two other boys, being as considerate as they are, make it their mission to make a whole lot more words to communicate with him" AWHHHHHH THATS SO SWEETTT

Thomas signing "I love you" to Newt when he dies is DEVASTATING💔💔 i LOVE it

i should probably also stop making headcanons before i work it into one of my fics or just go haywire and make a new one too LMAO. the headcanons are too powerful

your ideas really make me think, which i don't do a lot, thank you! theyre really fun to work with

my favorite Maze Runner headcanon is that all of the Gladers are just a little bit hard of hearing because of the Maze walls every night, but Minho has the worst damage because of the lightning.

this applies to both Group A, Group B, and Brenda and Jorge because GOD those lightning storms messed up their eardrums.

To be honest, (BOOK SPOILERS FOR THE DEATH CURE) the Right Arm bombing WICKED's facility and the Maze walls collapsing did not help at all.

Another one of my favorite headcanons (BOOK SPOILERS FOR THE SCORCH TRIALS) is that Thomas' arm had to get amputatated once it got infected because of the Crank's rust bullet.

I think it wouldve been a lot cooler if dashner had let one of them lose or have a missing limb.

[kizzer55555]

Core Gems

So when a ghost becomes injured, they have a last ditch defense where they retreat into their core. And I mean, injured badly where their body is rip apart to the point they can’t hold a solid form anymore. And they basically go into a hibernation state until they are strong enough to form again.

Ellie, Danny, and Dan are all injured in a final battle against the GIW. The organization was destroyed and the ghosts were safe but the halfas ended up being so injured that they reverted to core form and then went to sleep for a bit. When they woke up, they were still weak but at least recovered enough to gain consciousness. And realize…they are in some kind of auction…in the middle of a heist. It appeared that two furries (one in a bat costume and one in a cat costume) were ducking it out. And they…they were a necklace. All three of them had been turned into a necklace with their cores as gems accompanied by sapphires, pearls, and opals. And frankly gorgeous craftsmanship as the metal was crafted around their cores as if to cradle them and the other gems.

Unfortunately, they were too weak to take a form properly, they could still feel the strain on their bodies. But at least they could still communicate through their auras. Then the cat lady punched a hole in the glass container surrounding them and grabbed their necklace.

However, the bat grabbed the other end and it resulted in a sort of tug-a-war. Meanwhile, Danny, Ellie, and Dan were having a back and form commentary on the situation and what they should do. Completely unheard by the other party.

In the corner of their eye, the three halfas finally noticed a third contender. Some kind of clown who was…hold on…holding a gun?! And it was pointed straight at the two fighting furies who had yet to notice him. The ghosts’ protective instincts went into overdrive and they frantically tried to shout, yell, move. Just do something to warn the two but their cries fell on deaf ears. All they succeeded in doing was faintly glow which immediatly caught the attention of the fighting duo. The two turned to look at the strange necklace but right at that moment, the clown fired and a gunshot rang throughout the auction room. Having no other options, Danny and the others poured every ounce of ectoplasm they had to try and phaseshift, making the two furries intangible as the bullets passed right through them, but in their shock, the two jumped away in opposite directions and accidentally ripped the necklace apart. Gems and pearls went flying and the three cores bounced along the ground.

Luckily, the two finally noticed the clown and went to deal with him and his minions who had appeared. Seemingly putting their fight on hold and forming a temporary truce. The three halfas could only watch as the battle finally wound down, ending with the cops barging into the place and arresting the clown and his grunts, the cat managing to escape with half the scattered gems and pearls from the broken necklace along with a few other jewelry pieces (none of their cores though) and the bat leaving through a skylight.

The auction continued and in the end, despite being broken, their necklace seemed to have caught someone’s interest. A man named Bruce Wayne bought up every piece of the shattered jewelry wear. The auctioneers appeared relived that the item managed to sell in the end and gratefully gave it to him.

Bruce had no idea what happened at the auction, but he could have sworn that some of the gems faintly glowed right before he and Selina were shot. If the necklace was some sort of magical item, then he needed to understand exactly what has been brought to Gotham. It was unfortunate that Selena had taken some parts of the necklace but he utilized his vast wealth to make sure all the other parts ended in his possession. Now he would take them back to the mansion for examination.