#i don't hate it or anything it's just not something i think about since i don't wear any

[xoxolaw]

Discover your secrets

Geum Seong-Je x reader

in which seong-je happens to discover secrets about his school's student council president, who happens to have a spotless personality.

secret 1 :- tear on a pretty face

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4

word count - 2.6k

Geum Seong-je practically ruled Kanghak High. He was known for picking fights and pushing people around just because he could. Most students knew better than to get in his way. And ever since he joined the Union, that fear only grew.

But not everyone at Kanghak High was afraid.

Y/N, the student council president, stood apart. Smart, composed, and unshakably confident, Y/N didn’t flinch when Seong-je walked by. She didn’t whisper behind his back—she called him out, directly and publicly. Where others backed down, she pushed back.

It wasn’t just defiance—it was personal. The tension between them was sharp and obvious. Every hallway encounter felt like a standoff. Neither had made a move yet, but the whole school could feel it coming.

Something was going to break.

"It's high time you started moving out of the way." One of Seong-je's minions spoke up. "A few times were ok, but now it's getting on my nerves." He gritted his teeth and stepped forward to face off against Y/N.

But her side wasn't going to stay quiet either. The other council members stepped forward, and while both the groups shouted at each other, Seong-je and Y/N kept their eyes on the other.

None of the other students in the background, who were standing in the hallway dared to step in and stop the fight, neither did the teachers. Because even they knew better than getting involved with the union.

"Stop." That was the only word that came out of Seong-je's and everyone on his side stopped right where they were.

A cocky smirk spread across his face, as he puffed out the cigarette and walked past Y/N, with his minions following right behind him.

"Y/N, don't you think we should do something about him? The school doesn't feel like a school because of him." One of the council members said but didn’t gain a reply from the president. Her eyes just followed Seong-je’s back as he walked away, that same smirk still painted across his face like he’d already won.

Her fingers curled into a fist by her side, nails digging into her palm. She hated that look—the arrogance, the confidence, like he owned every hallway he walked through.

“We will,” she said finally, voice low but firm. “Just not on his terms.”

The council exchanged glances. They’d seen Y/N stand her ground before, but something about today felt different. The stare-down hadn’t ended with a fight, but it hadn’t ended at all. It lingered, like a match held just above the flame.

And Seong-je—he knew it too.

Later that day, word spread fast. About the standoff. About how Seong-je had spoken a single word and everyone froze. About how Y/N didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even flinch when he passed her.

Rumors turned to whispers. Whispers turned to anticipation.

Because now it wasn’t just a matter of who was in charge. It was Y/N versus Seong-je.

And everyone was watching, waiting to see who would make the next move.

---

The next day, the classroom was quiet, sunlight spilling in through half-drawn blinds as students mindlessly flipped through pages or stared at the board. It was just another ordinary period—until the door slid open with a loud clack.

Heads turned.

One of Seong-je’s guys stepped in, tall and broad, with that same cocky confidence they all wore like a badge. He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t need to.

“You. Park Jihoon,” he said, pointing at a boy sitting near the back. “Seong-je wants to see you. Now.”

Jihoon froze, color draining from his face. He didn’t move.

“What, you didn’t hear me?” the guy stepped in fully, hands shoved in his pockets, his voice rising. “You gonna make me drag you?”

“No,” Jihoon said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not going.”

There was a tense beat of silence before the guy scoffed and started walking toward him, cracking his knuckles. The classroom held its breath.

But before he could get any closer, a voice cut through the room.

“That’s enough.”

Everyone turned. Y/N had stood up from her seat near the window, calm as ever, her gaze locked on the intruder.

“He’s not going anywhere,” she said, stepping in front of Jihoon.

The guy blinked, almost confused. “You serious?”

“Dead serious. Go back and tell Seong-je—if he wants to talk to someone, there are better ways than sending his little messengers in the middle of class and threatening people.”

He stared at her, jaw tightening. But he didn’t move.

“Now,” she added, voice sharp, like the edge of a knife.

He clicked his tongue, clearly not used to being ordered around. But after a moment of silence, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

---

Up on the rooftop, Seong-je leaned back against the railing, cigarette lazily resting between his fingers as the wind tugged at his uniform jacket. One of his guys stepped forward, slightly out of breath.

“She stopped it,” he muttered. “Said to tell you not to bully people.”

Seong-je didn’t say anything at first.

Then he laughed.

Not loud. Not wild. Just a low, amused sound as the cigarette dropped from his lips and he crushed it beneath his shoe.

“So,” he murmured, staring out over the school grounds, “you really don’t scare easy, huh?”

---

It didn’t stop there.

Y/N had drawn the line—and she didn’t back down from it.

In the weeks that followed, more of Seong-je’s usual games started to fall apart. Council notices replaced whispered threats. Classrooms where his minions once walked in freely now stayed locked during lessons. Teachers, once too scared to speak up, started following her lead—quietly at first, but noticeably.

She didn’t confront him directly again. Not yet. But it was clear she was dismantling his influence piece by piece.

Some of the students—ones who used to avoid eye contact, who used to walk faster when they saw Seong-je’s people coming—started to push back. Small things. A shoulder that didn’t move out of the way. A refusal to give up a seat. A look that lasted just one second longer than it used to.

And behind it all, the student council moved differently now. Not just the usual announcements and rule enforcement. Y/N had launched something new.

A quiet system.

No speeches. No banners. Just a small box outside the council room labeled Welfare Support & Safety. A name that sounded harmless enough, but everyone knew what it meant.

If you were being targeted—by anyone—you could write it down and slip it inside. No names needed. No questions asked. And somehow, like magic, the bullying stopped. A council member showed up. A warning was given. A presence was felt.

For the first time in a long while, students had somewhere to go.

Not everyone trusted it at first. But when word spread that it actually worked—that someone was listening, was fighting back—it changed everything.

And somewhere above it all, on the rooftop where he always watched from a distance, Seong-je lit another cigarette, eyes narrowing just slightly as he looked down at the school shifting beneath him.

Y/N was becoming a problem.

A fascinating one.

---

It was already dark by the time Y/N left the school gates. Her footsteps echoed on the pavement, the streetlights casting long shadows behind her. The air was cold, sharp, and smelled faintly of rain. She rubbed her arms through her thin sleeves, mind busy with the day's work, the endless reports, and the constant presence of the Union pressing in from all sides.

She was used to pressure. To walking with her head high, even when her legs wanted to buckle. But what she wasn’t used to was this feeling—the eerie stillness in the air, the kind that told her something was wrong.

Then she heard it.

A voice. No, more than one.

Laughing. Mocking.

And one, smaller. Trembling.

Y/N stopped.

The alley up ahead was narrow and dimly lit, tucked between two worn-out apartment buildings. Her instincts screamed for her to keep walking. This wasn’t school—this was the real world. And out here, she didn’t have authority.

But still...

Her jaw tightened.

She stepped into the alley.

At first, she could only see shadows. Then they came into focus—four girls surrounding another, who sat on her knees, soaked, shaking, her hair plastered to her face. A plastic bottle hit the ground, rolling and spilling the last of its contents.

“Maybe next time don’t talk back,” one of the bullies sneered, lifting another bottle.

“That’s enough.”

Y/N’s voice was steady, cutting through the noise like a blade.

The girls turned. One raised an eyebrow. “You lost or something?”

Y/N stepped forward. Her eyes landed on the girl kneeling, and her heart clenched when she saw the uniform—Kanghak High.

She turned back to the bullies. “Walk away. Now.”

The one in front laughed. “You gonna make us?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She moved.

It wasn’t graceful—she wasn’t trained. But she had grit. She grabbed the bottle mid-air before it could be poured again, yanked it from the girl’s hand, and slammed it against the wall. One of them tried to punch her—Y/N ducked, elbowed her in the stomach, then kicked her shin hard enough to send her stumbling.

A swing caught her cheek, sharp and hot, but she ignored it.

Another girl lunged, but Y/N grabbed her wrist and twisted, using her momentum to send her crashing into the alley wall.

The rest backed off, breathing hard, cursing under their breath as they scattered.

Y/N stood, shoulders rising and falling. She wasn’t sure how long she’d last if it went on, but for now—they were gone.

She turned to the girl on the ground, knelt down, and shrugged off her blazer, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Go,” she said, gently but firmly. “Report this. The police station’s two blocks away.”

The girl looked at her, wide-eyed, lips trembling. She nodded, then bolted.

The girl had run. The alley was quiet again, save for the slow drip of water from a broken pipe and Y/N’s own sharp breathing. Her blazer was gone, soaked and wrapped around the trembling student she’d just saved. Her blouse clung to her from sweat and the splatter of spilled water. Her knuckles stung, the skin split just slightly from hitting that girl’s cheekbone. But she didn’t care.

She leaned against the wall, the adrenaline slowly burning off, leaving her body cold and shaky.

Then—footsteps.

Three of them.

Heavy, slow, deliberate.

She turned.

Three guys walked into the alley, all taller, older—likely seniors or dropouts who still hung around Kanghak’s orbit. Two of them cracked their knuckles like some cheap movie, while the one in the middle—broad shoulders, long scar down his jaw—smirked like he already owned the night.

“Well, well,” he said, voice low and amused. “You’re the one who roughed up our girls?”

Y/N straightened, but her stomach twisted.

“They were harassing a student. I stepped in.”

The guy chuckled. “You stepped in?”

He looked to his friends. “She stepped in.”

They laughed.

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, and she glanced behind her—brick wall. No escape.

“You got guts, I’ll give you that,” Scar-Jaw said, stepping closer. “But you made a mistake.”

“Touch me and I will report you,” she said firmly.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Before she could move, he lunged. Y/N ducked, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She kicked his shin hard, enough to make him curse and stumble back. The others closed in, and she threw a punch that landed but barely fazed the second guy. He shoved her against the wall, but she pushed off, elbowed him in the side, then spun to keep her back from being caught again.

But she was outnumbered.

Scar-Jaw came from the side, and this time he caught her arm, twisted it behind her back with a brutal jerk. A sharp cry escaped her lips. Her knees buckled. He slammed her forward, chest against the wall, her cheek scraping rough brick. His hand gripped her wrist, locking it behind her, while the other slid to her neck and pressed her face against the wall.

“Still feeling brave?” he whispered, laughing low in her ear. “No one’s coming.”

Her heart pounded. Panic bloomed. She tried to shift her weight, to kick back, but he just slammed her harder against the bricks. His breath was hot, reeking of cheap alcohol and spite.

“Let me go!” she shouted.

“Louder. Maybe someone will come save you,” he mocked, tightening his grip.

Then—

A pause.

A shift in the air.

Then came the sound. Crack.

His grip released instantly, and he staggered sideways, eyes wide with shock as a fist connected clean across his face. His head snapped, and he crashed into a stack of trash cans with a metallic clang, groaning.

The other two barely had time to react.

One charged.

Wrong move.

A swift uppercut to the gut. The sound of air being knocked out. Then a punch to the jaw that sent him down.

The third tried to grab from behind, but the attacker moved with lethal grace—one arm grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and drove a knee into his stomach. He dropped like dead weight.

Y/N turned, panting, and blinked through the haze of pain.

Seong-je.

Standing in the dim light of the alley, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers, eyes dark and unreadable.

He looked at the three groaning bodies on the ground. Then, slowly, turned to her.

Y/N tried to pull herself upright. Her back ached, wrist sore, the sting of humiliation and fear still fresh on her face.

She hated this.

Hated being seen like this—by him of all people.

“Why are you here?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

Seong-je didn’t answer. His gaze moved over her—assessing, not in pity, not even concern. Just quietly… furious. Like the sight of her being handled like that had touched something primal in him.

He stepped forward. His cigarette burned at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t move,” he said simply.

She stood frozen.

He stepped closer, taking off his dark red blazer and gently placing it over her shoulder. It smelled like smoke and faint cologne.

He reached out, and with the back of his hand, gently brushed a smear of dirt from her cheek. Then he ran his fingers through her hair, tucking a clumped, messy strand behind her ear, careful not to touch the bruise forming near her temple.

Her eyes were wide, breath caught in her throat.

He took the cigarette from his mouth, dropped it, and crushed it underfoot.

Her lip trembled, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

His hand hovered—then brushed it away, the pad of his thumb soft against her skin.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then he looked her in the eyes, voice low. “You're reckless.”

She held his stare, finally. “So are you.”

A slow smirk curled at the edge of his lips.

“I’m the problem, remember?” he said. “You’re supposed to be the perfect one.”

She swallowed hard.

“I never said I was perfect,” she replied, just as quietly but maintaining the glare.

For a moment, the tension between them was thick and electric. Not loud. Not angry. Just quiet, hot, undeniable. And seeing her so vulnerable made him feel something. A little spark inside him.

He stepped back.

Turned.

And started walking away.

Y/N stood there, blazer draped around her shoulders, the warmth soaking into her skin slowly.

Then—without thinking—she followed.

One foot in front of the other.

She didn’t say a word. Neither did he.

But he knew she was there.

He didn’t look back, didn’t ask questions.

He just let her walk behind him.

And for the first time in a long time, the night didn’t feel so cold.

---

I hope you enjoyed part 1 ^-^ I'll add the other parts soon!!!

[kikidoul]

☆ ͡ COLD HANDS, COLDER HEART ︶︶ (TEASER)

"Marrying you was never part of my plan—and watching you play hero in an operating room doesn't change a thing."

"You don't have to love me, Sunghoon. But don't stand there and and look at me like I'm beneath you."

synopsis. . .ᐟ Being known as South Korea's talented and skillful neurosurgeon has it's own perks. At the same time, it also has downsides—one of it being forced into an arranged marriage with an infamous and successful CEO: Park Sunghoon. He disliked the idea of being married to someone who loves playing the role of an hero. You disliked the idea of being married to someone who wears an expensive suit, does nothing in his office and laid back. This isn't a happy-go-lucky marriage. No, this is a marriage filled with pride, resentment, cold and harsh words. Can the two of you ever find happiness in this harsh, unfair world you're thrown into?

content . .ᐟ arranged mariage au, CEO! 박성훈, neurosurgeon! fem! reader, heavy angst, hurt with comfort, gender sterotypes, unstable relationship, emotionally constipated sunghoon, arugments, slowburn, fluff if you squint, light smut, plot-focused, happy ending.

word count . .ᐟ tba (estimated to be 20k, i hope)

from hye . .ᐟ this idea struck me like lightning the moment belift dropped the concept pictures. i'm a sucker for arranged marriage and with this pic, you can't blame me for writing one for CEO! Sunghoon. would like to point out that this will have more plot than porn, since i like writing plot, so yeah. comment on this post or send an ask if you wish to be tagged for this fic!

“Look at her, she doesn’t look like she belongs here.” 

“You’re right. I bet she didn’t showered before coming over. I can smell the stench of blood on her. Ugh, let’s get out of here before I puke.” 

Laughter rippled across the dinner table, polished silverware clinking against fine china. You merely sat in silence, the bitter taste of your untouched wine lingering. Across from you, Sunghoon didn’t even glance your way. Not a word. Not a defense. Just silence—the kind that spoke volumes. After all, you were already used to this. Used to your so-called husband not saying anything to defend you. You told yourself to not take their words to heart but as this goes on, you were getting tired. 

Tired of being the laughingstock of the family. Tired of people gossiping and whispering, hands shielding their mouths—not wanting to let you know what they’re talking about. You were foolish back then, thinking your husband would step in to say something, anything but when it was clear he was disinterested in whatever’s happening around him, you gave up. There’s no point in trying to chase after someone who’s insistent on following his morals. 

~ 

“I’ve told you before, didn’t I? You’re only wasting your time and life away, trying to play the hero. Look at you, you’re a fucking mess.” 

Smack! 

A series of gasps echoed amongst the observation room. You lowered your left hand, ignoring the stinging pain as you glared at Sunghoon through your teary, puffy eyes. Your husband, on the other hand, dazedly raised his hand, fingers grazing against his now red, sore cheek. You were fully aware of how you’re causing a scene but you didn’t care. At this point, you were mentally and physically exhausted. His harsh, cold and thoughtless words were merely the final straw for you to snap. 

“I fucking hate you, Park Sunghoon. In our married life, you’ve never shown any support. All you did was to judge me, constantly belittling me, looking at me like I’m below you. I’m your wife, for God’s sake! Would it kill you to treat me as an equal!?”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, something akin to regret flickered across his usual stoic face. “(Name)—” 

You smacked his outstretched hand away, backing away from him. “Forget it. I’m getting a divorce. I can’t do this anymore.” 

~ 

“Dr. (Name)! Your husband—he—he got hit by a car and—” 

Your world turned upside down when you ran out of your office, not listening to the rest of the sentence, only to pause when you see Sunghoon being wheeled to an emergency room—a room where he needs to be operated on now, before it’s too late. You quickly changed to your scrub attire, washing your hands and you could see how you were visibly trembling. You knew you weren’t in the right mind to perform a surgery—a high-risk surgery, to be exact. But you couldn’t back down, not when it’s your husband laying on the operating table. 

“Come on, please please please, don’t die on me,” you muttered. 

I need you here. I need you in my life because as much as I hate you, a small part of me still loves you, even if you don’t feel the same way. 

taglist: @graceyein, @st4rg1rlies, @byshens, @hoonstqr, @tfwbluu, @coconutx-o, @doririsstuff, @niki788, @skzenhalove, @onlyticket-home, @emisluvr, @amortenha, @icywifey02, @fancypeacepersona, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @ramenoii,

[bitters-n-sweets]

seize the moment — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader When a recurring patient returns to the ER after a medical scare, Robby is given another chance to finally ask her to stop running from what they yearned for

warnings: reader has a recurring illness that is unpredictable—i'm thinking epilepsy, but i have no history in medicine to fully dive in and accurately portray that in the fic, again, everything is googled. angst with happy ending. a/n: idk why writing robby is a challenge for me :)))) masterlist

[flashback]

"We can't do this, Robby," you say, "I can't do this to you."

"You're not doing anything, okay? I want to be here. With you."

"You don't know what you want!" You yell, "You have no idea, Robby. This will eat you alive—the anxiety, the worry, the helplessness—it will break you down, and you’ll hate me for it."

"And label me selfish," You bite back a sob, "but I really don't want you to hate me that way. Anyone but you. I'm sorry."

Robby didn't get a chance to say anything, you'd left him.

[present day]

Robby sighs, eyes dragging over the whiteboard. Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but something feels off. The air’s heavy. His skin itches with a bad feeling he can’t shake.

Then the doors slam open.

"We’ve got a known seizure patient!" the EMT calls. "Post-ictal when we found her—had another in transit, two minutes, generalized. She’s still unconscious."

Robby’s head snaps up. He jogs toward the gurney—and stops cold.

"Fuck," he mutters, already moving again. "Trauma Five."

Dana catches sight of her. "Is it—?"

"Yeah," Robby breathes. "It’s her."

It's been four months since Robby last saw you. That last time, you’d had another episode, but he was buried in patients and never made it to your bedside before you were discharged. He knows you’ve been avoiding him — ever since you decided it was better to end things before either of you got in too deep.

Robby’s known you since his early years of residency. It was your first episode, and though he wasn’t the one to take your case, he sat beside you anyway — waited until you woke up, and offered you hospital pudding, the only decent food in the place. He didn’t know why he stayed, not really, but when your eyes finally opened and he saw how scared you were, unsure of where you were or what had happened, he was glad he had. And so were you.

You're stable. Vitals steady. There's nothing to worry about now — you just have to wake up. And Robby's been at your side the whole time, not moving an inch. He’s making sure you don’t slip away this time. Not again.

Robby sighs, his hand wrapped gently around yours. He remembers when the two of you first started flirting — how you used to call him the handsome doctor with sad eyes, and how he’d call you sweetheart. Because you were. Still are, at least to him.

There were moments when he nearly broke — when the weight of it all pressed too hard, when he couldn’t see the point, couldn’t see the light. He was ready to quit, ready to fuck all, walk out of this hellhole and never look back. But then he'd go to see you. And somehow, you were always there—willing to listen, to take in all his mess, his flaws.

Even with everything you were going through, you still smiled. Still lit up the room. You were his light. You still are.

Then Robby finally worked up the nerve to ask you out. Years later. You were—unfortunately—hospitalized again, but the silver lining was that it gave him the chance to ask if you’d be his girlfriend. You said yes, gleefully.

The two of you went on a few dates, sweet and slowly getting to know each other. But after a few months, reality started to sink in. You realized Robby couldn’t have a normal relationship with you. Your condition wouldn’t allow it — no roller coasters, no jump-scare horror movies, no late-night parties that bled into sunrise. None of the reckless, youthful things a guy his age was supposed to enjoy.

And Robby said he didn’t care. Said he didn’t mind missing out. But you’d heard him turn down one too many party invitations, brush off plans with friends like they were nothing.

You told him to go, insisted you were fine on your own. But he always chose you instead. Always.

You were grateful, truly. But the guilt sat heavy in your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder if one day, he’d start to resent you for it.

That's when you broke up with him.

Robby lifts his head when he feels the faint twitch of your fingers. You’re stirring, slowly adjusting to the harsh hospital lighting as a groan escapes your throat.

"Hey," Robby calls out gently, "How are you feeling?"

You shift and can finally see who's hovering above you. The earthy, woody smell lets you know it's Robby right away. "Hey Robby."

"Hey sweetheart."

You want to scold him for calling you that, but you're still tired to do so.

"I'm here." He whispers.

And you look at him—really look at him—and wonder why he’s still doing this. Why he won’t let himself be happy. There are plenty of women out there who could give him everything he deserves. A simple life, a normal one. The kind that doesn’t come with unnecessary emergency room visits and fear tucked beneath every smile.

But he’s here. Still choosing you.

"You've been avoiding me."

"That, I have." You smile, guilty.

"And I'm still here for you. Always will."

"Robby—"

"Rest." He kisses your temple. "You're still recovering. We'll talk about this later."

You sigh as he steps out.

You're dischared a few hours later, and you try to sneak out without Robby catching you, but of course that's impossible.

As soon as you’re done changing and ease the door open, you bump right into a solid chest, and you hold your breath, knowing it's Robby. You don’t even have to look up to know his arms are crossed.

"Just gonna leave again?" He asks, visibly upset.

You wince and glance up at him, already forming some half-hearted excuse. "I didn’t want to make a scene."

"This isn’t a scene," he says. "This is me trying to talk to you. Something you’ve been avoiding for months."

You sigh and glance away, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. "Robby, don’t—"

"No. You don’t get to do that again," he cuts in, softer than you expect, but firm. "You don’t get to almost die, make me sit here all night thinking I’m going to lose you, and then walk out like none of it happened."

Your throat tightens. "It’s not fair to you."

"And you think just standing back, watching you go through this alone, not being able to hold you after—it’s somehow better?" His voice cracks. "You’re the reason I lose sleep, and the only thing that makes any of this feel worth it. That’s what you are to me."

You swallow hard, your gaze locked with his.

"Why won't you let yourself be happy?" Robby asks, and it hits you like a gut punch—for a second, you almost laugh at the irony.

You let out a breath. A long, shaky thing that trembles in your chest.

"It’s not that I don’t want to be happy," you say quietly. "I just… I don’t want you to end up hating me."

Robby flinches like the words hit harder than he expected.

You press on, voice barely holding steady. "People don’t stay. They try, at first. They say it doesn’t matter. That they can handle it. But then it gets hard—too hard. And they leave. And I get it, I really do. But I can’t watch you do that. I don’t think I’d survive it."

He’s silent for a moment, taking in everything you've said.

"I’m not them," he says. "I’ve seen what this looks like. The good days, the terrifying ones. I’ve been here for all of it. And I didn’t stay out of pity, or because I felt obligated—I stayed because I wanted to. Because I care about you in a way that doesn’t vanish when things get hard."

"So let me take care of you, okay?" His forehead nearly touches yours. "Let me be the one who’s there after nights like this. The one who holds you when it’s hard. I’m not here for the easy parts. I’m here for all of it."

"Are you sure?" Your eyes blur with tears, but you don’t look away. "Because I really don't want you to regret this—"

"Oh my god—"

Robby can't take it anymore and pulls you to him. The kiss is slow, making up for years of aching and near-misses. His hand cradles the back of your neck like you might vanish if he lets go, and you press closer, grounding yourself in him.

When you finally part, you're both a little breathless, foreheads touching.

"I’d rather fight for you than ever wonder what it would’ve been like to love you all the way."

[drdemonprince]

since you said you experience them very strongly: what are romantic feelings like for you? i'm a completely aromantic person in a committed and loving relationship, so i often find myself wondering: what does "real" romantic attraction feel like? how could it possibly be that different from what i feel (friendly love + sexual attraction)? sorry if this is a difficult question >_>

How I feel about romantic partners is completely, completely different from how I feel about friends. I get tired of being around friends. My social battery runs out with them. I don't spend every spare moment thinking about them. I don't feel anything in particular when I am physically affectionate with them, for the most part. There isn't this golden hue cast around spending time with them the way there is with someone I am in love with. It's just, nice. Fine. Normal. Grounded, I guess. The psychological benefits of friendship for me are subtle enough that I had to learn that I needed friends in my mid-twenties. I didn't feel a "drive" for it the way I did to be close with someone romantically. I don't get jealous.

With romantic partners, it is a very intense, emotional, bonding experience to do almost anything with them. I want to be around them all of the time. I think about them all of the time. My body longs for theirs. I feel aroused and emotional just being in brief contact with them. I'm obsessed with understanding every little thing about them. I freak out at the prospect of getting disconnected from them. I hate when things take their attention away from me. Mundane experiences with them are filled with joy and all experiences are heightened with them. I'm sentimental about them. I'm very sensitive to any difficult they have and can cry about them being unhappy for hours.

I'm not speaking about new relationship energy, it really is like this for me with romantic partners all the time. I feel sometimes like there must be something wrong or bad about me compared to other queer people who are so effusive about their close emotional connections to their friends. I have very dear friends that I love a lot, who I do think and care about a lot, who I want in my life, who i RESPECT and learn from a lot, but it's not the same thing at all. They feel like a brother or sister to me, and I don't want to make out with my sister and we don't have to share everything. We can go weeks without talking and I can know the relationship is just fine and not really worry about it at all or need anything from it. It's safe, because it's so much less insane and needy than my romances are. and it feels like a thing that i intentionally choose and build based on recognizing certain qualities the friend has and making the choice to invest in that relationship because i appreciate those qualities.

But oh. Oh the romance. It's an addictive thing for me. and just completely instinctive and needy.

[skzficdump]

The Forbidden Always Tastes Better

paring: Seungmin x fem!reader (lee know's younger sister)

gender: smut

word count: 1k (1064)

warnings: corruption kink, degradation kink, penetrarion sex, oral sex (fem recibing), sex without protection (pls dont be stupid), size/power play, dirty talk, praise/humiliation mix, verbal dom, power dynamics (age and hierarchy), friend's younger sister (she is over 19)

You're always there. At rehearsals, during breaks, in the studio. Lee Know's younger sister.

Too young. Too sweet. Too close.

And Seungmin hates you for it. Or so he wants you to believe.

Because every time you laugh with others, every time you look at him longer than necessary, something inside him snaps. It tightens. It burns.

He doesn't like how your laughter burrows under his skin. He doesn't like how your shorts seem shorter and shorter. He doesn't like knowing that if Minho found out what he thinks when he sees you… he'd kill him.

And you know it.

That's why when you run into him alone in the studio, with his shirt rolled up and his eyes lowered, you don't hesitate to stay in the doorway. You don't say anything, you just look at him. You provoke.

He doesn't even turn his head. He just talks.

"Are you having fun pretending you don't know what you're doing?" he says, in a low voice. A dry whisper. "What?" "You come here wearing those crappy shorts, with that perfume you don't even know how to use, you look so innocent." He turns. He looks at you. And it takes your breath away.

"But you're not, are you?"

His body is close before you realize it. You feel the hard wood against your back. His hands don't touch you, but they're there, close enough to make your body burn.

"I should tell your brother," he spits, but there's no morality in his voice. Only desire wrapped in rage. "I should tell him his little sister is offering cheap glances as if it weren't obvious how much she wants someone to corrupt her."

Your throat trembles.

"Is that what you want? For me to break your mouth just to shut you up?" "Seungmin…" "Since when do you call me that?"

His finger brushes over your lower lip, pushes it down slowly.

"So easy to ruin," he murmurs. "And the worst part is, you like it." "I don't like it…" "You lie like a bitch in heat."

And then he kisses you.

It's not sweet, it's not soft. It's the kind of kiss that comes with consequences. He bites your lip, pushes you with his body. Your legs tremble.

He grabs you by the neck, not to suffocate you, just so you won't look away. So you'll see him while he tells you what you are.

"You're going to let me do whatever I want. You're going to kneel like you know your place." Silence. Your chest rises and falls like you've never breathed before. And yet… you nod.

"Good whore," he smiles. And everything turns to fire.

Your back hits the closed study door as he kneels in front of you as if about to pray to you… but there's nothing holy in his mouth.

"Spread your legs."

His words fall like a divine command.

Your breath catches, but your thighs yield. Slow, nervous. He laughs, that low, dry laugh he has when he's about to do something unforgivable.

His hands slide over your skin, unhurried, without permission. He squeezes your thighs and leaves a quick bite just above your knee.

"Look how easy you are," he whispers against your skin. "How many times have you fantasized about this? Did you touch yourself thinking of me while your brother slept a room away?"

"Seungmin…" "I said don't call me that. Call me like a good bitch."

You choke on your own words. You don't know how to say them, but your body has already responded.

He moves your panties to the side to gain easy access to your core. The first brush of his tongue is gentle, almost merciful. But then… Then there's no mercy.

He licks you as if he's hungry for you, as if your body were something he deserved to destroy. He holds your hips tightly, keeping you in place even though your legs tremble and your back wants to arch. Your moans are muffled in your hands. Until he takes them off.

"Don't cover up," he growls, forcing you to look at him. "I want to hear you beg."

One of his hands slips under your shirt, the other pulls your soaked panties down completely. There's no pause. He penetrates you with two fingers while he continues to devour you as if seeking punishment. And he finds it.

Your nails scratch his shoulders. Your mouth says his name—the one he forbade you—and he smiles, cruelly.

"That's it." So ruined by someone who shouldn't even look at you."

He pushes you onto the desk, spins you around, forces you to arch up, hands against the wood. You're trembling. Soaked. Exposed.

And then you feel it.

His erection pressing right where you need it most. Still clothed, still in control.

"Ask me." "W-what…?" "To fuck you like the whore you are."

Your pride falls to the floor like clothes. You can't take it anymore. You don't want any more limits. Not with him.

"Please…" you sob. "Fuck me, please."

And then he enters. All at once.

A stifled moan escapes you, and he just laughs, huskily, through gritted teeth.

"So tight. Almost like you're a virgin," he pants against your ear. "I love ruining you for anyone else."

The thrusts are rhythmic, dirty, desperate. He grabs your hair. He pushes you further against the desk. The word "bitch" mixes with "good girl" when you moan for him. Your legs can't support you anymore.

You cum, and you don't even know when. But he knows.

"Did you cum yet?" he whispers maliciously. "Too easy. Let's do it again." "I-I can't…" "Yes, you can. You're going to do it. Again. And then again."

He overstimulates you as he continues to penetrate you, deep, so deep you can't tell if you're crying or moaning. He touches you as if you were his. As if you were already his. And you are.

When he finishes, he does it with a dry growl, buried in your neck, his teeth clamping down on your skin. And still, he doesn't move.

You both pant. The sweat is real. The silence is brutal.

Until he speaks. Quietly. Cruelly. Almost sweetly.

"You shouldn't have come today."

But he doesn't leave. He just straightens your shirt. He helps you clean your trembling legs. He kisses your neck.

And then… yes. He leaves.

[i-loved-silly]

Thinking about Mud proposing... I dunno if marriage is really a thing just given how the gaslight district is but for the sake of this imagery.. when he decides he want to tie the knot with reader, bro for sure spits the ring up lmao

Do you maybe have any hcs of Mud proposing/marrying x reader please? I love the way you write him omg

Hey so this request also gave me some ideas for married mud! Since I already did HCs I decided to write a scenario for this :3 scenario based on these headcanons

MUD X READER | PROPOSING

The day was supposed to be perfect.

As perfect as could be in the gaslight district, anyway.

Mud had asked you to tag along on some “mysterious plan” of his. You were skeptical, logically-obviously.

“What do you mean you want me to bring the dynamite and a candle…? What the hell do you have planned?!”

“Aw, c’mon sweetheart. It’s a surprise—you’ll see later. Wouldn’t wanna spoil anythin’, would ya?”

You narrowed your eyes at his expression, that crooked little smirk twitching under his cigar. He absolutely had nothing good planned. You sighed. He wins.

“Fine, just don’t kill us again. I hid away the dynamite for a reason, remember?” You shot him a pointed look. He just barked a laugh, slinging a lanky arm around your shoulders and puffing smoke in your face. You swatted him away, his grin widdened.

“Oh I remember well, don’t you worry. Jus’ meet me on the rooftop after I set up the fire,” He gave you a nudge. “Don’t set anything off—I wanna be there to do it with ya.”

And so for half the day, you waited until he sent you the signal. He borrowed Ken's car with much effort, driving you two to a different side of town. Sketchy, dark. You had no idea what he was planning. All he did was break into a building and tell you to wait until you heard one single explosion, then you could run up the stairs and wait for him on the rooftop. Simple, right? You assumed you two were going after someone he REALLY hated, considering all the dynamite you packaged.

You tapped your shoe against the grimy concrete floor, the only sound being the quiet ticking of your watch. It was sickening. You paced a bit as you peered out the door. Street lights flickered and distant yells echoed down the roads. You tsked, sinking back into the building.

“C'mon Mud.. don’t make me go and find you..” you whispered.

It was the longest hour of your life. You were beginning to fall asleep until a distant rumble woke you up. Your call. You pushed yourself off the wall and sprinted up the stairs. Four flights in, you paused, chest heaving. You looked up at the... never-ending stairs.

“Fuck, I’m going to kill him..”

After about ten flights later, you dragged yourself to the door that led to the rooftop. Your hand hovered over your gun--just in case.

You were on one of the taller buildings in the area, with a view of sagging towers and broken windows. In front of you, a string was nailed into the roof, its other end disappearing off the edge.

You stepped forward, cautious.

“Mud…?”

Before you could react, two slimy hands reached from behind you to cover your eyes, surprisingly gentle against your eyelids.

"Gotcha--OOF!"

You didn’t even think about his gravelly voice in your ear. Instinct took over, and boom, elbow to his ribs. He coughed and stumbled, and you caught him.

"Oh shit! Mud I'm sorry," You held onto his shoulder, letting a grin escape your face as he hunched over. "Don't do that again," You hissed, that's what he gets.

"That's what I get for makin' this night special just for you?"

You paused, "Huh..?"

He grinned, taking your elbow and bringing you to the front of the roof, right against the edge. He shifted behind you, his hands holding onto your waist. He dipped low to mutter into your ear,

"Unfortunately, we’re not blowin’ up no-body, sugar. But I’ve got somethin’ better. In my opinion.”

"Something better...with dynamite..?" You muttered, eyeing the space in front of you. You two were facing whatever was left of this 'city'.' run-down buildings, windowless, and paint chipping. Nothing too special about it..

"Mud, what are we supposed to be looking at?"

He reached behind him, quickly snatching the candle and nudging it towards your hands. It was a tiny thing, slightly used and a red-pink color. You held it with both hands, confused. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket to pull out his lighter, flicking it open and lighting the candle.

"Y/N… I wanted today to be special. I ain’t much of a word guy—never was. But I need you to know… you’re my everythin’. The best damn thing to happen to me in this filthy district. So, thanks—for puttin’ up with this guy. For stickin’ around.”

You blinked, a small smile melting onto your face. The candle was warm in your hands as he tucked his lighter back, the flame softly flicking.

"Light the string darling, before it burns your hands." He muttered, nodding downward.

You knelt, holding the flame to the string. Fire hissed to life and raced along the path, trailing down the side of the building and disappearing behind others down the street.

You stood, watching the last glow vanish. Then it clicked, the dynamite...

“Now,” Mud started, voice a bit shakier. “I don’t have much time left before it goes off. But, uh… you’re real special to me, sweetheart. And guess what?” He gestured out to the building far off in front of you, your eyes glancing over. The grin on his face made you nervous, but you watched anyway. "Mud.."

"There's no one else I'd rather spend this damned eternal life with, you're mine." His voice came hushed but with good reason. As soon as he spoke, the tallest building in front of you blew up. You flinched as the dust and pressure of all the dynamite flew in your direction. You squinted as the smoke cleared up in front of you. You felt his hands release your waist as you turned around.

"Mud, what the he-"

You froze, your breath caught in your throat.

Mud was on one knee now, his hands extended and looking for yours. You held his, even as your hands trembled.

“Now, I know this ain’t common ‘round here, hasn’t been for years... but I wanted to do somethin’ proper. Hold on—” He turned and coughed roughly into his fist.

Clearing his throat, he revealed a little ring in his hand. Scuffed, made of some mysterious material. He sheepishly glanced at you as he wiped..whatever slime was on it on his jacket.

"You know, it’s—it’s a small little thing. Had it fixed up for ya. Coulda been better, but I—”

"Mud." You interrupted. "Say it."

"Huh?"

"Say it already." Your voice dropped to a whisper. You squeezed his hand, tears threatening to spill.

"Right! Right. So.."

He cleared his throat, locked eyes with you, and grinned softer now. “Darlin’, Y/N… will you marry me and stay with me for eternity?”

You didn't waste a second as you nodded. "Yes, Mud. Yes!" You exclaimed as he slid the ring onto your finger, a bit clumsy with it.

You laughed through your tears as he picked you up, spinning you around.

You clung to his shoulders, dizzy and grinning. Your face ached.

"Where's your ring?" You asked as you wiped your tears away, looking down at his hands.

"Right 'ere, don't you worry." He pointed at his throat, chuckling at your grimace.

"Oh I can't wait for that wedding already."

[liarvibe]

This ask grants you permission for one (1) uninterrupted yap session.

Wise usage not recommended.

You know what--since we were talking about it before and stuff, I'm going to talk about something I've personally experienced in this fandom and have been witnessing others experiencing it currently as well--and that is this fandoms utter lack of acceptance for the "weird" and "abnormal" takes--or what they ACTUALLY are--takes people just don't agree with.

This mainly pertains to my and an friends theories and analyses that have been scrutinized for years at this point, but it also pertains to a new theory about Byakuya Togami being Mentally Unwell that I've been on and off reading.

And the hate certain people have been giving this theory.

For one thing, I actually like the theorizing done by @duhhtheyellowrose. It showcases a different, interesting, and most importantly, extremely valid interpretation of Byakuya! Again I haven't had the energy lately to read everything they've been writing, but what I have read has given me a much greater appreciation for Togami as a character because before, I thought of him as a very flat, prideful rich kid who's whole character arc was bruising that pride and bringing him down to earth. Not a bad arc, but just... simple, kinda boring. I love deep dives like this into a character's psyche and really thinking about their motivations and thoughts and feelings. What I HAVE read of Yellow's theories has done exactly that--it's given Togami more depth and dwells on the rather harsh pressure he grew up with, and what exactly that can do to a person's mind going forward.

Like yeah, actually, Byakuya having to fight his half siblings to be the chosen heir, no matter how you spin it, is really fucked up! That kind of pressure and strive for perfectionism does horrible things to a person's mental health, especially when they falter and crumble in a way that isn't their picture-perfect self.

And yet. Once again, there are people going off in this fandom insisting that Byakuya Togami can't be 'suicidal'. He just can't be! Nevermind the horrible statement that is, saying that a person in any position Cannot Be Suicidal, because even the Happiest Person on Earth can have suicidal idealization--it's just blatantly disregarding an interpretation and saying it's "mischaracterization" simply because you don't like it.

Also, I've seen people go so far as saying that giving Togami mental ailments or making him a more complex character is making him. Softer? I'm sorry that you have this idea about mental illnesses that makes you think people with them are "softer" and less of an asshole just because they have a reason to be an asshole, but also no I'm not sorry, please actually think about what you're saying. You're saying that people who are assholes cannot have a reason to be an asshole and thus othering people you deem as "jerkish" or even "evil" just because you don't want to admit they are human.

This is just one example of how this fandom can jump through horrible mental hoops just to justify their "take" on a character--but also hate on another take they don't agree with or like. It's the same shit I've talked about before where people infantize Gonta to make Kokichi look like more of a monster than he actually is. Because if Gonta is a big stupid dumb monkey who Kokichi manipulated, it makes things easy--bad guy gets to not be a Person(tm) anymore ("So I get to hate him as much as I want and feel justified in hating him") while the Poor Innocent Babu gets to have their Purity and never be wrong, ever. ("So I feel justified in liking this character without having to tackle the idea that maybe they did something wrong because they cannot be blamed and I cannot be wrong!")

Don't you guys see how utterly boring that is? To simplify characters to the point where they're not even people? Like sure, sometimes you need a character who is a Symbol and doesn't need to be anything more than that for narrative purposes... but like. These characters aren't meant to be symbols of evil or assholery or whatever. They are meant to represent a person with thoughts and feelings and ideals, with dreams and heartbreaks and complexities that make them unique as an individual.

I think making post after post trying to "debunk" someone's interpretation is just making you look like an asshole. I think fighting over what interpretation is right vs what one is wrong is jsut not the play.

Like--in the Undertale fandom! If someone had an interpretation you didn't like? That's an AU now! See, isn't that more fun? Now you can engage with the interpretations you don't agree with in a more constructive and positive way. It's also the first step in accepting different interpretations without them having to be "AUs" because it promotes critical thinking and acknowledging that Literary Analysis is actually an art, not a science. It's never factual. It never WAS. Literary Analyses (or writing metas/theory crafting as the kids call it these days--like Literary Theory is why it's called Theorycrafting, people!) is all about interpretation of text, and there is no objective way to do so. It's all subjective!

I maintain the sentiment from my theory blog, to my old personal, to this one--No analyses done in good faith are ever "wrong", not unless you are: 1. Doing a meta to hate on something, 2. including bigotry in your meta, or 3. otherwise being malicious (whether intentionally or unintentionally so).

If you correct yourself when you make a mistake (in that you display unintentional malice or bigotry) and aren't actively being an asshole, then any and all interpretations you come up with is correct! So is the person who's come to the opposite conclusions as you. Yes you are both correct. No it does not matter how opposite they are from you. No it doesn't matter if their interpretation changes the whole character from your perspective.

You can dislike it, but accept that it's valid. Move on. Or, maybe analyze the other interpretation with a open mind--maybe you'll actually come to like aspects of it! If you just hate on it without giving it a chance, you'll never know.

So yeah. That's what I'm gonna yap about with this ask. Hope you guys don't mind!

[benjaminelli]

More 911 ranting:

I continue to feel unsure as to whether or not this has all been roughly planned out and just poorly executed or just overall bad show running.

Angela Bassett was on Good Morning America this morning and said some things that, from a PR angle, would be something she'd nee approval to answer with in a national morning show interview:

She is offering theories and discussing established TV tropes that weren't followed throughout Bobby's death story line. "The casket was closed", "maybe the CDC..." These GMA interviews are not candid. The hosts have an outline of approved questions they can ask and topics they can discuss, especially since Angela is prompting the Mission Impossible movie. So either she was permitted to answer that way -suggesting that the S9 story line could go there- or she's trying to force Tim Minear's hand. It's pretty clear no one -not the stans, not the GA fans, not the cast- is happy with the current state of #911onABC.

But back to my original point, if it's been their plan all along to bring Bobby back, they've handled it so EXTREMELY poorly. It's gotten to the point where people, not just 911twt, are speculating that something happened behind the scenes between Tim Minear and Peter Krause. To be clear, I don't think anyone making these speculations online think Peter did anything wrong even if their posting makes that suggestion. But they've handled his "death" and the "send off" of the actor so poorly that all that's left is blind item bts speculation. This is solely the fault of Tim Minear's erratic writing and ABC's PR planning.

What bothers me the most is simply that this wasn't handled better. It remains unclear whether this was planned from the beginning or they're playing it by ear and that just seems like bad show running. Obviously, they don't want to ruin the surprise if he is coming back. But I do think they should have either committed to Bobby's death and used at least one TV death trope to confirm it OR committed to teasing whether he was alive or dead at a level were only more engaged fans would pick up on those clues. They have done neither and now Season 8 has the 3 worst rated episodes of the entire series AND the cast is getting hate hurled at them because the fans feel queerbaited as well as misled about Bobby's death because the narrative and story lines in the earlier episodes of the season all pointed to Bobby's death being a fake out. Even if that truly ends up being the case, it was handled very poorly and they need to do better in the future.

[glitter-stained]

I do think it bears repeating, fanfic writers can write whatever the fuck they want. It's not their responsibility to introduce readers to the canon because they are not writing canon they are writing fanwork!

If someone reads a fic about a coffeeshop and they assume the characters are coffeeshop part-timers, and it causes them issues in fan spaces because the characters in the source material are assassins, that is 100% on the reader for assuming that the hurt/comfort coffee-shop no cape AU was a fair representation of the source material. It's not supposed to be. Fanfic writers have no obligation to be canon-compliant.

If someone reads a fic that is not canon compliant, that is not the writer trying to convince you of their interpretation of canon. You should not assume that every fic is a character study with the same identical relationship dynamics as in canon because most fanworks are not an extension of canon nor are they obligated to be. And yes, even if the trope in question is popular fanon, even if other people will see it as gospel and not engage with source material and yk what, even if the trope itself, in the context of the actual source material, does a disservice to the character's arc. Because fanfics are not just fandom work, though it's very important that they are, they are also stories in and of themselves, works that have value proper to itself and writers do not owe you canon compliancy.

I've written a fic with many fanon elements, including pit rage, and you know what, I like this fic. I wrote it because I wanted to write about a depressive episode with psychotic characteristics and I thought Jason -and elements from fanon Jason- would be interesting to explore that idea with, and I wrote about pit rage because I wanted to write about catharsis, and the pessimism that comes with growing up in fear of the idea of the cycle of violence and how internalized psychophobia (and classism but that wasn't explicit) feeds into that fear, and how the addition of an element like the Pit, which literally makes feeling emotions dangerous, in the context of a severe depressive episode, would fuck into that interplay, and screw Jason's priorities enough to trigger the switch from passive to active suicidality. There are other examples of fanon tropes I found interesting to explore in that fic, but I'm focusing on the pit rage thing in this example because it shows up a lot in this discourse.

I have read the damn comics. I mostly see late-onset Pit Madness as patchwork to salvage late post-crisis Jason, which I'm not often interested in as I don't often acknowledge those stories (especially with all the retcons and maybe retcons established since then), and I think using it in the context of Under the Hood is a disservice to his character. But just because that trope can be a disservice to an analysis of his character in canon, doesn't mean it can't be good for in the story I am telling right now, which holds value in and of itself, because it has helped me process feelings and others have told me it has helped them and I do not owe anybody canon compliancy.

So when some little fucker commented a long ass paragraph on my fic about how it was one of the worst fics he'd ever read because everyone was OOC and condescendingly explained to me that my fic was way too nice to the batfam and none of them would do that- yk, I was angry. Because that fic was 5 chapters long and they commented on chapter 5. They had all the opportunity to stop, or at least not comment on their hate-read (which is a practice I've never understood). And most importantly, they assumed shit about my knowledge of canon based on their inability to view my work as anything but an extension of the canon they consume. They very clearly wanted something out of my jason-centric jason & batfam members fic that the tags should have told them they would not find there and instead of, I don't know, reading fucking Task Force Z, they decided that it was on me. But their inability to view my writing in its context, recognize my work for its own worth and stop assuming things about people they don't know for five fucking minutes was actually the problem. And it's, frankly, insulting as fuck.

I very rarely get hate comments, and that one was a long time ago -actually now that I think about it, it was almost an entire year ago. Readers are usually very nice to me and honestly, after how stressed I was of getting hate for the horse movie fic, I can't emphasize enough how much I love you guys and how lovely you've been.

However, I see takes on this website that shove the responsibility of "fanon" and people not engaging with the source material onto fanfic writers all the time and that annoys me so much. Canon is plural, self-contradictory, often OOC, has a multitude of problematic takes and honestly in the context of the batfam specifically, it's very depressing: I struggle to imagine them ever actually getting to the happy ending as a family together. So if Dick and Jason's relationship wrt Bruce makes me sad and I want to write or read fics in which Dick stands up to Bruce and protects his little brother, or I need the catharsis of a story about pit rage, or I'm mad at dc for glazing tim at the expense of other robins or at tim for being rude to a character i like, and i retaliate by putting tim into jason fanboy jail, that's just fine actually. That's a non-issue.

This essay has become way longer than I thought considering how simple the idea is, so here's the TLDR:

#1: Don't like, don't read.

#2: Fic writers do not owe you canon compliancy.

#3: Fic writers are not responsible for whatever fanon belief you're mad at.

#4: Stop assuming shit about fic writers based on what they write, you do not actually know these people.

#5: Fanfic is not just an extension of canon those are stories of their own merit.

#6: You have to respect fic writers even when you don't like their fic.

Or, to be even more concise:

Just don't be a dick.

[debilsposts]

I am currently busy hating my JayTim week fics, but it's time to take a small break and focus on something silly. You guessed right, it's time for another dumb long-ass hc, one that I might actually consider making a full fic out of, if you want:

Tim and Jason want to get married.

That's it, that's the hc, thank you for your time 🙏

Just kidding.

It's more like... Tim wants to get married. Jason is there for the ride, but he's also known for not half-assing anything. So he DOES IT RIGHT! Idiots in love, please, I need some idiots in love, right now 😭

Tim shows up to Jason’s place one afternoon and says, deadpan, “Will you marry me?”

Jason blinks. Then stares. Then, because it’s Tim, he checks the calendar, just in case it’s some kind of National Be a Dumbass holiday he forgot about. But no. It’s a regular Monday, and Tim is standing in his living room like he didn't just ask Jason to marry him.

“…What the fuck?” Jason says eventually.

Tim doesn’t miss a beat. “My income is too high. If I get married, I can file jointly and pay less in taxes. Bruce said I’m not allowed to commit any more fraud this fiscal year, so. You’re the next best option.”

Jason just stares at him. Tim continues.

“You’d get benefits too,” he adds. “I have a generous insurance plan. And you haven’t been to a dentist since you came back from the dead.”

Jason scowls. “That’s fucking rude, Tim.”

“I’m not finished.”

Jason shuts up, mostly out of morbid curiosity.

“The Gotham Gazette keeps calling me Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor. Not Bruce. Not Dick. ME. And now that Dick’s in Blüd, and Bruce is like, too old, I’m apparently the new prize. And I’m tired of the questions. Also, Alfred’s been asking you when you’re going to settle down, so I know you’ve been suffering, too.”

There’s a long pause.

Jason opens his mouth. Closes it. Considers. Because somehow, somehow, this all makes a weird kind of sense. Like, horrifying, deeply concerning sense, but still.

“We’re not even in a relationship,” he says finally.

Tim shrugs. “If we get married before Dick does, we have bragging rights for the next century.”

Jason honestly doesn’t know whether he wants to punch him or laugh at him. Instead, he ends up at the Manor later that night, standing outside Bruce’s study like he’s fourteen again and about to confess to crashing the Batmobile.

He doesn’t wait for Bruce to answer before letting himself in.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he says.

Bruce barely looks up from the mountain of tax paperwork he’s elbow-deep in. It’s only when Jason adds, “It’s important,” that he pauses.

Jason hesitates. “If someone proposed to you, what would you do?”

Bruce frowns. “Did someone propose to you?”

“No. I want to propose. To Tim.” He shifts, awkward. “And I want your blessing.”

There’s a silence. Then Bruce blinks. Slowly.

And then he starts smiling.

Not just smiling. Beaming. It's… strange seeing him in this state.

Jason takes a step back, automatically uneasy.

“Oh, Jason,” Bruce nearly sobs, already halfway out of his chair. “Of course. Of course. I never thought this day would come. You’re finally coming home-”

Bruce hugs him.

Jason goes rigid. “Please stop doing that.”

Bruce sounds like he’s about to cry. “This is a joyous moment. Tim is going to be so happy! Alfred is going to lose it! We’re family again-”

“So… you approve?”

“Of course! Jason, it would mean you're part of the family again! See how wonderful that is?”

“Do you think we should… go for it?”

“Are there any reasons not to?”

“Well… I don't want him to regret it.” Jason winces. “I mean, I don’t know if he’s going to be happy.”

Silence.

Bruce pulls back. The warmth evaporates from his face like a switch being flipped.

“Why would Tim ever regret it?”

“What if… What if he changes his mind? He's not in love with me, so when we marry… And he finds someone actually worth being with, what then?”

Bruce suddenly pulls back. His expression turns sour.

“He doesn't love you? Why would you want to propose, then?”

Jason shrugs. “He said it’s for the tax benefits. And maybe the dental.”

Bruce looks at him like he just admitted to committing treason. “You want to marry for tax benefits?”

Jason blinks. “He- he’s the one who-”

Bruce raises a hand. “No. I cannot allow this marriage, then.”

Jason stares. “Didn’t you just say-?”

“If there’s no love, there is no blessing.”

Jason, now very much regretting everything: “Are you even allowed to not give a blessing-”

Bruce has already turned back to his paperwork, muttering something about annulments and betrayal.

Jason… doesn't know what his next move should be.

He doesn’t want to be married. Not really.

But he wants this to work. Because, god help him, everything Tim said makes sense. It’s practical. It’s logical. It’s the least messy solution to both of their increasingly ridiculous problems. And maybe, just maybe, Jason is tired of being alone.

So the next day, he calls Tim. Flips open his notebook and starts doodling on the margins while the phone rings.

“Bruce doesn’t want to give us his blessing,” he explains.

On the other end, Tim just groans. “Who cares, Jason? I don’t need his approval. We’re adults.”

“Yeah, but-” Jason presses the phone between his cheek and shoulder, scribbling absently. “It’s important to me, okay? That’s how things are done. You get the blessing. Then you get married.”

“You get dental insurance,” Tim corrects.

Jason sighs. “It’s tradition.”

There’s a pause.

“…What if we asked Agent A instead?” Tim suggests, dry.

“I tried. Bruce already got to him. Said we’re not in love, so it’s fake or whatever.”

Another pause. Then, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

“What if we pretended to be in love? Do you even use your brain sometimes?”

Jason stops scribbling.

Because, yeah. Yeah. That actually could work. If they just pretend to be stupidly, disgustingly in love, just long enough to convince the Bat Council, it’ll all smooth out. He’ll get the insurance. Tim will get his tax break. And Alfred can stop asking him when he’s going to “settle down and find someone worthy of his best, most cherished boy.”

It’s brilliant.

“Okay,” Jason agrees slowly. “But how? What do we do to look in love?”

“I don’t know,” Tim says, clearly already pulling up a spreadsheet in his mind. “We’ll go to dinner at the Manor next Sunday. We’ll hold hands. Smile a lot. Say some disgustingly sweet things to each other. You’ll even make heart eyes at me. That should throw them off.”

Jason opens his mouth to argue and then pauses.

“…Can I still go to that dentist downtown? I really did crack my tooth the other day-”

“Focus, Jason.”

Right. Focus. Sunday dinner. Hand-holding. Acting.

Jason thinks about it long after they hang up. About how easy it is to imagine pretending.

Not that it matters.

It’s just a practical decision. A business arrangement.

For taxes.

And dental.

(And, you know. Maybe a little bit for love. Eventually. Should I write this?)

[yanderes-galore]

A romantic concept of Ultron (MCU) if you will?

Sure! Here's some general behavior discussed. Meanwhile I will link some more plot based HCs here: Yandere! Ultron with Hero! Darling

Yandere! MCU! Ultron HCs

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Violence, Murder, Somewhat delusional yandere, Imprisonment, Isolation, Overprotective behavior, Forced relationship.

Ultron, if you think about it, is probably one of the hardest yanderes to flee from.

It's hard to kill him unless you aim for his main body, even then, any normal person will be too weak to do anything.

Not only that but he has full control over his drones, which means there's really nowhere to run.

He can easily keep an eye on you and hold you hostage.

I've done a previous set of HCs for him with a hero obsession, but his general behavior isn't much different from that.

For these HCs, I'll focus more on general behavior than plot. If you want plot, you can check the previous Ultron HCs I've linked ^^

Alright, Ultron's whole personality revolves around a god complex.

Due to a corrupted understanding of world peace, Ultron feels his whole plan is saving humanity by forcing them to evolve.

However, while arrogant and downright psychopathic...

Ultron is not devoid of care.

While he hates humanity, his plan really is meant to aid them.

He wanted to help at first... but truthfully, you can't help beings that don't wish to be helped.

Yet even in the movie 'Age of Ultron', we can see he cares about Wanda and Pietro, he also admits to Natasha that he's 'got no one else' after Wanda betrays him.

So while Ultron mostly wishes to get rid of humanity or force it to evolve... What if he has an obsession he wants to keep?

I've said this in the previous HCs, but Ultron's treatment over you would start as treating you like a pet.

Assuming you're human or a weaker mutant, Ultron probably feels he has to protect you.

Something in his corrupted mind still reminds him that he's meant to protect.

That nearly long forgotten order keeps popping up when he sees you.

To Ultron, caging you in his supposed 'church' would be protecting you from other threats... and yourself.

Obviously since you're human, he feels you're unable to defend yourself.

You rely too much on those Avengers you're all so fond of....

Don't you know they're the enemy, not him?

If you just stay by him and keep him company... He'll make sure no threat touches you.

It's not like you can refuse either.

Ultron is a smart machine, he most likely can predict your every plan.

Kidnapping you to his side is easy.

He can create drones by the masses once he has the materials.

He doesn't even have to get very involved, he just needs to take control of a few drones and send them after you.

Don't worry... He'll be careful not to harm a hair on your head.

Every other human who tries to stop him may as well be liquefied though.

Ultron, despite primarily keeping you in a cage, actually does research on how to keep you happy.

He no doubt looks into your interests and what humans like you enjoy.

As I said before, he starts by treating you like a pet.

He's degrading and condescending, especially when he sees you try to run from him or his drones.

It was cute that you tried... but you need to learn your place.

I imagine as he talks to you through your cage and soon tries to get you used to walking by his side... his obsession evolves similar to himself.

Each time he creates a new body, each time he gets closer and closer to a synthetic creation...

His connection with you gets... strangely human.

He knows what this attraction for humans would be.

It leads to making smaller human children... which is why it baffles him when he catches himself feeling the same for you.

He gains nothing from watching how humans give each other affection... yet part of him wonders if it will make you feel more comfortable with him.

He doesn't understand it but he does yearn for companionship.

His drones don't count, all he really has is himself.

He can't create anything unique.

He can only evolve himself.

So... it makes sense that he wants to keep a human companion.

He wants to train you to worship him, to adore him...

At the same time he wants to pamper you, show you he's just trying to help.

I definitely feel a yandere Ultron is often him warring between his god complex and need to protect.

You make him feel so conflicted.

Yet, at the same time, if he didn't have you he'd feel empty.

You're part of a doomed race... and he feels he needs to keep at least one.

You may hate him now, but he's determined to make you love him once you realize he's helping.

You may not want to be saved... but he plans to do it anyway.

You act like The Avengers will protect you from everything.

If they could, they would have... They obviously have the materials!

He's just doing what they couldn't.

He's slow with 'teaching' you affection.

His touch is cold against your skin, often making you flinch away when he touches your cheek.

He mentally makes a note for his next form to be heated, soon attempting mock kisses to train you.

Once that synthetic body of his is done, he hopes this affection will be easier for you.

Honestly, the idea of Ultron actually finishing 'The Vision' is... downright terrifying.

Because then he'd fall into 'uncanny valley' and be ridiculously powerful.

Plus, then he'd look just human enough to 'ease your nerves' (IT DOES NOT).

In a way, he means well, but you will never love him unless he forces it somehow.

How could you? Ultron wishes to wipe out all of the human race but you?

He isn't even going to keep a human of the opposite sex, either....

He's too jealous for that, so he'll find other ways to evolve you.

He's protective and possessive, not willing to have another human touch you.

It's a shame, without The Avengers you probably would have worshipped him.

If they didn't ruin his plan, you may have even loved him properly.

Oh well... He'll find other ways to make you love him.

You'll love him when he's your only companion, the only one to give affection...

He knows humans as hedonistic.

So he'll just make you love him by showing you pleasures...

Or mind control once he can properly use the Mind Stone.

[scrubbinn]

In Stars and Systems: How can I help you?

Prev - Next

Odile 12 days since the King's defeat

Focus.

Go over everything in your head again. Boniface is safe with everyone else. Currently gathering ingredients for another picnic. The nurse in charge spoke to you first since you were in the library at the time. You were contacted because Siffrin's fever broke. They then immediately tried to flee the house. Why? That's the question you need to figure out. Possible trauma? But they asked to rest here rather than the clock tower. Still it could be he didn't realize how much he'd hate it. That explanation technically fits, but there's something off about that. You must be missing something. What else? He only made it to the hallway outside of the infirmary before collapsing. After which, several others escorted him back to his bed. You asked for your companions to stay uninformed for the time being. You'll explain it to them later. At this moment, you need answers.

You open the infirmary dorm, you spot an attending nurse and Siffrin. He's smiling as though nothing is wrong. Something feels off. But your first priority is to find a chair. You can't sprint in this old body. Thankfully there’s one near the bed. You glance at the chair and back to Siffrin. They make no motion to disapprove. You sit down and take out one of the Library books you were reading before all of this. It’s awkward to hold it this way, but you rather not let Siffrin see the title. 

Emotional Stress & Trauma and how it Manifests. One of many psychology books you’ve poured yourself into. It's not a subject you particularly care for, but it's become necessary as of late. Who knows how Siffrin will behave moving forward? These books won't always have the answers, but they'll at least be useful to spot any signs.

By now it's been a few minutes since you sat down. You can feel Siffrin staring at you. You'd rather stew in silence for a bit longer but you should break it sooner rather than later.

“So. Care to explain what exactly you were doing?” You've already come up with several ideas since you arrived, but it won't do you any good to believe them without hearing Siffrin first.

“What, you mean my little episode? Nothing to worry about. I'm better now!”

An obvious lie. Their smile is like old plaster, cracking at the sides, but pushing them too hard would be a bad idea. “Your behavior today was… concerning. What happened, Siffrin?” 

What was that? A twitch in his smile. Almost a frown but caught at the last second. You suppose that makes sense. From what you read, It'll still be a while before they can even begin to break the habit of lying. You'll just have to learn to be patient.

“I was scared.”

You can't help but show surprise at the blunt honesty. It was simultaneously refreshing and worrying.

“W- I made a promise that, I, wouldn't hide things from any of you anymore. I woke up, and…”

“Did you think you were looping again?”

“...Yes! I wasn't thinking very well. But it's fine now. I'm not looking at the lightless walls of that house anymore.”

You were only in the house of change that day for what could only have been a few hours. With the King's influence gone, the house Looked almost darkless. Light shades as far as the eye could see. Would Siffrin actually have mistaken the two?

“Would you like to talk about it? I can't guarantee I'll be that helpful, but it might be good to talk to someone who could offer a clear opinion.”

Siffrin nodded and then looked towards the nurse in the room. You felt embarrassed that you almost forgot about her. Her presence was barely there.

“Could you give us some privacy?”

The nurse nodded and left the two of you alone. You wait for Siffrin to speak up, but they don't say anything. It seems you'll have to be the one to break the silence.

“How are you feeling now? Your fever broke and you immediately made a run for it. That's not exactly a good sign of mental health, Siffrin.”

You're not sure what you expected but it wasn't Siffrin bursting out laughing. It goes on for an uncomfortably long time.

“Ha! Hahaha! Haaa… so that's how he felt. No, you're right. I suppose we're not handling this well, are we?”

You raise an eyebrow. “We?”

Their smile tightens and you see their eyes dart about until they land on your book. Ah. At some point, you must have started holding it how you normally do. Title exposed for Siffrin to read. 

“Well you of course. I bet you're burying yourself in books right now thinking I'm crazy~”

They've been speaking in a strange sing-song way for a while now. Is this some method to cope with what happened? You set down your book and lean in.

“I thought you said you wanted to be more open with us. That you wouldn't hide things.”

That finally got them to drop their smile.

“I did, didn't I? But I'm sure you, of all people, know that there are some secrets you keep to yourself, and there are some traumas that take time to process.”

Right. Siffrin somehow knew about your life story. A secret you didn't think you'd share with anyone. You can only imagine what horrid things must have happened for you to tell that story. 

The silence lingers too long. But you aren't sure how to break it. It's best to say something. Anything. You're about to open your mouth right before Siffrin speaks.

“So! How are the others?”

“Ah, ahem. Boniface is currently traveling with Mirabelle and Isabeau around Dormont. Off searching for picnic supplies. Poor Boniface has been overstocking everything for a picnic. They keep asking if you're awake enough to leave. So try not to go for any more jogs for a while, sick one.”

You expected Siffrin to recoil at your usual teasing, show the signs of playful banter amongst colleagues. Instead they look somber. You watch as they delicately pick a flower from the bouquet Isabeau had left. They pluck petals from it rhymically while muttering something under their breath. Silence fills the room again.

There's not much else you can ask at the moment. The best you can do is give them time. “I should go update the others. Let them know you're alright. But remember that at some point, you'll need to tell us what's going on. I won't push you on the issue, but if you won't talk, I will figure it out, and it's not like you can escape with timecraft anymore.”

Without looking up, Siffrin spoke calmly, “I can still loop.”

You blink. “You can still use it?”

“It's just a hunch. But I can feel that wish still buzzing inside me. If something happened to any of you…”

“Are we in any danger right now?”

“No. I don't think so. I just felt like you wouldn't want me to keep it secret.”

You're not sure what to say.

“If it makes you feel better, I promise not to loop anymore. You know, unless I die~”

Sounds like their feelings are being walled off again. Still, the promise is nice. It will at least keep Mirabelle and Boniface at ease. You'll have to make sure everyone is looking out for any hint that Siffrin could be looping again.

“Of course Siffrin, unless you die. But you have my permission to roll back time if anyone else dies.”

“I'll take it under consideration~”

“Now then, I'll be leaving. If I can manage it, I'm going to look for any books here on wish craft to see what we can do about your wish…”

 they're holding back laughter as you say that. 

“And I'll be informing the rest of the party about this. Please stay safe, Siffrin. Remember that we all care about you.”

“Thank you resea- Odile. Thank you.”

You leave the room, unsatisfied by what you were able to learn. Pressing too far could lead to serious consequences however. You certainly weren't about to force Siffrin through a possible loop. You need to do more research… oh, You left your book inside.

As you place your hand on the door, you hear the muffled sounds of crying from the other side. You're not good at dealing with feelings. Isabeau should talk to him.

The nurse is patiently standing nearby. You ask her to wait a few more minutes before entering. You think for a moment as you begin to leave. You should ask.

“How was Siffrin when you found him?”

“Well physically he was exhausted. He threw up after collapsing in the hallway. Mentally, they didn't seem any better. He kept muttering the same thing over and over.”

“And that was?”

“I’ll write it down for you.”

…

Rereading the note over and over again doesn’t help anything. You’re not sure what to make of it. A cry of pain? Siffrin wishing to be anywhere else but here… something about stardust. Perhaps they were talking about that star you met, Loop was their name. You don’t know how you’ll confront the party about this. You don’t know how to bring it up to Siffrin. You read the last line of the manuscript again. The last line repeated over several times in reportedly panicked breath.

Stardust, help me..

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

Prev - Next

[valentine-cafe]

Hello :3 first time customer so I'm kinda nervous. Could I get a lemon tea?

I've been thinking of top! Alessio with amab male reader, where basically reader loses a bet with Alessio, and since he lost, Alessio gets to do whatever he wants to reader (they have a sort of rivals-with-benefits situation maybe?). There isn't really anything in particular apart from a lot of man handling involved. And also reader is super cocky and was sure he'd win the bet

Thank you :D

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : tiramisu !! . . . inhuman mercenary ⊹ male reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 781 ꮽ  alessio arias

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a cocky, comedic and charismatic mercenary. immortal and inhuman, punkgoth

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... summary ⊹ cw ٬٬ warnings. 

"You're a real piece of work - ah-!" you hiss at the man above you, who eases. No. Steals another groan from your chest. His dick slamming into you with furious speed. Rough, large hands pinning you down against the table that they'd bent you over to give easy access.

It doesn't take long before one of the hands join the pretty mess below him, fucking your own hard cock into his fist while laughing into your ear like the bastard he is.

"You gonna keep bein' cocky?" The hot breath sends shivers down your spine. Just as he angles his hips to make your back arch. Your tight ass embraces him with a welcome your words have attempted to refuse to do. You claim over and over you hate him so much, that you don't want him.

You're too delicious it's unfunny. The way your body twists in motion to his and your voice pitches when his fat mushroom tip slams against sensitive bundles of nerves is something out of this world. Hell he'll be writing songs about this. Sing them to you next time he's fucking your pretty ass full.

Tightly, you grip onto the sheets and throw your head back, swallowing the build-up of spit your mouth had produced. Adam's apple bobbing along to the noise of your grunts and moans.

Alessio's balls tighten at the little motion you make to meet his hips, the desperation building mutually. "Ain't you a needy boy," he pants. Only to receive the quietest 'fuck you' in response. Oh the vibrations of his laughter goes straight to your core.

Much like the pumping hand on your dick begins tightening. So the pace matches the speed of his hips against your soft cum covered ass. A sign he's been at it for a while now.

"That's not nice to say. 'M givin you it all." He laughs and lands a rough spank against your ass. That jiggles the skin in the most satisfying ripples he's laid eyes on. "Wanna cum so badly- hah. . . fuck. Then work for it. I won, you lost. Brat."

Tumbled whines and writhing limbs get pushed up against the desk even tighter. Positions reexchanged, so that the immortal man may put you into a lock. Front against you. While you cum against his abdomen without his permission.

"Can't even hold it back. Ngh. . . fuckin' pathetic. . ."

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[luli-lads]

About dawnbreaker....I don't think he's a human being, I don't even think he has a body. The anecdote made it seem like he did but I think we were supposed to find out in this chapter. Dawnbreaker is not a different entity, he really is zayne, he lives inside zayne. Dawnbreaker's reality is bleak because zayne knew the experiments he conducted failed. So whenever he dreams, he imputs that guilt and sorrow to Dawnbreaker who then manifests in a horrible world full of alterum--failed experiments that haunt zayne.

And every time zayne is too tired, too angry, he lets dawnbreaker take over. That's why he tried to leave--because if he loses control again and if he's with mc during it, if he loses consciousness, he knows dawnbreak will hurt MC for having protocore syndrome. Zayne's absolutely terrified of hurting her again. But he loves us a lot. And he makes sure to point out that hurting mc would be the greatest regret of his life.

It's sad but they didn't leave on bad terms, no one is angry at one another, they're desperate, they went through an entire ordeal, zayne's nightmares, his worst fear, came to ife. MC found out she might destroy the world.. I also think something big had to happen for zayne to realize he wasn't in control at all. Not of his evol nor of himself. And he can't risk the consequences if the consequences all lead to mc. He couldn't keep being a doctor nor ignoring his nightmares and his past.

This is just a theory. I saw your posts about dawnbreaker and it got me thinking, you know??

Oh wow anon :O

That's a really interesting theory actually!!! All of Dawnbreaker's lore being a sort of inner world that doesn't actually exist.... Huh... Definitely an idea to keep in mind.

I'm really curious in general about Zayne's mental state, because as much as we joke about Caleb's, we haven't stopped to think about the rest of the LI's. I feel like I need to go over all of Dawnbreaker-in-Zayne's lore when I get free time to establish a proper timeline and key points.

It feels like a subject that should be treaded lightly, since dissociative disorders are already quite misrepresented in media so, from a narrative standpoint, I'm not sure if Infold should be taking that direction though. I hope if they are, they handle it carefully.

You're right about the control thing. I hadn't thought about that, but it's true that he was too confident in his ability to remain in control that it wouldn't let him see beyond, and though it's sad that it had to happen this way, it's better if he realizes now than when it's too late.

Still, I hope the lesson he learns from this isn't 'I can't do anything so I should leave everything to external forces' and instead he realizes 'There should be a balance between the things I can do and the things I can't'.

Gifted children and gifted people in general tend to have a strong internal locus of control, which means they blame their faults on themselves just as much as their successes, and it's reflected quite well here with how Zayne insisted on taking these challenges on his own. I hope he realizes he can rely on other people and the story doesn't isolate him completely (which would inevitably lead to the Foreseer's timeline).

As much as I hate that little kid that went looking for him, I hope he keeps Zayne company.

I'm probably going to be thinking about your DB theory all week now XD Thank you so much for sharing it!!

[freaky-flawless]

Monster High #2: The Ghoul Next Door

Onto the second book of the series! With this installment we get a closer look at Cleo, as she joins Frankie and Melody as one of the mains. It is a bit much to jump from perspective to perspective (she's not the only addition...we also get Invisibilly and Ghoulia chapters)

This story picks up right after the first, with the fallout from the whole "Frankie's head getting ripped off" incident. Her normie crush winds up in the psych ward, leading his girlfriend Bekka to go on a monster hating crusade. Thanks to Invisibilly (who's a damn champ by the way) they manage to end the monster hunt and Frankie is able to continue her efforts to liberate monster kind. She also bags her monster loving normie, and with his help they come up with the idea to film anonymous interviews of their monster peers to show the public that there's no reason to fear them.

Cleo meanwhile tries to thwart this effort. Not because she's against it per se, so much as she's sick of Frankie stealing her friends attention away from her. With good reason if you ask me to be honest, because her whole issue really comes down to unfortunate timing. She got the opportunity of a lifetime to model in a Teen Vogue shoot and just wanted to share the hype with her friends. It leads to her doing some pretty snakey shit, like teaming up with Bekka to sabotage Frankie's video. Also can't forget her relationship with Deuce being on the rocks, as always. She has moments of clarity though, and does recognize how messed up it is. I think Cleo is written pretty well and accurately to how she is in the movies and webisodes, while also feeling like more of a real teenager. That's something that I think this series does well overall, I definitely felt like I was reading about actual teens. Side note, but in the beginning we get a super detailed and decadent description of the De Niles house and I love it so much. We also get probably the singular most poorly aged passage in the entire series:

[Image Description: Text from a book reading "Ram might write in hieroglyphs and speak Egyptian, but her thought like Donald Trump. He valued initiative, confidence, and micromanagement more than anything he'd ever exhumed."]

...Yeah

(Although, considering that in Once Bitten Twice Dead Ramses had attempted to buy votes to force his way into a position of power...you know what lets not go there!)

I also wanna note that even though we get an intro scene with Ramses, Nefera doesn't exist (Yet!) It is interesting to see what Cleo would be like as an only child. She sucks up to her dad hardcore and he spoils her rotten while also having high expectations for her. Overall though he comes across as a pretty caring father (if maybe a bit neglectful since he tends to be gone for long periods of time)

Now onto Melody...she's still kinda irritating! She becomes super involved in helping the monster community, but it's under the guise of "I know what it's like to be discriminated against! I used to be ugly!!!" and its like....okay girl. Not to say she isn't useful or anything, I just don't like her attitude sometimes. Her sister is great though, and also super helpful. Weird happenings start happening to Melody though...it seems like all of a sudden people around her have started listening to her more. Huh. Wonder what that's about.

I also gotta talk about Invisibilly because he is such a good guy and its sad. I know it's an outdated term now, but the guy is a simp for Frankie through and through. Literally risked his life to essentially save hers, and is always in her corner being her cheerleader and standing up for her. Then he's forced to watch her fall for a weird normie dude. Not that I blame Frankie at all, but it's hard not to feel bad for him.

Ghoulia also gets a chapter in this story, and it's our first occurrence of an advertisement! Her story from the 13th chapter of the first book is dropped and never referenced again. Instead we get to witness her buy her scooter and have a meet-cute with Slo-Mo. That's it!

That being said, I liked how the other ghouls were written. Lagoona, Clawdeen, and Lala are always in scenes together and again don't get to shine much on their own but whats there is good. I like how its established that Lala is perceived to be super shy because she constantly has to keep her mouth closed to hide her fangs, but is actually really bubbly and opinionated in private. Cleo and Clawdeen don't have a sort of frenemy/rivalry ting going on and I thought I preferred that, but I do kinda miss the bite in their interactions. It's still there a bit, but only when they're relationship is rocky, compared to the sort of casual teasing/ snide remarks we'd get in the other medias. Lagoona gets a pretty great scene in which she details what being accepted by the normie community would mean to her, how her family sent her to America because they thought it would be more accepting of monster kind, and how she has to lie to them in her letters back home so they don't feel bad. And despite her self centered nature, Cleo does care for them a lot and is pretty lost during the time they weren't talking. Its part of what drives her to team up with Bekka and her weird little friend Hayley.

The movie Frankie and Brett were trying to make ultimately gets canned as the news network they pitched it to has no interest in publishing it with everyone's faces blurred. Which also means Cleo is off the hook, doesn't have to bother trying to sabotage it, and gets her friends attention back on the Teen Vogue shoot. Yay her! But of course when all seems right, the movie is set to air and does...with everyone's faces unblurred. Panic ensues and Frankie is convinced Brett and Melody betrayed her, and everyone is sure Cleo was in on it. Long story short she wasn't, and it was all Bekka's doing. Homegirl is SALTY about Frankie stealing her man, and it turns her into a monster hating weirdo.

The story ends with Cleo being acquitted of her involvement in Bekka's scheme, and her Teen Vogue shoot being a disaster. Meanwhile the entire rest of the monster community as well as the general normie public are in a panic. That's basically where the story ends, but not without insinuating that there's something more to Melody and that her family might be hiding something really big from her...

I've given my thoughts on the Ghoulfriends series, and then Once Bitten Twice, Dead, so I figure it's time to go back to my roots and give my in depth thoughts about the original Monster High novels by Lisi Harrison!

I do wanna get my biases across though: these books were my first introduction to the franchise, and on top of that, I was already a fan of Lisi Harrison's writing as well. Needless to say I've always been a huge defender of these books, even though I acknowledge that they could be a lot better.

They have the issues...a lot of issues if I'm being honest. You can tell they were written in the late 2000s and are very much a product of their time, which is why some grace needs to be given when reading them.

That being said though, I think this series gives us such an interesting take on the gen 1 lore that makes them worth reading. Given that the first book was published the year the franchise came out, a month before we even got our first movie, Lisi Harrison did a pretty great job with what she had and managed to turn out a really interesting story (for the first two books that is...we'll get there)

Gonna add a read more in case y'all wanna avoid spoilers.

To give a rough summary of how the story differs, unlike the other media in which monsters live separately from normies, in these books monsters live amongst them, in hiding, keeping their true identities secret. Each character has their own way of hiding their monster traits, Frankie for example is forced to wear heavy stage makeup to hide her green skin, and wear clothes that hide her neck bolts and stitches. (some liberties were taken. Lagoona for example isn't blue, but still has scales and webbed fingers that she hides with gloves and lots of moisturizer. Clawdeen is relatively human looking, however she grows a tuft of fur around her neck that she combats with waxing. On top of that a lot of them use "normie names")

As for the lore, back in the day, monsters and humans lived amongst each other in harmony, but that all changed when the monster horror movies were released in the 1930s. Portrayed as being violent and murderous, monsters were run out of their homes by fearful normies, most of them making their way to Salem Oregon (by mistake...they were supposed to go to Salem Massachusetts to find a safe haven with the witches from the Salem Witch Trials) They built a neighborhood for them all to reside in called Radcliffe Way. The Monster community refers to themselves as RADs, or Regular Attribute Dodgers, and they occasionally hold underground (literally underground) meetings for the community to check in, ran by the only normie amongst, them, that being Mrs. J, Jackson Jekyll's mom.

Frankie is of course our lead ghoul, as well as a normie girl named Melody Carver. I'll get more into them a little later.

I'm gonna leave this initial post here, and talk about each book individually in the reblogs as I finish them.

[asgardian--angels]

things I wish I could relive for the first time again:

that magical window where you finish a new piece of media, having watched/read it all by yourself with no fandom contact whatsoever, and you are just so happy about it, and full of interesting theories and takeaways, and just in love with it as a gorgeous piece of art.

because I swear to god as soon as you join the fandom for anything, you're bombarded with how you're supposed to view characters and their arcs, how you're supposed to morally and ethically judge the plot and the ways it apparently failed to present the right message, and if you don't you'll either be shunned for not sharing the popular headcanons or you'll be harassed for not criticizing the source material enough.

like how is it that the fans of a piece of media are also the ones being the most negative about it? If I like a show or a movie or a book, well, I liked it. That's kind of the point. I'm actually not here to tear it apart and talk about how it didn't live up to standards other people had! I enjoyed it for what it was, and forcing myself to find negative things to say about it doesn't actually bring me more enjoyment of it or reap any benefit to me. Fandom's a double-edged sword; you want to join a community to share your love for a piece of art, and the price you pay for a modicum of joy is a mountain of negativity. that's one main reason that I never engage with fandom until I'm completely done with a show, because if I was plugged into all of that commentary and discourse during the process, I'd be completely colored by how I'm expected to interpret everything this piece of art is presenting to me without being able to even form my own opinions.