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pseudowho · 1 year ago

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In Flagrante Delicto

Higuruma Hiromi will fight your help and guidance every step of the way...until one night, he catches himself needing you desperately.

An AU where Higuruma is forced into the employ of Jujutsu High after his role in The Culling Games.

Warnings: 18+, sex pollen!, angst, smut and fluff, Hiromi being willing to argue with anyone about anything, with a little bit of sex pollen needy Hiromi

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Higuruma Hiromi was undoubtedly the most difficult mission you had ever been given.

Tasked with walking Hiromi through 'the systems' of the Jujutsu world, you, a sorcerer who had been introduced to this world more conventionally, had absolutely nothing in your armory to counter the veritable force of nature that this man was.

You argued, constantly. He forced you to acknowledge the hideous insufficiencies and injustices in the system you worked for, at the most inconvenient of times.

Your patience was a finely tuned machine. You had perfected your ability to debate and discuss the ethics and morality of Jujutsu sorcerer activity, both legal and illegal, over a number of years.

But Higuruma Hiromi had driven you to drink. One evening, sat at home, deeper into a bottle of wine than you had anticipated, you received two messages in quick succession; one, from Yaga ("Mission with Higuruma tomorrow. Details to be sent over by Ijichi") and the other, from Higuruma ("I look forward to continuing our discussion tomorrow"), and you groaned, sinking the rest of your wine, and hoping it was enough to get you through the chaos of Higuruma's mind.

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"So," you started, approaching the subway with Higuruma, "lots of late-night civilian disappearances on this one line," you pointed to your map, "and two Second-Grade sorcerers have already disappeared in separate incidents. What does this tell you?"

Higuruma was silent, musing as he tapped his gavel lightly against his hip. Reaching his conclusion, he turned to you with a wry smile: "That your higher-ups knew, by the first Second-Grade's death, that a Second-Grade wasn't strong enough, but sent another Second-Grade anyway."

You sighed, deep and weary, "While that's probably true, we don't know they're dead--"

"Well they're not playing Scrabble, are they--"

"--and that's not the answer I'm looking for--"

"Well, I'm not here to be charitable, or unrealistic."

"Oh, are you here to be insufferable?"

Higuruma half-laughed, "Preferably. God forbid I should be sufferable--"

You swiped his gavel from his hand, and tapped him sharply on the forehead, "Higuruma. Please. I'm begging you," you clasped your hands for dramatic effect as he assessed you, a sardonic half-smile in his hooded eyes, "the quicker you play the game, the quicker you and I can go our separate ways and you can just go out and do this by yourself."

Higuruma's lip curled up in bitter distaste. He wiggled one finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it with an irritated twist of his neck. "I'll reiterate," he said, considered and flat, "that my joining the Jujutsu sorcerer's established hierarchy is a Hobson's Choice."

"If I want to go about making some positive changes to this cesspit," he spat, "I have to prove myself trustworthy in their eyes, and atone for my crimes by playing their game." Higuruma approached you, his chin tilted down as he looked through you, with sombre eyes.

"And the sad thing is," he said softly, now inches from you as you burned under his scrutiny, "you've been playing their game for so many years, you've convinced yourself that the rules are fair."

You swallowed, meeting his gaze; your agreement with him passed as an unspoken pact, but you were, as of yet, unable to betray your established part in this system with words. Higuruma nodded, slowly, understanding.

"So I'll inconvenience you as little as possible," he reassured, "and try to be a good boy today." You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth, counting to ten. Opening your eyes, you caught up to Higuruma, who was already halfway down the empty subway steps.

"Please don't go ahead without me," you pressed, "I know you're not completely inexperienced, but fighting Curses is much more nuanced than fighting Curse-users."

"But they're brainless, right? By all means they're probably easier." You tilted your hand from side to side.

"They fight on instinct. We can be guilty of overthinking something that's primal for them. I'd never assume I can out-think evolution."

Higuruma hummed, satisfied with your answer. You were relieved to have averted another argument. Reaching the bottom of the steps together, your shadows were short in the low eerie glow of the empty subway system.

"So the victims got on a train, but never got off it," Higuruma confirmed with you.

"But it hasn't been the same train every time, so it seems to--"

"--pick a host. Right. And you've asked the station master to keep to the same train schedule tonight?"

"Mhm. No people around though."

"So, we could always just get on trains until we're attacked."

"That is completely reckless, and I won't--"

Higuruma breezed away down the corridor, his slim suited figure sloping away so lackadaisically that you felt annoyance bubble up in your throat.

"You don't have to come," he called back, relaxed and confident, "I've got this covered." You ran after him, grabbing his upper arm. He stopped, annoyed and impatient.

"Just...trust me," Higuruma urged, "try something new. You may be pleasantly surprised." He gripped your hand, firmly breaking your grip as he stared you down.

"How can I trust you? I barely know you."

"Then why are you worried about me?" He taunted, heated and scathing, "Not really what you lot do, is it? Worry about each other?"

"Well I worry about you," you snapped, "I worry about you every day and every night since they tasked me with taking care of you." You swallowed, embarrassed by your outburst. Higuruma hesitated briefly, looking...touched? He spun round, his back to you now, tapping his gavel in irritation against his thigh.

"That settles it then," he said, convicted and grabbing you by the hand, "you've got to come with me. It would be cruel not to let you worry. Come along."

You were pulled through the dim corridors of the subway system by Higuruma Hiromi, protesting the whole way.

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"-- so stupid, you could have died--"

"-- but I didn't, and I'm fine, so stop worr--"

You slapped the wounded shoulder you were currently patching up for Higuruma, and he made a noise of protest as you scolded him, "Stop telling me to stop worrying," you cried, pressing gauze to his cuts, "because I've worked in this shitty system for years, so I know that if we don't worry about each other, nobody else will worry about us, and you have no regard for your own wellbeing--"

Higuruma's head snapped up, smiling, "So you agree," he pressed, excited by the new development, "that the higher-ups have no intention to safeguard any of you--"

"--I never disagreed with you, Higuruma. You just...missed the point. As usual."

Higuruma turned, unable to look you in the eye as you continued dabbing the back of his shoulder. His eyes beseeched you to continue, dark and quizzical.

You continued, your voice tight and upset, "Whether or not we fight back against the higher-ups, makes no difference. Almost every sorcerer in this wreck would go where they were sent anyway, because at least we have a chance of defending ourselves against the monsters out here."

You sighed, taping bandages down, Higuruma's bleeding now settled, "So that's what I decided to do. I expend my energy protecting the non-sorcerers because they're the weakest link in the equation. They can't defend themselves. It's the right thing to do. I'll fight the big fight on my days off."

Higuruma was quiet, allowing himself to be chastised. He rolled the gavel between his hands. He suddenly felt so exposed, shirtless in front of you, feeling every touch of your soft hands as they assessed his ribs, and he gulped, unusually unable to find the words to say.

"Do you, uh...do you want to grab a drink? After we're done here," he offered weakly, eager to spend time with you outside of these roles you were forced to play.

"No," you emphasised as he rubbed his nose, "you'd probably tell me my drink order was wrong." Higuruma sunk his face into his hands, laughing.

"I'm not that bad--"

"You are dreadful. I love the...the passion you have, but I'm just...I'm tired. I'd rather go home." Higuruma nodded, thoroughly shot-down, respecting your refusal.

Sloping home that night, insisting he'd prefer to walk over being dropped home by Nitta, Higuruma considered he may have been fighting the wrong person for weeks now. Torn between 'playing the game' to get out from under your feet as soon as possible, and resisting becoming part of another broken, unjust system, Higuruma found himself erring unusually on the side which benefitted you over anyone else.

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In the midst of battle, you found yourself separated from Higuruma, cold dread seeping into your belly as you realised there was nobody else here to save him from himself. Distracted, you took a major hit, thrown by some sordid thrashing beast down an old brick staircase.

You had largely protected your body in swathes of your own Cursed-energy, but still had the breath forced out of your lungs as you had hit the wall below. The Curse, enormous and puce-coloured, roared down the stairs after you.

Trying to stand on a dice roll, your numbers came up short and you stumbled, heart lurching into your mouth.

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You and Higuruma had been assigned to clear out a growing populace of curses in an abandoned block of flats. Trying to talk to him, to plan tactics and methodology, Higuruma had seemed quietly indifferent towards you on the journey there. Refusing to engage with you on any serious level, he seemed almost bored of you, staring impassively out of the window throughout.

You tried not to be hurt, reminding yourself you were here to assess whether or not Higuruma was safe to act independently as a sorcerer. After his series of murders in the Culling Games and before, he was offered two choices: work for Jujutsu High, or refuse and face being hunted down and executed. But, he was an adult, and his safety was ultimately not your jurisdiction if he refused to take your advice.

And yet...the thought of his death by any means filled you with a sickly dread.

Because in reality, Higuruma represented the idealism, the ethical standards that working within a broken system had steadily stamped out of you. Your anger towards him was a projection of your own shame at having fallen into line when you wanted nothing more than to rebel, to protect the weak, including your own colleagues, despite the resistance.

Even worse, Higuruma saw this, and his disappointment in you only deepened your shame. You were meant to be 'helping him' to adapt to your world, and you felt sick to your stomach as you tried to contaminate this man. You felt sicker still as you felt yourself creep closer and closer to his way of thinking, wondering if you fit in this world anymore.

You couldn't tell him how deeply you admired him for being everything you had fallen so far from.

After efforts to interact had fallen flat, you sat beside each other in stony silence. Still, you felt, despite his feigned indifference, anger poured off him, not cold, but white hot.

"What have I...what have I done?" you asked, afraid of the answer.

Higuruma looked at you, eyes still glowing like little coals in his impassive face; "What have you done?" he retaliated. You sighed, a short breath out of your nose.

"...you're not ready to be sent out alone yet. You're reckless and you've got by on luck so far, but--"

"--so you saw fit to carry on this babysitting charade by telling the higher-ups that I'm a danger to myself and others around me." Higuruma scowled at you, not trying to conceal his fury anymore. You blushed, feeling the shame twist in your throat.

"...you...assume you're going to come out on top in every fight, so you don't assess the danger before you jump in, and it's just a matter of time before-- before you--" You reached out to take his hand, desperate to communicate your fear for him in a way he would understand. Higuruma moved to pull his hand away and you held on harder.

"I just...couldn't stand to see you die some pointless death," you urged, "I need-- we need men like you." Higuruma appeared unmoved, silently allowing you to squeeze his hand. Eventually, his long fingers slowly closed around yours.

"I don't think anyone's cared about me this much in years," he replied, as lightly as if he were talking about the weather.

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Brickwork and rubble clouded your vision as the floor rumbled beneath your feet, the Curse blown sideways, shunted by a comedically large gavel. You felt a taut-muscled arm loop around your waist, yanking you to stand-- "get up, come on-- NOW!" -- and you half-ran, half-staggered through a devastated corridor. Your heart sank as you spotted the staircases downward completely collapsed, leaving you both stranded on the fifth floor.

Higuruma appeared, dusty and spitting, wiping residue out of his eyes and slamming his hand to a button on the wall. In a wild flurry, the Curse turned the corner, screeching and hissing, and with a *ping* the lift doors opened. Not looking back at you, Higuruma shoved you into the open lift, slamming his hand on the button again for the doors to close.

"No-- Higuruma! Hiromi!" You skidded across the lift on grazed knees, wedging your arm between the doors with a yell as they closed around it. The lift didn't move down, and you heard Higuruma's incoherent shout of rage at you as you forced the doors open, reaching out for him and dragging him in by the back of his collar, and hammering the 'close doors' button repeatedly as the Curse, still dazed and staggered, made its headlong rush towards you.

As you fell into the lift with Higuruma, you felt a hand press behind your head, its fine bones crunching as it cushioned your head's strike against the wall. You sat, slumped, Higuruma's body over yours in a protective cage, as the doors slid closed, denting inwards as the Curse hit them with a metallic thud, and a roar.

Silence. Higuruma, silent and seething, reached behind him to press another button. The lift started a smooth descent downwards.

"I had it," he spat, lips curled upwards, nose wrinkled in animated fury, "and you stopped me-- for what? Why?"

You gulped, coughing brick dust out of your lungs as you croaked, "You were lunch. You were that close to being killed--"

"--do you really think I'm that inept--"

"--you're not inept, just inexperienced--"

"I'm not a fucking child!" Higuruma's voice rang, deep and final, around the lift. The lift pinged as you reached the bottom floor. You sighed again, pushing him away from you as you stood, moving towards the doors.

"We'll regroup and consider our plan of--" A wiry arm blocked your path, holding down the 'close doors' button.

"We are not finished," Higuruma pressed, enunciating every syllable with gritted teeth. You rested your hand on his forearm, gentle and weary.

"I am. I'm finished." Higuruma stared at you incredulously, hackles still raised. You continued, "I can't coddle you anymore. You're a smart man, you're happy you know what you're doing. So I'm finished. I won't keep fighting you for your own life, Hiromi."

Hiromi deflated slowly, unable to fight without an opponent. His lip still curled, he refused to move his arm from blocking the door, looking away from you as his fury simmered low.

"I'll clear you with the higher ups. Do what you want to finish up here. I'm done." Still, Hiromi didn't let you go, silent as your hand stayed tenderly on his forearm. A few heartbeats passed between you.

"The thing is, Hiromi...you've already lost the fight when you think the result is the most important thing. Being willing to put yourself forward to defend people, going through that fight for them...that's the really noble thing. Any idiot can win a fight. It takes guts to stand up and decide to fight in the first place."

Reaching past Hiromi to press the 'open doors' button, the lift flooded with daylight, muted by the external veil. Hiromi's arm dropped, beaten. As you moved to step past him, his fingers gently tangled in yours, your hands ghosting together between your bodies.

"Can I...can I buy you a drink? To thank you." You swallowed, throat thick with conflicting emotion. You hesitated, then nodded. Hiromi smiled down at you, something unreadably tender in his eyes.

He leaned slowly down, and pressed a soft-lipped kiss to your forehead; "thank you."

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You didn't get to go out for that drink. After giving the higher-ups your approval for Higuruma to be released, he was thrown headlong into mission after mission.

You sent him occasional texts, and he messaged back, usually dry witty commentaries on the jobs he'd been given. You found yourself missing him, feeling little golden bubbles of joy when your phone pinged, his name on the screen.

It had been a week since your disastrous argument in the lift. You still felt guilty for having abandoned him, still not feeling he was ready, but knowing he had to find his own footing at this point.

Late one evening, you dried your hair with a towel, padding around your apartment in just your underwear as you got ready for bed. You jumped and squeaked with alarm as someone hammered on your door. Grabbing an oversized t-shirt from a pile of laundry, you pulled it on over your head. Approaching the door, cautious, you were alarmed to feel--

"...Hiromi?"

Hiromi leaned against your doorframe, his head on his forearm, and he looked at you with feverish eyes, panting, apparently in pain. His dishevelled suit, and a blossoming bruise beneath his right eye placed him as a man fresh from a mission.

Without hesitation, you gripped Hiromi by the hand and pulled him into your apartment, closing and locking the door. Immediately your hands grasped his cheeks, looking deeply into his eyes, a look of such sweet concern on your face that he gulped, overwhelmed, desperate.

"What happened? Why are you here? You should get to Shoko--"

"I don't want Shoko," he spat, chest heaving as he turned away again, pressing his forehead to his fist against the door, "I want...I want you." You blushed, pleased he had come to you for help, but your medical knowledge was limited.

"What happened?" You asked again, hands cautiously ghosting over his abdomen, checking for injuries.

Hiromi groaned, low and slow, as he burned from the inside out. Your touch shot through him like a thousand arrows. His fingers seared his skin as he fumbled, trying to undo his own tie, and you took pity, reaching round him, your small hands cool against his neck as you removed his tie for him. You felt him tremble against you.

As his collar opened, you spotted a narrow, inch-long dart in his neck, like a cactus prickle. Curious, you plucked it out and dropped it onto the sideboard near the door. Is he poisoned? You questioned yourself in a panic, and you grasped him by the cheeks again, looking deeply into his eyes, terrified you'd watch the life ebb out of him, unable to do anything.

"What do you...what are you feeling?" You took him by the hand, guiding him to your sofa and forcing him to sit as you stood in front of him. His sloped eyes were narrow, taking in your barely-covered legs, the barely-concealed nubs of your nipples beneath the t-shirt fabric. Hiromi reached out with a shaking hand, grazing his fingers up your calf and your breath hitched.

"...Hiromi?" His hooded eyes flicked up to yours as his fingers stayed on your calf. Oh, you looked so uncertain, so concerned for him, and it was...delicious.

"It hurts," Hiromi croaked, "I need-- I-- I need--" His throat was tight, and you took him in, how desperate he looked, how needy, and the realisation clicked into place.

"You need...me?" Hiromi shuddered, recalling how he'd walked directly into an obvious trap while hunting down this godforsaken Curse, not taking in his surroundings, stubborn and certain in his ability to prevail--

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, cock throbbing, trapped against his thigh, his whole body burning from the inside out, "I was wrong."

"Oh, so you do know how to flirt," you teased and he huffed out a laugh, groaning again, in agony, and he begged, shameless, his head leant forward to press against your tummy as his hands crept up, eager to grasp your hips and pull you straight to his mouth.

"Please...please--" he whined, and you shivered feeling his hot breath on your belly through the fabric of your t-shirt, tangling your hands into his hair. Hiromi trembled, letting out a sandy growl against your clothes.

"Don't stop me, please," he urged, "I can't...I can't stop myself." He flipped your t-shirt up and you gasped, his strong hands sinking into the plush of your hips, holding you to his mouth, his tongue tasting you as he swiped open-mouthed kisses just above your underwear.

You felt sweet pleasure throb between your legs, all good sense thrown out of the window as you felt how deeply you had missed Hiromi, how ridiculously grateful you felt to be needed by him in this way, and you breathed to him, "You know I'd always help you."

Hiromi moaned his appreciation, his mouth now slipping down to the front of your underwear, and his tongue traced the shape of your pussy, groaning at the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. Your knees buckled, weak with the feeling of his mouth against you.

His lean arms hooked around the back of your knees, lifting them over his shoulders as he leaned you back against him. You cried out, when leaning forwards to grasp the back of the sofa, your clothed pussy pressed firmly against Hiromi's face.

You blushed as he breathed you in, his hips bucking instinctively upwards, aching to be inside you, cum heavy in his balls and desperate for release. His teeth grazed your pussy through your underwear, and he nuzzled into you, trying to part your folds with his nose through the fabric. Impatient, and feeling your hand sink into his hair again, he used two fingers to swipe your underwear aside, sinking his tongue instantly between your folds.

You whined so beautifully above him, and he undid his trousers, pulling his cock out of his trousers, gripping it tightly as he rubbed his nose and tongue urgently between your soft lips. Hiromi began to stroke himself furiously, squeezing hard at the tip, pre-cum dripping down his fist, shivering at the pleasure.

You allowed Hiromi to use you, your keening voice rising as he latched onto your clit, sinking two fingers into your pussy with no warning, thrusting them roughly into you. You bucked your hips against his face as he whimpered his approval. You blushed as you heard the frantic plaps of Hiromi pleasuring himself, your brain foggy with bliss.

Hiromi's fingers bullied into you, desperate to study you, imagining how deliciously his cock would stretch those plush walls. The constant pressure of his fingers against your cervix and his desperately nuzzling tongue and nose between your folds had you reeling, humping his face as you trembled and shook, Hiromi encouraging it as you approached your orgasm.

Your pleasure peaked, sharp and sweet, and Hiromi held you tightly to his face, still determined to taste you, drawing your orgasm out until you quivered, overstimulated, feeling your heart pulse between your legs. As Hiromi shook from his own orgasm, but not at all relieved and panting, cum dribbling down the front of his shirt, he dropped you into his lap.

You gripped the front of his shirt, his cum sticky against your belly. His hand tangled into your hair as he crushed his lips to yours with bruising force, forcing you to taste him. Nipping your bottom lip between his teeth, he whispered, begging again.

"Inside you...please, please..." You nodded again, and Hiromi threw your shirt off over your head, leaning back to drink you in; panting, trembling, straddling his lap, what the fuck was he playing at by fighting with you for so long--

Your hands worked nimbly at the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning and pressing it down his arms and you leaned forwards, almost as hungry as him as you took his nipple into your mouth. Hiromi hissed with delight, kicking off his trousers, shoes and socks and rocking your hips against him.

Hiromi grasped your hands, pressing one to his cheek, and one to his chest, forcing you to lean forwards as you shamelessly cast your eyes up and down his lean body, his muscles twitching with the electricity of your core on his aching cock. His teeth scraped against the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, your shivers like a sedative to him.

His eyes burned into yours, hot and pleading in the dark. His body was a furnace against yours, desperately craving a cure for the agony he was in. You lifted one leg off him, intending to stand to remove your underwear, but stopped as Hiromi all but sobbed against your wrist at the sudden loss of pressure on his cock, throbbing and sticky with cum against the neat, black hair on his belly. His fine-boned hands pressed you hard against him, before methodically tearing the sides of your underwear, flinging the scrap of fabric to the side.

When you grasped his aching cock, Hiromi was almost blinded by the anticipation, his hands flinging out sideways to grip the fabric of the sofa, and he panted, whimpering and pleading as you rubbed the angry red head of his cock between your folds, gathering wetness.

When you sank slowly down onto him, crying out as your walls fluttered around him like wet velvet, Hiromi came again with a shout, faint with bliss and temporary relief, feeling his own seed drip out of you and onto his thighs. He growled in frustration when, after his cock had stopped twitching inside you, he felt the need to cum again build up within his belly, overwhelming him with an almost violent urge to pursue it.

"...Hiromi? Do you...is this...?" You rode him slowly as he twisted in pleasure and anguish beneath you. Reaching up to grasp your breasts like stress-balls, Hiromi shook his head desperately at you, feeling pathetic and helpless. He was corseted by his intense need to not hurt you. You leaned into him, whispering reassurance and soft nothings in his ear.

Hiromi couldn't take it anymore. Standing up, holding himself inside you and locking your ankles behind his hips, he flipped you over, crushing your thighs to your chest. Grasping the back of the sofa, Hiromi snapped his hips against yours with determined precision, his shoulders tight and mouth slack as with every thrust he felt the urge to push harder, deeper, to empty himself inside you again and again, until you were putty in his hands, until he had cleansed himself of this unscratchable itch.

You clawed for purchase on anything as you were pounded into the sofa, drunk on the sensation of being so full, your insides feeling thrillingly bruised, the tenderness building, slow and intense. Reaching up, you plaited your fingers in Hiromi's at the top of the sofa, and he leaned down, nipping and kissing your knuckles in grateful affection.

The air was filled with the wet slaps of your joint bodies, and Hiromi's constant soft whimpers as you came again, this orgasm burning through your body as you hiccuped, tears streaming into your hair.

"Please please please...please, please," Hiromi begged as his next orgasm surged ruinously through him, dropping him to his knees on the edge of the sofa. Hiromi felt his senses return to him with each pulse of cum that left his body, relieved...for now.

Weak, exhausted, Hiromi flopped onto you, wrapping your arms and legs around him in a full-body embrace, suddenly feeling so touch-starved. Hiromi almost wept his thanks into your hair, and you stroked his hair in soft circles with your nails, all reassurance and acceptance.

By the time you had made it to your bedroom and slipped, sticky and spent, between the soft covers, Hiromi's eyes had returned to you, hungry and burning, his fingers stroking through your folds, fascinated by the drips of his seed still leaking out of you. He had flipped you over and pinned you prone to the mattress, sinking into you and moaning your praises as you had clenched, trembling with overstimulation, sucking his cock into your aching body.

Throughout the night, his relief had waned, with longer and longer gaps between him seeking out the warm acceptance of your body. You would wake to his body flush against yours, Hiromi lifting your leg over his hip as he sunk into you, mewling and panting in the night.

Finally, you had woken with sunlight streaming through the windows, Hiromi draped around you, looking soft and exhausted as he slept; Hiromi woke to the smell of coffee and you, very much ready to be cared for...and, occasionally, argued with.

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Ugh, yes. Debate me, lawyer daddy.

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artbyblastweave · 7 months ago

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I may have mentioned this before, but there’s one thing I find cesspits like, for example, r/kotakuinaction useful for, and that’s for periodically reestablishing a grounding kinda baseline for misogyny. Like, as much discourse about feminism and sexism that you see on this site, when you get down to brass tacks that entire digital slugfest is occurring within the shared frame that misogyny is a bad thing to do and a misogynist is a bad thing to be. People are going after each other, a lot of the time, for second-order signifiers of misogyny, unexamined biases and un-unpacked ideas. And that’s at least a start, right? But then you go on kotakuinaction or some similar space and whoa Nelly. Hoo boy. Good golly fuck. This is unreconstructed misogyny. Undiluted 100-proof woman-hating. This is the thing casting the shadow on the wall of the cave

#thoughts #personal #shitpost #kinda #discourse

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olderthannetfic · 2 months ago

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Actually, sorry, nevermind with the pro ship stuff ! Did my research and I'm more informed abt it :) you dont need to post either of the asks I sent abt it (and I'm lowkey scared if coming across as a close minded purist prude whose disillusioned about being by one.)..either way ty!

*giggling*

The reality is that any new, viral thing from thirty seconds ago spreads easily on TikTok, most especially misinformation. Instagram is another pretty terrible platform just in terms of algorithms and how it's run. I wouldn't expect the prevailing understanding of such-and-such from within one bubble on either to necessarily be well informed.

The concept of "antis" under that name is pretty new, and the concept of "proshippers" is even newer. It has always meant "not antis". Some people have started mutating it to be about specific dark content, but it was always supposed to be about opposing censorship-happy idiots.

I don't find incestuous ships any freakier than other common fantasies people have. Same with adult/minor ships. You're seeing them in a distinct category because they upset you in particular. The feelings are fine, but they don't actually mean that these kinks are darker than all the other ones antis go after.

I know you think someone will be able to interpret "proshippers DNI" as "only the actually bad people should stay away", but that simply isn't what's going to happen. First, DNIs are moronic. Curating your online space means that you need to be the one blocking and avoiding. You can't ask random strangers, possibly your enemies, to do it for you. Second, people are going to have all kinds of opinions on which content is Bad Enough to count even assuming they share a similar definition of 'proshipper'.

This kind of "Well, we all know what the Bad Stuff is" attitude tends to have a chilling effect on a space. People are all paranoid that their kinks might count and self-censor far beyond what the person who said it expected.

Honestly, aside from the constant misuse of the terms, my assumption is that public proshippers on Instagram and TikTok are mostly into extreme things because anyone less extreme wouldn't have the balls to be public. The amount of death and rape threats from antis wouldn't be worth it.

As for my "rules", I don't have any. This is my personal tumblr, but since I leave anon on, people send me lots of things. I post most of them, but I get so many now, that I'll sometimes cut off a topic that has dragged on boringly. I usually don't post the threats I get unless they're funny and I want to mock them.

Re teens in fandom, I got into fandom at 13 on Usenet and set about reading all of the freakiest porn available. I read far worse stuff outside of fandom. I was curious, as many people that age are. It never did me any harm, and it won't do any harm to current 13-year-olds to read dark shit.

The people who get fucked up already have a lack of decent mentors in their offline life, are reading things as self harm, are actually being harmed by the social side of fandom where they've found some creep for horny roleplay, are the subject of a public hate campaign, etc. That sucks, but it's not something I can control or that will get better if we exclude them from fandom.

Teens would be better protected by their parents removing TikTok from their phones than by anything to do with fandom. Its short form makes it ideal for poorly fact-checked soundbites that sound good on the surface but discourage critical thinking or nuanced engagement with a topic. Youtube et al. are also cesspits, but TikTok has elevated predatory algorithms and viral misinformation to a whole new level.

Now back to rewatching miniminuteman. Hahaha.

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stxrsniolo · 9 days ago

Text

word count: 6.829, because i'm aegan, and i friggin' can 😝

a/n: i made sure to use structural repetition as a narrative device, repeating key phrases and ideas in this setting, so if you found repetition of some phrases, you're not going crazy babe. that was me and it was intentional. warnings: gritty. teen drama. graphic violence. gore. blood. murder. horror. psychological tension. obsession. explicit language. angst. violence. death

Chapter : 01

we sat hunched in the dim glow of the ginger café, a squat little haunt where the air reeked of burnt coffee and stale sugar, our fingers curled around milkshakes; mine a strawberry sludge, thick and syrupy, clinging to the chipped glass like congealed blood.

the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting sickly yellow pools across the scratched formica table that pinned us in place.

"you hitting nate’s party?" olivia’s voice slithered out, sharp and jagged, laced with a thrill that teetered on the edge of something unhinged. her platinum blonde hair gleamed under the flickering bulbs, a beacon of vanity in this grimy hole.

she was one of my two anchors in this forsaken world, just the three of us sprawled across that table, a trio bound by the suffocating drudgery of high school, a trinity cursed to haunt each other’s lives in Asfil’s festering grip, forever and always.

"probably," i muttered, my lips brushing the cold rim of the glass as i sucked down a sluggish gulp of the shake. the sweetness clawed at my throat, too thick, too heavy, coating my tongue like a lie. "home’s been a goddamn crypt lately."

the round table felt like it was closing in, its edges worn smooth by years of restless hands. across from me, elise’s green eyes narrowed, her freckled face twisting into a scowl as if the very mention of the party was an affront to her existence.

she was the third piece of our fractured puzzle; after llivia’s shallow glitter and my aimless drift, there was elise: a wildfire of red hair spilling over her shoulders, freckles splattered across her pale skin like ash from some long-dead blaze, and those piercing eyes that cut through the haze with a mind too razor-sharp for this rotting town.

in asfil, beauty was a cheap coin, but elise wielded it alongside an intellect so brutal it felt like a weapon, a twisted, rare fusion that made her a glitch in olivia’s brittle universe, where you could be pretty or smart, but never both.

olivia’s world was a shallow grave of vanity: pick your poison—looks or brains. straddling the line was heresy.

"i’m not touching that party, and you two shouldn’t either," elise snarled, her voice low and venomous. she stabbed at her drink’s garish straw, a neon pink monstrosity, twisting it between her fingers like she was throttling something alive.

the ice clinked dully in her glass, a faint echo of her disgust. "word’s slithering through this cesspit that nate’s only throwing it to drag some poor soul into bed over a bet. it’s all over: whispers in the halls, graffiti on the bathroom stalls. you can practically smell the sleaze."

"now i have to go…" olivia purred, her lips curling into a smirk, mischief dripping from her like tar, slow, deliberate, and toxic. her blue eyes glinted with a hunger that made my stomach twist.

"are you out of your fucking mind?" elise’s words snapped like a whip, her brows knitting into a furious knot as she leaned forward, her gaze boring into olivia like she could peel back her skin and expose the rot beneath. "you need to lock it down, i’ve heard shit about you too; filthy little rumors buzzing like flies." she exhaled sharply through her nose, a harsh burst of air, but her stare didn’t waver, cold, unrelenting.

"who’re you fucking now? i get it, this place is a hormonal meat grinder, but you’ve got to chain up that ravenous cunt before it gets you killed."

elise had a way of swinging between prim, textbook terms and raw, gut-punching bluntness, sometimes it was the only thing keeping her voice from fading into the drone of this place.

"what shit?" i asked, my voice a low rasp, curiosity prickling at the edges of my skull like a dull blade.

olivia ducked her head, her slender fingers darting to her nape, scratching at the skin in a weak, twitching attempt to bury her shame. the gesture was a neon sign: whatever was festering in the rumor mill, it was bad. real bad.

she carried that stench, the kind that clung to you like damp rot.

if our friendship were a grotesque caricature, olivia would be the blonde bombshell, all curves and desperation, starving for every lustful stare she could wring out of this town, and she got them, oh, she got them.

elise would be the icy intellect, tolerating our mess for some masochistic reason i’d never unravel.

and me? i was the specter hovering between, not dull enough to vanish, not loud enough to echo, not clever enough to cut. just a shadow drifting through the mundane: hitting parties, eyeing boys, craving a pulse, but without olivia’s cursed magnetism or her talent for turning her brain to mush.

elise shoved her glass aside with a clatter, the ice sloshing against the rim, and leaned forward, her forearms slamming onto the table like a barricade. a cluster of high school boys lounged a few tables over, their laughter grating against the hum of the café, so she flicked her eyes left and right, a predator’s scan to ensure our filth stayed ours.

"they’re saying she fucked nate’s cousin and daniel at the same damn time," she whispered, her breath a hiss, the words curling out like smoke from a smoldering fire.

my gaze snapped to olivia, sharp and unblinking. she wouldn’t meet my eyes, just darted her stare around the room, a cornered animal dodging a trap.

"is that for real?" i asked, my voice climbing, eyebrows arching high as my pulse kicked up a notch. truth was, it didn’t even shock me, not fully.

"kind of, but…" olivia’s words stumbled out, her delicate face tightening like a spring wound too far. she licked her lips, nervous, her fingers clutching the edge of the table. "i wanted to try it, okay? you wouldn’t get it... how it feels to just… let go. ugh, it’s not some end-of-the-world shit!"

"yeah, threesomes are so fucking pedestrian," elise sneered, her voice laced with acid as she slumped back, shattering the fragile hush. her red hair spilled over her shoulders like spilled wine, stark against the café’s grime. "but when you climb into bed with the dumbest, loudest assholes in this school, pricks who’ll shout it from the rooftops like they’ve bagged a trophy, you’ve got a death wish, friend. something’s broken in you."

"they’re just boys," i said, my shoulders jerking up in a half-hearted shrug, fingers tightening around my glass till my knuckles paled. "it’s sex, nothing worth choking on."

to me, it wasn’t. it was a flicker in the void, barely worth the breath it took to say it, and they both knew that. olivia pulling some sloppy threesome, elise dissecting it with her sanctimonious razor, that was the bleak rhythm of us.

but the real jolt, the one that sank its teeth into my gut and twisted, came when the café door creaked open, slow and deliberate, the bell above it shrieking like a rusted blade scraping bone.

my eyes lifted, and there, framed in the doorway against the glare of the afternoon sun, stood the past, stepping out of memory’s grave.

matthew.

my dangerous mystery didn’t walk in; he slithered, a shadow spilling into a place he had no right to be. he never did.

the air thickened as he crossed the threshold, the faint hum of the café warping into a low, ominous drone.

i knew him in an instant, every wretched detail burned into me: thick brown hair, wild and unkempt, falling in heavy strands over a forehead so pale it glowed like death under the lights; eyes calm but sunken, lids drooping as if dragged down by exhaustion or a cold, festering contempt; that black leather jacket, worn and creased, swallowing him in darkness, paired with clothes so deep a gray they seemed to drink the light.

he moved with a predator’s grace, boots scuffing the chipped linoleum, each step a quiet threat.

it was him. right there, close enough to choke me with the weight of years unspoken.

he drifted past our table, his shadow brushing the edge of my vision, and didn’t spare me a flicker of notice. i was air to him, no, less than air. a void.

i swallowed hard, clamping my jaw tight, nails digging into my palms beneath the table.

"who the hell is that?" olivia’s voice sliced through, quick and ravenous, her head snapping toward him like a hound catching a scent.

she wasn’t alone, heads turned, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing across the café. whispers coiled through the air like smoke, thick and acrid.

a stranger in ginger café was raw meat in a den of wolves; in a town where every face was etched into your skull, he was a spark igniting dry rot. but he wasn’t new, not to me. he’d been festering in asfil’s underbelly since the beginning, a ghost they’d all ignored.

i flicked a glance at olivia, then back to him.

he reached the counter, his broad shoulders hunching slightly as he leaned in, low words passing between him and the girl behind it, a waifish thing with brittle blonde hair and a vacant stare, her apron stained with coffee and grease.

my breath hitched. matthew. here, in the open, speaking, even if just to order? it was a fracture in the world i’d built around him, a crack letting something dark seep out.

"you’re not gonna tell me?" olivia pressed, her voice insistent, eyes darting between me and elise like a vulture circling carrion.

"he’s nobody," i spat, the words tumbling out too fast, bitter on my tongue.

"matthew," elise cut in at the same instant, her voice steady, deliberate, clashing with my lie like a hammer on glass.

i dropped my gaze to my coffee, the black surface rippling faintly under my uneven breaths. my mind churned, a storm of unease clawing up my spine, sinking its hooks into my ribs.

"matthew or nobody?" olivia teased, her lips stretching into a sly, feral grin, her signature when she smelled secrets ripe for the picking. she tossed her platinum hair back, a cascade of silk catching the light, a predator’s signal i’d memorized.

that hair flip meant she was on the hunt. i could’ve warned her that flirting with matthew was like screaming into a bottomless pit, words swallowed by nothing, but that’d only sharpen her claws.

"he new?" she asked, her gaze locked on him, unblinking, ravenous. "gotta be. that whole look, dark, broody, tumblr-hot, not the sad-sack kind. i'd have clocked him."

elise’s glare hardened, a flicker of disgust curling her lip. "he’s been here as long as us, what rock have you been under?"

"then why’s he not on my grid?" olivia’s eyes narrowed, suspicion glinting like a blade.

"maybe ‘cause he’s not panting after your ass," elise snapped, her words dripping venom, each syllable a barbed hook.

"no chance, i don’t miss faces," olivia insisted, her stare raking over matthew’s back as he stood at the counter, her fingers tapping the table in a restless rhythm. "that one’s not in my ledger."

"your ledger’s just a tally of dick sizes," elise fired back, her voice a low growl, slicing clean through olivia’s smirk.

the jab landed like a fist; olivia’s grin faltered, her eyes flashing with something raw before she smothered it.

"enough," she hissed, rolling her eyes so hard i half-expected them to stick. elise smirked, smug as a cat with a kill. "so, spill already?"

"matthew…" i began, the name heavy on my tongue as their stares pinned me like a specimen on a board. "he’s… different. keeps to shadows. takes some classes with us, you don’t see him because he’s a wraith, silent as the grave."

"ugh, one of those creeps?" olivia clutched her chest, her voice a mock whimper, fingers splaying dramatically over her heart.

elise’s hand shot out, smacking olivia’s forehead with a dull thwack, our ritual purge. "creep? you’re the one spreading for any pulse that stumbles by."

i choked on a laugh, the sound rough in my throat.

"matthew’s got perfect grades, straight A’s carved in blood, probably. he’s a diamond in this shitheap, too sharp to waste air on our kind."

"i’m not some lowlife, who doesn’t know me?" olivia scoffed, her chin tilting up, preening like a peacock in a slaughterhouse.

"matthew, clearly," elise said, her tone flat as a gravestone. i bit down another grin as olivia’s pout deepened, her lips pursing into a petulant knot. "let’s dissect it."

"every soul passing this table gawks at you," elise pressed, her voice methodical, a surgeon’s precision. "three tables over, those jocks are chewing your name like gristle." olivia peeked over her shoulder, tossing a flirty wave at the trio—broad shoulders, cocky grins, eyes glued to her like she was their next meal.

"same shit, different day, right? even on the streets," elise went on. "but seven minutes ago, matthew, king of the weird, slid past us, a foot away, and didn’t even twitch in your direction. one guy who doesn’t salivate at your feet. thoughts?"

elise capped it with that, her debate junkie’s flourish. now it was olivia pitted against matthew.

matthew.

the name pulsed in my skull, surreal and heavy. i might’ve let a scrap slip to elise once, but neither knew he’d been my childhood fixation, a riddle i’d gnawed at for years, a shadow i’d claimed as mine.

"can’t hook ‘em all," i said, my voice flat, cutting the tension. olivia stared into the void, her face blank. "most drool over you, take the win."

"fine, i don’t fuck with weirdos," she spat, her chin jerking up, defiance masking the sting.

they let it die, shifting back to nate’s party, matthew fading from their orbit. not mine though, i sat silent, my eyes tracking him, furtive glances slicing through the café’s haze.

there he was, slouched on a stool at the counter, his broad frame hunched over the edge like a lion perched on a kill.

waiting.

memories clawed up from the dark, me, a kid, crouched outside his house, peering through grimy windows, certain something vile pulsed inside, finding nothing but dust and silence. afternoons banging on his door, begging for a playmate, every knock unanswered, every hope crushed.

now here he was, trading quiet words with a waitress, a scrawny thing who didn’t know his name, wouldn’t care if she did, surrounded by the living he’d always shunned, blind to me, the only idiot who’d ever hunted him.

it burned, raw, unfair. that old, perilous spark flared, hotter, hungrier.

he paid, sliding coins across the counter with a faint clink, then drifted toward the door, his movements smooth as oil over water. my brain fired, synapses snapping: this was my window, my one jagged chance to hear his voice, to force him into my world.

i’d never caught it, not in class, drowned by chatter and noise, now i could make him see me, crack his shell.

"need to head home," i blurted, my voice rough as i yanked my schoolbag off the chair, the strap catching on a splintered edge before tearing free.

they froze, heads swiveling, confusion etching their faces.

"now? it’s barely three, what’s at home but a slow death?" olivia’s brow sank, her voice thick with disbelief.

"mom’s on my ass, forgot she told me to wash some shit. she’ll flay me if i don’t. i’ll text about the party, yeah? catch you."

i didn’t wait for olivia or elise to unravel my lie, the words still hung in the air, half-formed excuses about laundry and an irate mother, when i snatched my schoolbag from the chair, the strap snagged on a splintered edge, a brief tug-of-war with the wood before it tore free with a faint ripping sound, the frayed threads brushing my wrist like a whispered warning.

my soles thudded against the ginger café’s chipped linoleum as i bolted for the door, the bell overhead clanging, a shrill, jarring peal that ricocheted through the haze of coffee fumes and muted chatter.

i burst outside, and the heat slammed into me like a physical blow, a suffocating wall of dry, shimmering air that clawed at my lungs after the café’s artificial chill. the sidewalk radiated warmth through my soles, the cracked concrete pulsing with the day’s stored fury, each step a faint hiss as my sneakers grazed the scorching surface.

ahead, matthew’s silhouette loomed, a dark, wavering shape against the blinding glare of the afternoon sun, his broad shoulders cutting a stark line as he drifted past the shopfronts lining main street.

dusty windows flanked him, their glass dulled by years of neglect, plastered with peeling signs, faded reds and yellows bleeding into the haze, advertising half-priced trinkets and stale promises no one bothered to claim.

his black leather jacket gleamed faintly, the creases catching the light like veins of oil, his boots scuffing the pavement with a rhythm too steady, too deliberate, as if the world bent to his pace.

my breath hitched, a tight knot forming in my chest as i followed, my steps tentative at first, feigning a casual stride, hands shoved deep into my pockets, shoulders hunched like I wasn’t tracking prey. but my sneakers betrayed me, rubber soles squeaking faintly against the grit, dragging me back, slowing my pursuit with every sticky pull.

he was pulling away, his figure shrinking as the distance stretched, and my pulse quickened, a sharp, insistent thud against my ribs that drowned out the hum of distant traffic.

i sped up, my bag thumping rhythmically against my hip, the canvas slapping my thigh with each hurried step, a dull counterpoint to the blood roaring in my ears. sweat beaded at my temples, trickling down in thin, stinging trails as the heat pressed closer, wrapping me in its suffocating embrace.

he reached the crosswalk, his shadow spilling long and thin across the asphalt, a distorted specter stretching toward me like an invitation, or a taunt. i hung back, lingering at the curb, my chest rising and falling too fast, pretending I wasn’t tethered to his every move.

subtlety was a lie i told myself, but my eyes stayed locked on him, unblinking, as a wild, reckless urge surged, to sprint forward, seize his shoulder, rip the silence from his throat with my bare hands and demand the truth he’d buried all these years.

i couldn’t, though, not yet.

still, i pictured it: me charging across the street, breath ragged, grabbing that leather-clad arm and snarling, “hey, you bastard, i’ve pegged you as a freak since we were kids, why the hell are you a walking void? why don’t you speak? spill it, now!”

the image flashed vivid and absurd, my voice cracking the air like a gunshot, his face twisting into something, shock, disgust, disdain as he marked me unhinged, some feral girl clawing at shadows.

no. i’d choke on that humiliation before i let it loose.

the light flipped green, a harsh beep slicing through the stillness, and he crossed, his boots scuffing the faded stripes with that same eerie calm, each step a quiet drumbeat against the asphalt’s scarred skin.

i reached the curb just as it turned red, a snarl of cars roaring to life, engines growling, exhaust curling up in acrid plumes that stung my nose, metal glinting like bared teeth in the sun. they rolled past, a relentless barrier, and i stood there, trapped, my fingers twitching at my sides, nails digging crescents into my palms.

his dark hair bobbed above the hoods, a fleeting glimpse through the chaos, taunting me as he pulled further out of reach.

the seconds dragged, each one a slow bleed; sweat slid down my spine, pooling at the small of my back, my shirt clinging damply to my skin as the heat pressed harder, relentless.

my eyes darted to the signal, willing it to shift, my breath shallow and uneven, a restless rhythm that matched the jittering of my nerves.

green flared at last, a sudden burst of color, and i lunged, legs pumping, bag swinging wild as i wove through the stragglers clogging the crosswalk.

an old man with a cane muttered something as i brushed past, his voice a gravelly rasp lost in the wind, but i didn’t slow; my gaze locked on matthew’s retreating form as he rounded a corner, vanishing behind a wall of weathered brick.

i broke into a run, sneakers pounding the pavement, the sound echoing sharp and hollow off the buildings, a staccato beat that matched the frantic thudding in my chest. my lungs burned, each inhale a ragged pull of hot, dry air laced with the faint tang of gasoline and dust.

the alley swallowed me as I turned after him, its narrow jaws snapping shut behind me, walls of crumbling brick rising high on either side, streaked with damp rot and streaked graffiti, illegible scrawls bleeding into the shadows.

the air thickened, heavy with the stench of decay, rusted trash bins squatted in the gloom, their lids gaping open, spilling bags that oozed a rancid cocktail of spoiled meat, sour milk, and something sharper, metallic.

garish boxes littered the ground, their faded reds and blues torn open like disemboweled corpses, contents long scavenged or rotted away. my shoes splashed through a shallow puddle, the water dark and oily, rippling with a greasy sheen as it soaked into the rubber, a cold kiss against my toes.

i plunged deeper, my eyes darting through the half-light—searching, straining—but he was gone, swallowed by the alley’s throat. i skidded to a halt near a grate embedded in the wall, its rusted bars hissing steam in thin, ghostly tendrils that curled upward, mingling with the reek of tar and filth.

my chest heaved, lungs clawing for air as i sucked in the foulness, each breath a struggle against the weight of it, the damp rot coating my throat like a second skin.

my hands braced on my knees, fingers trembling as i bent forward, sweat dripping from my brow to splatter on the cracked concrete below. why this way? this wasn’t his route home, not the quiet suburban street with its tidy lawns and peeling paint. this was a detour, a descent, something deliberate.

i straightened, wiping my sleeve across my forehead, the fabric dragging rough against my slick skin as my pulse hammered a relentless tattoo in my ears.

my sneakers squelched as i took a step, the puddle’s edge lapping at my laces, and i crept forward, each movement deliberate, measured, my shadow stretching long and thin behind me, a warped twin flickering against the brick.

the alley twisted ahead, a claustrophobic vein threading through asfil’s underbelly, and i followed, driven by that gnawing, perilous itch I couldn’t shake.

matthew did this to me; lit a fire in my gut, a jagged current of curiosity that surged like a live wire, me a junkie trembling for the next hit, the next glimpse into his abyss.

the alley spat me out abruptly, its mouth widening into a ragged seam where pavement crumbled into dirt, giving way to the woods, a vast, brooding expanse of green and shadow that loomed like a living thing, its edges jagged with gnarled trees clawing at the sky.

asfil’s forests were its twisted pride, a labyrinth of pine and oak touted as some natural marvel, but everyone knew the truth: they hid secrets, swallowed them whole. the air shifted here, cooler but heavier, laced with the sharp bite of sap and the musk of decaying leaves.

my shoes sank into the soft earth, a faint crunch as the last scraps of concrete gave way to soil, and i paused, my breath clouding faintly in the sudden chill, eyes tracing the treeline where sunlight fractured through the canopy in thin, golden shards.

then i saw it: a path, narrow and trampled, snaking into the woods like a pale scar cut through the undergrowth. the grass lay flattened, crushed into submission by countless steps, its edges frayed and yellowed, a wound worn deep into the earth.

matthew’s?

my stomach tightened, a cold knot twisting as i stared down that shadowed trail, its mouth vanishing into the trees’ embrace.

why here? into the dark, untamed heart of the forest... what pulled him this way?

i stepped onto the path, the grass crackling under my weight, brittle blades snapping with each deliberate stride. the town fell away behind me, its hum fading to a distant murmur; car horns and barking dogs swallowed by the rustling leaves overhead, a susurrus that filled the silence like a living pulse.

my bag swung against my hip, a steady thump-thump as i moved deeper, the straps digging into my shoulder, canvas damp with sweat where it pressed against my shirt.

the air grew denser, thick with the scent of pine and wet earth, a primal perfume that clung to my skin, seeping into my pores. shadows danced across the path, cast by branches swaying in a breeze i barely felt, their gnarled fingers brushing the ground like claws testing the dirt.

my sneakers sank deeper with each step, the soil softening, clinging to the soles in dark, sticky clumps that weighed me down.

a twig snapped underfoot, the sound sharp and jarring, echoing through the stillness, a gunshot in a cathedral, and i flinched, my head whipping around, eyes darting to the trees.

nothing moved, save the faint tremble of leaves high above, but my pulse spiked, a frantic drumbeat thudding in my throat.

i pressed on, the path narrowing, its edges crowding in with brambles and ferns, their jagged leaves brushing my jeans with a whispery scrape that sent shivers up my legs.

the light dimmed, the canopy thickening overhead, weaving a roof of green and black that choked the sun into slivers, each beam a fleeting intruder, glinting off dew-slicked vines before vanishing into shadow.

five minutes bled into ten, or more, time warping in the forest’s grasp, as i wove through the maze of trunks, their bark rough and fissured, streaked with moss that glowed faintly in the gloom like veins of sickly light.

jagged rocks jutted from the earth, half-buried sentinels draped in lichen, their edges sharp enough to slice if i strayed too close. a white rabbit darted across the path, a blur of fur and panic, its eyes wide and glassy before it vanished into the underbrush. moments later, a brown one followed, slower, its ears twitching as it paused to stare, unblinking, unhurried before melting into the shadows.

their presence felt wrong, too fleeting, like omens i couldn’t read.

my breath came harder now, a ragged rhythm sawing through my chest as the air grew cooler, heavier, pressing against my lungs with a weight i couldn’t shake.

sweat trickled down my spine, cold and relentless, pooling at my waistband, my shirt sticking to my skin in damp, clammy patches.

the path twisted, dipping low into a hollow where the earth grew muddy, my sneakers sinking with a wet squelch, the suction tugging at my heels as i pulled free, each step a labor that dragged my energy into the mire.

a faint mist curled up from the ground, tendrils of gray weaving through the ferns, brushing my ankles like ghostly fingers, clammy, invasive, raising goosebumps along my calves.

i stopped, chest heaving, beneath the shadow of two massive branches arching overhead, their leaves trembling faintly in a breeze that barely stirred the air below.

my hands braced on my thighs, fingers digging into the denim as i bent forward, sweat dripping from my brow to splatter on the dirt in dark, glistening drops.

the forest loomed around me, a cathedral of shadow and silence, its depths stretching endless and unknowable, an entity watching, waiting.

my knees trembled, a faint ache blooming from the chase, and i exhaled, the sound harsh and jagged, a plume of vapor curling from my lips into the cool, damp air.

stupidity hit me then, a crushing wave that nearly buckled my legs: why was i here? maybe i’d hallucinated him turning into this alley, this forest, imagined his shape against the trees like i’d imagined so much as a kid: monsters lurking in his windows, secrets stitched into his silence.

maybe i’d been chasing a ghost all along, a phantom woven from my own restless mind.

the thought sank into me, heavy and sour, and i straightened, wiping my sleeve across my forehead, the fabric dragging rough against my slick skin, smearing the sweat into a gritty film.

i turned back, resolve hardening, vowing to bury this obsession once and for all, to let the forest reclaim it.

the air thickened with the scent of decay, a faint rot mingling with the pine, and i took a step, shoes crunching the grass as i retraced my path, slower now, the urgency bleeding out into a dull, simmering ache.

nate’s party flickered in my mind, a blur of booze and noise, a chance to drown this madness in something loud and mindless.

but then, a groan, low and guttural, tore through the stillness, a man’s voice twisted in agony, raw and visceral, spilling from the trees like blood from a wound.

i froze mid-step, one foot hovering above the dirt, my breath snagging in my throat as my heart slammed against my ribs with a force that rattled my bones.

the sound lingered, a sickly thread weaving through the rustling leaves, pulling my eyes wide and frantic across the shadowed expanse.

it came again, sharper, closer, a choked, desperate rasp that clawed at my nerves, urging me forward despite the ice flooding my veins.

i edged toward it, sneakers whispering over the grass, each step a slow, deliberate press into the soft earth, my bag swinging faintly against my hip, a muted pendulum ticking off the seconds.

the forest seemed to tighten, the trees leaning in, their branches creaking faintly overhead as if straining to listen, to watch.

ahead, through a gap in the pines, their needles glinting like dark, wet spines, i saw them: two figures locked in a vicious dance, meters away in a clearing ringed by looming trunks.

my breath hitched, a shallow gasp, and i ducked behind a tree, its bark rough and damp against my palms as i pressed my body flat, the wood’s chill seeping through my shirt.

i peered out more, eyes narrowing, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my sternum; yeah, two men, their shapes stark against the dappled light filtering through the canopy, locked in a struggle that reeked of death.

one stood tall, draped in a garish purple trench coat that shimmered faintly, the fabric catching the sun in brief, mocking flashes, a peacock strutting through this grim tableau, his posture rigid with predatory intent. the other was shorter, clad in a drab brown leather jacket, its surface scuffed and weathered, his stance taut with defiance, fists clenched at his sides.

their voices clashed, a low, guttural growl from purple, too faint to parse, but thick with venom, answered by a sharper snarl from leather, his words swallowed by the rustling trees.

the air crackled, electric and heavy, a storm about to break, and then it did.

purple lunged, his hands slamming into leather’s chest with a dull, meaty thud, driving him backward against a thick trunk.

the tree shuddered, its bark cracking faintly under the impact, needles raining down in a soft, whispering cascade that dusted the ground like ash.

purple pinned him there, a snarl twisting his lips into a grotesque slash, triumphant and feral, his forearm rammed against leather’s throat, crushing his windpipe with a slow, deliberate grind.

their faces hovered inches apart, spit flecking the air, eyes locked in a dance of raw, unfiltered hate, purple’s glinting with a manic glee, leather’s wide with rage and dawning fear.

my fingers dug into the bark, nails scraping off flakes that crumbled beneath my grip, my breath shallow and fast—too fast—as panic flickered at the edges of my mind. i wanted to scream, to charge in, to tear them apart with my bare hands, reason roared it, a primal instinct to act, but my feet stayed rooted, legs trembling beneath me, locked by dread.

then the world tilted, and my blood turned to ice.

purple’s hand darted into his coat, quick and fluid, emerging with a knife: long, thin, its blade a wicked crescent of polished steel that caught the sunlight in a blinding flash, sharp enough to slice the air itself.

he raised it high, the motion slow, theatrical, his arm trembling faintly with anticipation, savoring the weight of it, the power... then drove it down with a sickening crunch, plunging it straight into leather’s right eye.

no pause, no mercy.

into the socket.

flesh tore, bone splintered, a wet, visceral snap that punched through the forest and lodged in my skull like a spike.

blood sprayed, a geyser of red erupting from the wound, thick and glistening, streaking down leather’s face in heavy, clotting rivers; over his cheek, his jaw, pooling in the collar of his jacket, soaking the leather in a dark, spreading stain.

birds exploded from the trees above, a frantic chorus of wings beating the air, their cries swallowed by leather’s raw, animal scream, a sound so primal it ripped through me, clawing at my nerves as purple twisted the blade, grinding it deeper.

the steel scraped against bone, a grating whine beneath the wet squelch of torn tissue, blood gushing free in a torrent, splattering the dirt in fat, glistening drops that steamed faintly in the cool air.

purple’s grin widened, a grotesque slash of teeth flashing white against the crimson chaos, his eyes alight with a sick, unhinged joy as he carved through muscle and sinew, each twist a deliberate act of ruin.

i stumbled back, my spine slamming against the tree with a jolt that rattled my teeth, breath hitching in short, ragged gasps as my legs buckled beneath me.

my hands shook, useless and clawing at the bark, the rough edges biting into my skin as i stared transfixed, horrified, watching the blood spill, the screams sharpen, a symphony of agony echoing through the woods like a dying beast’s final roar.

leather thrashed beneath purple’s grip, his hands clawing at the air, nails raking uselessly against the trench coat’s slick fabric, legs kicking out in spasmodic jerks, heels gouging the earth, tearing up clumps of dirt and grass that scattered like shrapnel.

his screams frayed into a high, keening wail, raw and ragged, but he couldn’t break free, purple was a monolith, unyielding, his bulk a wall of muscle and malice.

blood streamed down leather’s face, a crimson mask pooling in the hollows of his throat, dripping onto the forest floor in thick, glistening ropes that soaked into the soil, turning it black.

i stood there, meters away, my breath a shallow rasp clawing at my lungs, every nerve alight with the certainty that i was next, that this predator’s blade would find me if i didn’t move.

panic erupted, a wildfire roaring through my chest, seizing my heart in a vise that squeezed until my ribs ached. my vision blurred, the edges warping, trees tilting, shadows stretching into long, skeletal fingers that seemed to claw at the air.

i pressed my trembling back flat against the tree, the bark’s jagged edges biting into my spine through my sweat-soaked shirt, a cold, damp chill seeping into my bones.

my hands shook violently, fingers curling into the wood, nails scraping off flakes that crumbled to dust beneath my grip, useless, frantic, as if i could anchor myself to this moment, this sliver of safety.

i had to run.

to the police.

to live.

i risked a glance, my head tilting just enough to peer around the trunk’s curve, purple yanked the blade free with a wet, sucking pop, blood arcing in a shimmering spray that caught the sunlight like rubies flung into the air.

leather’s body jolted, a puppet jerked by unseen strings, then purple plunged the knife again, slow, deliberately into his chest, the steel sinking deep with a soft, meaty thud.

blood welled around the hilt, bubbling up in dark, syrupy pulses, staining purple’s knuckles as he twisted the blade once more, relishing the grind of metal against bone.

leather’s scream choked off into a gurgling rasp, his head lolling forward, and purple let him fall limp, broken, a discarded husk crumpling to the dirt in a heap of blood and leather.

purple straightened, his broad shoulders rolling back, and turned, his head swiveling my way, eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his hood, sharp and searching.

i jerked back, my skull cracking against the tree with a dull thud that sent a spike of pain lancing through my head.

my heart slammed into my throat, a deafening roar pulsing in my ears, did he see me? my eyes squeezed shut, lids trembling, sweat stinging as it rolled into the corners, my breath hitching in short, panicked bursts that I couldn’t silence.

every muscle coiled, taut as wire, ready to snap. i was a witness, a loose thread in his grisly tapestry, and if he knew, that knife would carve me open next.

a crunch. leaves snapping underfoot, brittle and loud, ripped through the silence. i flinched, a full-body shudder, my breath catching as I braced for his shadow to loom over me, for the glint of that blade to flash in my peripheral vision, but the sound faded, steps retreating, growing softer, swallowed by the rustling trees.

i dared a look, peeling one eye open, then the other, my head tilting cautiously around the trunk.

the clearing was empty save for the corpse, sprawled in a grotesque sprawl, blood soaking the grass in a widening pool, his face a mangled ruin; one eye a gaping, crimson socket, the other staring blankly at the sky.

purple was gone, vanished into the forest’s maw.

but then i heard more crunching, sharper, closer, footsteps again, heavy and deliberate.

my stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat was it him circling back? a branch snapped, loud as a gunshot, splintering the air, and my mind blanked, fear swallowed me whole, a tidal wave crashing over reason.

i bolted, legs pumping, tearing away from the sound in a frantic, blind sprint; away from the clearing, away from the blood, away from death’s reaching grasp.

my sneakers slammed into the dirt, each step a jarring thud that rattled my bones, the forest blurring into a smear of green and shadow as i ran.

branches clawed at me, their gnarled fingers snagging my shirt, tearing at my arms, thin stinging welts blooming across my skin as leaves whipped past, slapping my face with wet, earthy smacks.

my bag swung wildly against my hip, the strap digging into my shoulder, canvas thumping my thigh in a chaotic rhythm that matched the frantic pounding of my heart. my lungs burned, each breath a ragged, searing pull of air, sharp with pine and damp rot, that scorched my throat, my chest heaving as if it might split open.

i fumbled for my phone, fingers slick with sweat, trembling as they plunged into my bag’s depths, searching, clawing past pens and crumpled papers, the zipper snagging on my sleeve in my haste.

but my foot caught on a rootthick, gnarled, jutting from the earth like a trap and i pitched forward, a yelp tearing from my throat as I crashed hard. my knees slammed into the dirt, pain exploding in twin bursts, sharp and white-hot, as rocks bit into my flesh through my clothes.

my hands shot out, palms scraping raw against the ground, dirt embedding under my nails as my bag spilled open, keys jangling, a pen rolling into the grass, a pack of gum tumbling into the mud.

i scrambled up, knees screaming, blood seeping warm and wet through the denim, sticking the fabric to my skin in a clammy grip, but i didn’t stop, i couldn’t stop.

i abandoned the bag, its contents a scattered offering to the forest, and ran again, legs pumping through the agony, breath sobbing out in desperate gasps.

the trees pressed closer, their trunks looming like sentinels, bark fissured and black, streaked with moss that glowed faintly in the dimming light; a sickly, phosphorescent sheen that cast eerie shadows across the path.

my sneakers slid on wet leaves, slick and treacherous, each slip a jolt that threatened to send me sprawling again, but i caught myself, arms flailing, nails clawing at the air for balance.

the forest’s breath enveloped me, cool, damp, thick with the musk of decay and the sharp tang of sap clinging to my skin, seeping into my pores until i tasted it on my tongue, bitter and primal.

a low mist curled up from the ground, gray tendrils weaving through the underbrush, brushing my ankles with a clammy, invasive chill that raised goosebumps along my calves, prickling up my spine.

i ran until my body rebelled, legs buckling beneath me, muscles screaming as lactic acid burned through my veins.

i staggered to a stop, doubling over, hands braced on my thighs, fingers digging into the denim, knuckles whitening as i gasped for air, each inhale a wet, shuddering sob that tore at my raw throat.

sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, cold and dripping, rivulets streaking down my cheeks to mingle with the dirt smudged there, a gritty film coating my skin.

my hands trembled, shaking so hard i could barely feel them, my knees throbbing with a deep, pulsing ache, raw, bloody patches seeping through the torn fabric, stinging as the breeze sliced across them.

the air was colder now, sharper, cutting through my damp shirt to sink into my bones, a shiver rattling my frame as my teeth chattered faintly, uncontrollably.

i straightened, slow and unsteady, my breath clouding in faint plumes that drifted upward, dissolving into the mist. my eyes darted around, wild and searching, trees stretched endless in every direction, their trunks twisted and black, branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands frozen mid-reach.

the canopy above was a tangled web, choking the sunlight into thin, fractured slivers that barely pierced the gloom; each beam swallowed by shadow before it could touch the ground.

no path, no landmarks, just an unbroken sea of forest, vast and unknowable, its silence a heavy, oppressive weight pressing against my ears.

i was lost, swallowed whole by asfil’s dark heart, the town a distant memory somewhere beyond this labyrinth of green and decay.

ahead, through the haze, a shape emerged: a ruin, jagged and broken, rising from the earth like the bones of some forgotten beast. i stumbled toward it, legs trembling, each step a labor as the dirt sucked at my sneakers, reluctant to let me go. it was a cabin—or what was left of one—its wooden walls sagging under the weight of time, devoured by rot and neglect.

massive boulders flanked it, their surfaces slick with moss and streaked with grime, hemming the structure in like a natural prison, stone and wood fused in a grotesque embrace. the roof sagged, half-caved, exposing rusted beams that jutted upward like broken ribs, and the windows gaped; glass long shattered, their frames gaping like empty sockets staring blindly into the forest.

vines snaked over the walls, thick and woody, their leaves a dull, sickly green that seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light, as if feeding off the decay.

i paused, chest heaving, my breath a harsh, wet rasp that echoed faintly in the stillness. no one could live here, the place reeked of abandonment, every splinter soaked in desolation.

the air around it was heavier, stagnant, thick with the scent of mold and wet earth, a faint metallic tang lurking beneath it, blood or rust, i couldn’t tell, yet a flicker of hope, desperate and fraying, clung to me: a watchman, a hermit, someone—anyone—who could drag me back to asfil, to the police, to safety.

my legs moved before my mind caught up, carrying me forward through the mist, the ground softening beneath me into a muddy slurry that sucked at my soles, each step a wet squelch that sent cold water seeping into my sneakers, chilling my toes.

i reached the door, wood warped and splintered, its surface streaked with black rot, the grain swollen and peeling from years of damp. my hand trembled as i raised it, knuckles hovering an inch from the surface, breath hitching as I braced for the knock.

the forest held its breath, the rustling leaves falling silent, the mist curling tighter around my legs, an audience to my desperation. i struck the wood, once, twice, my knuckles splitting against the rough grain, pain flaring sharp and immediate as blood welled in thin, red lines across my skin.

the door groaned, a low, mournful sound, and swung inward, unlatched, unresisting, its hinges creaking like a dying gasp, revealing a sliver of darkness beyond.

hope bled out, a cold, hollow ache settling in my gut, but i stepped forward, crossing the threshold with a slow, deliberate stride, my boots scuffing the threshold, dragging mud across the warped floorboards.

the air inside hit me like a slap; thick with dust and mildew, a cloying stench that coated my throat, sticking to the roof of my mouth as i inhaled. light stabbed through the broken windows, jagged beams slicing the gloom in thin, dusty shafts that illuminated swirling motes, each one a tiny ghost dancing in the stillness.

the roof gaped overhead, a jagged wound exposing the sky, rusted beams dangling like broken fangs, dripping with condensation that plinked softly onto the floor below.

the walls peeled, their paper curling away in yellowed strips, streaked with black mold that spread like veins across the wood, pulsing faintly in the dimness.

the space was barren, a hollow shell, its floorboards warped and groaning under my weight, each step a creak that echoed through the emptiness.

my eyes darted around, tracing the shadows: bare walls, no furniture, no sign of life, just a single door at the far end, a black maw carved into the gloom, its frame splintered and sagging, beckoning with a silent, sinister pull.

the air grew colder here, a chill that sank into my bones, my breath clouding in faint wisps that lingered before dissolving into the dark.

no sane soul would stay, no drug, no madness could hold me here by choice... but then it came again: footsteps, heavy and deliberate, crunching through the underbrush outside.

twigs snapped, sharp and brittle, a staccato rhythm growing louder—closer—until it was right beyond the walls, a predator circling its prey.

my heart lurched, a frantic thud against my ribs, and fear surged anew, a tidal wave crashing over me, drowning reason in its icy grip.

my eyes widened, darting to the windows, the broken panes offering fleeting glimpses of mist and shadow, something moving, a shape too vague to name.

i lunged for the back door, boots skidding on the dust-slick floor, a desperate slide that nearly sent me sprawling, my hand shot out, catching the wall, nails scraping the moldy wood as I steadied myself. my fingers closed around the rusted knob, cold and gritty against my palm, and i yanked—hard—the door screeching open on protesting hinges, a high-pitched wail that clawed at the silence.

and suddenly, darkness poured out, thick and absolute, a void that swallowed the faint light behind me, its edges sharp and unrelenting.

« 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 | 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 »

a/n: this piece is heavily based on damian, a work by alex mirez. tread carefully; the shadows you'll encounter here echo those from her dark narrative.

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╰ ★ in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

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pikahlua · 1 year ago

Note

Wait pika do you really mean don't ask you about predictions? Some of my favourite Tumblr posts of all time are your thoughts, theories and predictions! :((

Please sleep also, but when you can let us know what's going on in that head of yours. I'm desperate for someone with a brain cell to discuss this chapter! (Twitter is a cesspit)

I mean, you can ask lol. I just sometimes get these vague "any predictions?" asks and it's like, YES. YES I HAVE SOME. BUT IT'S FAR TOO MANY TO JUST LIST LIKE THAT, CAN YOU PLEASE BE MORE SPECIFIC?

Okay, I'll tell you about my thoughts.

This is a new frame of the scene in chapter 1. This perspective doesn't exist as a drawing in chapter 1, but we know pretty easily what this scene was about. Why is Horikoshi putting the scene here though? Why does this scene have the line "Let go of One For All"? Why not draw Kudou saying it, or Izuku's reaction to it? Is it because this is a memory of the scene where Izuku receives OFA, so giving OFA up is coming around full circle to this moment again?

I don't think so.

This is not the moment where All Might proclaims "you are worthy of inheriting my power" and Izuku looks up in shock. This is the moment where All Might says the words Izuku has longed to hear his whole life: "You can become a hero."

We're coming back to this moment now because the emphasis is on Izuku's upcoming choice. This is about the MEANING Izuku places in OFA. All Might told Izuku "you can't become a hero without a quirk," then shows up to tell Izuku he can become a hero...by giving him his quirk.

To Izuku, letting go of One For All is sacrificing his greatest dream. He believes by giving up One For All, he can no longer be a hero. Even though there have been moments where All Might let on that the reason Izuku deserves to have OFA is because he's already a hero, Izuku never seems to internalize that answer. He thinks his heroism is tied to being the bearer of One For All.

No one has ever told Izuku he can be a hero without a quirk.

I said before I had a big guess about why Katsuki's memory was wiped at the end of Heroes Rising. Notably, he is allowed to remember most of what happens. His memory cuts off from the moment Izuku passed One For All onto him. Do you remember what Katsuki said after he got OFA?

"This is the end of your dream then, too, huh?"

That's the last thing he ever says on the matter. Sure, it's the moment where Izuku answers with "It's okay if it's you" and all that, but Katsuki never responds to that. We don't know what he's thinking about this moment.

The only clue we have is the fact that he accepted the quirk from Izuku, and how he reacted to that. He seems quite upset by the prospect, but in the end he relents and accepts OFA willingly.

Perhaps the issue he is grappling with in his heart in these moments is not the fact that he has to inherit OFA but that Izuku has to lose it. Which means...the reason he loses his memory is because his reaction is important. It's a moment we will have in the manga, which makes it a spoiler.

We've never heard Katsuki tell Izuku what he thinks of quirklessness now. All he's ever told Izuku is that way back when, he thought it meant Izuku was supposed to be beneath him. He doesn't even tell Izuku why he felt like somehow Izuku was actually above him.

He's also only ever told Izuku his actions were correct ever since he received One For All, nothing about before.

I think Katsuki's reaction to Izuku losing OFA--which could come before the final battle or after--will have to be about his feelings regarding Izuku's quirklessness. I think Izuku is going to be incredibly hurt by losing One For All because he'll think he has lost his dream, and Katsuki is going to have to set him right, because only Katsuki knew who Izuku was before he had One For All. All Might is the only other person who had at best a glimpse of Izuku.

I think Katsuki has been coming to terms with just how special Izuku is, how heroic he always has been, and that he's the only one capable of acknowledging it in a way Izuku will be able to hear because he knew Izuku before he got One For All. I think he's been grappling with this possibility ever since DvK2.

And I think he grapples with it again in Katsuki Bakugou: Rising.

In the same way Izuku saw something great in Katsuki that he wanted to cling to so he could see what Katsuki would one day become, Katsuki has always seen something great in Izuku, which awed and scared him. Their greatest divide was in not knowing what greatness the other saw in them. Katsuki has to tell Izuku what Izuku is to him.

Katsuki has to tell Izuku the words he's always wanted to hear, that he can be a hero, quirk or no, that Izuku always has been a hero, more than anybody else. Katsuki knows the truth of it firsthand.

#anon ask #ask pika #my hero academia manga spoilers #final arc spoilers #my hero academia heroes rising spoilers #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #meta #theory #bakudeku

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multipotentialitepisces · 3 months ago

Text

On Duty

Merlin x f!Reader (Kingsman)

When Merlin and Gawain get sent to share a hotel room by Harry, they are forced to realise their deep-seated feelings for one another.

Only one bed, coworkers, some meddling by the other Kingsmen, comfort, love confession, fluffy domesticity, f!reader (only uses of she/her, no genitalia descriptions) Not canon accurate! (Merlin’s death never happens in TGC, the nightmare is only nightmare!)

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of nightmares (losing Merlin).

A/N: This is my first ever fanfic! Hardly any proofreading and very much self indulgent so apologies if it doesn’t truly represent Merlin! x

‘Again?’

The newly appointed Arthur, Harry, had just revealed that Agent Gawain and Merlin were expected to play happy families and share a hotel room once again.

'Yes Merlin, we need you two on surveillance for this mission, and with Gawain training as a second Quartermaster it would do her well to share with you again to be available 24/7, just incase things go awry.'

'Harry you know how I feel about this. I'll do it, but it's not fair on me or Gawain.'

Storming from the room, Merlin headed for his office, searching for something a bit stronger than an English breakfast tea, sick of having to share rooms, and more importantly, beds.

'Gawain, I need you and Merlin to check in as these two.' Harry said, passing you two facsimile passports and a stack of documents, containing information on your aliases.

'You know, Merlin's right. I'm okay with surveillance missions and working from a hotel but I don't understand why we always get shoved together.' Sighing, you plead for Harry to stop putting you with the man you'd developed quite a hefty crush on within your time as a Kingsman. 'Anyway that's besides the point, what actually is this mission?'

Harry explained the mission, nothing special, and you and Merlin were simply there to watch over the building, keeping your agents up to date on any outside threats. That made your most pressing issue the fact that you'd be cooped up inside a hotel room and sharing a bed with the man who'd ran from the room upon finding that out. Not ideal.

'At least make sure you put us in a nice room this time Harry. With a big bed. That motel from a few months ago was basically a cesspit, no wonder Merlin's done a runner.'

At this, Eggsy laughed, remembering the state of the single bed and muddy water you had to live in with Merlin for three nights after visiting the Statesman.

'I assure you, the hotel will be quite suitable, it overlooks the mission's venue. One of the best in London. Now can you go and collect my Quartermaster please, Gawain?' Harry said, getting up from his chair at the head of the table in the meeting room, as you left in search of your boss.

'I bloody well hope this works, Harry. Merlin looked like he wanted to quit on the spot' said Eggsy. 'I know you want them together but I'm not sure Merlin's as close to realising his feelings as Gawain is.'

'It'll work Eggsy,' Roxy, joining the conversation, 'I think he's just less clear with his feelings than Gawain; remember he's been in the business of playing the cold and unemotional agent a lot longer than she has.'

‘I hope you two are right. I’m sick of watching them gaze with heart eyes across the room at each other,’ muttered Eggsy, almost gagging at the memory.

Sat at his desk, nursing a glass of his strongest scotch, Merlin pondered how long he'd be able to cope with having Gawain in a bed that was not his own. She was so close, and yet so far away, and he'd been dealing with his feelings for such a long time, he felt it was almost like Harry was deliberately torturing him.

After Eggsy's wedding, Kingsman agents were almost encouraged to have a romantic partner. Especially now that Harry was at the helm and realised how important it was to have connections after his dealing with Valentine, Merlin knew that his feelings for Gawain were not in the way of his job, but he still felt that he was unable to engage in a relationship with her. Ruining the relationship they'd developed over the past years, growing ever closer, Merlin would rather leave it as it was than destroy something so good.

Harry's meddling made that very difficult, however.

'Merlin? God, there you are. I've been looking for you all over, thought you'd left after your reaction to Harry's mission.' Gawain arrived to his office, out of breath and looking almost nauseous. 'Harry gave me these' the passports of you and your husband, and a love story for the ages to go with it. Merlin could've thrown up there and then, but seeing you walk into his office after looking for him so diligently just made his heart swell with love.

Skimming the documents and then throwing them on his desk, Merlin removed his glasses and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. 'Do you still have our rings from last time?' he asked you, as you produced them from your trouser pocket, passing him the gold band, and showing him your own wedding and engagement rings. 'Yep, same as last time.' you laughed.

'We're here to check in. Mr and Mrs Miller' Merlin spoke, smiling at the man behind the front desk in the lobby of easily the most beautiful (and expensive) hotel you'd ever been in. 'Right this way Sir, Madam' said the bellboy as he walked towards the elevators, with Merlin on his tail, all of your luggage in his grasp.

Harry hadn't lied about the room either. A large room on the corner with floor to ceiling windows, draped in velvet curtains, boasting a gorgeous view of London's skyline. The bed was huge and covered in plush cushions, facing a modern shiny white bathroom. The whole room was decorated like a stately home, with vintage furniture and a clawfoot tub, it was right up your alley, and Merlin in his classic jumper and immaculately tailored trousers and oxfords, he looked at home in the room.

Placing down your bags, Merlin began setting up your respective laptops and tech equipment on the desk facing the window. 'I'll take the first shower' you said, heading for the bathroom with your personal belongings.

Letting the hot water wash over you was so soothing, especially with the thought of sleeping in the same bed with the man you were half in love with for the next few nights depending on how Harry wished to call the shots. It’s not that you and Merlin hadn’t slept in the same bed before, but you’d never felt this way about him, and he had never seemed this mad about it before. You hoped he was alright, and that it was just the stresses of the job, but a little niggle told you it was something to do with it being you he had to share the bed with.

Stepping out of the shower and drying yourself off with a plush towel, you dug through the overnight bag you’d brought for your skincare and pyjamas, as it was already 7pm by the time you’d checked in, and you had things to look over before you went to bed. Though no amount of digging could help when you realised you’d forgotten to bring any pyjamas at all.

‘Shit. Shit!’ you swore, realising you’d have to ask your dear Quartermaster if he had a spare shirt you could borrow to sleep in.

‘Everything alright in there, Gawain?’ you heard Merlin ask from beyond the door.

‘Mhm, just forgot a pyjama top’ you said as you cracked the door open and peered into the room, to find Merlin sat on the edge of the bed playing with his tablet. ‘do you have anything I can borrow? I completely forgot to pack anything.’

Getting up from his perch and making his way across to the dark wood dresser next to the desk he pulls out a large t-shirt, one that is clearly well loved by its faded colour and graphics. Merlin moves to hand it to you through the crack you’d made in the bathroom door, ‘Aye, here y’are, I don’t have any pants you can borrow but this should be big enough for you.’

‘Thank you Merlin. Seriously, you’re a life saver’ you beam through the door, as he turns and retakes his place on the foot of the bed. Retreating back into the bathroom you do your skincare and brush your hair, put on some panties and finally Merlin’s top. He’s not a large man but he’s certainly tall, and the t-shirt falls to below your bum, fitting you nicely as you spin in front of the mirror to see how it looks from the back. ‘Hm. Not too bad.’ you muse.

As you exit the bathroom carrying your overnight bag and trying to blow hair out of your face, you fail to notice Merlin’s eyes glance above his glasses from his tablet and rake up and down your form. He gulps at the sight of you in one of his favourite t-shirts, and how nicely it shows off your long legs, how well the colour compliments your skin, hair and eyes. He swiftly sits up, coughs ‘I’m taking a shower, then we can go over our aliases.’ His Scottish twang becoming more noticeable as he thickly swallows again, struggling to take his eyes off you.

You’re lounging on the bed, flicking through the documents regarding your aliases and looking at the facsimile passports laid out on the soft duvet in front of you, as Merlin exits the bathroom with a puff of steam. Only a towel slung low around his waist and water dripping from his shoulders, he wanders over to the chest of drawers and pulls out his pyjama bottoms, moving back to the bathroom. Seemingly in a world of his own, you get an eyeful of his toned torso, and attempt to dispel the less than holy thoughts that pop into your mind at light speed at the sight of him dripping wet. This was going to be a long night.

Merlin returns from the bathroom looking a lot less wet but no less naked, replacing the low slung hotel towel with a tartan pair of pyjama pants. ‘What happened to being fully dressed when we shared a room, eh, Merlin?’ you question, jokingly mentioning the rules the two of you had come up with years before when you’d first been forced into a hotel room together.

‘Might I remind you that you’re wearing nothing but my t-shirt right now, Gawain.’ Merlin smirked, looking at you sideways from his seated position on the other side of the huge bed, wrestling his socks on.

‘I guess you’re right, Sorry’ you smiled, remembering that he wasn’t in the best of moods. Reverting your attention back to the pile of papers strewn across the bed in front of you, ‘so, Mr Miller, what do you do?’ you asked Merlin as he scooted back to join you sitting against the headboard.

‘I work in finance and you’re my journalist wife. We met 6 years ago at a mutual friend’s wedding in the Bahamas and are staying here for a short weekend holiday to escape the January blues.’ Merlin muttered, clearly having memorised this better than you. ‘You’re Victoria Miller and I’m Archy, we’re filthy rich and very much in love, blah blah blah…’ he trails off after flipping a few of the papers over.

‘Archy.’ you laugh, ‘that’s so not you, Merlin.’

‘I know.’ he smiles ‘Not Scottish enough for me. Victoria is quite fitting for you I think, though.’

‘Huh, why?’

‘It’s classy, timeless.’ His eyes dart from the papers to yours, ‘Fits you well.’

‘Well, thanks; I prefer my real name though.’

‘Anyway, why does Arthur need us to be ‘married?’’ he makes little air quotations on either side of his face, which is scrunched up in confusion, ‘we’re not even in the field, just cooped up in this place. At least there’s a balcony.’

Jumping off the bed and ruffling all the papers in your wake, you run to Merlin’s side of the bed and stare at him quizzically. ‘There’s a balcony?!’ in both elation and confusion you look at him through his glasses, gazing into his light hazel eyes. ‘You kept that one quiet, Merlin. Where is it?’

‘We’ve got a whole ‘nother room, Gawain.’ He manoeuvres himself off the bed, swinging his long legs off and leading you through a set of tall doors into a living room with a kitchenette, and then left through a set of glass doors out into the cold January air of London. ‘Not sure how you missed the massive double doors on my side of the bed’ he questions, looking down at you as you place your forearms on the cool metal fence of the balcony, taking a long, deep breath in.

You begin to shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, as Merlin places himself next to you, leaning on the fence. His shoulder presses into yours and his goosebump riddled skin makes you shiver more. ‘Sorry’ he smiles, apologetic, turning to look at you. You smile back and close your eyes, breathing in deeply again, allowing him to take a good look at your face.

The winter has diminished your tan, but he can see specks of fading freckles. Hair tickles your face and your nose and cheeks are rosy from the cold winter night, and covered in goosebumps. Merlin can’t help but smile at the peaceful look on your face, despite being on duty and knowing that you have a long and stressful few days ahead of you. His eyes trail down to your plush lips and he forces himself to look away before you open your eyes, pushing himself off the fence and standing up to his full height, ‘c’mon it’s warmer in here, besides we need to go to bed,’ coaxing you back inside.

Shaking off the cold as you make your way into the living room you didn’t know you had, wandering into the kitchenette to browse the tea selection. Merlin closes and locks the balcony doors, rubbing his hands up and down his arms and following you over to make himself a cup.

‘Aren’t you freezing, no shirt and all.’ You ask him, flicking on the kettle and picking out a lavender tea blend for sleep, holding it up for Merlin to see when you sense him behind you.

‘Aye.’ A man of few words tonight, it seems. He moves closer to you, almost so that your back is flush with his chest, and places his palms on your cheeks, making you squeal with the cold as he laughs, moving back as you jump away.

‘Merlin! You bastard!’ You leap to the side to get his freezing hands off your cheeks, the flash of anger fading as you turn around and see him heartily laughing, hands in his pockets and torso tensed. The sight of the man’s full laugh and toned stomach tensed, combined with the domestic feel of the moment makes you smile and flood with warmth and emotion, turning back to concentrate on making your tea.

‘Sorry, love. Couldn’t resist.’ Merlin chuckles once more, the clicking of the boiled kettle bringing him back down to earth. Seeing you in his shirt in this beautiful apartment, and being so comfortable around him was not making his feelings any less prominent. He’s feeling not very talkative, and very tired, nervous for what tomorrow holds. He’s not himself when he leans forward and places his chin on the flat of your shoulder, gazing at the spread of teas in front of him and humming in contemplation at which brew he should have. He’s even less himself when he puts one hand on your waist for leverage, and uses the other to grab a herbal tea blend, plopping it unceremoniously in a teacup.

You gulp at the contact, but don’t want to scare him off, and allow him to touch you, savouring the contact. Taking a deep breath as he stands upright, removing his grasp on your waist and chin on your shoulder, you hope your voice doesn’t betray you when you ask ‘milk or sugar?’ despite it coming out a little shaky.

‘No, not for me, love.’ Merlin seems unfazed by the crossing of so many lines that just occurred, deftly pouring the water from the kettle and declaring that they each need three minutes to steep.

Ordering you to go back to bed, that he’ll deliver the tea, and that you should clean the papers off the bed so you can both get some sleep, Merlin allows himself to process what he just did, and the fact you didn’t smack him away. He smiles to himself, his foul mood lifting slightly at the idea that perhaps a relationship with his beloved Agent Gawain might not be so ridiculous a concept.

You fan yourself to dispel your fiery red cheeks, grappling with the papers on the bed and shoving them haphazardly on the desk as Merlin rounds the corner with two teacups with a contented smile on his face.

‘Here you are’ Merlin mutters as he passes you the steaming mug of lavender tea. You take a deep breath in through your nose, smelling the aroma of the soothing tea, as Merlin settles himself on his side of the bed, fighting with the sheets to get his long legs under. You can’t help stare at the way his long fingers grip the dainty cup, and how he effortlessly took care of the tea without a word. It makes you think of what life would be like with him, the night routine of brushing your teeth together and picking a tea out, fluffing the bedsheets and reading before bed, cuddling and falling asleep in his strong arms.

You’re ripped from your reverie as he removes his glasses, steamed up from the condensation, laughing at the sight. ‘How’s your tea? I hope it’s nice. Smells divine, you should be knocked out in no time.’ he jokes, alluding to the lavender.

‘You’re much chirpier than you were earlier, I hope you’re okay with this whole situation. You should stand up to Harry more if it really bothers you.’ you mutter, gazing into the purple tea in your hands, occasionally blowing on it, attempting to diffuse the tension you fear you’ve just caused.

Merlin’s silence draws on, and you take a breath to speak, to apologise before he finally speaks ‘Thanks, Gawain. I’m fine. Just sick of the aliases and hotel stays and Harry’s demanding of us to work remotely.’ He sighs, composing himself ‘I don’t understand why we can’t just work from the shop or the manor, surely we don’t have to be at every single mission site, right?’ He looks at you, almost pleadingly, dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

‘I don’t know. I sort of like the hotel stays. God knows my apartment isn’t as nice as this place’ you joke, once again hoping to diffuse the tension and try to lighten Merlin’s sullen mood.

‘I gathered. Your reaction to that balcony. Wow. You should’ve seen your face.’ Merlin muses, smiling to himself once again. ‘If you want, we can get up early and make breakfast tomorrow. Maybe eat it on the balcony?’

‘That’s music to my ears, Merlin. The way to a girl’s heart. Breakfast on the balcony.’ you joke, looking at him earnestly. ‘God we’re going to have to get up so early.’

‘Aye, let’s get some sleep,’ he says, draining the dregs of his teacup, as you do the same, ‘lots to do tomorrow.’

As both you and Merlin readjust your cushions and tuck yourselves into bed, you’re both thinking about the way he acted earlier in the kitchenette. He’s never touched you like that before, despite your close friendship. You flick off the bedside lights, both thinking of the person in bed beside you.

‘Goodnight, Merlin’

‘Goodnight, Gawain’

You’re stood in a dense rainforest, facing a highly guarded ancient ruin. Beside you is Eggsy and Merlin, both dressed in immaculate Kingsman suits, armed with their chosen weapons.

Everything is happening so fast: Merlin spraying the freeze on the land mine, shoving Eggsy off of it, the deafening ‘click’ of Merlin’s own shoe on it, his teary wink to you through the ferns as he begins to sing John Denver.

You’re crying now, watching as the man you love sacrifices himself for you and Eggsy to compete this mission.

‘Merlin, no! Please, don’t! Please!’ Your screams are muffled by choking sobs, and before you know it you can hear your name being shouted by him…

‘Gawain! Wake up! Gawain for God’s sake wake up!’ Merlin is almost shouting now, shaking your shoulder as he looks down at you in bed.

Groggily you come to, looking up at Merlin and allowing your eyes to adjust to the soft, warm glow of his bedside lamp. ‘Merlin’ you sob, throwing an arm around his naked torso.

‘It’s alright, Gawain, you’re alright. Tell me what happened. It was just a nightmare, it wasn’t real’ Merlin coos into your ear as you squeeze yourself into the crook of his neck, finally realising your sodden cheeks from the tears, sniffling into his wet shoulder.

‘It-it-y-you-’ you stutter.

‘It’s okay, just breathe, I’m here, you’re alright, Gawain’ Merlin soothes, rubbing your back as you sit up to pull yourself further into his arms.

After a while, your sobs slow down and your breathing calms, and you release your vice like grip on your Quartermaster. You sit back slightly, still remaining in his arms, but so that you can look at his face.

Seeing Merlin’s furrowed brows in fear and concern allows you to realise the truth that he is here, and that it was only a dream.

You laugh,realising the ridiculousness of the dream, and cough at a caught sob, but your laugh allows Merlin’s face to soften as he realises you’re okay.

‘What was it? Are you okay?’

‘It was you, Merlin. You’d-you’d stood on a land mine and… you know.’ He hums in acknowledgement, rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back with his hand, the other managing to hold both of you upright in bed. ‘I just couldn’t believe you’d-d-died. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t told you I loved you.’ The words came tumbling out before the realisation hit you, sobering you.

Eyes shot wide in shock, you stared at Merlin, hoping that somehow he hadn’t heard, or had chosen to ignore you, or that you’d actually said nothing at all.

That didn’t happen though, he just pulled you closer, allowing you to feel his smile causing deep lines in his eyes and mouth against the side of your face. His hand gripped the back of your head and you tightened your grip on his torso, feeling the heat radiating from his bare skin despite the cold January night.

He pulled away, gently, and you saw his eyes searching for meaning in your face. ‘Did you mean that?’ he asked, pleading.

‘Mhm.’ Shyness took over, still worrying about his reaction, and reeling from the emotion of the dream.

His deft thumbs came up to wipe your tears from your face, and, still smiling, he placed two gentle kisses on your cheeks.

‘I think I love you too, Gawain.’ He whispers, finally placing a tender kiss on your lips.

Merlin wipes away your tears, tearing himself away from the kiss, and swipes the sweat-soaked hair from your face, combing it back with his fingers, all the while rubbing soothing circles on your back.

‘Okay, angel. We need to go back to sleep, we’ll talk about this in the morning.’ Merlin whispers gently as he slowly places you back down on the cushion, replacing the duvet over your shoulders.

You never take your hand off his side, and he takes that as a hint, sliding himself flush against your back and draping his arm over your middle, tucking his chin into the crook of your neck. Taking deep breaths of your hair, you both fall asleep.

You wake to the sound of Merlin clattering around in the kitchen, and remember where you are, and more importantly what happened last night when you feel your inflamed eyes and heavy chest from the high emotions.

Merlin hears you padding into the kitchenette, evidently feeling a little awkward about what transpired during the night. He, however, handles it as if you actually are married and that nothing untoward has happened. ‘Good Morning my love,’ he says, glancing behind his shoulder at you from his post at the stove, cooking up breakfast for the two of you, ‘didn’t want to wake you. Thought Harry and his bloody mission can wait.’ He laughed, encouraging some of your nerves to lift.

You take a seat at the desk whilst Merlin finishes up breakfast, flipping open your laptop and seeing if Harry has sent anything in. You see a message from Roxy asking about Merlin, teasing you about your crush so you snap it shut, giggling to yourself about how excited she’ll be when you both get back to the shop, hopefully sooner rather than later.

‘Gawain! Breakfast’s on the balcony, put some pants on it’s freezing!’ you hear Merlin call from the adjoining kitchenette, as you grab his forgotten pyjama pants, the early riser having already gotten dressed.

You join him on the balcony, taking in the sight of him sipping at his tea and gazing up at you, flushed by the chilly London morning. ‘You look good in my clothes.’ You were going to have to get used to this new, affectionate Merlin, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

Back in the boardroom of the tailors shop, you and Merlin stood side by side in front of the screen, with Eggsy, Roxy and Arthur sat in front of you at the table.

Champagne had been poured and drank, and Harry’s beaming face at his oldest friend’s newfound love was something you’d never seen before.

Roxy’s reaction to the news that you and Merlin had officially come to the realisation of each other’s feelings was nothing short of spectacular, so much so that Merlin and Eggsy came running into the staff lounge when they heard Roxy’s bloodcurdling screams. Thinking she’d been shot or injured or something of the like, but laughing in relief when they saw you squeezed into a hug, with Merlin having to pry you away so you could breathe.

‘Well, all i have to say is, finally.’ Harry spoke, with the same tone as he would announce a new Kingsman or as one would announce a couple husband and wife, knowing that the other Kingsman felt exactly the same way.

You and Merlin never took off the fake rings you wore on that one fateful mission, and sometimes Merlin would sit and spin his ring around his finger when nobody was looking, wondering how early was too early to exchange it for a real wedding band, and to treat you to a real engagement ring.

Much of life at Kingsman hadn’t changed despite the revelation. You and Merlin were fiercely professional, perhaps even moreso than before your relationship, but the keen eye (Roxy, mainly) could often observe Merlin’s hand on your knee at your adjoined desk, or a swift kiss on the cheek or forehead from Merlin when he was called away to Harry’s office. Eggsy mainly used you as a bargaining chip when he was in trouble for stealing and/or destroying Merlin’s equipment, warning him he’d tell Gawain that Merlin had been shouting at him; unfortunately this never worked for Eggsy, you trusted Merlin deeply and knew how careful he was with his equipment. Eggsy never got away with it.

The new recruits always loved teasing their stoic instructor when they noticed Agent Gawain hanging around or helping Merlin with tasks, noticing the gentle way he spoke to you, and the intimate closeness they could sense. Merlin’s height and intelligence was enough to scare the sense back into most straying recruits, and you adored watching him assert his quiet authority every time the Kingsman needed a new agent.

Mainly though, you loved Merlin. And he loved you. Being close to one another and finally being able to express the feelings you’d both kept so secret and suppressed was liberating. You basically lived at Merlin’s central London flat. After all, it had a balcony, and he had an excellent tea selection which he’d allow you to choose from before bed, cuddling in front of the fireplace in his period bedroom as he fought off sleep, engulfed by his work. Seeing Merlin in a domestic setting was something you’d looked forward to the most, and it had not disappointed, peppering you with kisses before bed and waking you up with breakfast and a hot bath, heading to Savile Row together most mornings.

#kingsman #merlin kingsman #merlin x reader #mark strong #kingsmen secret service #kingsmen golden circle

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on-a-lucky-tide · 18 days ago

Note

As someone who wants to join the fandom more but it’s too scared to do so, I’m wondering how did you cultivated this community…? It’s so sweet to watch the way you talk to others and helping their works and such. How did you meet like…??? people ??? Like I always see you tagging the artists (ngl I found your blog because of Gomz) and I’d really want to learn, I’ve tried joining previous fandoms and it was always too competitive in some sense, like everyone was busy pushing their works for likes and retweets (maybe it’s more of a twitter thing)

Oh yeah. That's a Twitter thing. Twitter is a cesspit and I only go there for porn. The whole thing is set up to make people feel shite because people that feel shite scroll for longer/look at more adverts. Lock your account, bud. You'll feel a lot better.

But everywhere else? Gratitude and humility. Also, understanding what I wanted from fandom; a small community that hypes each other and encourages new people. Those are my bros (non-gendered). My Cakeshop Bros I found five years ago in fandom; they have slept in my spare bedroom, I've gone drinking, played boardgames, and we laid on the floor in London in a space art installation near Soho being weirdos drunk off our heads. Not just fandom friends now, friends for life.

When I first started posting for CoD, I was dead nervous as I'd been stung in a previous fandom. People took a chance on me as a new person; they reblogged my work with the sweetest tags. They hyped me. They took the time out of their day for a stranger, and they didn't have to. They coulda just read it and moved on. So, I said thank you in their inbox, or in their DMs. We started talking more, I was a bit weird and they vibed back. They are also good people. Genuinely. You mentioned Gomz; literally, so kind, so sweet. Deserves the world.

When I can, I make sure I hype them back; I wish I could do more but my job is absolute pig in terms of time. It's mock season (now over, woohoo) so I have a backlog of fics to catch up on - Nekro, Mikey, T, Oliv, Nikkie, Hexx, Gomz (who I deffo know have written), but there are probably more! I'll set a few hours aside over half term with a beer and crack on.

Also, I guarantee everyone is as nervous as you are. Everyone gets imposter syndrome. And also, everyone gets jealous. Jealousy is a natural human emotion that you need to process into something productive. "I'm jealous" = "this person is really fucking good, has worked hard, I'm gonna encourage them and learn from them because they clearly know their shit". Reframing rather than ignoring or letting it fester. They're just people after all and probably shitting themselves as much as I was.

I also guarantee you I am not everyone's cup of tea. And that's ok. Letting go of the burning desire to be liked by all, sometimes at the expense of my own bloody happiness and seeing it as a personal failing if I wasn't, was probably one of the most powerful things I did for myself over the last five years. The only thing I care about in regards to others is if I acted with integrity and kindness (not necessarily niceness). That's all I can control.

Sorry, mate. That came off as a bit of a rant! But uh, don't be scared. Keep reaching out. Be feral.

#asks #anon #on fandom #writing

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

Text

"Oh dear, what an awkward situation."

Awkward indeed… 😅

With this, I’ve completed the “Rollo is tormented by visiting the dorms” series of headcanons 🫶 Hope you enjoyed, Roro-chan 💕 (I still have some Rollo at the Writing Desk interactions to post after this, so technically his torment isn’t over quite yet…)

A Big Diasomnia Welcome to Rollo!

“At last, I have completed my itinerary. There is nothing more for me to see here, nor do, at Night Raven College.” That’s what Rollo tells himself as his stay crawls to its final few days. He has done it—through sheer mental fortitude and hatred he has endured this cesspit and avoided being dragged into Draconia's domain!!

Rollo is returning to his temporary quarters for the night when he notices that the fireflies are out. Glowing orbs flit by him in a slow, showy dance. Strange, he thinks. It’s well into autumn now. They shouldn’t be out past summertime.

... But something is wrong. The fireflies are swarming, coalescing into a single humanoid form. There is a blinding flash, and the glowing orbs are flung outward again, ushering in a new presence. Tall, dark, handsome, and crowned by a distinctive set of devilish horns. Rollo takes a stumbling step backwards. "YOU!!"

Malleus Draconia, in the flesh. The fae prince gives a toothy smile, reaching out a hand to him. "Good evening, Flamme. What an honor it is to be reunited with you. It has been far too long.”

“Not nearly long enough if you ask me,” Rollo snaps. He turns away and briskly walks toward his housing, prepared to slam the door in Malleus’s face—but Malleus has poofed away and reappeared to block his path. “Going so soon? But we’ve yet to have the chance to properly catch up. I was going to extend an invitation to a most extravagant dinner party in Diasomnia."

"I have no interest in such a thing," Rollo declares, weaving around him. "Good-bye." This time, Malleus does not follow. He stands there, eyes intensely bearing into Rollo as he flings open the door to his abode and... "What in the world?!"

Beyond the frame is not the usual foyer, but instead a sinister new scene, morbid stone and diamond-stitched furniture faintly illuminated by eerie green candlelight. An ominous throne waits along the far end and up two mirrored slights of stairs. The Diasomnia lounge.

Rollo whips his head back, glaring at Malleus. "You're responsible for this wicked enchantment, aren't you? You're not giving me any say in this matter." To that, Malleus only darkly chuckles. "It is the duty of any good host to ensure that his guest is comfortable and feels... welcomed. Fufufu, I am playing my part well, wouldn't you agree?"

"Feh! To weaponize your magic for such a trivial, petty thing... I never thought the great and powerful Malleus Draconia would be so low as to stoop to kidnapping," Rollo glowers. "You continue to drop the bar of my expectations for you. I would be impressed if I didn't utterly loathe you and your entire existence. Know this, Draconia: I won’t fall for such an obvious scheme. I would sooner set myself ablaze than play into your hands."

Malleus doesn’t seem to be bothered by the declaration so full of passion and hatred. He grins mysteriously and waves a hand. “Silver, Sebek. You may do as you will with our dear guest.”

A collective “YESSIR!!” sounds from behind Rollo—he turns too late, for the two guards have emerged and reached out from the magical doorway to Diasomnia. Rollo (helplessly struggling like a fly caught in a spider’s web) is seized by the two burly men and hauled through the gate, Malleus casually strolling in and closing the door after himself.

Rollo is (aggressively) seated on (well, more like chucked onto) one of Diasomnia’s couches. His body aches from the impact, his vision swimming from the shock. Sebek and Silver loom over him, preventing his escape.

“Sorry about this,” Silver says apologetically. “Malleus-sama’s orders.” Sebek, on the other hand, is far less forgiving. “Hmph!! Consider yourself fortunate that the young master is as merciful as he is! AND THANK HIM FOR THE INVITATION IN SPITE OF YOUR PREVIOUS TRANSGRESSIONS!!”

“Now, now! Let’s not scare the poor lad, boys,” a deep voice advises them. FWUMP!! A short boy with dark hair and magenta streaks descends from the ceilings, spooking away what is left of Rollo’s soul. “Lilia Vanrouge, vice dorm leader of Diasomnia."

Lilia vigorously grabs and shakes Rollo’s hand. His grip is immense—a contrast to his youthful appearance—practically crushing Rollo’s fingers. Rollo yanks his head back in alarm. "Teehee, did I do that?" Lilia asks innocently. "Silly me, I don't know my own strength!" (... Rollo doesn't believe him.)

"So excited to finally meet you! I’ve heard so many stories—like how you’re the first person to have struck fear into the heart of our Malleus.” Beaming like the sun on a cloudless day, Lilia leans into their guest’s ear and whispers, “There had better not be any of the same stunts you tried to pull the night of the masquerade~ You try any of that funny business again and Lilia-chan will make sure you regret it <3”

Rollo is unnerved by the message—it’s friendly and teasing, but a vaguely threatening tone lies beneath it. When he looks again at the young-looking boy, he sees the darkness radiating off of him, the ancient wisdom in his eyes. A shiver rolls through his spine.

"Kufufu. Juuuust kidding! Let's all be the best of friends, okay?" Lilia says with a cheeky wink. Rollo's not sure if his cheer or his seriousness is more disturbing.

Malleus is so glad that everyone has gotten acquainted! It’s been so long since they’ve had the opportunity to host someone. He looks as jubilant as a kid in a candy store (whereas Rollo looks like a cat on the side of the road that someone splattered with a puddle’s worth of muddy water).

Before the meal, Malleus is eager to show Rollo the dormitory (“You enjoy history, Flamme. Diasomnia has plenty of it to offer. Allow me to show you—”). Rollo is sandwiched between Malleus (who leads the way) and Sebek, Silver, and Lilia in the back and at his sides. (He glares at the back of Malleus’s head and quietly wills for him to meet a fiery and painful end.)

... Likewise, Sebek is glaring and thinking the same of Rollo. He's only keeping his trap shut in the presence of Lilia-sama and Malleus-sama!! (Silver sighs to himself, wondering if this evening will really play out alright.)

Malleus rattles off details the past and the antiques which decorate Diasomnia. (There is of course a segment about gargoyles too.) In any other scenario, Rollo would have found the information fascinating--but darn that Draconia for tainting this experience for him!! (With each fact Malleus provides, Rollo's face increasingly twisted with disgust.)

Every so often, Sebek interjects with loud praise for Malleus's wealth of knowledge. His fanboying is so incessant that it echoes in Rollo's head long after the compliments have already been uttered out loud. Where's the brain bleach when Rollo needs it the most?

He thinks he’s hallucinating things when he sees a stampede of animals heading for him from the other end of the hallway—but as they get bigger and louder, Rollo realizes that no, it’s very much real. The animals surround Silver, who greets them with a soft smile and introduced his friends to Rollo.

“Do you want to pet them, Rollo-senpai?” Silver offers. Rollo calmly replies, “No thank you. I do not make it a habit of handling animals outside of the occasional horse—” Too bad for him though, squirrels and birds are already nesting in his hat and a deer is chewing on the ends of his robes…! Rollo’s eyes twitch in annoyance as he goes about untangling himself from the deer and shooing away the birds and squirrels.

When they arrive at the dorm rooms, Lilia pipes up with an idea: "I know! I'd like to show our guest some things from my room. It'll be just like a sleepover." (Rollo frowns. "... In what way is this like a sleepover? If possible, I would like to avoid it." Sebek agrees, vehemently advising against showing "the enemy" their private quarters.)

Lilia shakes his head and wags at finger at him. "You should be more accepting, Sebek! Yesterday's foes can be today's friends." (Silver and Malleus agree with Lilia, so it's 3 votes to 2.)

"Welcome to Lilia-chan's ultra-cute heart-thumping bedroom <3" ... It's the most cluttered place Rollo has ever laid his eyes on, even worse than Idia's. He strains to hide the disgust on his face. Lilia for his part, is ecstatic. He rushes about the room, collecting armfuls of trinkets and artifacts to show off. Each comes with its own story from a different part of Twisted Wonderland.

Lilia even shows off a massive cleaver he claims he used “back in the day to cut my enemies down~” It launches Sebek into another round of extolling his superior. Meanwhile, Rollo stares blankly at the weapon and wonders how much of what Lilia just said was fact and how much of it was fiction.

"You know, Rollo-kun, there's so much we can learn from other people and cultures," Lilia tells him, holding up a handkerchief of his own. Rollo recognizes it as one from the City of Flowers--the joke items children blow into to release smoke and confetti, startling others. (Hmm? Did Silver purchased an extra one for his vice dorm leader? Hadn’t he just gotten one for his father?) "I hope that you can keep an open mind tonight."

“… Yes, I will try.” (It’s a lie.)

Using his own handkerchief as a makeshift mask, Rollo does his best to not inhale too much of the air of this magic-infested place. Lilia asks him if he's feeling ill (Rollo is tempted to respond, "Yes, I am sick... sick of you lot of fools!"), to which Rollo replies that he's feeling peckish.

“Shall we head into the dining room?” Malelus suggests, but Lilia tells him, Sebek, and Silver to go ahead of him and Rollo. (“You boys run along and make the necessary preparations! We’ll catch up later.”)

When it’s just the two of them, Rollo finds Lilia staring wistfully into a tin. Some withered old acorn bracelet is inside. It’s nothing special, but Lilia looks at it as though it’s the greatest treasure in the entire world. He replaces the lid and regards Rollo and a serious expression.

“… I empathize with you, you know. Losing a loved one is never easy. I don’t wish for anyone—not even my worst enemy—to experience the pain that I did. It hurts, I know—but there is an opportunity to heal, to learn, to grow. That’s why I will do everything in my power to protect that dream, to bring about a world of peace and love, not war and hate. It is my hope that you, too, recognize this. The last thing I would want to do is to obliterate Malleus, Sebek, and Silver’s first friend from Noble Bell College.”

Rollo frowns, disconcerted by the promise of peace and love. No, it’s just not possible in a world where magic exists. “We will have to agree to disagree. I have my convictions as well. I do not intend to waver. And a correction: we are NOT friends.”

Lilia giggles. “What are friends, if not people who spend time together and get on each others’ nerves? You are plenty friends with them, if only you would allow yourself to be.” He prances over to Rollo and taps him in the heart. “Riiight here.“

“Wha…?! G-Get away from me!!” Rollo bats at the ancient fae, who only laughs and runs off with Rollo in hot pursuit. He chases Lilia all the way down the hall, where they’re both stopped by the sight of the dining room.

It’s lovely—an obsidian black tablecloth thrown on a long table, their best china and silverware out, crystal vases of fresh cut roses and candelabras alit with pulsating green flames welcoming them. Platters of succulent food and drink float in the air, suspended by magic.

“Dinner is served,” Malleus announces. With the way of his hand, the dishes slowly settle onto the table. The dorm leader beckons everyone to sit. Silver and Sebek nod and obey. Lilia claps his hands in delight. Rollo wants to vomit in his mouth.

The seating arrangement is deliberate. Malleus at the end of the table, Lilia on one side of him and Rollo on the other. Silver sits next to Lilia, and Sebek next to… Rollo… “Why does HE get the honor of the seat across from Lilia-sama and next to the young master?! THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!” Sebek thunders. (The entire meal, Rollo feels the first year angrily staring at him.)

Rollo forces himself to eat the food that has likely been prepared by magical means. He figures that if his mouth is preoccupied with eating, then he won’t have to engage in whatever stupid conversations Diasomnia brings up.

Sebek talks about a book he has been reading. He visibly puffs up as he recites the details of it, like he’s an eager puppy expecting praise for his memory. Silver mentions that some of his bird friends will migrate south soon, and that he will miss them until their inevitable return in the spring. Lilia tells a story about a raid he went on with his gaming buddy (Gloomy Samurai) and how he dove off the stage during one of his club meetings. (One of these things is not like the other, Rollo thinks.)

At one point in the meal, Silver almost falls asleep in his soup and a flock of birds have to work together to lift his head up and avoid disaster. Rollo cringes at the wild animals being so close to their food—who knows what manner of diseases they carry or where they’ve been?! Thankfully, he manages to keep his mouth shut, as he’s sitting far enough away for his own food to be safe.

Though Rollo keeps avoiding speaking to Malleus, Malleus certainly doesn’t do the same. In fact, he seems to delight in provoking Rollo. Malleus will talk excitedly about gargoyles and then make an aside to ask Rollo, “how do the gargoyles of Noble Bell College fare?” The same trend occurs for other topics as well. It makes Rollo nearly choke on his food or spit up a drink more than once.

He tries to keep his replies short and to the point, but Malleus often presses for elaboration or continues the conversation from Rollo’s response. (Sebek looks on enviously, chewing on his napkin to stave off the anger.)

Lilia declares that he has a surprise for everyone!! He runs off and returns with a dish covered by a silver dome. Silver pales, Malleus is taken aback, and Sebek is suddenly grinning deviously. “Ta-daaaah! I made dessert in advance!! I thought to myself, ‘I can’t let our dear guest walk out without trying some of my world-famous cooking!’”

Lilia whisks the lid off, revealing… a bubbling blob in shades of brown, violet, and murky green. Chicken bones, bits of chopped fruit, and shredded greens peek out from its mushy surface, which appears to have the consistency of a liquid and a solid at the same time. It smells like skunk juice and death. Rollo uses his handkerchief to hold his nose and to keep from being ill.

“Rollo-senpai, I don’t think you should…” (“Come now, human!” Sebek says smugly, interrupting his fellow knight. “Lilia-sama went to the trouble to prepare this treat for you! Do not waste his valiant efforts!!”)

“You think I would sample a dish so obviously dubious?!” Rollo cries, offended at the idea. “How foolish do you think I am?!” (“Oh my, no need to fight over my cooking, boys!” Lilia chirps. “There’s plenty to go around!” But no, Sebek loudly insists that their esteemed guest eat it all up—after all, when will Rollo have the chance to be graced with Lilia’s cooking again?)

As they’re arguing, no one noticed Malleus scooping a spoonful for himself until he has the bite hovering close to his lips. Sebek, horrified, begs his liege to think better of it. Silver, too, warns him. (Lilia cheers him on. “You have such a healthy appetite!”)

“Please, young master!! You know what the consequences are…!!” Sebek pleads with him. Malleus insists he must do this. “It is a show of good faith—and furthermore, a leader is expected to make sacrifices for the good of his people.” (Rollo feels like he’s watching a historical soap opera.)

Malleus brings the spoon to his mouth (Sebek leaps across the table, fully intent on eating that bite just to protect his prince from it) and… collapses onto the floor in a heap. His knights immediately rush over, calling out his name and trying to rouse him. Lilia claps both hands over his mouth.

Rollo rises from his seat too, but not for the reason anyone expects. His expression slowly shifts from neutral to a frenzied excitement. “Hm… hm hm hmm… ha ha hah… HAAAH HAH HAH HAH HAAAAAH!! At last… At long last, Malleus Draconia’s revolting presence has been wiped clean from this world! Slain by the hands of your own retainer…! Betrayed by your trusted ally, done in by your own hubris!! Oh, how ironically delicious!! There could be no better way to conclude what has been an otherwise odious evening!!”

Silver gaped at him in horror. Sebek is consumed by anger and upset. “WHY, YOU NO GOOD—!!” The first year charges, tackling Rollo to the ground. Silver follows, trying to pry the two apart. There’s shouting and laughing, fists flying and fumbling for a magical pen to exact righteous judgment—

Lilia calmly walks over to the body and crouches down. He pokes his fallen dorm leader’s cheek. “… Malleus, don’t you think you’ve scared them for long enough? I’m all for theatrics, but it’s a rather cruel prank to pull on our guest~” He pouts. “Besides, it’s not like my cooking is bad! You’re being overdramatic.”

“HUH?!” The three boy look on (Sebek and Silver in relief, Rollo in horror) as Malleus smoothly rises like a corpse from the grave. He chuckles darkly at their shocked expressions all the same, drinking in their surprise like a monster might relish in fear. Malleus dusts himself off and gives a luminous smile. “Forgive me, I could not help myself.”

A teary Sebek flings himself at Malleus to happily sob at his revival. Silver shakes his head, but he’s smiling too.

Rollo comes down from his high, and embarrassment sets in to replace it. He sits back in his seat to keep from collapsing himself, taking steady and deep breaths through his handkerchief.

They clear up Lilia’s dessert (no one’s in the mood to try any more of it since the prank) and move into the lounge to unwind after dinner. (Rollo tries to leave early, but Malleus isn’t having it.)

Sebek happily volunteers to prepare coffee for everyone! He parades in with a tray of it, passing them to Malleus, Lilia, and Silver—in that order. “… I’ll take mine with a little milk,” Rollo requests, as he’s usually used to a cafe au lait to go with his lunch every day.

Sebek needles him a bit for the request, going on and on about how he can’t believe an adult would still take their coffee with additives and how truly immature Rollo must be if he can’t stomach coffee black. He’s (unintentionally) undercut when Solver bluntly points out that Sebek usually takes his with tons of milk, creamer, and sugar to balance out the bitter edge. This causes Sebek to flush red and stammer out a weak defense, and Rollo smirks. It’s the little victories like this that curb his temper.

Malleus puts on a violin performance for them all. He plays a stringed rendition of the Kindly Bellringer’s song, a wish for a hope-filled future. (Rollo hates to admit it, but Malleus has impressive technical skill as a violinist.)

Sebek is nearly moved to tears just listening. Silver has to stop Lilia from rushing to join in with his electric guitar, offering to dance with his vice dorm leader instead. Their height difference makes for a silly sight as they swing together, but they have a lot of fun doing it.

… Rollo doesn’t understand it. How can this group of misfits be so happy like this? Looking at them, they almost come off like some happy-go-lucky family. Even though they don’t share blood. Even though they’re so different…

It is late. Again, Rollo tries to excuse himself. His mind is fried and worn out from all the excitement and the stress of forced friendship with Diasomnia. Unfortunately for him, Malleus has one more trick up his sleeve. The prince promises, however, that it is the last one. “… Why should I trust you?” Rollo asks, to which he gets no answer. Malleus and Lilia only exchange a knowing look.

The group is led out into the garden. Unlike that of Heartslabyul or even Pomefiore, Diasomnia’s is not lush. Thick plants grow over everything, bearing bramble sharp enough to draw blood and driving onlookers away.

One powerful wave of ice magic is all it takes to convert it into a winter wonderland. Light snowfall drifts down upon an icy road, the thorns turned into abstract works of art encased in glass. Rollo begins to berate Malleus for his lax use of magic for his own pleasure, but Malleus just laughs and tugs Rollo along insisting that they build a snowman together.

Sebek calls after them, asking Malleus to please wait for him too! It’s Lilia who tells Sebek to stay behind and to give those two some space to settle their differences. “B-But Lilia-sama! What if that dastardly man attempts to take the young master’s life again?!” Sebek protests. (“I’m sure our Malleus can handle it!”)

Lilia whips out his cleaver (where was he hiding that on his body this entire time?!) and carves down blocks of ice into shaved ice for everyone! This, he claims, is his dessert redemption arc now that everyone is in good spirits once again.

Sebek helps with fetching bowls, spoons, and an array of flavored syrups for everyone to customize their shaved ice. Silver and his animal friends contribute toppings for them: fresh fruits and nuts!

… Rollo begrudgingly joins Malleus in the snow but males his own snowman instead of collaborating just to spite him. Malleus’s Olaf snowman comes out short and lumpy with a tall head and a carrot nose. Rollo’s is tall and thin, lying on the ground with Xs for eyes and two sticks shoved into its head. “It’s you,” he tells Malleus, pointing to the stick “horns”. (“Oh? I’m flattered.”) “You’ve perished,” Rollo clarifies. To his dismay, his rival barely bats an eye.

Malleus starts to blast alternating water and ice, creating dynamic sculptures—platforms to hop on, odd shapes to climb and to slide down. He easily navigates them (with an angry Rollo struggling to keep up, shouting at him about how he needs to keep “a leash” on his frivolous use of spells).

Malleus lands on the ground again, practically skating on just his feet alone. With a glance at the big moon above, he laughs. It reminds him of the night of the masquerade—and so he turns to Rollo, extending his hand a second time and asking to share a dance.

“Have you lost your MIND, Draconia?!” Rollo huffs. Malleus assures him that he hasn’t, then pulls him onto the ice anyway. They’re set effortlessly gliding, their robes swaying in the wintery wind. Rollo’s not even bothered by the cold now—he’s operating on the hot fury that’s burning within him.

“Are you happy with this evening of tormenting me and having me dance in the palm of your hand? Well? Are you?!” Rollo hisses. Malleus grins, and he looks particularly wicked under a veil of moonlight. “Very. It’s good to know that you are still as amusing as you ever were, Flamme. How goes your repentance, hmm?”

“I don’t have to answer to the likes of you. You and your minions have already out me through quite a bit of distress tonight.” (Malleus doesn’t seem to be bothered by the response. “Fufufu. Looking away so stubbornly has its own charm as well.”)

“I won’t press you further. There will be plenty of time in the future for us to catch up.” Rollo begins to object, but Malleus isn’t listening. He raises one hand to the sky, his volume booming. “Allow me to offer you a parting gift to end this evening… a token of our everlasting friendship between man and monster.”

Who is man and who was monster? a small, doubtful voice in the back of Rollo’s head wonders. He rushes to squash it before those embers turn into an all-consuming wildfire.

A brilliant aurora shoots out and overtakes the night. So many colors crackling and melding into one another, its ribbon-like motions seemingly never ending. From all around Diasomnia, mob students look out of their windows and stare at the sky in pure wonderment. It’s like a dream has come to life before their very eyes, and everyone is dancing under it. Even Rollo is stunned into silence by the beauty of the aurora.

No, he tells himself. This is wrong. It’s a product of magic. It’s not meant to be like this. Magic is ugly and harmful and selfish and…!!

A shooting star streaks the dark, diamond/studded sky. “Make a wish, Flamme,” Malleus encourages.

Rollo looks at him, then takes the deepest breath he possibly can. His shout resonates throughout Diasomnia, rattling antiques and rousing sleepy Silver awake.

“I SWEAR IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO, I WILL BE THE ONE TO TEAR YOU DOWN ONCE AND FOR ALL, MALLEUS DRACONIAAAAAAAA!!”

#twst #Malleus Draconia #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #Rollo Flamme #Silver #Sebek Zigvolt #Lilia Vanrouge #Diasomnia #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk #spoilers

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walks-the-ages · 4 months ago

Text

Some important graphs for all the vote-scolds/blue maga blaming third party voters for Kamala Harris losing:

https://projects.fivethirtyeight.com/polls/approval/kamala-harris/

This woman never had her Approval rating rise higher than her Disapproval rating after September 2021.

If Democrats actually wanted to win, they could have stopped committing genocide and actually run a candidate people wanted to vote for.

Instead, they choose a deeply unpopular VP from a deeply unpopular current administration that no one even had a choice in, dumped a few million dollars into her campaign via big corporations to try to make it seem like most Americans were donating large sums of money to her overnight, tried to frame her campaign as being Super Popular and Cheerful and Powerful...... and then made the absolute worst decisions ever by constantly reaffirming literally that she would not do anything fundamentally different than what Biden was doing.

You know, the guy so fucking unpopular he had to drop out of the Presidential race because he was unelectable???

Anyways, I just went through the top #US Election posts in the tag and blocked hmm, maybe 6 people saying "fuck anyone who voted for third party" instead of actually taking a long hard look at their "lesser evil" candidate and it really, really, really is telling how all of these posts:

don't have more than maybe 2k notes compared to a few hundred thousand notes on other posts that don't blame third party voters

the replies are full of actual logical people who care about other people pointing out that third party voters did not make up nearly the margin Harris is currently losing by, and that if Democrats wanted to win, maybe they should have actually tried to win

I can pretty much guarantee you that all of the people making "Fuck third party voters, fuck pro-palestine crowd, are you happy now?" -- I can pretty much guarantee you that if you search these people's blogs for Palestine, that they have literally never interacted with anything to do with it except to vote scold in advance of the election or are full on active zionists who support israel's war crimes.

Anyways, feel free to share these graphs for all the racist assholes, and please make sure you're blocking shithead anons, and especially reporting shithead anons.

If you wanna respond to a shithead publicly, just screenshot it before you report and block.

The people screaming about "those darn jill stein voters!!!"* literally do not give a single fuck about marginalized groups that they, personally, are not a part of, and they are going to bury their head in the sand of the racist, genocidal cesspit they are in to refuse to listen to actual real facts so they can continue to spout their racist, genocidal, fascist victim blaming, not the least of which I've already seen is the infamous "I will laugh when they come to drag you to the concentration camps!"

Like. Hey now, are you sure you're anti-fascist when you say such things gleefully, Liberals? To people who didn't elect your genocidaire in a blue hat because she is part of the people actively committing genocide as we speak?

But yeah, Vote Bluers screaming at third party voters right now are literally just fascists in blue, and they are no one's allies.

Screaming at and wishing death and torture on minorities is what racists fascists do, if they actually wanted to work towards change they would have changed their tunes on the Democrats when it became clear they fully supported a genocide.

Block them, both on the dash and in your inbox. Unfollow the racist shitstains who reblog their posts uncritically. These people are cowards who are happily willing to punch downwards instead of actually stepping up to the plate and working to do good in their communities to bring people together.

Kamala Harris had a 49.% Disapproval rating the night before the election.

Are you telling me you seriously think she could have won?

* fun fact: more people voted for Chase Oliver than Jill Stein in all the states I've looked at that have that data, looks like the 'moderate republicans' are going libertarian, not democrat! Gee, who could have foreseen that? 🙄

Anyways, don't forget your daily clicks:

and if you have money to spare, please consider donating to Karim, one of the folk who were scammed out of their evacuation funds by a white woman in the USA who organized his campaign months ago, and he had not reached his goal after she tried to steal the funds only to get caught and be forced to return the money for a full refund to gofundme, so none of the raised funds went to him and were returned to the original donors, who didn't see his new campaign:

#us politics #us election #no id #vote blue no matter who #vote blue no matter what they do #blue maga #free palesstine #gaza

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drunk-on-dk · 2 years ago

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you asked for hard thots and i can’t shake the absolute cesspit of brainrot that is vernon as your long-term-best-friend who is also your “platonic”-but-why-is-this-so-intense-why-is-he-looking-at-me-like-that date to a family wedding, in your hotel room afterwards and roasting your choice in pyjamas b4 ploughing you into the mattress😔✌🏻

anon u are so sexy for this ask ilysm <333 please tho I am EATING THIS UP, sorry it took me some time (uh oh this is NOT a drabble) but I hope you enjoy it, my dear!!! (i don't know if I did a great job making it super intense as it's a bit more lighthearted, but nonetheless, I hope it hits the mark!)

warnings: smut (minors DNI i will bite and block), some plot at the beginning, mutual pining, teasing, fem! reader but no pronouns, unprotected sex, cunnilingus (female receiving), let me know if i'm missing anything w/c: ~2.5k

"When does it end," you groan, finally peeling off those pesky heels that you've somehow managed to wear the whole wedding and falling back into the comfort of the springy hotel mattress. You're immediately curling into a little ball, hands massaging the aching balls of your feet. "This is like the millionth wedding we've been to this year."

Vernon watches you amusedly, removing his own suit jacket and discarding it onto the decorative armchair. Snorting, Vernon states the obvious, "a million weddings in one year would be impossible, Y/N."

"No shit, Sherlock," you laugh, rolling your eyes as you sit back up, already feeling your eyes falling heavy after the night you've had entertaining your family's antics. "Thanks for saving me yet again though. It's nice having a friend at these things, makes the time go by a lot faster."

A dejected sigh from Vernon goes unnoticed as you spring back up to your feet and walk to the bathroom, PJs crumpled in hand whilst you continue to ramble and rant about your family.

"But seriously, how many weddings can my family have in one year? Also, why are they so convinced we're together? I don't know how many times I have to reiterate that you are my best friend to them? They've known you for like how many years now?"

You can hear Vernon humming in agreement as you unzip your dress in the safety of the bathroom, a soft shuffling sound in the other room indicating that he is rooting through his own suitcase. You hope he doesn't hear the wavering of your voice as you mention the word 'best friend' yet again.

Admittedly, it's been slowly becoming harder to read Vernon these past few months, even though he's been your friend for as many years as you can count on two hands and then some. You had invited him to be your plus one to one of the many weddings you had to attend this year a few months ago, and ever since then you've been quelling thoughts of 'what if?'

Vernon has to suppress another snort when you emerge from the bathroom, the sudden reappearance of you in your tattered, old pajamas has him smiling crookedly in amusement.

"I'm sorry, but what are those?"

"What are what?" You look like a deer in headlights, hands dropping to your sides before taking in fistfuls of your pajama bottoms that should have been retired a long time ago. "Are you making fun of my pajamas?"

Vernon's laugh and smile are enough to make your heart feel like it's about to pound its way out of your chest, your own awkward chuckle combining with his as he approaches you.

"Y/N," he sighs, shaking his head with that ridiculous smile of his still adorning his features, eyes twinkling as he makes you spin for him. "These are ridiculous, how old are these pajamas?"

You shrug, still fisting the extremely soft material as you ponder jokingly about his question. "Maybe like 10 years. What? Do you not find Hello Kitty pajama bottoms cute?"

Vernon and you hold eye contact for a second longer until you are both bursting out into laughter.

"Cute," he ponders adoringly, pinching your arm before heading to the bathroom to change into his own pajamas. "Sure thing."

The interaction has your cheeks burning, noting the way Vernon seems to drink you in before going to change, soft eyes observing you in adoration briefly.

Yet again, you're quick to shake yourself out of it, shuffling into the hotel bed and cuddling with the heavy covers. Still, you're left to your own thoughts.

Why does he keep looking at you like that? It's that same stupid, endearing look in his eyes that seem to soften every time you come into view. It's the kind of look that makes your heart beat a little too fast for your liking. It's that kind of look that has you returning to those 'what if' thoughts.

Vernon is soon joining you in the bed, slipping under the sheets comfortably and shimmying in closer to you, utilizing your body heat as a source of warmth.

You've shared a bed with Vernon many times before, during sleepovers when you were children all the way to accompanying you in bed to make sure you were okay after a night of heavy drinking.

However, you swear with each wedding that you grow uneasier being this close in proximity to him. You are no longer able to avoid the ebbing feeling of butterflies fluttering in your lower stomach.

Vernon hums contently to himself as he relaxes deeper into the sheets and turns to face you. The soft sound of his breathing has goosebumps running down the back of your neck and you don't think you can bear to look at him, so you opt to flip around onto your side and face away from him.

You can practically feel his eyes burning a hole into the back of your head, your hair burning and ears tingling knowing that he is staring at you. It's making you feel restless, so you turn around with a hmph to face him once again.

"What," you whisper harshly, even though it's just you two in this dark, hotel room. The only bit of light is the soft, blue flickering light of the TV that Vernon refuses to turn off. "Why do you keep staring at me? You did it earlier when you picked me up for the wedding, on the dance floor, and even when I changed into my pajamas. You've been doing that too much lately."

He seems a bit guilty, jaw falling slack as his eyes become saucer-like, yet there is still a palpable tension in his stare. "What do you mean? I'm just looking at you."

"Like that!? Who looks at someone like that!" You exclaim, one hand escaping from underneath the covers to motion to his face, the other arm now propping you up to get a better look at him.

Vernon seems to be deep in thought for a second, thick eyebrows bunching up as he takes note of your frazzled demeanor. He also takes note of the undeniable blush that can still be seen even in the dim lighting.

"Y-you-" you're stuttering idiotically at this point, tripping over your words as he continues to stare intently at you.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" His voice is soft and raspy. It shuts you up for a second as you blink stupidly down at his painfully handsome bare face.

You're falling face first into your pillow, groaning loudly and shoving your face deeper into the plush fabric to escape the prison that his gaze has you in.

"No," you mumble loudly into the pillow. "It doesn't. I just feel weird."

He's laughing and it has you smiling like a fool into the pillow. There go those darn butterflies in your stomach again. "It makes you feel weird?"

You sit back up, this time crossing your legs and readjusting so you're not laying next to him. He's way too calm and cool for your liking, not liking the way his lips fall into a lopsided smile as he watches you adjust yourself.

"I don't know, Vernon. I don't know what I feel when you stare at me like that."

"Do you like it?" He's still unserious, but his voice is teetering between what seems like amusement and hopefulness. Your hands are subconsciously playing with the tattered hem of your pajama bottoms, and the habitual motion is enough for Vernon to grasp your hand with his.

"Maybe."

One heartbeat.

Another heartbeat.

Oh god, your ears are pounding from the way he's looking at you.

Vernon is tugging on your hand and pulling you into him, soft lips colliding with yours and knocking the wind out of you.

"Do you like this," he pulls away for a second, seeming just as breathless as you.

"Yes, I do."

"Cool," it's such a Vernon response, but in this case it's almost dizzying. With that, he's pulling you back in, lips hungrily reconnecting with yours, and both of his hands are coming up to cup your face to help guide you as he licks into your mouth.

The kiss is just as intense as his stare, almost as if Vernon is channeling all that pent-up energy into the delicate care and passion encapsulated by his lips on yours.

You feel as if you could overheat when his hands travel from your jaw all the way down to your hips, playing with the waistband of your pajamas. He grabs hold of your hips and flips you onto your back, never once disconnecting from you as he nibbles and suckles on your bottom lip.

"These," he finally breaks away, eyes roaming wildly over your features, and snapping the waistband of your bottoms against your skin. "These ridiculous things have to go."

"Please," you mewl, eyes screwed shut in need as his fingertips continue to tease at your hipbones. "Take them off, Vernon."

He's chuckling, but this time it's almost teasing, the sound making arousal burn at your core when he begins to tug at your bottoms. Your hips buck upwards to help him slip the slinky material off your body, ultimately turning Vernon's chuckle into a pained groan upon being greeted by your dripping pussy.

"Y/N," he mumbles softly, hands running up and down your thighs after discarding your bottoms. "Can I please?"

"Can you please what?" You know what he's asking, but seeing him look so desperate between your legs has you wanting to hear it directly.

"Can I taste you?"

You're nodding profusely, yelping in pleasure when he dives down between your legs, rough hands wrapping around both your thighs to keep you still as his wet tongue comes in contact with your throbbing clit.

"Fuck," you're immediately panting, his tongue working quickly as it runs firm circles around your clit. Vernon is staring up at you from between your thighs, thick eyebrows raised and dark, hungry eyes catching yours once again. "F-fuck, Vernon, you're giving me that look again."

This time he raises one brow, tongue running down your pussy and plunging teasingly into your sopping cunt. "What look?" He mumbles into your core, "taste so good, Y/N."

At this point, the warmth and pressure of his tongue has you reeling, the burning pit of arousal in your lower stomach heightening as he continues to messily eat you out. You're soon pushed over the edge, walls pulsing as Vernon continues to work his tongue from your little hole to your clit.

You're fisting a handful of his hair, feeling overstimulated way too fast after your first release, and pulling him back up. He's quick to engulf you in another kiss, the flavor of your lips and juices like ecstasy on his tongue.

He's shuffling out of his own pajama bottoms as you plea between fleeting kisses, begging to have him fill you. Vernon's innocence resurfaces for a minute as he panics, realizing there is no way he packed a condom. (He's not looking for a random hook-up at your family weddings, nor did he think this would ever actually happen, no matter how long he's pined over you.)

"Fuck, Vernon," you moan, pussy throbbing in need as Vernon continues to rut his length teasingly between your folds whilst he searches for a condom anywhere - maybe there is one in his wallet. "Just fuck me without one. I'm clean and on the pill."

"Ah," he hisses, the thought of you taking him raw making him feel like he could burst. "I'm clean too, are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure," you confirm, hands grabbing at him to pull him closer to you.

"F-Fuck, Y/N," he's obliging, his thick, leaky tip dipping in between your folds and sinking into your tight, little cunt. His body shakes as he plunges deep inside of you, hips bottoming out and getting sucked in completely by your walls.

You're shaking too, heavy breaths soothing you as you adjust to his thickness and length. He wasn't massive, but he was more than enough to deliciously stretch you out. Vernon's convinced he could bust just from the feeling of your walls fluttering and adjusting around him, staring down at you with starry eyes as your face contorts in pleasure.

Vernon suddenly feels as if he has a purpose, watching as your jaw falls slack when he experimentally pulls out just to thrust back in, immediately finding the spongey spot deep in your core.

He's addicted to your reactions, the way you look so beautiful with each precise thrust and spear of his cock inside of you. He's memorizing the way your eyes roll back and clamp shut, remembering how your pouty lips scream his name, noting how your cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink.

Vernon's come to realize he can't get enough of you. He's going to forever be hooked on everything about you, and now that he's tasted and felt your perfect pussy, you won't ever get rid of him.

This passion he feels is reflected in the way he roughly fucks you, hips snapping into yours just to pull another delightful moan from your lips. You can feel the bed rocking as he fucks even deeper into your pussy, legs wrapping tightly around his waist as you feel your impending orgasm build.

His motions slowly become sloppy, and the explicit squelching of your walls sucking him in has him groaning with each messy rut of his hips. Vernon is still keen on watching you though, wanting to see your features as you come undone beneath him.

"C'mon, Y/N," he beckons, his length continuing to fill you so perfectly as your walls flutter around him. He can feel you getting impossibly tighter, loving the way your legs keep him close as he pounds into you. "Look at me, please, let me see you."

You're listening to him, eyes opening to look back at him in the same way he's looking at you. There's that damn look again, but this time it has you falling apart for him. The way your walls spasm around his cock and the orgasmic glow of your features has him coming with you, filling you deeply with his cum as your core throbs in pleasure from the intensity of your orgasm mixing with his.

You're absolutely fucked out, the two of you breathless as Vernon reluctantly pulls out, and opts to clean you up quickly. You can't help but hide your face when he happily joins you back in bed, that same stupid look on his features that landed him here in the first place.

You're positive you'll be receiving a noise complaint from the hotel. Hopefully, none of the other wedding guests are staying around you, especially after you've been parading around with him as your "platonic" friend for the past few months (ahem, years).

#seventeen smut #svthub #svt smut #chwe vernon smut #vernon smut #hansol smut #hansol vernon chwe smut #[💌] anon #[💌] asks #i love you for this #i love me some vernon hard thots

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nightowl33art · 10 months ago

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How To Make A Toxicsona- A Master Post!

!This page may update over time! So I was looking at my inbox and noticed I got sent an ask. Likely due to site bugs, I was not able to answer directly, but I'm sure the asker will be able to see this post.

Hello Anon! Firstly, thanks for the fun ask! Keep in mind this post will apply to most toxicsonas. I'll be using my own designs and process as examples. What I recommend does NOT have to be followed. In the end it's your design and it should be for fun most of all. I'm just presenting what the "ideal and average Phisnom toxicsona/toxic blob oc" should have.

For those tuning into this lengthy post with no idea what I'm on about, I'll be excerpting the toxicsona submission form Phisnom/Phil made for his toxicsona review streams. (Phil being the leader of the Toxic Cesspit community, though you don't have to be in it to make one if you just feel like it.)

(Despite "sona" being in the name, a toxicsona does NOT have to be representative of you! Toxicsonas can also be regular ocs!) Now to the advice!

1. READ UP!

Read the Toxicsonas For Dummies character guide! This image contains all the basic lore and traits for toxicsonas! What I say going forward may reference it. (Reading may also give you some fun ideas!)

You should also peep this from the toxicsona submission form:

In order to have a toxicsona you need* a:

Dark body for a base with accents (ie lines) that must be neon/brightly colored.

Mouth(s) with sharp teeth. Ideally will have at least one extra mouth somewhere on the form.

Unique pattern image for the body.

*You may not need it but it's more or less what makes a toxicsona a toxicsona. I'll be going over each point in detail later!

2. Purpose

What purpose will your blob fill? Are you creating an oc, a sona for yourself, or something else? This will affect what you create and how. If you have a preexisting design/sona you want to toss into the slime, reference off that design! Use what you know about that character/person to create this new form!

Starting from scratch? What I do is come up with a basic idea to concept off of! Think of something you want to design! If you need help, try using one of the countless idea generators out there or put your head together with others and see what you come up with! Moodboards, playlists, and Pinterest albums also serve well! Whatever type of brainstorming gets your inspiration bug flying, go for it!

Regardless, one thing to make note of is who was this design in life? Most blobs were once living beings. They all come from a liquid superorganism called The Substance. When a living being with a consciousness foreign to the slime (like a person) is absorbed into The Substance, it'll be spit out and reanimated anew if it has a strong will. Your blob must've been alive or had a connection to living things. Then it must have undergone some sort of transformation after making contact with The Substance. Asking who your blob was before the slime will be very helpful!

3. Body

You likely either have an idea of what your design will be, or you're jumping headfirst into the doing part. Either is okay! Everyone's process is different. If your design is based off a preexisting one, you're likely to make the new form into a similar shape. Some things to think about when coming up with a body:

A slime body is meant to reflect the ideal self. What are your toxicsona's ideal traits? If you're making a sona, what are YOUR ideal traits?

What were they when alive? Were they a feral stray cat? A human? You may want to stick to a shape that resembles their former appearance, especially if they are in denial of being a slime.

Who were they when alive? Did they like a certain animal a lot? Give them physical traits of said animal! Maybe your toxicsona wanted freedom, so they develop the wings they always envisioned. Maybe they believe they were a terrible person and so deserve the devil horns on their head. Were they two-faced? Give them two faces!

Is this the only form they have? Do I want to add a simplified blob form? Do I want to make a bigger/smaller form? If my character has an alter ego disguise, should I make a form for it?

(Most toxicsonas have a simplified little blob form, reflecting what they looked like at default after The Substance. They're super cute and puntable!)

How much mass do they have? The more mass a blob has, the more they have to work with physically, the more developed they are. What appendages have they formed with this mass? Many toxicsonas lack legs, including Phi himself, who is simply too lazy to use legs. Why your blob does/doesn't have legs can have a reason too!

What colors are they? Common dark colors for the majority of the body include black, gray, and dark shades of any given color (ex dark blue.) The neon can be just about any color! If the design is a sona, pick your favorite color(s)! Keep the color vibrant- it's supposed to stand out from the dark color! Your slime will always be surrounded by a dark/black outline around the very edge.

Where's the extra mouth(s)? The best designs have a mouth placed with thought, but not all are. Thoughtfully placed mouths have significance to the toxicsona. Scars/important wounds on their living body can become mouths. Perhaps if they were a gluttonous or starved person, you'll put a mouth on their belly to represent their hunger. If they're anxious about their mouth or general appearance, maybe it's hidden. (Ideally let the mouth be visible. It's visually appealing.)

(Dutch's extra mouth is on his back. Wings were always a big part of him, both appearance and story-wise, so the mouth emphasizes that. His wings come out of the mouth like tongues!)

Being a cartoonist, we're personally big on shape language and like to have designs with strong, recognizable silhouettes, but you do not have to do this.

Some advice on basics for drawing your slime!

Here's how I create the lineart, clothing coloring, and the outline that surrounds the blobs. (Some steps may be done at the same time or skipped entirely. This is the Nightowl 33 method so your mileage may vary.)

Draw lineart.

Alpha lock lineart layer. Recolor it to neon color.

Clip new layer on lineart. Color clothes black.

New layer for body color.

Move body color layer under lineart.

Color body colors. (I clip different clothing coloring layers on the main color layer. This main base color layer gets colored black when ready.)

Make a folder. Place all lineart, lineart coloring, and all body coloring layers in the folder.

Add a dark color outline in a layer beneath the folder. (I use the "stroke (outer)" tool in my art program, ibisPaint X.)

How I draw eyes!

Draw eye lineart.

New layer, clip on lineart layer, draw dark circle.

Layer sclera coloring under lineart layer.

Add pupil layer below lineart layer and above sclera layer.

(Coloration used to show different steps/parts of the eye!)

(Without the weird example coloring, your end result should look like this!)

4. Pattern

Much like how everyone has their own unique fingerprint, every toxicsona with a well defined identity develops their own unique pattern. Coming up with the right pattern is tricky! Patterns are made up of symbols, lines, or a combination of. They have a rhyme and reason to them. A pattern to the pattern, so to speak.

(Here's a bunch of example patterns, created by me (sometimes with the help of CrystalKleure), or Phil and StupidButterfly. Stare at them for a while and take some notes on what rhythms you recognize.)

For maximum appeal, your pattern cannot be too complex or simple! Try to select 2-4 symbols/lines to create your pattern. These symbols/lines should be thematically relevant to your blob. Ex: A spiderweb pattern for spider-themed toxicsonas, checker pattern for a blob that likes checkers/chess, a UFO for an alien slime, eyes for an angel slime or a slime that loves/fears being watched! (You may also want to reference off the emotion patterns if your blob is heavily associated with an emotion. Ex: sparkles for a very happy/excited slime!)

Feel free to pick basic shapes, like triangles and circles, for one or more symbols.

Create a few variants of your chosen symbols. Draw them big, medium, and small. Fill some of them, leave others empty/"hollow."

Patterns are seamless! This means when you apply a pattern to your toxicsona's clothing or body, it must be able to consistently loop! While you may wing it, below is a handy lifehack to easily make a seamless tiling pattern by @crystalkleure !

1. Draw a base design 2. Split that design in half, and arrange the two halves like this. [You might want to use guide lines/a guide grid to make sure the pixels line up in such a way that these two halves will stitch back together correctly, so they'd make clones of the base image again if you were to tile sets of these halves horizontally.] 3. Stitch the two halves together by adding more to the design 4. Split the image again like you did in step 2, except this time split the top and bottom apart instead of the sides. 5. Add more stuff to the design again, in any way that crosses the "seam" made by step 4 [where the top of the bottom half meets the bottom of the top half]. And if you lined up the pixels correctly while you were splitting and rearranging the chunks, you now have an image that tiles seamlessly both horizontally and vertically. The trick is just splitting an image into halves, swapping those halves' places, and then adding more to the image to hide the seam made by splitting and rearranging parts of it like that. Do it with the sides and you get a horizontally-tiling image, do it with the top and the bottom and you get a vertically-tiling image, do it with both the sides and the top + bottom and you get an image that tiles in all four directions.

Here's a speedpaint where I make a pattern using this method! While creating, double checking that your pattern looks good when looped is important! Don't forget to experiment with placements!

(Wow! What a cool pattern!)

Your pattern doesn't have to be insanely unique, hell you don't even HAVE to have one, but it's honestly better if you come up with one. There's no reason NOT to have a pattern unless it's for lore reasons, such as a confused identity or a mimic character. (Do NOT copy others' patterns and make them your own, especially without permission!)

(Phee, Pho, and Phum have the same default pattern as Phi because they're copycat scammers! They try to convince others they're related to Phi to get what they want.)

Gradient and pattern application!

Now you may want to give your slime a gradient! Gradients tend to appear on the lower halves of blobs but can be placed anywhere! Below is a guide to show how I apply the pattern and gradients to the body! While defaults apply to many toxicsonas, like Phi, they do not have to be followed.

Clip pattern layer over body color layer. (Pattern transparency default is 47%.)

New layer (add mode), place under pattern, clip over body color layer. Draw gradient. (Gradient transparency default is 40%.)

Alpha lock the pattern layer.

Airbrush the upper half pattern layer with the dark body color.

The pattern is often the same color as the neon lineart, while the gradient is often a darker version of the color.

(Weird bright green coloration used to emphasize the layers clipped onto it.)

(The finished gradient, sans weird example coloring, looks just like Phi's!)

Here's how to apply a pattern to clothing! Create a new layer with the pattern. Clip it to your base. (Pattern layers on clothes are usually somewhat transparent. The default is 65% but you can deviate.)

5. Outfit

Clothing is a HUGE self expression that extends to the world of toxicsonas! Blobs can harden mass they acquire, turning it into wearable cartilage clothing! Below are some tips but the bottom line is DESIGN WHAT YOU WANT.

Who they were before the slime often heavily influences their outfit(s). Ex, if your blob was a clown when alive, they may dress the same as a slime.

You'll often find the body pattern on the clothes, but you don't have to do this.

A popular addition to blob fashion is caution/hazard tape! While often black and yellow, feel free to deviate the colors.

(A bunch of fashionable slime outfits with caution tape themes that I made or had a hand in making!)

Phil does not like hoodies on toxicsonas but you can totally join the #hoodiesweep nation. (It would be super funny.) That aside, many do put their blobs in hoodies, so avoiding a standard hoodie is preferable if you want to make a super unique design.

You don't have to give your blob any clothes, especially if they're non-humanoid. Accessories are still recommended to personalize your design and make it stand out from an average ...whatever it is.

Unlike the rest of the slime body that has colored lineart, clothing almost ALWAYS has black/dark color lineart.

Any slime overlapping atop non-slime materials requires a black outline, including over clothing.

(While the consistency of this rule varies with established toxicsona art (ie Phi), I personally try to apply it as much as possible, even when slime overlaps slime. It makes things look nicer and allows the neon lines to stand out more. It's also easier to make out what's going on when looked at.)

Misc. tips!

Bananas are the main unit of measurement in the cesspit! Giving your blob a height can help people draw them to scale, especially when drawn next to other blobs! To get the accurate height: 1. Conjure a length of your choice. 2. Convert your length to inches (in). 3. Divide the inches by 7. (Because 7 inches is the average length of a grocery store banana.) 4. Congrats! You have banana height! Now you can also reverse the order and get standard heights!

Too gay or lazy to do math? Click here for faster conversion! http://bananaforscale.info/#!/ (Note the results will be slightly shorter than my method above but the measurements are about the same so who really cares about that.)

Come up with a backstory for your toxicsona! If you haven't already made one during the design process, you may want to now! -Consider what life was like before they came in contact with The Substance. How did they feel about their old life? -How did they come in contact with The Substance? (Preferably avoid the basic backstory of accidentally falling into a vat. It's overdone, mainly due to how vague lore was before the toxicsona review streams. I'd suggest letting Phi lure them into the slime or tossing them in, if you want something traditional. Phi's goal is to make a blob army, after all.) -What is their life like now, post-Substance? How do they feel about their new life?

(Canon backstory comic on how Phee, Pho, and Phum became blobs!)

Feeling social? Working with other cesspit members (or your own ocs), you can develop links between your toxicsonas! Make your friend's blob their friend! Or maybe enemy! Why not ship them? GO NUTS????

(Phee is a massive flirt in the cesspit. Mr. Sex/Noctus belongs to @corovusin !)

-Consider how your blob may feel about others. Are they a social butterfly or a shut in? Who do they like? Who would they rather avoid? -What are their thoughts on Phi, the leader? (Generally avoid giving them a super strong, personal bond with Phi, such as relatives, best friends, or close partners of any kind. Phi does not have a family and she's a total bitch to just about everyone!) -Phil says there's no love in the cesspit but he's literally just a hater. Make your ocs gay kiss!!

Feel like cooking a little more? Why not design a pre-slime form if it doesn't already exist?

(Phee and Phum before their fatal scam attempt on Phi.)

Many cesspit users also create a "living disguise" form for their toxicsonas, so the slimes can wander among others without rousing suspicion! Blobs have the ability to learn to shapeshift. It's a skill that must be mastered with experience and time, so disguise forms often have "flaws" that give away an inhuman quality, like extra mouths, eyes, patterns, or gradients on their skin.

(Dutch is very good at shapeshifting, so his disguise lacks most flaws. The flaws that are there are mostly intentional, since he's proud of his slime qualities. A blob who perfects the skill of shifting can look like an ordinary human, but where's the fun in that?)

Most toxicsonas can change color based on emotion. (They may also change based on other factors so feel free to get creative with it.) -As a slime has a base pattern and color of choice, these will change based on their mood and that mood's assigned color! Many toxicsonas share patterns and colors with Phi (like red and triangle pattern for mad, blue and flowered squiggles for sad, etc.) but this is not a rule. You can assign any color to any mood. You are not limited to Phi's emotion set either! You can even make your own patterns for your blob's moods if you feel like it! -Some color changes are very subtle in some slimes! Is this true for yours? -Modifying the design of your blob to match their mood is a fun way to create expressive and interesting variants!

(Dutch's hair, horn shape, halo, face, and hands can change with his mood! He has an array of emotional patterns, both preset and custom-made, to match the different colors/moods.)

(When Goober was alive, they had DID. Mimicking the behavior of their former life, the three alters, Ziggy, Skrunk, and Wumbus, became separate blobs. They still need to work together to function properly. They combine to bodily become "Goober." Goober's left eye functions as a collective eye, while their right eyes that can emote separately reflect their respective alter.)

(Goober's default color is green, indicating all alters are co-fronting. When there is a primary fronter or two, the upper body color changes to match!)

Design a shell for your toxicsona! Shells are foreign objects blobs use, often to live, sleep, or hide in. Shells are protective. ANYTHING can be a shell. Not all toxicsonas need one, but those that do often have a thematic shell that relates to who they are. (Ex: Phi-barrel, Bucket-bucket, Collette-chocolate box.)

(Thanks to his angelic theming, Dutch's shell is a reliquary- a display container for holy relics, often being remnants of holy figures. Goober's shell of choice is a mini UFO!)

Stuck? Want to grow your design with less work? Collaborate with others or take their advice if you like what they give you. Ask people what they'd change about your design!

You should NOT be designing just for the approval of Phisnom, You should design for YOURSELF (or whoever is paying you- I see you, adopt/custom ppl.) He's just another person out there. Yes, a creator of the species, but he does not have to dictate your choices or give your design an S tier ranking just to validate it. The satisfaction should come from inside, not outside.

Hope these tips help, best of luck creating your own toxicsona, and feel free to ask any additional questions regarding this! ✌️ Open to suggestions/new info on this post too, just send it my way

#toxicsona #nightowl 33 #phisart #fanart #phisnom #blobsona #masterpost #answered ask #holy shit I did not intend to cook this much but I genuinely had fun making this #feel free to share this around- I would be honored to have my cooking put to use!#This took me 3 days to write #jfc let me format this post correctly #Just realized this is literally me infodumping on a hyperfixation #important

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