#i kind of want to answer my own questions now

[mewnewew]

sooo what if reader and shank,established relationship,and they keep their relationship pretty hidden for a long while until one day one of their crew m mates found them making out/kiss(?) by accidentally but that crewmate keeps that secret hidden but slowly teasers them during dinner(which made the others confused) but soon after they kind of reveal their relationship and the crew goes shocked or something

Hope ya liked this!!

Shanks x Reader: Affairs and affinities

Hongo was quite frustrated about this. He wanted to find the captain to ask him a question about their next stop. The thing was, he had relatives living in the island coming up, but there wasn't an official plan about actually stopping there. Finding Beckman, he asked, only for the gunner to shrug and direct him to find their red haired captain. "I don't see an issue. Best to just let the captain know, anyway. He wanted to go quickly to Lions plains island cause of someone he knows' wedding."

Nodding, the doctor set off to find their captain. The issue here was, he couldn't find the damn man. He had checked belowdecks, at the Crows Nest, at the front, in his cabin, in the gallery, in the drinks storage, hell, even his own clinic. How in the four seas could their captain disappear while they were at sea was beyond him, but the fact was ridiculous. Currently, he was just opening doors belowdeck, and as he opened the door to the cleaning closet he froze.

There, on an upturned bucket, sat the man he wanted to find, along with you on his lap, his hand on your ass. Currently there was spit connecting yours and his lips together, as you two froze and stared at him. Then he yanked the door shut with a "SORRY!" And a blushing face.

Not even a second later, you opened the door and caught the man's arm, yanking him in. "Hongo, listen-"

"Nope! My bad! I didn't see anything!" Yelped the now very prominently blushing man, hand over his eyes. Behind you, Shanks was laughing, hand slapping his knee.

"Would you quit it?" You snapped.

"Aw, c'mon darlin'. Someone was bound ta find out anyway." Crooned the man, now bearing a smug grin.

"Yes, but- Hongo, would you just look at me?" You looked at him now.

Peeking out between his fingers he gave you an unsure look. Sighing, you answered him. "Look, it's fine. No issues that you saw us. So don't freak out about it or whatever, okay?"

"Da-ha-ha-ha!" Laughed your (oh gods, thought Hongo) red haired lover.

"Shaaaanks" You groaned.

"Okay, okay" He waved you off. Then he looked back at Hongo. "Listen, just...keep this a secret okay? Me and darlin' ain't ready to just tell everyone just yet."

As Hongo listened to his captain, he watched you go over to Shanks, one hand in the hair at the back of his head and Shank's only hand sitting on your hip. Then it hit him. You both were comfortable with each other. Did that mean-?

"-ngo, Hongo! Buddy, you there?" Came Shanks' voice. Hongo blinked, shaking his head a bit, before looking back at the both of you.

"Sorry, it's just." He ran a hand through his hair. "How long have you two been dating?"

As if like Siamese twins, both of you blinked at the same time, then shared a glance, before looking back at him. "Uh, about 10 months?" Answered Shanks, and you nodded frowning. "Almost a year, yeah?" You looked back down at your captain.

He hummed, agreeing. "Seems about right."

Hongo's jaw dropped. Almost a year? How did none of them notice? Not even Yassop? Wait, that meant-

"Am, am I first one to know?" He sputtered out.

You gave him a sheepish grin, and Shanks, a more affirming one. "Yep."

Hongo looked down, feeling his head explode. "Holy..."

"Look just keep it a secret awright? Like they said, we ain't ready to-"

He waved him off, "Yeah, don't-don't worry. I'll keep my trap shut."

"Thanks, Hongo. Really."

Flashing them a reassuring smile, he left the closet, knowing he needed to get some air.

As they watched him leave, you turned to look at Shanks. "Baby."

"Hmm?"

"What if...."

🍶

Oh, he was going to die. He was going to fucking die, right here at this fucking table, in this damned ship, in the middle of the sea. Hongo's eyes moved side to side as you sat on one side, and the captain on another. The both of you. Were fucking flirting. AT THE TABLE. WITH HIM STUCK IN THE MIDDLE.

If he was still a first year student, and he saw his blood pressure, he was pretty sure that:

A. The blood pressure would be HIGH.

B. Younger him would probably faint out of shock.

The process of you two flirting with him the in the centre for some unknown, ridiculous reason, was: accidentally touching his legs, when one person wanted to touch the other's, or, passing things to and fro in front of his nose with comments. (Oh saints the comments.) AND HE WAS PRETTY DAMN SURE THAT THERE WAS SOMETHING GOING ON BEHIND HIS BACK. LITERALLY.

The product of all these shenanigans, was a visibly distressed Hongo, very confused crewmates, and two very smug (one being able to hide it well and the other....not so much. I'll leave it up to you which one was more smug here) people sitting on either side of the ship's doctor.

An exhibit of the "comments":

Shanks: Oh please pass the meat, would ya?

You: Oh of course! I'm so sorry.

Shanks: Don't be sorry! You're our beloved crewmate after all.

*Cue you laughing.*

To say that the others were baffled was an understatement. Their brows only rose higher, and their confused frowns grew deeper as you proceeded to include him in your banter as well.

You: Oh Hongo! Would you like some wine?

Hongo: Uh, I-

Shanks: Course he will! Our beloved doc gotta party when he ain't on the job, don't he?

Hongo: Now hold on a-

You, visibly having perked up: Exactly! Here why don't you pour it out for him.

You offered a glass on the other side of Hongo, causing Shanks to lean across, and giving Hongo a fantastic look at the many hickeys hidden under his collar.

Oh lords and ladies and angels of paradise what in the living hell did you drag me into. -Thought Hongo, mentally groaning.

"Uh....Captain?"

The three of you broke your little game and looked at Lucky Roo who looked back at you three, meat held in his hand, cheeks as usual full with food.

"Y'all are uh....acting weird."

Yes!!! Cheered Hongo internally, for once praising the speedster of Crew.

You looked behind Hongo, to Shanks, exchanging a glance.

"Well....the thing is-"

"Y'see boys-"

"Just say it at the same time" cut in Hongo, almost begging at this point.

"Alright, alright"

The pair of you looked at the rest of the crew, now all leaning forwards to see/understand what was going on.

"We're dating"

"WHAAAAAAT?!?!" Came the collective reaction.

"Finally!" Heaved Hongo, his hands in the air.

Next came the flurry of questions and reactions:

"Really? You can do better than the Captain" Waved Yassop dismissively.

"Hey! That's mean!" Interrupted Shanks, but half heartedly, smiling when he saw you laughing.

"How long have y'all been dating?" Cut in Beckmann.

"Almost a year-"

"Ehhh?!?!" Gasped Limejuice. "How did we-" then he glared at Yassop. "Yassop!"

"Whaaat?!" Yelped Yassop. "What did I do?!"

"Well you-"

Hongo now was grinning. Well, all's well that ends well. At least he didn't have to hide it anymore. But hold on. He took off his coat, to see what was at the back of it only to thump both the captain and you on the head. "WHY IS THERE FOOD STAINS ON MY JACKET?!"

"DAHAHAHAH-OW"

"HEY!"

Needless to say, the Red-Haired Pirates ship would be a lot more lively tonight.

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Three: I Got Better

Part One

Part Two

Hey thanks for getting the next round, man. 'Preciate you.

I've tried writing this part down, you know. Every couple decades or so I get the urge, say "I'm gonna do it right," get a journal or typewriter or laptop or whatever they're using, try it out for a couple pages... then I drop off. Then I get guilty for dropping off because... I mean Snow taught me to read, right? So if there's anything I should be doing to repay that then...

But I mean--Trolls, look, we're an oral-tradition based culture anyway, okay? The closest thing we had to a writing system is this... kind of Ogham-ish tally language that doesn't distinguish the alphabetical from numerical very strongly that was mostly used for outlining lineages and territories. And we can read rocks, obviously. We can look at a rock and we can tell you where that rock has been or how it used to be a much bigger rock or how it's actually a lot of little rocks mashed together but that's not really a language.

I'm getting sidetracked. Where was I? Snow and the Prince.

Okay. Bloody nose. Probably broken nose. Snow's leading the Prince through the castle, and this is the part where, if Snow were telling this, she would throw in something flowery about the way he gripped her hand or the way the light from the windows passed over his face, or the way her own brain was a scramble of 'You can't trust this guy, this is the queen's cup-bearer, he's done fuck all to try and connect with you before this, why would he try now? This has to be a ploy from the Queen." But then that thought gets interrupted by overwhelming pity for the guy, but then that pity gets interrupted by feeling bad for pitying him, because he's a whole-ass person with dignity or whatever. It all sounds very exhausting, this pure-of-heart thing. She brings him down to this spooky-ass alchemy lab and he's like, "Are we... allowed here??"

And she goes, "Sure, the Queen taught me all kinds of stuff down here when I was younger."

And this is when the Prince makes an 'Oh shit' face and she catches herself saying, "Oh, nothing bad! Like, we did great with the basics, but then we moved on to poisons, but then everything I made kept... burning or percolating into medicines, and she screamed at me over and over again every time my poisons turned into... the opposite of poison... and eventually she just gave up. Anyway, I've got a leopard's bane compound around here for the swelling....Should probably also find something for the pain--how's the pain?"

"It's... there?" Prince Damp Kingdom says awkwardly, "You know, you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why you're on edge?"

"Oh. Well, Queen wants to kill me."

"Wh--"

Snow plucks a vial from a crowded shelf, uncorks and sniffs it. "Oh, this'll work," she holds the vial toward him, "Put this under your tongue?"

"W-what is it?"

"It's... kind of complicated. It's rotten sugar and ground up seashells and this one herb that's been steeped in vinegar for a week and a bunch of other little things."

The prince makes a face again but Snow---and this is another part of Snow that to this day scares the shit out of me--Snow just flutters her eyelashes and goes, "If you don't want it, though..."

And knee-jerk the prince takes the vial from her and goes, "No, thank you--I mean, yes. I'll..." he glances at the vial and then back at her, "Thank you."

And yeah, you could argue that the prince is the kind of guy who would let his Bushwick girlfriend cut his hair and then pretend it looks great when it looks like shit for like three weeks after. But Snow is not a girlfriend from Bushwick. Snow is a Fae Weapon Forged in a Human Womb. Snow is the heart of the Evil Queen wrapped in new flesh and made pure. Snow is holiness and magic. Snow is a Miracle and a Curse. Again, Princess-Messiah.

So like, if you're hearing this from my perspective, you're probably wondering why she's spending so much time with a dude who doesn't have a lot going for him beyond being pretty and harp-playing. But y'know, I've already told you that Fae have complex and have esoteric notions of attraction, and that Snow knew things and saw things that both fae and human couldn't. She's just also... crazy convincing over the stupidest, smallest stuff, which is how the Prince found himself putting something that he didn't even know what the hell it was under his tongue and immediately making a face at this horrible honey-bitter-chemical taste before squinting for a few seconds and feeling his shoulders relax along with a slight tingling buzz relieving the ache of swelling in his face.

"Why do you think the queen's going to kill you?" it's possible Snow's medicine loosened his tongue as well as his shoulders.

"I didn't say she's going to kill me, I said she wants to kill me. If she could kill me, she would have done it already."

"So you can't... die?"

"I can die. Why wouldn't I be able to die?"

"I don't know. This is a lot right now. We don't talk much."

"Why is that?" Snow tilts her head.

The Prince gulps, already higher for this than he wants to be. "It... hurts to look at you, sometimes," he mutters, not meeting her eyes. Her thick black lashes squint and those red lips of hers hitch off to one side and he tries to clarify himself, "Not that you're not pretty--I didn't mean that in a 'You're not pretty' way, because you are... t-terrifyingly pretty, but when I look at you, all I can think of is... how... I've never done anything."

"I think you're selling yourself a bit short," Snow says kindly.

"But that's the other terrifying thing. I'm--I'm also scared of what kind of person I'd become just by being close to you. The world changes for you, I mean even right now, I'm saying so much more than I would ever normally, sanely say and--and what did you give me? What did I just put in my mouth just now?"

"Rotten sugar, ground up seashells, leopard's bane soaked in vinegar for a week--" Snow is counting on her fingers.

"But what does it do?!"

"It's for your nose--which I am still very sorry for, by the way."

"And I'm trying to find out something about you--I want to help you, but you just-just-- shimmer out of it! Why does the Queen want to kill you? This is the third time I've asked you that!"

"That's not the third time you've asked me that. First you asked why I'm on edge, then you asked why I think the Queen's going to kill me, which basically implied that you don't believe--"

"Princess," he bites the word between his teeth with frustration and she blinks, wondering if she's finally managed to find whatever iron is in him, before those thick black lashes lower.

"I think... because of what you just said. Because the world changes for me," she pauses for a few moments and her shoulders sink, "It scares me too. The changing. You stayed away because you thought I'd change you?"

"You can't tell that you're changing me now?"

"We don't talk much," Snow smiles sadly.

There's an awkward pause, then, and they both look away from each other. Fucking teenagers, yeesh. But then Snow seems to remember herself and says, "You really shouldn't be standing this long--with both the drug and the blood loss you could get dizzy so--"

They both flinch at the sound of a voice bouncing off the stone from the turret staircase. From the castle undercroft. They both recognize the powerful, elegant timbre. The Evil Queen.

"We should go," Prince Damp Kingdom says on reflex, all of the truth drawn up out of him shriveling up and dying like velella washed up on a beach, before saying, "Princess--Snow!"

But Snow's already pacing forward, shoulders stiff, gripping her skirts with white knuckles and the prince hopes she's going upstairs, but nope! Downstairs. And he curses in a very unprincely way under his breath before hustling after her, head now swimming from whatever the hell she dosed him with and his own movement.

He follows her down the turret stairs and into the castle undercroft, which is lit by some extremely unsettling purple-teal flames in the approximate spots where torch sconces should be, and they can hear the Evil Queen speaking, her voice echoing through the undercroft, though they can't make out the exact words. The prince gets a shudder at the back of his neck because there was this same draw, this same hook as when he was following the sound of Snow's voice when she sang at the well. Something something air and darkness, that was all the prince could make out, before Snow abruptly turns (maybe she could hear more sharply than him), and both find themselves looking into what may have been some kind of... mini-chapel for when the castle was under siege and human christians had to do human christian shit on account of the siege and everyone was probably going to die or something. Except there was definitely no Christian god for what was going on in that space now, I'll tell you that much. Instead, you have the queen standing in front of a circular plane of glass, as wide as both her arms spread out to her sides--and they can tell that because her arms are fully spread out, and she's saying,

"Mirror mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

And like, this is the horror movie part where any sensible person would be saying, "I should get the fuck out of here, that's what I should do" but again, we are dealing with FUCKING TEENAGERS so of course Snow and the Prince are both hiding behind a column watching the Evil Queen commune with some cosmic horror shit.

And like, the thing is, at first the Queen is just talking to her own reflection.

But then her reflection suddenly digs its fingers to its hairline and peels its whole front off, peels the goddamn image off the queen off like one of those Korean beauty masks, but in that same motion, it's like a layer of the glass itself is being peeled off as well, and before the evil queen stands a roughly her-shaped figure of green flames.

"Our dearest betrayer, our loveliest entertainment," the figure in green flames coos, "Must you call us on such tedious matters?"

And the Evil Queen just says again, more insistently this time,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

"You ask and ask and ask, beloved," the Mirror answers back, "What have you done to change things this time, hmm? Some new potion? Another felled king?"

The evil queen's breath hitches, but she steels herself before saying once more,

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,

Who, in this land, is fairest of all?"

The green flame figure huffs. "Ugh, so BORING--though know we're only answering because your reaction is the most entertaining part of these little chats." The green flame figure seizes and abruptly gets swallowed up by shadowed dampness, revealing itself as Mosscloak.

"You, my queen, are fair; it is true. But Snow-White is a thousand times fairer than you."

But suddenly two green flame eyes burn in the shadows of Mosscloak's hood.

"You act as if she is a weapon against you by her own will,

That she is not the product of your actions.

That she is not your heart. "

The Queen doesn't seem to react, but Snow suddenly winces next to the Prince, her head bowing, her features scrunching as if holding back a sob.

"Snow?" his name leaves him barely audible as a puff of breath.

"You need to go," Snow is suppressing the whimper in her own voice, like there's a tidal wave of grief inside her surging up, fingernails scraping against the stone of the column.

"Not without you--" the Prince starts.

"Now," she flicks those dark eyes to him and before he can even comprehend his own free will in the situation, he's zipping up the stairs, and she can feel his will screaming against her. He's supposed to be scooping her up in his arms and taking her with him, or sprinting toward the Queen screaming with a dagger, or something, but no, Snow is sending him away because he's safest if he doesn't have the Queen's attention.

"Show her to me," the Queen says, her voice thick.

The mirror abruptly morphs to show a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet-black hair. This mass of hair is facing a mirror, which is showing a scarlet net studded with pearls against jet black hair, looking at a mirror at the far end of the rom. The mirror in the mirror in the mirror is displaying a mess of black hair studded with pearls facing a mirror--

Snow realizes she's looking at the back of her own head in the Magic Mirror, and because she is looking at the mirror, the mirror is looking at itself. Her head swings around to see... nothing. There's nothing there and yet it can see her. Her jaw opens and quivers with unspoken, terrified words before she finally manages to force her brain signals down to her legs again. She hauls up her skirts in bunches and sprints up the turret stairs after the prince.

...Oh look at that. I finished this pint. Now, I could go home, or... I could tell the next part of the story if someone got me another pint of 'Literally Just Wet Hops' IPA. Decisions, decisions.

[metamorphesque]

Hi turk here! I live around people who do not believe the genocide happend and I'm kind of losing my mind (my history teacher believes it is propaganda and ottomans would never do that because you know they are so peaceful). I don't know how to convince these people. Do you know maybe literature about the genocide that they could read? Maybe this will convince them. I keep telling them there is proof and eye witnesses but they don't believe it because it's not 'turkish'. If you answer thank you in advance and I hope you have a good day(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

I know exactly what you’re talking about; I've had the misfortune of encountering genocide deniers too. Their heads are made of stone — nothing gets through. Whatever evidence you show them, they’ll just say it’s fake. Photos? “They’re staged.” Survivor testimony? “They’re lying.” Eyewitness accounts from non-Armenians? “They’re all part of a conspiracy.” You could even show them documents written in turkish by turkish officials, and they'd still twist it or say it’s fabricated. I honestly believe that even if they had seen the genocide with their own eyes, they would still deny it. That kind of willful blindness comes from a place beyond ignorance; their souls are lost, and their brains are eaten.

That said, if you still want to try, you can look into the works of Taner Akçam, a Turkish historian who’s written extensively about the Armenian Genocide. His latest book is Killing Orders (2018), which includes Talaat Pasha’s telegrams giving orders for the massacres — these telegrams are damning. Some of them have been published on my blog as well. Here’s a short lecture of his you might find useful to share.

You can read "Memoirs of Count Bernstorff", who was the german ambassador of the Ottoman Empire in 1917. In his memoirs, Bernstorff recounts a conversation with talat pasha after the genocide had been committed: "When I kept on pestering him about the Armenian question, he once said with a smile: 'What on earth do you want? The question is settled, there are no more Armenians.'"

In the recollections of the U.S. ambassador Henry Morgenthau, talat is quoted saying: "It is no use for you to argue . . . we have already disposed of three quarters of the Armenians; there are none at all left in Bitlis, Van, and Erzeroum. The hatred between the Turks and the Armenians is now so intense that we have got to finish with them. If we don't, they will plan their revenge." Here's the book, recalling his years working in turkey.

The turkish novelist Halide Edip wrote in in 1918: “We slaughtered the innocent Armenian population… We tried to extinguish the Armenians through methods that belong to the medieval times”. [source article]

"God will punish us for what we did [Allah bize belasını verecektir] … the matter is too obvious to be denied. I personally witnessed this Armenian occurrence in the port city of Ordu [about 155 km west of Trabzon]. Under the pretext of sending off to Samsun, another port city on the Black Sea [about 255 km west of Trabzon], the district's governor loaded the Armenians into barges and had them thrown overboard...", wrote Hafız Mehmet, Trabzon Deputy and Justice Minister in the Republic of Turkey. ["My Turkishness in Revolt", Taner Akçam]

In a 28 November 1918 issue of the Hadisat newspaper, turkish poet Suleyman Nazif wrote: "Under the guise of deportations, mass murder was perpetrated. Given the fact that the crime is all too evident, the perpetrators should have been hanged already."

Hasan Mazhar, Governer of Ankara: "When I received orders from the Ministry of the Interior regarding the deportation of Armenians I pretended not to understand. As you know, other provinces were done with the deportations before I had ever started. Then one day Atif Bey came to me and orally conveyed the interior minister's orders that the Armenians were to be murdered during the deportation. "No, Atif Bey," I said, "I am a governor, not a bandit, I cannot do this, I will leave this post and you can come and do it."" [A shameful act: the Armenian genocide and the question of Turkish responsibility, Taner Akçam]

Here's another useful article.

The famous writer, winner of the Nobel Prize in literature, Orhan Pamuk has talked about the Armenian Genocide and the denial policy by the turkish government. (For this, he had been forced to flee the country)

And just so you know, I’m really glad people like you exist. It takes a lot of courage to stand up for truth in an environment like that. Thank you for speaking out. I hope you have a good day too. Be safe.

[juno-tism]

You mentioned John/Noel and I want to hear about Them 🥺 headcanons on how they work out their feelings, how they confess, how they flirt? I wanna knowwww - escapingarchives

HEHEHEHEH sorry im just now getting to this. ANSWERING YOUR QUESTIONS IN ORDER!!!!!!

1.) How did they work out their feelings? In my little headcanon Noel lets Arthur and John stay around after they separate and John gets his own body. They already had a connection with Noel being the first outside human John communicated with. John was curious about life as a human and Noel had all the answers. Noel was gentle and kind and understanding and John was like head over heels instantly. Noel realized he had fallen for John after seeing John’s face light up petting a kitty at a cat cafe.

2.) John confessed first because after a certain point he felt like his heart would literally explode if he held it in any longer. The first thing Noel did was laugh but it was because he felt the exact same way. They’re both emotionally constipated idiots what can I say.

3.) How do they flirt? I think it’s widely accepted at this point that Noel is flirtatious bastard. He loves to tease and ruffle John’s feathers in whatever way he can. John is usually very blunt and a bit closed off, Noel can always manage to get him to absolutely melt. John on the other hand, isn’t really flirtatious. He’s just really straightforward. “Can I kiss you :)” “I want to cuddle right now.” And Noel has never been one to decline his love.

Bonus Headcanons: Noel is prone to nightmares so he uses John as a weighted blanket to calm his nerves. Because John is just a hulk of a man. I don’t make the rules. John likes getting his hair braided by Noel because he always does it the cleanest (he’s gotten in some practice). Noel has gotten a bit beefier since John and Arthur started living with him because John is clingy as shit and will literally fall asleep in his arms like he weighs nothing. He eventually learned how to carry him without throwing out his back.

okay that’s all I got :> I love these asks so much pls keep them going I love to yap

(@feralruin this is all ur fault /affectionate)

[kalithulium]

PLAYING.... PINK + WHITE BY FRANK OCEAN

since the beginning of his existence as a sorcerer, SUKUNA RYOMEN has always had his nails sharp, long and black. now, it's routine for you to paint them for him, but when he gives you a little free reign, your love for hello kitty gets the better of you.

THAT'S THE WAY EVERYDAY GOES...

he's sat here now, with his 2 arms stretched out across the table in your living room. one is rested flat , with his nails, freshly painted a stygian black tapping one after the other against it in impatience. the other is suspended mid-air by the soft, surface of your hand cupping it in place, and his own elbow proped up to support.

it's something that's become routine and non-negotiable over the years - you painting sukuna's nails that captivating obsidian colour they always are. right now, you're ardently focused on making a good job of it; sukuna can tell by the way your eyelids have slightly eclipsed into a squint, and that once again, you've managed to fall back on that god forsaken habit of bitting the inner part of your cheek when you're concentrated.

"stop it, woman. biting your cheek."

he's told you that time and time again, but in all your time of asking "why?" , he's yet to of have graced you with a sufficent answer. really, it's because no matter how insignificant it is, he hates to see you be hurt, but you couldn't waterboard that information out of the man - he knows that you'd giggle, tease, and poke fun at him about it forever.

"no answer? exactly, mhm, kuna. now hold your hands still, or else you're gonna make me mess up."

"what are you talking about? they are still. my hands don't shake."

"mhm. of course, baby." you say, ccondescending words honeyed with jest dripping out of your mouth. you tilt your head at an angle to check your work, before brushing a final, last coat on his nails.

"okay...done!! i'm done!!"

"fucking finally. took you long enough." he says, pushing his chair out and standing up.

"nuh-uh, ryo. you know the drill. as much as you might want to escape from the tyrannical grasps of your kind, loving and beautiful girlfriend, we need to cure the nail polish under uv light first."

surprisingly, he sits back down without a sly remark, and complies with your orders. and just as he does so, a glorious idea pops up in your head.

"wait, kuna, let me add something."

you exit the room in a brisk walk and enter yours. he hears it : about a minute or two of clatters, clinks and clunks in succession that make him question just what on earth your so called idea entailed, before you emerge out again, holding something behind your back.

"ryo, close your eyes a second."

"what is it?"

"just close your eyes!"

"i said, what is it, [name]."

"sukuna ryomen."

"close. your. fucking. eyes. now ."

finally, he complies; the last time you called him by his full name, shit went down, and he was most certainly not ready for that again.

you walk closer to him now, and the free space where you were sat before has been replaced by the bag of nail polish you left behind.

"ryo, push your chair out a bit. i'm sitting down."

he's manspreading, legs wide apart, when you sit down across his lap with your body perpendicular to his. he wraps a slithering arm around your waist (thankfully, that hand is dry already, or you would've genuinely hit him), tightening his grip as he leans forward to rest his face on your shoulder. his eyes are closed, but he revels in your prescence. moments like this, where he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the new shampoo he bought you a week ago, and then feel the softness of his skin against yours are exactly why he lets you do this so often. amidst all the years of calamity that forever plauge his soul, your prescence is a moment of respite that he could never replace.

you move his hands out from under the uv light, then pick up a bottle of small, but deadly strong nail glue and place a dot of it on the centre of his right hands' ring finger.

you pick up the hello kitty charm that you had scowered the entirety of your room for, and place it on his nail, letting it dry for a minute or so.

"okay, now i'm actually done. open your eyes. like it?" you say, grinning ear to ear like a fool.

as of now, you're sat atop of sukuna ryomen - the strongest sorcerer in history, the king of curses, a lord of the golden era of jujutsu in all his glory, with a hello kitty charm pressed onto his nails.

he doesn't speak. he just leans back, closes his eyes, and presses a hello-kitty-nail-ed hand against his forehead in dissappointment, or something of the like.

"what?" you coo, turning to face sukuna while you stradle him, then hold his nails out infront of you to fully inspect.

"don't you like it?"

"don't i like it? do i look like i like it?"

"no, no, no, no, no, hear me out. we're matching! look!"

the man looks down at your nails, then at his. at your nails again. then at his again.

he doesn't smile, but his expression softens. into, was that... a smirk almost?

"oh my god. you like it."

"you like it because we're matching?" you smile, teasing him.

you grasp him into an over dramatic hug, and then jab at him with your own matching set of nails, decked out in silver bling, pinks, french tips, sparkles and of course, hello kitty charms; the exact same as his. and for about the next 5 minutes, give or take, you don't stop taunting him with sickeningly sweet words of "kuna, you're so cute for that, you know?" , "you love me so much" and the like.

assumingly, by the look on his face, sukuna's not absolutely fucking over the moon about this like you are, for whatever reason. and so, in suit, he grasps onto the the side of you thigh, then holds onto your back as he stands up, and carries you away from the table you sat on.

"fuck, enough of that." he lets out, grunting a slurry of curses and that, maybe if you two watch something, "you'll finally stop bullshitting in my face and be quiet."

he stops infront of the couch, and throws you softly, but still hard enough to earn a yelp and repremanding from you.

then he sits down next to you, and as always, you find yourself curled up in his lap, with the supple pads of your finger tips tracing along the black markings on his skin.

"you just wanted to cuddle, didn't you?"

"you always have to get the last word, don't you?"

YOU SHOWED ME LOVE...

"sukuna's nails are black because of his cursed energy" WRONG!! ❎️❎️ he gets them painted + a manicure every week, end of discussion.

[secondarysefikura]

Poor Past Cloud. He’d be a kid. 16 at the oldest. He was probably so excited to meet Sephiroth when first got the invitation. Then he ends up getting raped and kidnapped. And no one will help him. His fellow security troopers are ordered to keep him trapped.

What if Sephiroth toyed with him at first? Let Cloud tell him what an honor it is to meet him. Tease the boy for blushing. Smile as Cloud tells him he’s been a fan for years. Even answers some of Cloud’s questions. And then he grabs Cloud and kisses him. Sephiroth doesn’t stop. He drags the younger Cloud to a nearby table while Cloud tries to ask him what he’s doing. And… well you know.

Sorry it took so long for me to reply! I was writing a little mini ficlet for this!

It seemed so innocent at first (or maybe dreamlike was a better word, because it was everything Cloud had ever dreamed of). Sephiroth—the Sephiroth—had approached him casually, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said:

“Zackary’s friend, correct?” 

It was enough to send Cloud over the moon. Sephiroth was acknowledging him! Sure, it was in relation to his much more successful friend, but that didn’t matter. Sephiroth had heard about him from Zack and then sought him out. 

Or at least was willing to seek him out on Zack’s behalf. 

“Yes! Sir! I-I am.” 

Sephiroth gave him a fond smile before beckoning Cloud to follow him. 

“Sir?” Cloud began nervously, “I’m still on duty; I can’t leave my post.” 

“Not to worry, Cloud,” Damn his name sounded good when Sephiroth said it. It was like Sephiroth  was purring it with the intent of seducing him. Which was, admittedly, not necessary. “I’ve already spoken to your commanding officer. He signed a form to release you from your post so you can assist me with more important duties.” 

Cloud didn’t question things further, instead just following after Sephiroth while his heart thumped loudly in his ears. The whole thing felt like it was too good to be true. 

“Remove your helmet, Cloud.” 

“Sir, why do you keep saying my name?

It was only the second time he had said it, but it felt horribly strage. Sephiroth, however, did not answer. Instead he stared expectantly until Cloud removed his helmet with a soft sigh.

 Cloud really could have done without having to remove his helmet. He had a horrible habit of turning bright red when nervous or embarrassed—and he was the most nervous he had ever been in his life. 

“You look quite flush. Are you ill?” 

It sounded almost mocking, but Cloud chalked it up to his imagination. From what he had heard, Sephiroth was a rather kind and polite man beneath his cold exterior, so he would never mock him. 

Right? 

“I’m not ill, sir,” Cloud corrected, “I’m just really nervous. I’ve been a fan of you for years, you know, so this is a big deal to me.”

Sephiroth’s face broke into a smile. 

“I had heard as much, although I’m grateful to hear you confirm it.” 

Cloud followed Sephiroth for several minutes, answering the questions Sephiroth asked him and occasionally posing his own. It felt oddly casual, almost as if Sephiroth was trying to get to know him rather than 

“How old are you now?” Sephiroth asked. 

“16, sir. And you?” 

Sephiroth answered then asked him another question.

“Are you sleeping with Zack?” 

Oh god, Cloud couldn’t see his face but he knew he must have turned several shades redder. Him sleeping with Zack!! It wasn’t that he was against the idea, it was just impossible to imagine Zack being interested in someone like him. 

“No!” Cloud shrieked. 

“Then what about someone from your hometown? Perhaps a childhood friend?” 

Cloud wanted to cry from shame. Why was Sephiroth asking him these private questions? Why did he care? 

“This is inappropriate!” Cloud protested, only for Sephiroth to roughly grab him. 

“Answer me, Cloud.” Sephiroth growled. 

“No! I’ve never slept with anyone!” 

As soon as he answered, Sephiroth brought their lips together in a harsh kiss. Cloud struggled; Sephiroth pressed them closer together with overwhelming strength.

“I don’t like this.” Cloud said when Sephiroth finally pulled away. 

“It’s okay. You’re cute like this.” 

And thus began Cloud’s descent into hell. 

[wernher-von-brawny]

Dude, same. Or similar, maybe.

I’ve been making stuff — print, websites, apps, even teaching — forever, and the understanding has always been that you demonstrate your skill with your portfolio (or teaching history).

Then about a decade back, everybody suddenly — and I do mean suddenly — started saying your portfolio is worthless. What you need to do is list the projects you worked on and list how much money you were directly responsible for it making or saving the client.

And dude, that had never been regarded as any of our damn business. The executives and sales folks told us what they needed, approved X or Y, and kept whatever surplus value they extracted to themselves.

Good luck getting an answer to, “so how much money did we make?”

Yes, in these increasingly difficult and competitive times, there’s a case to be made for “demonstrating value” and all that, but the deal was always that I can build whatever you need, and make whatever changes you or we find out need to be made to improve the product, but the execs and the marketing and sales people are responsible for extracting profits.

If I’m a partner, or I'm getting paid a percentage of the back-end, then ROI talk is my business. but if not, who the hell am I to be asking questions.

Not fair or transparent, but that was the arrangement, whether we liked it or not.

This new “authors need to provide their own audience” vibe reminds me of a comment about how the IP era of movie making is all about exploiting rather than developing.

Audience awareness of Kool-Aid makes it easier to promote a Kool-Aid movie, so the Kool-Aid movie gets made. Is it Art? Maybe not, but it's not about Art, is it? It's about making sure the dressage crowd — who wouldn't know Art from Shinola — get their quarterly bonuses.

And it’s a very short walk from that idea to pattern matching how this approach has been fundamental to the culture wars ever since Pat Buchanan declared them back in the 80s — from Jesse Helms de-funding the National Endowment for the Arts, to Colin Powell’s son taking over the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, to Trump’s attempts to de-fund NPR.

Complexity is difficult to control, and so complexity — and its irritating siblings like nuance, fact-checking, and context — get the old heave-ho.

The war on the arts (“It’s all pornography”) bled into a war on science (“Teach the controversy”) and journalism (“Fake news”), and now the Reagan Revolution has reached its full flower, where county judges are being arrested for taking the perfectly legal (as in settled law, as far as I’ve been made aware) choice to ignore and even subvert police actions that don’t have federal judicial force behind them.

And you know this is just a trial balloon in preparation for going after federal judges next.

I’m going far afield here, but the common thread I see is institutions that were once expected to participate in a process by provide services — publishers, music labels, and movie studios helping develop talent and build audiences; executives and startup bros figuring out how to sell a product, societies supporting communities of artists and scientists — have normalized a model in which the invest as little as possible into the process, but still expect entitlement to all profits.

And to call it out as inequitable or unjust, or to contribute to any kind of reform or counter-movement is met with anything from professional exile to prison time. Just ask the folks who’ve whistle-blown on government corruption over the last 20 years what they think.

*sigh*

If a writer wanted to be a marketer, they would be. If they had a talent for it, they would do it.

Sure, you can force a left-handed person to learn to write with their right hand, but that’s not what they are designed and optimized for — it’s an un-natural act.

Ask your God how He feels about un-natural acts. The answer may surprise you!

haaaaaaaaaate that it's such a controversial opinion these days when i say it's absolutely fucked that an author needs to "'[have] an online presence [to form a] personal connection with readers that you don’t necessarily find when browsing a book shop'" because like. that is not the author's fucking job. their job is to write the book. it's the PUBLISHERS' job to market the book and get it in readers' hands. the author shouldn't have to run a half dozen social media accounts with hundreds of thousands of followers just to get a publisher to give a single flying fuck about their book. some of these big name influencers are NOT good writers and i'm tired of tradpub pretending they are just because they can hit the NYT list! which again is not a merit of good writing!! the NYT list is just a popularity contest!!!!!!!!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s5 episode 17 "all souls" thoughts

omg!! after complaining of lack a of scully last time, this episode’s description specifically mentions her by name- and with a priest, too! is it time for scully catholic lore?! i am so excited! i fear i should lower my expectations, but it sounds promising!

it’s been a solid week since i’ve watched an episode, so i’m ready to dive in. 

post episode thoughts: idk, this one didn't really do it for me. and i don't know exactly what "it" is. despite checking many of the boxes that i think personally make a great episode (solo scully time and catholic guilt to name a few) this one felt just... too dark and convoluted for me. i literally had no idea what was going on, and then when i started to pick up on it, we circled back to the emily story, which still makes me feel very frustrated and i feel they could have handled it so much better. it also, once again, denies scully any autonomy, which is very frustrating.

surprisingly, in this scully-centric episode, the MVP for me was... mulder? yes, i'm genuinely shocked. he was so protective and caring even while being very grumpy. the way he leaned in to grab her shoulder... calling her back in the rain... gently teasing her and then realizing it wasn't a teasing sort of situation... wow.

and also, as i mentioned before, he looked really good. arguably at his best here.

(this might be my longest post so far LMAO)

very dramatic music is playing as this priest arrives at a house to baptize a young girl. i actually know very little about the whole baptismal process, so maybe this is accurate and maybe it’s not.

this girl, dara, has been baptized, and now the thunder is going wild, which seems spooky. 

also, she either has 6 toes or i cannot count.

did she get out of bed on her own despite not being able to walk before??? and now she’s walking towards a scary man while hearing evil voices. 

she’s on her knees praying to this guy who her father cannot see…. and HER EYEBALLS ARE BURNT OUT OF HER HEAD????????

huh. hey. a lot of things just happened very quickly. 

did the holy water burn her eyes? is she supposed to be a demon? i thought they were going to go with the “holy water healed her” route, which has its own problematic implications, but whatever these implications are, i’m lost. 

(author's note: and i was going to stay lost <3)

shortened intro, i clock you each and every time

scully is entering a church!!! she has on a blouse and not a suit, which feels strange. OHHH, SHE PULLS OUT THE BABY PICTURE OF MELISSA :(

god. she keeps it on her. i'm emotional.

it’s confession time. she’s talking to the confessor about her FBI work coming in conflict with her beliefs. it was father mccue who we saw before baptizing dara, and he said this family needed scully's help. hmm... what for?

scully is crying. OH MY GOD “father, i had a daughter who died” <- WHAT?? ARE THEY ACTUALLY GOING TO ACKNOWLEDGE THIS?????

i'm shook. i thought we were simply never going to speak of emily again.

so father mccue thought that helping this family would help scully process her grief… 

SHE’S SAYING SHE DOESN’T KNOW IF HE CAN OFFER FORGIVENESS? SHE LET A GIRL DIE??

woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, let’s go back a few steps……. oh my god. did scully need more grief to wear like an iron backpack? NO. WHAT HAPPENED HERE???

let a girl die. what. i just cannot imagine scully "letting" this happen??

a week earlier she had gone to easter mass. and she looks so beautiful in white and cream :,)

father mccue wants to speak to her in private. this church seems like it’s hopping, so it must be pretty important.

she’s been coming more often!!! :,) aww i'm happy for her. don't tease her too much father mccue, i'm watching...

but he needs her help. the kernofs lost their daughter dara in a very strange situation. and he thinks that her words might help them.

she looks so pained at this moment. but she goes anyway. god. god. scully. feeling obligated to help despite visibly not wanting to. knowing it will tear her open again. and doing it anyway.

frankly, it seems a bit cruel of father mccue to send her on this mission, but maybe he sees things with a lens i, a mere layperson, cannot

she’s chatting with the couple and they’re explaining how they adopted dara. lance (the father) is angry at god. 

they’re saying she might have been struck by lightning??? she was wheelchair bound and somehow got up, walked out, and was praying. struck by lighting... that would be so weird

the mother says something about god letting this happen to an innocent girl and god. emily. i am still mad at your plot line for feminist reasons, but grief. new grief and old grief and inexplicable screaming at the sky.

back in the confessional booth, scully says she felt drawn to the couple. they were angry at god, and so was she, although she refuses to say that.

“as much as i have my faith, father, i am a scientist. trained to weight evidence. but science only teaches us how… not why” <- OHHHHHHH toss that in the bucket of quotes i will use to psychoanalyze dana scully forever and ever

now she’s chatting with the doctor, who also says that maybe dara was struck by lightning. she asks if scully is religious, and scully replies with “why do you ask?”, which i think is very interesting as a character choice for her to put that space between directly answering. especially since they're in a lab setting. it's less of a pause of making a purposeful separation between faith and science, imo, and more of a cautiousness that comes from thinking her faith will somehow be taken advantage of. but it’s also funny because her cross necklace is very visible. so. you can guess the answer to that question.

dara was found genuflecting??? even in death. and there’s a scar on her hand from where an extra finger was removed. but i def saw an extra toe earlier.

no other signs of trauma… “it’s as if god himself struck her down” oh…

this is going to be a very un-fun time for scully.

who is this man with an upside down cross in his car, entering a psychiatric hospital?

there’s another girl in the hospital, who also has extra fingers. it seems this new father gregory character has come to adopt this paula! but there was a mix-up. there was no approval from the social worker, and he cannot take her home until the paperwork is in order.

but social worker seems like he is lying… based on that zoom in shot…. i know this show and its narrative tricks...

scully is at home looking at the photos of dara, then pulling out the photo of melissa :( oh god :( she really has lost so much :(

she’s biting back tears as she answers the phone. she must be really out of it, because she answered with “hello” and not “scully” like always :(

it’s mulder, somewhere in a phone booth in the pouring rain! oh god bless that man, finding a phone booth to call her back from even while out and about. 

he’s tailing a potential suspect but still makes time for the call, even though he's in a hurry… then he runs into an x rated film showing. now, what is going on with that? hope you catch the guy, buddy.

he wants to know more, but she cannot tell him anything until he gets the birth records on dara :(

back to paula at the hospital. someone is approaching…. and when he approaches, she also hears the scary voices and genuflects like the other girl did!!! and there is a huge flash!!!

what is going on.

scully is at the scene, and finds the cross in her room hung upside down. is satan afoot.....?

MULDER ENTERS!!! “aren’t you the secret squirrel” <- LMAOOOO WHAT A WEIRD THING TO SAY!!! let the record show that this man is my baby girl.

ohhhh, she quietly explains she’s doing this as a favor :( i think he gets the idea not to press or make any other rodent comparisons

but he starts nerding out over the implications of the flipped cross. maybe the guy he was tailing last night is the same guy who did this?

(author's note: there was actually no relation whatsoever, and i think the writers just meant him watching the scandalous film as a weird gag, but for a brief moment there, i thought the narrative stars were going to align. alas!)

anyway, paula and dara were sisters!! they were quadruplets!! so there must be 2 more out there, and they must be in danger!!

(mulder has this five o clock shadow thing going on, and it’s kinda intoxicating)

“look scully, i know you don’t really want my help on this, but can i offer you my professional opinion?” (she nods, almost smiling) “you got a bona fide, super-crazy religious wacko on your hands”

average mulder sentence. he points out the prevalence of eye imagery in the bible, of gouging and smiting and other such cases. and in walks the social worker, who is sure there was not a cross on the wall there before!!

i’m overcome by something pulling at my heart strings while looking at mulder and scully standing together.

paula was about to be adopted, so they journey to church of st. peter the sinner, which has the upside down cross iconography outside and a sign that reads “the darkness is upon us” oh boy! i feel very welcomed /s

mulder is coming too because he is a nice guy in his leather jacket and jeans :)

he really has no life, huh…. god bless him

(i feel like he is in some sort of league basketball every other weekend, and probably goes to the library very often, but this is likely the extent of his social life. aside from sleepovers with the gunmen, of course. and that can be so beautiful)

they find a book of st. peter the sinner, and he immediately identifies it as full of apocrypha!!! which is hot. while someone seems to be watching them from a corner. less hot.

“i’m surprised there’s nothing here from jesus christ superstar” <- A MAN OF CULTURE???????

(i know this man is singing showtunes in his car. oh, i just KNOW it. and i bet he WOULD love jcs. and he was at oxford when some big west end shows were playing: phantom, les mis, evita, cats. a 2 hour bus ride from oxford to london is nothing for a massachusetts boy. just keep these facts in mind while making headcanons)

((and i do feel like he grew up watching musicals, too. just seems like something that happened in that household. they had the money to go see live theatre, but he also grew up in a golden age of movie musicals. idk, just try and tell me he didn't hear songs from west side story and the music man in his house growing up. i bet he thought it was annoying as a kid that his mother was always playing them, but now he looks back at it with fondness. whatever))

they break the news to father gregory that paula has died, which he didn’t know, and he seems to be overcome with emotion as he says he was trying to adopt her. yeah. this is unfortunate.

mulder asks why he wanted to adopt her and he is NOT messing around

“why adopt her?”, he asks. “what, you think i was interested in harming her?” “why. adopt. her” <- OHHH he is NOT going to be going easy on this case when scully’s heart’s on the line!!! everyone say thank you to protective mulder!!

father gregory says he knew the girl’s mother and was trying to protect her, but when they ask who the mother is, he says she died. hmm. yeah. i think having 4 babies at once is pretty unsafe. i can imagine this happening.

but still... he said he knows where she is… and then says she died. which is suspicious. like, why not just say she’s dead? i feel like he's lying.

father gregory says that he used to be in the roman catholic church and he was her confessor before he started his own church, and divulging her name would violate his code of faith. okay, that is great and all. but her kids are being murdered, so maybe pray on it and ask god if you can make a special exception.

this dude is very strange. 

“and yours, i see” he says, glancing at scully’s necklace

ohh…. allow mulder to stride in angrily. “you said you wanted to protect paula. from what?” yeah that is right. you don't let him mess with her.

what the fuck? this dude is so off putting. “whatever your intentions, your secular prejudices blind you from seeing what’s really happening here. two girls are dead- not by the hand of man. unless you accept the truth of god’s teachings that there is a struggle between good and evil for all souls, and that we are losing that struggle, you’re but fools rushing in. you put your own lives in danger. as well as the lives of the messengers”

(deeply pensive scully as father gregory walks away and someone continues to pant from the corner of his church)

wow. so i guess he thinks god just kills poor kids sometime for fun. sounds like a great god. i sure do want to join your church and worship him now. /s

(i'm still so baffled after watching the episode. so he thought the demons were killing the kids? it wasn't god doing the killing? but god lets demons kill kids sometimes unless people like him intervene? but actually it was the seraphim killing the kids and bringing them home to good? which would be a good thing, right? i just don't know what this episode was trying to sayyyyyy)

back to scully in confession. she brought mulder on the case “to help temper my feelings… to keep them from clouding my judgement. i wouldn’t admit it to him, but… as well stood there, i felt as if father gregory were speaking directly to me. in a language only i could understand”

well. i don’t understand it either, so i can’t analyze it. i'm sorry, queen, because i love to analyze you. but i'm glad she brought him along for the ride.

mulder holds the door open for her as they leave, and remarks on how gregory seems deeply suspicious (“he thinks he’s doing god’s laundry” is an exquisite line)

he’s definitely hiding something. 

“but, basically, you’re ruling out any element of the supernatural?” (careful mulder pause) “what do you mean?” 

ohhh, are they going to have this fight again? he seems to be holding something back. like he's trying to carefully measure his words despite being pissed off.

she points out that dara was baptized before she died

“and why would god allow this to happen, and why do bad things happen to good people? religion has masqueraded as the paranormal since the dawn of time to justify some of the most horrible acts in history” (heavy massachusetts accent when he says "horrible", btw, just noting that)

“i was raised to believe that god has his reasons, however mysterious” 

“he may well have his reasons, but he seems to use a lot of psychotics to carry out his job orders”

wow. there’s so much to analyze there.

well, it's not outright denial of her beliefs, which is an improvement from before. he can clearly pick up on how much this case is impacting her, which i commend, especially for a guy whose ahab tendencies in the past have caused him to be oblivious to all things emotional. i will never be over that time he was like "i'm sorry your dog died :( btw i think we are dealing with the loch ness monster who somehow made his way to america. here are a bunch of dinosaur facts-"

mulder says she should autopsy paula before whoever it is has a chance to find her sisters. i think this is a fair judgement.

he is cranky. but he was trying to hold back. and i do appreciate that. cranky man who needs to shave. has he ever looked better??

i get the sense that this is one of those episodes i’ll have to rewatch to analyze more stuff in later. if i can bring myself around to it.

autopsy time. she finds something on both of paula's shoulders.

OH MY GOD, SHE LOOKS OVER AND SEES EMILY ON THE TABLE??!!

SHE STARTS CRYING??? AND SHE HEARS EMILY SAY “MOMMY PLEASE”???

BUT SHE TURNS BACK AND THE BODY WAS JUST PAULA??!!

hey. what. hey. emily jumpscare. what does this mean? she knew that alien child for like 2 weeks. please do not spiritually torment her.

back in the confessional booth, she says she wrote off what she saw as a hallucination based on her emotional connection to the case, but she clarified that is not what it was

damn. little did this confessor know he was in for a WILD story time when she sat down.

she says she was meant to see emily for a purpose. so she could save them. taking on the need to save others... this is such a scully thing to do.

mulder on da phone. he has a lead on the third sister!! 

(dramatic sunglasses removal as they stake out the area)

why does he look so good?? it’s making it hard to focus on the tragic plot at hand. 

he says the third sister wandered into a teen crisis center, which is odd because the other two could not walk at all. and scully points out that there’s some sort of degenerative bone disease in paula.

“and uh, i know you’re going to think that i’m crazy… but i swear i found evidence of something winglike”

DOES SHE THINK THESE GIRLS ARE ANGELS BEING BROUGHT BEFORE GOD FOR CRIMES?? THE REBELLIOUS ONES LIKE LUCIFER?

“well then, maybe she flew here, scully” <- lmao. not totally appropriate for him to say, but lmao.

uh oh… he finds another upside down cross outside the joint. she has more to say, but he has to go.

someone is chasing another girl… LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!!!

mulder approaches...

and this girl, too, hears more of those horrible overlapping voices, there’s a dude with the face of an alien (angel? devil?) and the blinding light?? and she’s doing the same pose as the others!! the genuflection!!

MULDER HAS HIS GUN…. who is here?! it’s father gregory!!! he says it’s too late!!! and that the girl is dead!!!!

and sure enough, her eyes are burned out as well, as a dove flies to the light. i see what you did there, souls ascending and all that.

(but i thought she was taken by the devil, so the soul going to the light seems contradictory... you know what? never mind ❤️)

now they have father gregory brought in for questioning, and mulder has a casual shirt on, which looks strange. “you know, they say when you talk to god it’s prayer, but when god talks to you, it’s, uh, schizophrenia” (he smiles at his own joke)

“you’re not interested in the truth” “i am ONLY interested in the truth!!” <- do not get between this man and his Truth. rest assured, that is his God

all jokes and jests have been forgotten at this point. he’s screaming at father gregory, asking what could possess him to burn those poor girls’ eyes out, with scully watching in the back. 

father gregory makes scully explain the upside down cross… st. peter would only be crucified upside down. out of reverence for christ. sure. okay. seems weird he makes her explain it. feels manipulative somehow.

(very interesting how the upside down cross represents both st. peter and the devil... makes following the plot of this episode even harder)

he says he has risked his life to protect their souls because the devil wants them. well, idk if you’re doing a very good job, tbh. you're 0/3. 

(mulder glares at him before leaving the room) 

but father gregory taunts scully, saying she knows what they are, and if the devil finds her, his victory will be complete. 

man, idk what they’re talking about :(

they think they found the fourth girl, and father gregory asks to be let go or else no one can save her. scully explains in confession that she knew she was meant to save her.

she says the devil didn’t take their souls, but the threat was real, and he gave his life to protect them.

anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?

back to the case. mulder's talking to her and then he asks what’s wrong. ohhh, he bends down to look in her eyes. “scully? scully. don’t let this guy get in your head. that’s the last thing you want” <- oh my god, he’s worried :((((

"you’re not going to find her. i think you’re being misled", she says

“by who?" (heavy pause) "scully, i think you’re the one who’s being misled. and not just willingly, but willfully. i’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated. and it scares me because i don’t know why”

he is at once doing his very best and still manages to be a bit condescending, but he is also doing a very good job, at least for him, of saying what he means. so i’m proud

“i saw emily” OHHH she says it. i thought she would keep it to herself “she came to me in a vision”

he grabs her shoulder and pulls her in close: “i think you should step away” ohhh :( ohhh no :(

she tells him to go find the girl and let her finish up with father gregory, and he takes the case file from her hand, lingering over it, holding onto the image of the last girl 

the case worker made his way into father gregory’s room!! asking where she is!! “the others were taken from me” hey, who are you? 

oh my god, he starts burning father gregory????? “tell me father. save yourself” is he the devil?? a demon??

scully goes to talk to him again and the door is locked. father gregory is dead on the floor!! all burnt up!!!

mulder is arriving at the house of the fourth girl.  he is NOT playing around. her father says she’s at school, and he points out she hasn’t been at school for a week. he won’t unlock the basement door, so mulder is going to kick it open. 

her father is saying a priest would take her off his hands!! father gregory said he would take her and let him keep the disability checks!!

huh.......

scully is getting to her car, but she gets a call. “yeah, hi scully, it’s me” aww

(she drops her keys and hears the horrible demon voices as mulder yells at her on the phone to answer him)

before her is a bird alien lion thing???????? the CGI goes crazy!!!

poor mulder is yelling to her while she is witnessing the plot of revelations irl. he's gotta be so worried.

back to talking to father mccue. she says she has seen things. visions. a man with four faces. 

this is troubling to father mccue, who fetches his bible. he’s showing her a page. it has an angel with four faces, which he calls a seraphim. the seraphim fathers four children with a mortal woman, whose babies are the nephelim, the fallen ones. souls of angels, but weren’t meant to be, they’re deformed and tormented. so the seraphim smites them with his glory and they go back to god?

i do not remember this story from sunday school.

“you think that’s what i saw?” “no” <- oh, i didn’t think he would say that… i thought he would be supportive. actually pretty gagged here.

“no. i think what you saw is a figment of your imagination, a half-remembered story from your childhood that surfaced because of this case” <- is he trying to be helpful here?? reassuring?? dismissive??? 

she insists that she saw it. and i cannot get a read on father mccue.

“the text in which it appears isn’t even recognized by the church” <- okaaay, that makes me feel better for not knowing the story.

he is certain god has his reasons. it is how he rewards our fate. which is a nice thing to think about.

the case worker is here, claiming mulder has been trying to reach her. there is latin chanting as they go to father gregory’s church. everything is quiet and the footsteps are clear. 

ohhhh she sees devil horns in his reflection… and he says he knows the last girl here. 

and she finds the girl!!! she was who was watching them earlier!! he’s yelling out to her…. 

she says she won’t hurt the girl, that she’ll get her out of there, take her someplace safe.

she’s trying to guide her out and the demon is saying to bring her the girl. but she’s trying to go forward to him!! 

emily is here?? “mommy, let me go” HUH?? let her go to the DEVIL??? she lets emily go and she walks into the light???

scully is crying. the demon is gone, leaving behind only the dead girl. 

(author's note: i'm pretty sure i actually misunderstood this scene, and the seraphim came and intercepted the girl from the devil- at least, that is what wikipedia says happened. but this was not very clear, and you can imagine my shock at the thought of scully releasing her dead child to the devil. which will make my confusion in the following paragraphs make more sense)

back to the confession… she was sure she was releasing the last girl's soul to heaven. but she cannot reconcile this with the physical fact of her death.

“has it occurred to you that maybe this, too,  is part of what you were meant to understand?”

”you mean, accepting my loss

“can you accept it?”

“maybe that’s what faith is”, she says, crying 

the end.

hmm. hmm.

so scully couldn’t reconcile bringing that girl to heaven with her actual death. 

but i was so confused, i swear the caseworker had horns, like he was the devil!! but then i guess the seraphim swooped in?

so she can only understand the loss of emily through faith, which makes sense, but the emily plot line still makes me frustrated, so idk how i feel. 

you ever get so confused you go to wikipedia?

so the devil took their souls? the devil being the social worker? but then at the last minute the seraphim took the last girl and brought her to heaven even though she died.

so the devil actually got the first three girls? but the bird went up to the light, and scully said she was confident they went to a better place? so must be the bright light guy was the seraphim and he saved them from the caseworker?

listen. listen. i’m going to throw my hands up in the air and admit defeat on this one. i don’t know what the hell went on. but i do believe it was important to scully.

i also believe it was an attempt to wrap up the emily plot line and that it probably won’t ever be addressed again in a meaningful manner because woohoo! we did it! we wrapped it up! /s

hmm. hmm. mulder did endear me today. he was cranky, but he genuinely wanted what was best for her. i think. even if he was lying about tailing a suspect to go watch some illicit films. and i don’t want to think about that. it’s far funnier to imagine him actually tailing someone and having to watch that as a result. 

after watching this episode, i feel very strange. i mentioned before it just didn't do "it" for me, and again, whatever "it" is, i couldn't tell you. but i can tell you this: i am desperate for scully to reclaim agency in her life. and i find that subjecting her to divine will is not agency. maybe you could interpret what happened here as god testing her, or offering her a way to understand her pain, or perhaps even taking god out of the equation, because of the unconfirmed nature of all supernatural elements of this show, she is imagining all of this as a way to deal with her pain. but it doesn't really allow her any freedom or autonomy.

i don't think i can fully articulate my qualms with this episode without diving into the murky waters of if god allows for free will, which is above my pay grade. but i will say this: it felt like scully was thrust into this situation, and her own free will was once again denied, whether you think it is due to father mccue getting her involved or god using her to save these girls and wrestle with the nature of faith versus reality.

and i want to see scully make her own choices. this is a critique of the writers, and not of the fictional character of scully. why is she consistently denied her ability to make choices about her own life? why is she put into these situations that deny her the ability to make choices? why does this happen to the woman in the show and not the man? why does it focus heavily on her ability to bear children? you see what i'm saying? why is the plot happening TO scully but being driven forward BY mulder?

i feel like it is hard for me to analyze what happened in this episode because so little of it involved scully making her own choices. she did choose to get involved with father mccue's request, and she chose to find meaning in her experiences, and even chose to communicate the distress she was in with mulder, but plot wise it was "god is torturing scully again. does he have no one else to torture?"

the emily thing is still always going to rub me the wrong way. it was always clear from the start of the abduction arc that the plot was going in this direction, but that doesn't make me like it any better.

in conclusion: i didn't like this one because i feel it, once again, relied on removing scully's agency and autonomy, and after 5 seasons this is growing old. also, i didn't know the seraphim lore, so i had no idea what was going on.

what did you think? specifically my scully fans: do you agree with my critiques? am i being a hater? did you know what was going on? did you like this episode? i'm always down to listen to someone try and convince me to like an episode! i need to know everything in brutal detail.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

If I didn't already have multiple drawings I want to finish I'd start a series of Constant interacting with their companions. I already have ideas and everything!!

[soupacool]

congrats on taking T and experiencing voice changes, that's so exciting!! 🥳🥳✨✨

thank you!!! it's been a period of intense learning of myself and my place in the world and I wouldn't trade it for anything

[mayspicer]

Girl help I really need to do the test tasks for a new job or else my life is gonna get very bad real soon, but all I want to do is draw ttrpg characters.

[sttoru]

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 2 ▷ || play next song?

summary : Your inbox has turned into a horny battlefield—six familiar usernames, six neck-down thirst traps, all hard and very, very eager.

No faces. Just bodies. Dicks. Bold lighting choices. Questionable bedsheets.

You sit cross-legged in your underwear like you’re judging Olympic figure skating, except everyone’s naked and begging to be picked.

Time to start scoring.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men, sukuna being sukuna, reader being willfully ignorant for her own sanity.

A/N : time to make your first choice for the first week by voting in the poll at the end, i'll be doing this all in descending order based on who was the most voted to the least - so vote well >:) goodluck reader ! (i wonder who the mystery man could POSSIBLY be)

You sat back for a few hours, letting it really settle in for yourself and your viewers. You had hundreds of messages and you hadn’t even finished scrolling through the first wave of submissions when the familiar usernames started sliding into your inbox—like wolves answering the call. And it was obvious, immediately, which messages you were actually going to open.

These weren’t just horny randos with messy lighting and desperate angles.

These were your regulars.

The six you already knew by username. The six who tipped with the intensity of men bidding for real estate inside your body. And now they were showing themselves to you. You hoped to whatever deity was listening that these guys were hot with huge cocks. What? It was fun to be a little superficial sometimes. First up:

EmoWithaBoner.

His message was soft-spoken, despite the picture attached being the exact opposite of that, just like always. No emojis. No bravado.

“Didn’t know how to pose,” it read. “But I thought about how you’d look on top of me, and it kind of just happened.”

It was soft, unfiltered, and a little shaky. The photo was reflected from his mirror and showed him stretched out across gray sheets, pale skin dusted with faint freckles. He looked like he went to the gym often with how built he was. Narrow hips. His cock sat flushed against his stomach, long and lean—at least seven inches, maybe more—and wait.. was that? You looked closer towards the image, inspecting it like you were trying to solve a case. Yep. It was pierced at the frenulum with a delicate curved barbell. A glint of silver. Great heavens. Saved.

TempleOfSin.

His body was art. Broad chest, warm tan skin like satin, sculpted muscle that looked carved. His torso was tapered, lean and strong, with a small trail of black hair leading down to a thick, curved cock—seven inches minimum, hand loosely resting at the base like he was showing it off without trying too hard. He was neatly trimmed. It looked like there was a bunch of robes beside him haphazardly taken off for the photo. “Consider this a formal offering,” the message read. “You could worship every inch of me truly, my loyal little follower.” Odd as always, but hot. Saved. You could hear your prayers being answered, two down and so far all was good - in fact, perfect. You were surprised these were the guys paying you, and for a second or two you felt like you should be paying them for the photos.

SixEyesOnly’s submission hit next—and of course, it came with a $500 tip before you even clicked on the message. The sight that hit your eyes made you choke a little on your own spit. 

Of course he sent multiple angles—three, actually. You picked your favorite: a half-reclined shot on luxurious navy bedding, torso lit with just the right amount of golden light. He was toned, lean muscle over abnormally long limbs, subtle abs. A soft trail of white hair led down to a perfectly girthy cock, mid-stroke—maybe just under eight inches, thick enough to stretch you open. His other hand was holding a handwritten sign: “Good enough for you?” “Oh, SixEyesOnly, absolutely.” You spoke to yourself whilst your eyes remained glued to your laptop screen. Saved. Then—unsurprisingly unhinged—daddyissuez.

“i jerked off right before i took this and got hard again just thinking about fucking you.”

And the photo… Jesus. The photo was taken in low lighting, like a scene from a noir porno. He was sitting wide-legged on a leather couch that looked like it needed replacing, legs thick and powerful, thighs dusted with black hair. His chest was solid, scars faintly visible across his abs and ribs. You closed your eyes for a second and tilted your head up to your ceiling in a silent ‘thank you’ before looking back down at the image. His cock was huge, just like the rest of him. Probably just shy of nine inches, you couldn’t keep your eyes off it. Balls heavy. Tip already glossy with precum. One hand gripped the base. The other rested lazily on his thigh like he was used to being admired. With a cock like that you couldn’t blame him. Saved. OfficeAfterHours was, predictably, meticulous. His message read like an email you’d get from someone managing your retirement plan, if that person also wanted to bend you over a desk.

“Apologies for the delay. Here’s my formal submission. Discretion guaranteed. Let me know if you'd like a second angle.”

Shot in high-resolution against crisp black sheets, his body was a symphony of intention. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, abs that looked like they’d been sculpted from marble. Not huge, but built like someone who took care of himself for discipline, not vanity. A thin trail of blonde hair led down to a cock that was gorgeous—perfect shape, thick but not excessive, probably seven inches on the dot, with veins that begged for attention. Trimmed. Clean. You could almost imagine his voice saying something like, “Breathe through it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” A weird sound came out of your mouth in excitement from your own fantasy. Saved.

You were already overstimulated and halfway folded into your sheets when the final message hit.

KingOfRot.

You hovered over it for a second like it might bite. Which was ironic, considering he probably would. He was always the most feral in chat—filthy, relentless, tipping like his wallet had a death wish.

You clicked.

Instant regret. Instant need.

The photo looked like it had been taken during a crime.

Bathroom mirror. Harsh yellow light. Shirt pushed up to his collarbones, muscles tensed like he’d been fucking someone just before he snapped the photo. Chest broad. Arms thick. Veins roped down to his forearms. Stomach lined with clean muscle. Ink everywhere—heavy black bands around his biceps, tattoos sharp and ceremonial-looking across his chest and stomach like a ritual.

And then his cock.

You actually flinched at the offensive monster staring right back at you through the screen. Long. Thick. Too thick. Heavy. Veins running down the shaft like it had a pulse, flushed red like it had been hard for too long. The kind of cock you’d have to apologize to your body after taking. You didn’t even want to hazard a guess at the size.

He wasn’t even touching it. It was just there holding its own weight up like a pole rather than a piece of actual flesh. 

But what got you, what really made your stomach drop, was the tattoos.

They were familiar.

You’d seen them before.

There was a guy on campus—tall, smug, terrifyingly hot in the way that sent your libido into a frenzy—who had tattoos just like that. You’d seen him walking out of the athletics building once, sweatpants slung low and his shirt mysteriously missing, laughing like he knew every secret in the world. He had loudly shouted “What!?” at you when you had stared for a little longer than needed. Embarrassingly seared into your memory for that exact reason.

You squinted.

“Nope,” you muttered. “No. Not connecting the dots. That’s above my pay grade.” Surely it couldn’t be the same guy, right? The tattoos were probably, like, one of those trends that everyone was getting. That's what you were telling yourself at least.

You were about to save the photo when you finally looked at the caption.

“Pick me. I’ll fuck you so hard your ancestors will feel it. You’ll be a fucking shrine by the time I’m done.” Was that a death threat? Probably. Should you block him? Probably. “Ancestors. Okaaaaay.” You nodded your head slowly as if he was across from you saying it with a gun pointing at you. 

And then you saved it. Of course you did. Then flopped onto your back, one arm flung over your face, trying to mentally prepare for the chaos you had just invited into your life. All at the right price of course. “Thank you to whoever is listening for blessing me with viewers that are hotter than the guys I have wilfully hooked up with for free.” You spoke to your ceiling, a common theme nowadays. Seven men. Seven bodies. Seven chances to let your subscribers watch you get absolutely wrecked on camera.

Your legs were trembling from what you decided was mostly horniness.. and a little bit of fear for your own pussy by the time you shut your laptop fully. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

Now, the real question was - who would you choose first?

taglist : @syubseokie @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @gorouenjoyer @linaaeatsfamilies @lov3-ly @des-todoroki @aiicpansion @lazylunarlover @kentoslvr @cherry-berry-21 @cure-alexandrite @yourname-exee @pinkyogoart @sillymortalblob @kyvyes @xxxieli @swoozleee @augustineyukimura @uniquecutie-puff @ayepitita @luna-v-roiya @kill-your-darling274 @babiestarrcandy @b3bybunny @midnightwriter21 @miizuzu

[cuntyji]

the first video nanami ever posted was filmed on a shaky phone propped up against a bag of flour.

he was making bread—simple, easy, the kind of thing he found comfort in after long days at work. his hands moved methodically, kneading the dough with a quiet precision, and though he spoke very little, the video was oddly calming.

he hadn't expected much from it. maybe a few views, maybe a couple of people who’d appreciate the lack of unnecessary chatter. but the comments were overwhelmingly positive, people asking about his technique, his recipe, his voice—deep, smooth, effortlessly steady. so he made another video. then another.

it was the late-night upload of him singing "baby one more time" by the marías that changed everything.

filmed on an old macbook with a grainy webcam, the lighting barely enough to make out his face, the video had been an impulse decision—one he almost deleted. it was just him, sitting on his couch, his voice low and hushed, the way he usually sang to lull yuuji to sleep. but the internet clung to it like ivy, twisting and reaching until the video had over a million views by the end of the week.

"who is he." "why is this the most intimate thing i've ever heard in my life." "he looks exhausted and sounds like a dream, i'm in love."

he thought it would pass. but it didn't.

his subscribers doubled overnight. the demand for more was loud, insistent. nanami, being nanami, didn’t rush to meet it. instead, he structured it into his routine: one video a week, a mix of baking and singing—because baking was reliable, and singing had never been something he shared outside of yuuji’s bedtime.

his channel evolved. the baking videos became polished, edited with subtle precision. he switched to voiceovers, explaining each step in that same low, deliberate tone that made people feel like he was speaking just to them. and when he sang, it was always songs that carried a quiet sort of nostalgia.

"he only sings songs he sings to his kid to sleep i’m crying." "his lullabies are better than half the music industry." "i don’t know his name, his age, or his face properly, but i know his banana bread recipe by heart."

nanami never explicitly talked about being a single dad, but it was impossible to miss. yuuji’s voice sometimes made cameos in the background, muffled questions about homework, laughter when nanami burnt the edges of a cake. he didn’t hide it, didn’t play it up. it was just a part of his life, and his audience adored him for it.

his faq video—one of the few times he ever directly addressed personal questions—answered almost nothing.

"are you married?" "no." "how old are you?" "old enough." "what's your name?" "nanami."

the mystery only made people more obsessed.

"i know nothing about him but i’d die for him." "his hands. his voice. his existence." "the fact that he bakes and sings for his kid and still won’t tell us his age is crazy."

he now posted twice a week. one video was always baking, the other was whatever he wanted—sometimes music, sometimes a quiet q&a, sometimes just a video of him making tea while rain hit the windows.

people knew everything and nothing about him at the same time. they knew the exact ratio of brown sugar he preferred in cookies but not what city he lived in. they knew he tucked yuuji in every night with a song but had never seen his full face in a single frame. they knew the precise cadence of his voice when he said “and that’s how you make the perfect loaf” but had never heard him say “i love you”—and yet, somehow, they felt like they had.

the internet had fallen in love with him. and nanami, quietly, without even trying, had changed his life with nothing but flour-dusted hands and the sound of his own voice.

[pathologicalreid]

a love song for lady earth | s.r.

in which reader has her first experience with munch!spencer

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: oral (fem receiving), munch!spencer, a little bit of overstim, d/s dynamics if you spin in circles and then squint, pwp, cumming untouched, fingering, dirty talk, a little praise word count: 2.16k a/n: this one goes out to everyone who's ever gotten shitty head from shitty guys. also to people who like their men a little pathetic.

“What are you doing?” Your voice comes out higher than you anticipated. The slight panic in your tone sets your boyfriend on high alert, his eyebrows rising in curiosity as he hovers over you.

Spencer pulls himself up until you meet his eyes, concern and lust fusing together to create nothing short of confusion. He studies your expression, investigating your interruption with the kind of delicacy that he always has when approaching intimacy, “Baby,” he starts, “Have you ever received oral sex before?”

Your lips part in surprise, wondering why that’s the conclusion he comes to, “I have,” you respond hesitantly. “I just—” you falter, “You don’t have to.”

His confusion deepens, “I don’t have to what?”

“You don’t have to give me head,” you answer timidly, “Because it’s not— you just don’t have to.”

Languidly, Spencer drags his fingertips up and down your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s not what? Now you have to tell me.”

You groan in frustration, looking up at the ceiling fan while you search for words that won’t set your cheeks ablaze, “I don’t like it, and I know guys don’t like it. So, you just… we can skip that part.”

“Just out of curiosity, what about it don’t you like?” Spencer asks, sitting up fully between your legs, one hand resting on your knee, keeping your legs parted.

Looking down at him, you chew on the inside of your lip, knowing you have his undivided attention when you speak up, “I just don’t get any pleasure out of a guy trying to French with my vagina while I fake moan.”

“Ah,” Spencer breathes, “So, you’ve never received good oral sex before,” he amends his previous question.

Propping yourself up on your hands, you raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “I’m not entirely convinced there is such a thing, and will you please stop calling it oral sex? It sounds so clinical.”

He crawls over to you, putting his face right in front of yours, “Do you trust me?”

You frown, “Of course I do, what does that have to do with any of this?”

“Would you be willing to let me go down on you?” The earnestness in his tone catches you by surprise. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants to eat you out.

Humming affectionately, you tilt your head at him, “Do you really want to? I always thought guys hated doing it.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows, “Then I guess that demographic doesn’t apply to me.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “You can… We can try,” you offer. Nerves twist in your lower belly as his eyes widen ever so slightly, your eyes fall shut as he leans his head forward, pressing his lips to yours while his hand starts to pull at the waistband of your panties.

Your boyfriend’s lips are almost unfairly soft against your own as his hands continue to undress you, pushing your t-shirt up around your waist and pulling down your underwear to the middle of your thighs. Pressing his forehead against yours, Spencer pulls away ever so slightly, “You can always tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Nodding, you can’t help but be curious about his plan. You find yourself questioning every partner you’ve had in the past, or maybe Spencer just has a special talent with his mouth—he certainly was good at running it. “Yes,” you say, kissing him again before he moves his head down.

“Thank you,” he mutters, bringing his head back down to where it was before you’d stopped him. Spencer lazily drags your panties down your legs, flinging them across the room to be found later before dropping his head between your knees, littering small, slow kisses along the insides of your thighs. “Pretty girl,” he hums, inspecting your glistening sex with peaked interest.

Your cunt clenches around nothing at his words, earning a chuckle from Spencer as he set on top of your mound, pulling the skin taut before blowing cool air on you. You jump in response, looking down at where he’s smirking from between your legs. Admittedly, you’d never felt so dizzy at the prospect of having a man go down on you, he just looks so pretty.

He hums absentmindedly, “Just making sure you’re paying attention,” he teases.

There could be an air raid siren going off and you’d still be too focused on him to take cover. His movements are calculated as he exposes your clit to the air, leaning his head down and pressing his tongue flat against your folds, licking a stripe before readjusting himself on the bed.

A constellation of feather-light kisses is left everywhere, your inner thighs, up toward your hip bone—everywhere except where you really need him. Your clit aches with need as he continues to tease you, the pad of his thumb skimming ever so slightly over the sensitive bud, relieving only a fraction of the pressure that’s building up. “Spence,” you breathe.

“Are you enjoying this?” He asks, lifting his head up and looking at you curiously.

You nod once, “Are you?” You challenge.

His head drops again, and your breath hitches when he answers, “Immensely.”

Spencer continues but doesn’t move on, studying your anatomy so intently that it only serves to turn you on even more. His hand ghosts over your folds, running a finger over your slit and chuckling when your hips buck up in response to the stimulation.

He could’ve gotten you to beg, had that been his goal, you would’ve babbled please so incessantly that the word no longer held any meaning, but that wasn’t what Spencer wanted. He wanted you to enjoy receiving pleasure in a way that no man had ever wanted before.

“You’re just so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, watching you intently.

Before you had a chance to reply, his mouth was on you again, his tongue deftly slipping between your folds and poking at your entrance. Other than working you up, you didn’t feel any different than you had previously. You give a gentle hum of encouragement—at least he tried, and at least you’d be wet enough for sex.

Spencer curls his tongue, dragging your slick up to your clit, and that’s where he finally got you. His tongue pressed firmly against the bundle of nerves as you squirm beneath him, your body moving faster than your brain as your hips move away from his mouth, “Shh,” Spencer coos, “It’s okay, baby. I know it’s a lot. I’ve got you.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, you nod. You open your mouth to form a reply, but the only thing that comes out is a breathy sigh.

Carefully, Spencer moves your legs, placing your thighs on top of his shoulders, giving you one more glance before diving back in, kitten-licking your clit while you try to catch your breath.

“Spence,” you cry, feeling an orgasm that you previously hadn’t thought was possible building in your lower belly. A swarm of nerves and aches of pleasure thrumming through your body like electricity.

He readjusts, lifting his head more so that his lips can wrap around the sensitive nub, his mouth gently suckling on it.

At a loss for what to do with your hand, they find their way down to his head, weaving your fingers through his hair as his ministrations drive you closer and closer to an orgasm. Tugging at the soft curls earns a groan from him, the vibrations on your clit causing you to cry out, “Oh my god.”

He drops one of your legs, moving his hand up to grab one of yours before you cum, squeezing his hand as he gently nips at your clit, further encouraging your orgasm.

“I’m— ah, please,” you babble nervously, inhaling sharply as your orgasm washes over you, cunt clenching around nothing as Spencer’s mouth continues working at you, licking softly as your back arches off of the bed, sweat causing the sheets to stick to your skin.

Your thighs are trembling by the time Spencer comes back up, his mouth shining with your arousal as he breathes as heavily as you. His hand cups your sensitive sex when he leans forward, leaning in to kiss your lips.

The taste of yourself on his lips doesn’t even cross your mind as you cup the back of his head and pull his mouth to yours. The tang of your own cunt on your tongue draws a moan from the back of your throat, and you jump when one of Spencer’s fingers gently teases your interest, the sensitivity from your previous orgasm making your head spin.

“Can I go back?” Spencer asks, looking down at his hand briefly before returning to your eyes for permission.

Your mouth gapes, “You want more?”

He groans in response, “Angel, I’d spend all day between your thighs if you’d let me.”

Your stomach flips, mourning the fact that you had plans in the afternoon, “I might just take you up on that someday.”

Lifting your body from the pillows, Spencer tugs your t-shirt the rest of the way off your body, leaving you fully nude in front of him, “Fuck,” he groans, gently guiding your back to the mattress as he attaches his lips to your neck, leaving your fingers clawing at his back.

His head moves lower, nipping and sucking at your collarbones, leaving light marks as he makes his way down to your chest. His lips scatter kisses all along your breasts as he moves down, down, down. Right until he’s right where you want him, and right where he wants to be. “Oh,” you whimper, taking in a shaky breath while he tentatively presses his index finger into your wet hole.

“Poor baby,” Spencer coos at your sensitivity, “You’re doing so well, letting me fuck you with my mouth. All you needed was someone to suck your clit.”

You sigh dazedly in response, every thought in your mind evacuating as his mouth drops to your pussy again, languidly lapping at your cunt while his finger eases into you, “You’re so good at this.”

He hums against you in response, the vibrations causing your body to shudder and your hands to return to their home in his hair. The feeling of his mouth gently sucking on that little bundle of nerves and his finger starting to thrust makes your walls clench.

A strangled moan escapes your mouth when he adds a second finger, his second and third fingers driving into you with a steady rhythm as his tongue flicks your clit in calculated movements. The recognition of your impending orgasm hits you, “’m close,” you breathe, gasping as his movements don’t relent, tears prick at your eyes as you chase that high.

Spencer pushes your legs further apart with his spare hand, keeping your thighs from closing around his head as he moans against your cunt. You pull on his hair, eliciting another groan from him that sends you hurtling into your second orgasm, crying out his name like a prayer as he tapers off his ministrations.

His hand slows first, gently working you through your orgasm as his tongue laps at your clit, gentle movements soothing the hypersensitive spot as you catch your breath, tears trickling down your cheeks as you smooth out the hair on his head. He pulls away from you, releasing your trembling thighs and letting them fall around him as he tiredly rests his head on your abdomen. “Spence,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair, causing him to rest his chin on you, meeting your eyes as he wipes your slick from his mouth.

He hums a response, “My love,” he murmurs, eyes closing as he enjoys the feeling of you playing with his hair.

You chew on the inside of your lip nervously, “Do… do you need me?” Your question was tentative, unsure if he wants you to reciprocate.

“Uh,” he says, equally as unsure, “That’s not necessary.”

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s not like I feel inclined to, but I’d like to… to return the favor.”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, I mean I’m taken care of. I already…” his voice trails off, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

“Oh,” you breathe, “Oh.” Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, hiding your smile, “Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Desperately. You were trying desperately not to laugh at the prospect of your boyfriend cumming in his briefs.

He rolls his eyes in response, clearly unbothered. He seems almost proud, and you suppose it’s not often that a man finishes from giving head. “So,” he starts, moving his hand and using his fingertips to draw stars across your bare skin, “Did you enjoy it?”

You huff in response, the answer is obvious, but he just wants the victory of knowing he’s changed your mind. Who are you to refuse him of that? “Immensely,” you answer.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

A smaller body is already standing behind him, blocking his path. The little guy with a serious face folds his arms across his chest as if challenging Danny to try to get by him.

He’s had enough tussles with Danielle to know better than to test the kid.

Danny rubs at his eyes with a hand, purposefully keeping the other limp at his side. He turns back around.

“Okay. Fine. What? What do you want?”

“You sent in a folder of information to solve the Boothe case,” Red Robin states confidently like there wasn’t any doubt it was Danny who sent it in.

He frowns. It was sent in anonymously. As in they shouldn’t be able to know it was him. Then again they are detectives in their own right even if they dress weird.

“See? This is why no one helps out the police if they’re gonna get grilled for it later on,” he complains sourly.

“That case is connected to another string of crimes we’ve been investigating. I need to know where you got your information.”

Danny glares at him for a second, actually thinking about telling him, then he remembers how quickly these guys throw people into Arkham.

“Do you not get what anonymous means?”

“What is your source?” He asks, completely ignoring Danny’s concerns.

“What are gonna do? Dangle me over the side of a building to get me to talk like you do with the criminals you guys pick up? Go ahead. See where that gets you,” he shrugs indifferently.

“You’re a runaway.”

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a warning as he turns to look at the pipsqueak that spoke.

“From your poorly made fake ID and the fact you don’t look close to eighteen, you must be a runaway minor. We could bring you in to the proper authorities if you prove to be… uncooperative.”

Danny sneers in annoyance.

“Seriously?” He turns back to Red Robin. Clearly the older of the two and the one leading this investigation. “This is what I get for trying to help? Blackmail?”

“Robin can be a bit… abrasive. I, on the other hand, can appreciate a different approach.”

Suddenly there’s a couple pieces of paper money in between his fingers. Danny couldn’t see how much it was from this far away, but it didn’t really change how he felt about the whole situation.

“Now bribery? Wow, you guys really got the whole good cop, bad cop thing down, don’t cha?”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop wasting your time,” Danny answers with a snap.

Red Robin pauses.

“Our time,” he repeats calmly.

“Yea. Your time. This is a dead end and you should move on.”

“And why are you a dead end?” Presses Robin.

“Because,” Danny emphasizes with a look over his shoulder, “the guy you’re really looking for, my source as you put it, is dead, okay? So you can’t go ask him questions. I sent in everything that was relevant. Find another lead.”

Red Robin’s expression remains blank as he mentally calculates his next move. Danny hopes he takes his advice and let him go home.

“His name?”

Danny folds his arms over his chest, a pathetic attempt to protect himself. He chews on his lip a minute. To tell him or not to tell him. It’s not really ratting the guy out since he’s, you know, dead. Although there is a large chance Danny’s missing something and it’s all going to lead back to him somehow.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did,” the vigilante replies calmly, almost nonchalant.

Danny shifts his weight with nerves. He really wasn’t getting out of this without giving them something, huh?

“Greg,” he grinds out like it’s painful.

Silence for a few moments, then-

“As in Gregory Boothe?”

The victim of this whole conversation? Yes.

Danny’s silence is answer enough and the diverted gaze just solidified their suspicions.

“Gregory Boothe’s body turned up a month ago. Presumably he’d been dead for several weeks before that.”

Red lets that damning information hang in the air like Danny didn’t already know.

“So when did he talk to you? Last week?”

Danny jerks at the off handed joke, actually taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. He grimaces at his knee jerk response, but can’t take it back. A glance toward the vigilante shows a calculating stunned expression from what he can see ignoring the mask. He looks away again finding a discarded soda can very interesting.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demands Robin behind him.

Danny tried to resist the urge to curl even more into himself, but knows he failed without even having to look.

“You’re a medium,” Red Robin states. It’s not even a question.

Danny flinches and shoots the guy a scared glare.

“I am not one of those scam artists,” he hisses firmly.

“No,” Red agrees, “you’re not. You didn’t ask for money or attention.”

Danny stares like it’s his first time seeing him. The lack of aggression or accusations was new and a little disarming. He was genuinely confused as to why the guy wasn’t immediately going to denial or throwing him in Arkham.

“Hell of a city to hide in when you can see ghosts,” Red Robin says in a light tone like he was teasing him. The small tug to his lips just proves it.

Danny’s shoulders practically sag at the playful demeanor. A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yea, well… no one was gonna look for me here.”

Which was only half the reason he chose Gotham, but it was still truthful.

“So… Greg?”

“Isn’t here right now.” Danny pauses and snorts at himself. “Please leave a message.”

The vigilante does have a sense of humor because he smirks in response to the joke.

“Is there another way to… make contact? Summoning maybe?”

Danny raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Summoning is rude,” he says like it’s common sense.

Instead he turns to the nearest reliable ghost in the vicinity.

“Hey, Susan, can you go-“

The vigilantes can’t hear how she interrupts him because she was standing there the whole time and knows exactly what he was going to ask.

“Okay, thanks. Meet at mine.”

The ghost woman nods and flies off to go hunt down dear old Greg and Danny turns to Red Robin. He makes a casual move with his head to say ‘follow me’ and continues walking down the sidewalk past the guy and further into the old, decrepit buildings he’s been squatting in.

They already know he’s a runaway, being homeless shouldn’t come as a shock to them. Even with his two jobs, he can’t afford to rent an apartment. No wonder so many people are in poverty or in the slums.

He ducks into his rundown building, ignoring the rats scurrying away, and hops up the rickety stairs, avoiding the ones that were unstable. It was a nightmare figuring out which steps were faulty. Lots of injuries.

At the top he turns to see Red easily copying his movements up the stairs while Robin balances along the railing like a tight rope. When they reach the top at the same time Danny just stares at them for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. Darn vigilantes. Why did Danny have to get caught up in this mess?

He turns, walking along the floor closest to the wall before getting to what he’s deemed his room.

It used to be an office from what he can tell. A desk pushed against the far wall and a ripped sofa he’s been using as a bed on the other wall. The floors were the most stable in this room which really won out.

Danny goes to the desk where all his papers are scattered over the surface. An organizational pattern only he understands as he shuffles through the pile he pulls from the cubby above the desk. It holds all the same information he sent into the police, just in its raw form with about twice the amount of useless information. Along with it is a few other ‘cases’ that sounds familiar that he just threw together into a pile. Maybe the genius detectives could decipher what he couldn’t.

“Here,” he says, holding out the stack. Red Robin doesn’t hesitate to take it off his hands.

There’s no chair for the desk anymore so he slides some papers out of the way to hop onto the desk to wait.

“No.”

The vigilantes look at him and he shakes his head and looks over to the side.

“No, Abby. I’m not wasting their time.”

Red Robin goes back to flipping through papers. Most of them were old business papers he had found in the office and just written on the back. Some were receipts or pamphlets or some other random scrap of paper he could get his hands on.

“Because yours was an accident. There’s nothing for them to solve.”

Robin watched him cautiously as if waiting for Danny to snap or suddenly turn violent. Instead he leans back on his hands in a vulnerable position which screamed ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’.

“There is a lot more information here than what was submitted to the police,” Red Robin comments neutrally, purposefully ignoring Danny’s exasperated sigh and one-sided conversation.

Danny shrugs in defense, “Didn’t think all of it was relevant.”

The vigilante doesn’t respond.

Robin drifts closer as Danny gives a withering glare to the corner. He examines the mess of papers surrounding the teen in the low lighting.

“Are these all files of victims?”

Danny glances over them with a knowledgeable eye.

“Most.” He twists to point at the top left corner of the cubbies. “Those are accidents though… well, what sounds like accidents.”

“There should be more.”

Danny looks at the boy with a tilted head and raises brow.

“Not everyone sticks around,” he explains simply.

Then something draws his attention away across the room. Surprisingly his eyes don’t glaze over like someone with mental illness, instead they sharpen to see something they can’t. It resembled Constantine or Thomas.

“Greg, these guys wanna talk to you.”

What proceeds is a very awkward interaction with Danny as a middle man between victim and vigilante. Despite the need for a translator, Red Robin does in fact get a lead from the conversation.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Danny nods. “Sure, no problem. Just don’t rat me out to the police and I can help with any other case that pops up with a ghost attached.”

“You know we can help with your living situation,” Red Robin offers with a glance around the room.

“What, and put me in foster care? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“There are other options,” Robin chimes in with nonchalance that implies he doesn’t actually care.

“You don’t pass for eighteen, but if you let me make you a new ID we could say you’re emancipated.”

Danny frowns.

“I’d have to be sixteen to be eligible for emancipation.”

“You could be sixteen.”

No, he really couldn’t. Maybe if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but Danny is fourteen with all the baby fat and innocent face that comes with it. His license now is a clear fake to anyone who sees it, but in this city no one’s gonna question it to his face. They just raise a brow, look at him, then shrug it off and roll with the lie.

“What do you want?” He demands. All this good will and wanting to help him can’t be free.

“We want to help,” Red says too easily.

Danny stares for a second, eyes narrowed as he tries to block out the multiple voices around him.

Insurance. He wants Danny to owe him so he can keep coming back for more information.

“I just told you I would help. Why are you still trying to get leverage?” He demands with irritation.

“We want to help-“

“You want me in your back pocket.”

Red Robin doesn’t give that a response, his lips pressing together to make a hard line.

Instead of pushing, he surprisingly takes a step back and heads towards the door, papers still in hand. Danny doesn’t argue.

Robin ducks out first, blending into the shadows without even a glance over his shoulder. Red Robin pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t try to skip town,” he states like an order. Like if Danny did in fact try, he would be found and brought back.

It didn’t even cross Danny’s mind.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says tiredly, too fed up with the day to defend himself.

Red Robin watches him for a moment before nodding and disappearing out the room.

Danny slumps with a groan, finally sliding off the desk to shuffle to the couch, body flopping face first into the worn cushions.

It’s silent to everyone else but Danny.

“I know.”

…

“I know, Jack, but I don’t trust them. Even if he is your son.”

Danny never noticed the bug planted by Robin on the underside of the desk.