#i finally understand on a deep gut level

[vaunted-and-vilified]

Not of the Ninth, but beholden to it.

[solxamber]

Could you do adeuce & the overblot gang (separately) trying one of those period cramp simulators like in those videos?

Overblot Gang + Adeuce + Rollo trying period simulators!

part 2 with vice housewardens + Kalim

I found the idea funny and added Rollo for funsies, I hope you don't mind <3

Adeuce

Ace, being the daredevil he is, straps on the period cramp simulator first with a cocky grin. “How bad can it be?” he says, glancing at you like this is no big deal.

The moment you turn it on, though, his face transforms. “W-What the—” he gasps, doubling over like someone just punched him in the gut. “Okay, okay, this is—AHHH, NOPE, TURN IT OFF!” He’s flailing now, hands waving in panic as he tries to yank the device off, hopping around like a fish out of water.

Deuce, meanwhile, watches with wide eyes, realizing it’s his turn next. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Nah, nah, Deuce, you gotta try it,” Ace wheezes between pained groans. “It’s character building!”

Deuce, ever the trooper, reluctantly puts it on. At first, he’s stoic. “I can handle this. It’s just a simulation—OH MY SEVENS!” He crumples into a chair, gripping his stomach as though his life depends on it, tears actually forming in his eyes. “HOW DO PEOPLE LIVE LIKE THIS?!”

Ace, still recovering on the floor, gives him a thumbs up. “We’re never… talking back to anyone going through this… ever again.”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle approaches the simulator with the same seriousness he applies to everything else. “This is for educational purposes,” he declares, strapping it on confidently. “I’ll endure it to better understand—”

The moment it starts, his face turns a deep crimson—not from anger, but from sheer pain. His knees buckle, and he grips the nearest chair for dear life, a strained gasp escaping his lips. “T-This can’t be real,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “This is…an injustice to all rules of nature!”

By level three, he’s gasping for air, holding onto the table as if it’s his only lifeline. “TURN IT OFF! THIS SHOULD BE ILLEGAL!”

You switch it off, and Riddle stands there, disheveled and panting, brushing his hair back. “We shall… never speak of this again,” he declares, with his pride barely intact.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona sits back with a smug grin as you offer him the simulator. “Tch, weaklings. I��ve dealt with worse.” he says, lounging lazily as he straps it on. His confidence is off the charts—until you turn it on.

His ears immediately flatten, his eyes go wide, and his whole body tenses up. “The hell is this?!” he growls, clutching his stomach with one hand while the other grips the couch.

By level two, he’s sweating and lowkey whimpering. “Turn it off, turn it off right now.” His tail is thrashing, and there’s no trace of his former bravado. “Whoever made this… is a sadist.”

When you finally switch it off, he glares at you, still slumped on the couch, breathing heavily. “If you tell anyone about this, herbivore, I swear…”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul, ever the schemer, thinks he’s prepared for anything. “This is merely an experiment,” he says, carefully adjusting his glasses as he straps the simulator on. “I’ll be able to handle it with ease.”

As soon as it starts, though, his confident smirk falters. His back stiffens, and he clutches the arms of his chair, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Th-This is...more than I anticipated,” he gasps, his face pale as he tries to remain composed.

By the time you hit level three, Azul’s glasses are askew, and he’s gripping the edge of his desk like his life depends on it. “MAKE IT STOP! I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING! HALF-PRICE AT MONSTRO LOUNGE, JUST TURN IT OFF!”

Jamil Viper

Jamil raises an eyebrow at the challenge but doesn’t say no. “This is nothing,” he mumbles, strapping the device on like it’s a task on his daily to-do list. You turn it on, and for a few seconds, he seems unfazed. His poker face is strong.

But as the intensity increases, you see his eye twitch. Then, he’s hunched over, muttering a stream of complaints under his breath, his face contorted in a rare expression of suffering. “This… this is inhuman,” he grits out, shaking his head. “I could’ve been cooking, cleaning, or literally anything else.”

At level four, he’s pressing a hand against his stomach, sweating bullets. “How do people get anything done like this? Who’s responsible for this?!”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil, in true Vil fashion, approaches the whole thing with poise. “I can handle this,” he says, strapping the simulator on like it’s a designer belt. “How painful could it really—”

The second the simulator starts, his perfect posture falters, and he sits down immediately, eyes wide in disbelief. “Oh. My. Sevens. This is—”

By level three, he’s doubled over, one hand gripping his stomach and the other clutching his chest dramatically. “This is unbearable! This pain would ruin anyone’s complexion!”

His voice is full of horror as he waves a trembling hand. “Turn it off before it does permanent damage!”

Idia Shroud

Idia’s hair is already flickering with anxiety the moment you suggest he try the simulator. “Y-You’re joking, right? No way!” But you convince him, and he reluctantly straps it on “I’m going to die, I just know it.”

When you turn it on, his reaction is immediate. His hair flares bright neon pink, and he lets out the most dramatic yelp you’ve ever heard. “OH NO, THIS IS IT! THIS IS HOW I GO!” He’s rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach like he’s in the final boss battle of his life.

By level four, he’s practically pleading. “I surrender! I’m done! Game over! JUST TURN IT OFF!” His hair is flashing so brightly it could power a small city.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approaches the simulator with a curious expression. “A device that mimics pain? Fascinating.” He straps it on with a regal air, as if this is just another strange mortal custom he’s willing to experience.

The moment it starts, though, he pauses. His eyes widen slightly, and he places a hand over his stomach. “This… is quite intense,” he admits, his voice calm but strained.

As the levels increase, his stoic expression falters, and he’s soon gripping the edge of the nearest surface. “Is this…what humans endure regularly?” he asks in disbelief. By the time it reaches full strength, he’s staring at you in awe. “You must be incredibly strong to endure this.”

The storm outside, coincidentally, seems to match his inner turmoil.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo looks at the period cramp simulator with his usual air of disdain. "I fail to see the point of this exercise," he says, folding his arms. But with a raised eyebrow from you, he sighs and reluctantly agrees. “Fine. If only to demonstrate that I can endure whatever nonsense you find amusing.”

He straps it on, looking every bit like he’s about to endure a great trial of fortitude. "Proceed," he says, as if commanding an army.

At level one, Rollo barely flinches. He keeps his usual stoic expression. "Is that all?" he asks, voice flat. But as you increase the intensity, his composure begins to crack. By level three, he’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His jaw tightens, but he's still maintaining his dignity—barely.

"Interesting... sensation," he mutters between clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice steady.

By level four, the calm façade is gone. Rollo’s knuckles are white from gripping the arms of the chair, and his expression is a mix of panic and fury. "This... device is an affront to decency!" he hisses, his face reddening. "Surely no one can focus through such—"

You take it up one more notch.

"TURN IT OFF THIS INSTANT!" Rollo practically yells, his voice cracking as he doubles over, utterly betrayed by his own pride. His normally regal posture is completely gone, replaced by a man clinging to survival.

When you finally switch off the simulator, he’s left panting and disheveled, glaring at you like you’ve committed a personal offense. "That... was barbaric," he wheezes, trying to regain his composure. “I’ll never question your complaints again. That was… inhumane.” He straightens his robes and avoids eye contact, the flush in his cheeks refusing to fade.

"Honestly," he mutters, still flustered, "what vile invention is this world coming to?"

Masterlist

[theapangea]

Bruised

Characters: Lip Gallagher x reader, Fiona, Ian, Debbie, V

Summary/ Request: How do you think lip would react if fwb that they've known each other forever ends up coming to the house in the middle of the night in the middle of winter with sleep shorts and a tank top with socks, covered in bruises

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Parent abuse, physically abuse

A/N: PROTECTIVE LIP AHHHHH!!!! I just love him and know he'd protect reader at ALL COST! All mistakes are mine as I am sometimes too lazy to proof read but I hope you enjoy!! Let me know what you think!! <3

You are in a daze.

Your frail body shakes as the sudden flashbacks of yelling and pushing and crying continue to play in your head. Trying to understand, to comprehend what in the hell just happened. Thinking a million thoughts yet completely nothing at all. Your head aches, the shooting pressure builds, beating against your skull. 

The snow crunches under your steps, soaking through your socks as you stumble to keep yourself up right. The icy wind causes you to tremble more than the horrors of the night. Barely able to keep your eyes open wide enough to see where you are going. 

Having no particular destination in mind but here you are standing outside Lip Gallagher’s house, knocking on the door in the middle of the night, begging to be let in. 

Lip has been the person you’ve leaned on for almost every bullshit thing that has happened in your life, understanding each other on a deeper level. It was only recently that your relationship with Lip became sexual but your connection was much more than that. And unfortunately neither of you have the guts to make it anything more than just friends who sleep together.

Your knocking rapidly increases, quickly becoming impatient until you hear the lock on the other side click and the porch light turn on. Coming face to face with his older sister Fiona who’s look of annoyance quickly washes over with concern, brows furrowing, mouth open in shock as she stares at your fragile body, wearing only a cotton tank top, small boxer shorts and socks shielding you from the cold. Your exposed skin is covered in purple bruises, deepening in color with every second that you tremble in front of her. 

Immediately snatching one of the jackets off the hook behind her and wrapping it around your shoulders as she pulls you inside. Goosebumps lining your skin as the warm, inside air circles around you. The pain is no longer from the cold but from the aching bruises. 

And while your world has been turned upside down, a happy boy on the next street over is fighting a huge grin as he walks back home.

The extra skip in Lip’s step was from the wonderful night he just spent with Karen, mainly the sex part. Their relationship has become more positive and Lip hopes that they are finally going to make it more official, like boyfriend/ girlfriend official, no one else on the side.

But...becoming official with Karen means that he will no longer get to see you...at all. Karen is hugely jealous of your relationship with Lip. The inside jokes, the constant hanging out, the connection that she sees that you two are obviously oblivious to. And the only way that she agreed to making things official with Lip is that he will have to cut off all ties with you.

Lip is feeling torn, picking between you and Karen should be so easy for him but these past couple of months, especially when you add sex into the equation, makes him question everything. He lets out one more deep breath, the fog floating in front of him as he knows that tomorrow he will finally have to tell you that you can’t be friends anymore. Knowing that the outcome is going to be disastrous.

Skipping every other skip as he jogs up the stairs of the back porch, a curious thought enters his mind as he notices all the lights shining into the darkness of the night and the door unlocked as he jiggles the handle. Walking into the warm kitchen, unwrapping his scarf and shrugging off his jacket, dismissing the items onto the table until some unknown later time.

The commotion from the front end of the house travels around his body as he stumbles to kick off his boots, catching himself on the wall by the stairs to stop himself from falling over. Peaking around the corner, trying to understand the roaring chaos that fills that Gallagher house tonight. 

Ian comes down the stairs, his hand placed on his forehand and the other holds a phone tightly to his ear. Practically arguing with the person on the other line, speaking some details about a house over on Gilmore Street.

Gilmore Street…that’s where you live. 

Lip’s interest suddenly peaked, his face asking a plain question towards his younger brother…what the hell is going on here?

But Ian waves him off, continuing on his story on how the police need to check on the house now and how something really fucked up happened. 

Lip stands there dumbfounded, trying to figure out this super confusing situation that he just walked into. His attention floats elsewhere as the two women in the next room talking abruptly loud. If he didn't know Fiona and V personally, then he would think hat they are arguing. Walking closer to the dining room but not actually in the room itself, Lip watches their interaction. 

Their movements are elaborate and complex. Fiona runs fingers through her hair, tossing it to one side, passing the hard floor beneath her. The conversation between them is making no sense to Lip, something about having to wait until tomorrow and trying to solve some problem. 

Lip stands still, his mind trying to piece the puzzle together from the small details that he has been given. But how could he, when it feels like everyone is talking in code. Like it's some top secret event that he can't know anything about.

Feeling something graze his side, bringing him back to reality to see Debbie walk between the two women towards the living room. In her hands a mug with steam coming from it. Walking quickly to the couch where she hands the mug to a girl. Lip following Debbie's same movements to get a better look at who's in his house. Eyes wide when it see that it's you...

A confused look freezes on his face as he studies your body. Your shaky hands reach out towards the mug as the warm contains seeping through the glass cup through your body. Your eyes fixated in front of you, as if the small girl standing in front of you isn’t actually there. Your chest heaving rapidly, breathing heavily through your nose. Knees bruised, shaking together. 

It is as if the dam that keeps the water of emotions behind a strong wall suddenly shatters. The instant fire spreads through Lip’s body as he sees your weak state. The walls of decorum crumble as his hands turn into fist and his jaw locks. The blood making his face bright red, moving quickly to your side, his knees hitting into the wooden floors hard as he practically pushes Debbie out of the way so he is kneeling in front of you.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Lip voice breaks through the chaos of the house as he holds onto your shoulders, shaking slightly but your gaze would shift to meet his, “What happened, tell me!” He whines, the pain mixed with anger driving his actions.

“Don’t yell at her dummy.” Fiona shouts as she comes over, grabbing Lip off the floor so they are face to face.

“What the fuck is going on?” The spit spewing from his mouth, his hand signaling towards you and why you are bruised and bleeding and hurt. Why you? Why you?

“We don’t know. Your little girlfriend just showed up here like 10 minutes ago.” V crosses her arms behind Fiona. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lip quickly remarks, the comment would have stung you more if you can actually concentrate but tonight is not the night for you to be dwelling over how Lip Gallagher feels about you. 

Your soft voice speaks his name.

Lip coming to you again, “Hey,” Lip’s kind eyes are on you, his touch now gentle as his heart aches. 

Eyes shaking as they meet him, glossing over as a tear slips down your cheek. But you struggle to get any words out.

“Just tell me what happened?” His hand on your cheek, wiping away the tears, “Please tell me.”

Gulping hard, your trembling body making the liquid in your mug move, hesitating as you say, “My dad."

“He got out?” 

“From where?” Debbie asks.

Lip groans, hate having to explain further, “Prison. Shut up.” Debbie rolls her eyes, obviously annoyed.

“Th-this morning.” The words feel like cotton balls in your mouth.

“He did this to you?” Standing up immediately, “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker. Get the bat Ian.” He points towards his brother who instantly follows his orders.

The tears start flowing now, the snob leaking from your nose. Your body collapsing as the abuse of the night finally settles in causing you lose yourself.

“Lip.” Deb pulls Lip's attention back to you.

“She needs you right now buddy. You can beat the son-of-a-bitch up tomorrow.” Fiona patting his back before leaving the room.

And he knew Fiona was right. He didn't need to be this guy who beat the shit out of some low-life, that isn't going to make him a hero to you. Lip needs to be here for you now, comfort you, take care of you. Be the man that you need.

He realized why you came over to his house, looking for him at your darkest moment. Understanding that you and him can spend hours together without saying a word. Be closer, more intimate then sex with Karen will ever be. It was always going to be you, he was always going to pick you.

Wrapping his arms around you as you sob deeper against his chest, shushing as he rocks you, "I've got you." Kissing the top of your head. The instantly relief coating your body.

~~~

Let me know what you think!! thank you for reading. I LOVE YOU!!!

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

Unfinished business (pt 2):

Chishiya x Reader

Read the first part to understand

----

Sweat ran cold down her forehead as she struggled to focus on the task in front of her. Problems and options, numbers and equations... the more levels she cleared, the harder it became to maintain her concentration. Especially with that man staring at her from across the room. "Doesn’t he have his own issues to solve?"

Y/N hastily scribbled down the answer she had just calculated, and while the response was being processed, she dared to look up. Sure enough, he was watching her. Kai. She locked eyes with him, trying to appear intimidating, indifferent, and self-assured. A familiar smirk spread across his face—a crooked smile she had seen before, one that promised nothing but trouble. She felt her screen vibrate in front of her.

"49. Focus."

She turned her head slightly. Chishiya was still working, focused and seemingly absorbed in solving his problems. But she knew him too well, and the faint furrow between his brows was a clear sign that something was bothering him. Y/N typed the number into her console without even bothering to read the problem. "Correct."

Just as a new question popped up, the voice in her earpiece announced there were ten minutes left in the game. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, and as she became engrossed in solving the problem, she didn’t notice the way the man’s expression darkened.

A soft melody flooded the room, accompanied by the creak of a door. Someone had finished. Y/N watched as the door to a player’s cubicle opened, granting them freedom. The game was over for them. He bolted out of his glass enclosure and approached the central console in the room. He stared at it for a few seconds, deep in thought. Whatever had crossed his mind was dismissed quickly, and with one last glance at the group, he walked to the exit, opened the door with ease, and disappeared.

Y/N glanced at Chishiya. He seemed to be calculating something internally—or so it appeared. It was inconceivable to her that someone could finish this test before he did. Chishiya looked at her from within his transparent cubicle, arms crossed over his chest. "What are you doing?" she tried to convey through her gaze. He just stared at her. His expression was fixed, inscrutable, as though he could see right through her. She sighed and refocused on her console.

"Seven points. I just need three more," she muttered to herself.

"Five minutes left in the game," the robotic voice blared in her ears, louder than before, reverberating through the glass and making it tremble.

A sharp, harsh sound was followed by a scream. A woman was trying to force open her door, her cries filled with desperation. Y/N covered her ears, trying to block out the panicked wails. That woman wouldn’t achieve anything by forcing the lock, and even if she succeeded, she’d be met with a deadly laser aimed straight at her forehead.

With trembling hands, Y/N solved two more problems. "Three minutes," her screen displayed. "One more problem."

Beside her, she didn’t notice Chishiya reclining in his cubicle, adopting an apparently relaxed posture. His white hoodie now covered his head, partially hiding his face and concealing his worry. He would never admit it, but yes, he was worried. He knew Y/N was more than capable of solving all the problems, but he also knew she wasn’t entirely focused. That man hadn’t stopped staring at her, and his mere presence at the start of the game had set off every alarm in Chishiya’s mind. A bad feeling settled in his gut as he deciphered, through body language, that the man already had his final answer but had chosen not to submit it, deciding instead to stay in the game—just like Chishiya.

Of course, he had finished the game before anyone else; he’d solved all the problems in just twenty minutes, leaving him time to study his surroundings. It was clear that not everyone would leave that room. There were players too panicked to answer correctly, their faces twisting in agony every time their consoles spat out a bitter "Incorrect." And then there was that man. He had finished about ten minutes after Chishiya. It was obvious from the way his posture had relaxed, and his eyes had locked onto Y/N. Chishiya had expected to hear the man’s door open and watch him leave, like any sane person fleeing imminent death would. But he hadn’t. Instead, the man leaned against the glass, glaring at Y/N as if he wanted to burn her with his gaze.

"Well, Y/N. You have a type," Chishiya muttered to himself, immediately regretting the thought. No, he was nothing like that man. He glanced at his console, where his final answer had been paused for the last twenty minutes. The "Submit" button glowed green, tempting him like candy to a child. He looked up. The man was still staring, trying to intimidate her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Y/N shift uncomfortably, struggling to focus.

"One minute."

Chishiya sighed under his hood, fixing his gaze on Y/N. She was definitely grappling with the last problem. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and typed into his console. One last hint… He could already hear her complaining on their way back to The Beach, hanging onto his arm, telling him she could have done it on her own and didn’t need his help. He would smile and agree, with that signature smug look of his.

"Send hint."

Then everything happened very fast. A flashing red light illuminated Y/N’s cubicle, accompanied by a loud alarm that reverberated through the glass. Chishiya flinched at the sight of her curled up in the corner, hands over her ears, eyes shut tight.

"The hint cannot be sent," his screen announced. Chishiya looked up. There, in the middle of the room, Kai stood tall and proud, his hand firmly pressed against a red button with bold letters: "Sabotage."

Chishiya didn’t hesitate. As if driven by an unseen force, he submitted his final answer and didn’t wait for his cubicle door to fully open before sprinting toward the central console. His hood fell back, revealing his face, and by the time he reached the console, Kai was already retreating, slowly, waving mockingly at Y/N, who was still curled up in her cubicle, teary-eyed, hands over her ears.

The burning rage in Chishiya’s chest demanded he go after the man, but his fear of losing her clouded his mind, forcing him to focus on the console before him. The word "Sabotage" glowed on the button, surrounded by neon red lights flashing in sync with the ones in Y/N’s cubicle. Below the button, a screen displayed: "Console 4 locked. To unlock, answer correctly..."

Chishiya took a deep breath, his eyes glued to the console. Thirty seconds. The problem was simple—at least for him. He typed quickly, entered the answer, and waited. One second, two seconds...

"Correct answer. Console 4 unlocked."

Chishiya’s head snapped up so fast he felt a sharp pain in his neck. He’d worry about that later.

"Y/N! Answer the final question!" he shouted, his voice raw and tearing at his throat.

Terror gripped him when she didn’t move, still huddled in the corner, her head buried between her knees, hands covering her ears, despite the alarm having ceased.

"Fifteen seconds."

Chishiya pounded on the glass of her cubicle.

"Y/N! Listen to me. Just listen. Enter the answer—‘white.’ It’s ‘white.’"

His voice was desperate, unrecognizable even to himself. But at that moment, all he could think about was a life without her. For the first time in his existence, he was truly afraid—terrified. He felt as though he was losing control, the reins of his life slipping from his grasp, leaving a painful scar he knew he would never recover from.

"Y/N," he whispered. Her name escaped him like a final breath, a last shred of hope. And then he collapsed, falling to his knees.

He felt a hand on his arm, pulling at him urgently. Chishiya’s body refused to respond. No, it refused to move. If that cubicle was going to explode, he would stay there. His survival instinct had been relegated to second place by something much stronger—something he dared not name. Giving his life for someone, staying by their side regardless of the cost... Ideas that had once seemed stupid, absurd, and incoherent had suddenly taken shape, transforming into the only thing that made sense.

Another tug.

"Move!"

That robotic voice.

"Five seconds.”

And then he saw her.

Her tear-streaked face, pulling at his lifeless body.

“Four, three..."

"Chishiya, move!"

Automatically, he stood, gripping her arm tightly. His calculations were quick—they wouldn’t make it to the door. Instead, Chishiya ran, dragging her toward the farthest corner of the room, away from the cubicles. He used the momentum to press her body against the wall, caging her in with his arms. Her face buried in his chest, he rested his head atop hers. He shut his eyes tightly and tensed every muscle in his body.

The explosion shattered the cubicles, sending shards of glass flying across the room. The ground shook violently, and the air grew unbearably hot for a few seconds, making it hard to breathe.

When he lifted his head, the air still buzzed with energy. His ears rang from the blast, but the silence that followed was equally overwhelming. He looked down, and his heart clenched in his chest.

"Y/N," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair, ignoring the shards embedded in the back of his hand.

She lifted her head.

"Chishiya," she croaked, her voice broken from crying. Her cold hands cupped his face, sending a shiver down his spine—not from the icy touch against his warm skin, but from the fact that she was there. Intact, as far as he could see.

A cloud of dust rose around them. The pair remained in that position for several minutes, just staring at each other, silently acknowledging the fatal consequences the game could have had.

"I... I knew the answer. I knew the last answer..." she said.

Chishiya felt himself tremble, slowly returning to his senses. She didn’t need to justify herself or prove her worth to him. He didn’t care whether she knew the answer or not because he was there, ready to help her. It had all been that other player’s fault.

He felt no need to ask her about the man. What he had seen and witnessed was enough to know that he had tried to kill her. Shaking his head, he rested his chin on her head one last time before rising carefully and offering her his hand. Ignoring the sting in his arms from the numerous cuts, he intertwined his fingers with hers without a word, leading her out of the room filled with debris.

He dismissed Y/N’s worried voice when she noticed the blood running down his arms, shaking his head in indifference.

Deadly silence and at a slow and steady pace, he led them to The Beach. He needed to treat his wounds and ensure she was alright, that there were no aftereffects from the explosion—though there were bound to be from the experience. He would take care of her. He would heal the physical and emotional scars that had undoubtedly torn at her soul. He would wash her hair that night and tuck her into bed, lying beside her to make sure no ghosts haunted her sleep. And he would kill that man.

Borderland changed people. He had seen it, and now he had lived it. After that incident, he knew he would never find peace while that person continued to breathe the same air as his girlfriend. No. Chishiya wouldn’t allow it. They would leave that place together, and he would ensure that no one—absolutely no one—stood in their way.

© 2025 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

----

Hey everyone!

The long-awaited Part 2 of The Unfinished Business is finally here!

I really hope you enjoy it and that the wait was worth it. Let me know what you think—I’d love to hear your feedback!

Your support means the world to me. ✨

[y2karasu]

This is new to me, this is new to you

- Ryomen Sukuna x Reader • Word Count: 0.6k -

content warnings: singlemom!reader, early relationship things, talk of meeting children, playful banter etc

“Six months.”

“Six months? That’s a long time, doll.”

Sukuna’s lips quirk at your scowl, hand swirling his coffee absentmindedly across the booth.

“Well that’s the rules,” you state firmly, fingers peeling at the label on your own drink nervously as you await a response.

“The rules?”

Sukuna can tell his vague responses are beginning to annoy you; the way your eyes roll at his aloofness, your hands twitching nervously as you await his answer.

“Okay,” he finally relents, “six months it is.”

He would normally be offended by the surprise that crosses your features, should be really. But he can’t help but hold his normal snark back as you smile nervously at him.

“Okay?” You ask, “It doesn’t bother you?”

“The fact that you have kids? Or that you want me to wait six months before I meet them?”

You frown at the question, eyes darting about to avoid his own leveled stare. He knocks his feet against yours, a subtle victory when you smile shyly at the act.

“Both I guess?” You answer softly, “I know it’s a lot, so I understand if—

“Can I ask why?” Sukuna cuts you off, hands moving to grab yours once the label of your drink has been torn to shreds (you’ve always had a habit of picking at your nails, and while normally endearing, he’d hate to see you anxious because of him).

“I just want to be sure,” you squeeze at his hand, fingers tracing a familiar path across calloused skin, “about you. Us.”

There’s a warmth that settles deep in Sukuna’s gut at your words, but he’d be damned before he admit to the butterflies that flit in his stomach from something so juvenile.

“What do I always say?”

You roll your eyes, but the worry has eased from your bones. Dripping down the sides of your iced coffee as you smile brightly at him.

“Anything for you, doll,” you mock, voiced deepened to replicate him.

Sukuna moves his free hand to pinch at your nose (anything to avoid letting you go), laughing as you shriek and attempt to avoid his teasing. Your laughs settle, a fond smile widening across your features.

“Anything?” You ask once more.

“Anything.”

a/n: originally written for my beloved @euthymiya (i hope it is oki if i tag u again ily bad) finking about making this a mini series but also… writing… sobs cries screams etc etc tysm for reading <3 and reblogging <3 because you reblogged it right… hahaha… right…. 🫵😐

[rowdyluv]

blurb Extension to: Finding out They’re Having A Baby

word count: 1.3k

As if telepathy was real Ellen knocked on the door and entered after announcing herself. “Now that emotions are out. Let’s go both of you, out here. We’re getting this settled, and Luke.” Ellen’s tone of voice started of soft and turned to one only mother ready to discipline has. “Your father and I raised you better than this. I thought you knew better than to raise your voice at your significant other. Even when angry you can keep a level tone of voice.” Luke’s face falls as he glances over at the love of his life. He knew yelling at her was wrong. He knew everything he said to her was wrong.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to her like that.” Luke’s voice was sincere, but it was clear his heart was racing. Ellen was right, when was she wrong? Ellen and Jim did raise Luke better than he was acting at the moment and he was the one feeling sick now for it.

Rosey’s mother had stayed seated on the sofa waiting Ellen to bring them out, a concerned expression etched on her face. She had never seen her daughter this distressed and it was a side of Luke she had never encountered either. They sat down at the small table in Rosey’s dorm room’s common area, the silence echoing around them like a question left unanswered.

Ellen’s eyes bore into Luke’s, her words a gentle yet firm reprimand. “You need to learn to communicate without letting your anger control you. You’re not just hurting Rosey, you’re also damaging the trust between you two. She’s your partner, not someone to be talked down to or dismissed like that. You have to apologize to her, not just to me. Your actions in there were unacceptable and unnecessary. You two acted as adults, you bear the responsibility of adults.” She wasn’t condescending or rude to her youngest son when reprimanding him, but she made sure he knew that she was serious.

Luke nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of his actions. His eyes reflected the storm of emotions brewing inside him: regret, anger at himself, and a desperate longing to take back his harsh words. He turned to Rosey, who sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes downcast. The room felt as if it had shrunk, the weight of the silence pressing down on them like a heavy blanket.

"Rosey," he began, his voice quivering with sincerity. "I'm so sorry for what I said. I had no right to accuse you of joking about something so serious." He reached out a hand to her, but she didn't move to take it. The air was thick with unspoken words and the scent of her perfume, which usually brought him comfort, now seemed to taunt him with its sweetness. He got up off the couch moving to kneel in front of her, “I’m sorry I called you by your legal name..Rosey, honey please.”

Her eyes remained downcast, but he could see the slight tremble in her chin as she tried to hold back tears. He knew he had hurt her deeply, and the sight was like a knife twisting in his gut. The room was a canvas of shadows and soft light, painting a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him.

"Rosey, please," Luke's voice was a whisper, as if the weight of his apology could somehow break the delicate silence. "Look at me." He took a deep breath, bracing himself for her reaction. When she finally met his gaze, her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, and it was all Luke could do to keep his own emotions in check.

Ellen and Rosey's mother exchanged glances, both of them feeling the tension in the room. They had raised their children to communicate with respect and love, and this was a moment of truth for all of them. Luke's mother gave him a subtle nod, urging him to continue, to express the depth of his regret.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me, Luke," Rosey's voice was barely audible, "but when you shouted like that, it felt like you didn't trust me." She paused, her eyes searching his face for any signs of understanding. "And calling me ‘y/n'... it's like you didn't even see me as the person I have always been to you."

Her words hung in the air, a gentle rebuke that resonated through Luke's entire being. He nodded, his throat feeling as if it had been sewn shut. He desperately wanted to explain, to make her see that his outburst was born from fear and shock, not from a lack of faith in her. But the knot in his throat only grew tighter, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed.

"I know," he croaked out, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you or make you feel like I didn't trust you." He took another deep breath, willing his voice to steady. "It just...it all came out wrong. I was scared, and I didn't know how to handle it." His eyes searched hers, seeking any glimmer of forgiveness or understanding.

Rosey reached out and brushed her hand through his curls, a gesture that was as tender as it was surprising. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt of warmth through him, grounding him in a way that nothing else could. She didn't pull away from his gaze, and the warmth in her eyes grew, slowly thawing the ice that had constricted his throat. It was a silent apology of her own, an acknowledgment that she had contributed to the situation as well.

“Lukey, I’m scared too.. terrified really. But if I have you I think I’ll be just fine yeah?”

The moment the words left her lips, Luke felt the tightness in his chest ease just a bit. Her use of the nickname she had for him brought a ghost of a smile to his face, and he nodded, feeling some of the tension dissipate. He took her hand in his, the warmth of her skin calming the storm in his own.

He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. "So, we're going to be parents, huh?" he whispered to himself, his voice a mix of wonder and fear. The reality of it all was sinking in, but the love he felt for her was unshakeable. He could feel the steady beat of her pulse under his lips, a rhythm that matched his own racing heart.

If Luke knew anything besides hockey, it was that his baby was going to have one hell of a mom. He had seen the way Rosey lit up around children, the gentle way she had with animals, and the fierce determination in her eyes when she set her mind to something. He knew she would be a natural, that she would love and protect their child with every fiber of her being. The thought filled him with a warmth that surpassed the guilt and anger that had consumed him moments ago.

“It may not be what we had planned, but there’s no one else in this world that I would ever, in any lifetime, want to be experiencing this with.” Luke assured Rosey.

Rosey giggled. “Silly boy, we don’t have a plan!”

“I know that I plan to marry you someday.” Luke’s tone was serious and she was shocked silent. “I don’t need to plan for anything else, you’re all I need.”

He gently pulled her into his arms, her eyes widened in surprise but she didn’t resist. He kissed her softly, feeling the tremble of her lips against his own, the sweetness of her breath mingling with his. It was a kiss filled with promise and love, a silent apology for his earlier behavior. He knew that words alone couldn’t erase the hurt, but he hoped that his actions would speak louder than any words could. “I love you, Ro, so so much.”

[yanderes-galore]

yandere concept for redson lmk? please

Sure...! Hope you like it :)

Yandere! Red Son Concept

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Denial, Dark themes, Stalking, Delusional behavior, Condescending behavior, Unhealthy relationships, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Violence, Branding briefly mentioned, Isolation/Kidnapping, Dubious companionship/Forced relationship implied

I feel like Red Son would be the type of yandere to think he doesn't like his obsession... yet does at an unhealthy amount.

Due to how Red Son acts with people, I can see him in denial at the idea of liking anyone but his family.

This goes for both friends and family.

He just... doesn't think he can do such a thing.

He sees everyone as peasants compared to him and is too prideful to stoop to such a level.

He's dramatic and temperamental, he isn't used to being close with people.

So much that he gets uncomfortable with physical affection and fears being emotionally vulnerable.

As a result, I feel Red Son would be very rude to his obsession at first.

If this sounds familiar... This is because he seems like he'd fall a bit into the 'Tsundere' archetype at first.

Red Son acts like he hates your guts, like he only sees you as a peasant and wants nothing to do with you.

He may even sense this odd attachment to you but tries so hard to ignore it.

He can't seem to get you out of his head no matter how hard he tries.

In response, he may even be a bit more cruel in his words towards you.

He doesn't understand why he can't stop thinking about you.

Which makes him vent his frustrations about you... at you.

Red Son comes off as condescending at the start of the obsession.

He thinks he should see you as beneath him.

Yet, Red Son is quite the lonely demon due to his personality.

He's so deep in denial when it comes to you.

The moment he thinks of you fondly, or even finds himself wanting some sort of bond between you...?

He immediately thinks you did something to him and not that he wants to be friends.

Red Son would either take a long time to confront his obsession, or need someone to help him.

Said someone is most likely MK or Mei, which is a humiliating experience for him.

MK and Mei were most likely his first friends/allies, so if he ever did break and confess his situation... They'd probably tell him he wants to be your friend or something similar.

Red Son doesn't even consider romantic feelings until he becomes friends with you.

With some help, he finally manages to talk to you.

And you're so nice it's both sickening yet pleasing to him.

Even as "friends", Red Son struggles on connecting.

Yet he's less condescending now thankfully.

He does realize that his words have hurt you... and he doesn't want that....

He isn't the most affectionate friend, mostly closed off as he rants to you about something.

He's actually surprised you even listen to his rants.

It... feels a little nice, actually.

Keep in mind that Red Son is not used to anyone caring about his emotions.

So the fact you let him vent is a... nice yet foreign change.

Red Son would probably not see his behavior as bad once it starts manifesting.

He is still new to the whole friend thing... so jealousy is probably something he thinks just... happens.

He feels a bit embarrassed at first to admit he wants to hang out.

Yet when he puts aside his ego, he really does enjoy your presence.

Maybe you aren't a peasant....

Due to his temperamental nature, I think you can tell when he's jealous.

He's seething when your attention is taken away from him during one of your hangouts.

After all, this is time for just you two.

Why does someone else have to ruin it?

Due to his entitlement, Red Son would make a fuss over someone paying attention to you.

The moment you ignore him he has a fit.

No, no, no! This is your time together.

I can see you trying to prevent a fight due to Red Son threatening whoever decided they would speak to you.

Best you calm him before flames start sparking.

Red Son definitely thinks it's a privilege to be his friend.

He deserves your time and will get it no matter what.

Even when you don't hang out, I can see him still trying to watch what you're doing from afar.

After all... are you having more fun with other people?

In that case... He just needs to plan how to win you over better.

Until someone mentions something, Red Son may not realize his behavior stems from romantic feelings.

Isn't it normal for friends to be jealous of others?

Isn't it normal for him to enjoy your smile when he shows you his inventions?

It's gotta be normal for him to feel giddy at the thought of being alone with you... just you and him.

The longer he knows you, the more vulnerable he is with you.

Except he never notices until you point it out... immediately causing him to grow defensive at your words.

It probably isn't until someone comments on his behavior that he considers his feelings for you aren't friendly.

Someone probably mentions he could have a crush on you in a teasing tone, only for him to tell them off.

Only to realize... maybe they're right?

He'd be in denial of his romantic feelings for a long time.

But then... Hey... It makes sense to him.

Why else would he be so possessive around you?

You're even the only person he tolerates physical affection with.

He's easily flustered but he will admit your hugs are addicting... He keeps thinking about them even at home.

The issue is... He has no idea how he'd even confess such a thing?

Which, for a long time, leaves Red Son silently fighting with his feelings.

It doesn't help that his heart flutters when you smile or his skin heats when you touch him.

You're clearly trying to be friendly, but it just has an entirely different effect on him.

Even now he still can't hide the jealousy he feels when others get your attention.

Part of him wonders if he asks you out and you date... if that means you're his now?

If he makes you his partner, does that mean he has control over you?

All of this is so new to him... and he is a demon.

Demons are naturally possessive of what they enjoy.

Especially him.

I can only imagine Red Son's is something he tries to make grande.

He plans it all out as some big reveal before dragging you towards him.

He'd say that it should be an honor to have his heart considering his parentage.

He'd accidentally be condescending in this... which may make you say 'No'.

If you said 'No', he's baffled.

How COULD you decline his offer!?

He worked so hard to make this perfect!

He'd throw a fit, give up for a bit, then realize he still very much needs you and decides to try again.

If you said 'Yes', he's smug.

He knew you'd agree with some convincing!

Truthfully, he was never going to take 'No' for an answer.

Now that you're dating, he feels entitled to you.

He's clingier and more demanding, often wrapping an arm around your waist.

Now he's overconfident, braggin to anyone that'll listen that you're his.

He's obsessive about you to an alarming degree.

He refuses to let you out of his sight without throwing a fit.

Scold him if you want, he isn't listening, probably will just tell his parents about all of your fights.

He's a brat that isn't afraid to burn someone if it meant he got you to himself.

By this point there's no going back.

People can correct him, but he's not listening.

All he really cares about is having you to himself.

He's never felt this way towards anyone else but you.

He'd be a fool to give you up now.

In terms of if Red Son would hurt anyone over you? I don't doubt it.

Sometimes he can't control his flames, which may lead to someone getting hurt.

That and I can see him eventually trying to have you move in with him.

After all, he lives in a castle.

Don't you want to live in a castle?

He'd definitely convince you to stay at Demon Bull King's Fortress.

He'd als desperately look for his parents' approval of you.

If they say you're a good fit... Then you never have to leave!

His kidnapping is typically coercion, carefully drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

Then he can keep you isolated in the castle, just so he can keep you to himself.

After that I can see him clinging to you, surprisingly giddy at the thought of having you to himself.

Now he doesn't need to share!

Seriously, who's willingly going to come here?

Not many! Which means you're all his.

Now you can love in peace!

This may seem OOC, but maybe Red Son could brand his obsession as punishment?

It's definitely way later into the obsession, most likely when he isolates you in the castle.

By that point he would've had to snap in order to make such a decision.

He'd brand a specific symbol or pattern to remind people that you're his, then immediately attempt to comfort you afterwards.

Ironically, Red Son is like playing with fire.

You're completely oblivious to what you do to him.

You think being friends will be nice.

Unfortunately... He just gets worse.

If you stay with him despite the warning signs... you're merely growing the fire deep inside him...

Soon his obsession will grow and grow if nothing is done to prevent it...

Leaving you to get burned.

[sunsetsover]

i know i'm late to the party and most of these points have probably been touched on already, but i said i would make a post about why kant safewording in episode 8 was so impactful and i am nothing if not a man of my word so here we are

(under the cut bc this got completely out of hand)

tbh i feel like i could write 10,000 words and i still wouldn't be able to fully articulate the way it completely turned me inside out when i first watched the ep, but i still wanted to pull this scene apart anyway bc as i said at the time, there were (and perhaps still are) people who think kant safewording in that moment was silly or out of place or whatever, and so for my own sanity i need to list all the reasons it was not only not stupid, but actually incredibly powerful for both kant and bison's characters and their relationship overall

bc think about the context. think about how shy bison had been when he had introduced the idea of a bdsm dynamic to kant, how he had admitted it's something he had wanted for a long time but never had the opportunity to actually have that with anyone. think about how reluctant he had been to actually hurt kant, and how enthusiastic and happy he was when kant told him he was into it too. how careful he was with kant, how thorough he was about consent (excluding the scene in his bedroom obv, considering he was drugged and couldn't consent nor dom properly). how insistent he was that they have a safeword despite kant's dismissiveness bc he knows how important it is that they're safe, and that they trust each other completely. to have it and to use it.

and then think about how gutting it must have been thinking about all of that in the context of a lie. a complete farce. this thing that bison wanted so badly, a thing he was so happy to finally have w someone, to trust someone with that part of him after a lifetime of keeping it inside. think about how vulnerable and exposed bison must have felt in the wake of that realisation, esp considering he doesn't have really any experience actually domming someone fr. how used he must have felt, knowing that this really deep and personal desire had been used as nothing more than a tool to manipulate you by someone you thought you were developing a genuine bond with. kant betraying bison is one thing - imo, it was the sheer depths that kant had seemingly gone to just to use him that was what really hurt bison (which in turn made him angry). like think abt it from bison's pov: why would kant make a point to project the northern lights all over the walls for him, sit and make all these plans together so that bison's dream come true? and why the hell would he go so far as to let bison dom him when bison had tried so hard to basically talk him out of it? that's not just betrayal. it's sadistic and it's cruel. it's like kant didn't just want bison arrested, but also to break him from within.

so that's the context. keep all of that in mind. and then think about kant, tied down, completely at bison's mercy. following bison's every instruction. taking all his abuse. and then think about him safewording. he could have said anything, could have done anything. but he chose to safeword. why? why that word? why right then?

well. the use of a safeword is obvious right? it's someone's way of telling their partner 'that's enough, i don't like this anymore'. and that is the very surface level of what kant was saying by safewording. but obv the context is very, very different here. and i think it goes back to the conversation that they had when they agreed on the safeword in ep 3: kant doesn't understand then the importance of what a safeword is and what it represents. he thinks he can just tell bison to stop and that he will, and bison is obviously like 'well no, that's not how it works'. he basically says to him 'how am i supposed to know you're not still enjoying it? how will i know you actually want me to stop? what if i get confused and hurt you more?' and kant says he gets it, and to a degree he obviously does, but i don't think he got the depth of what a safeword represented until it was tumbling out of his mouth on that beach.

bc as i said, a safeword is about trust. it's about two people (or more! but we're just talking abt these 2 rn) trusting the other that if this word is said, then everything stops. no ifs ands or buts. the sub obviously has to trust that the dom will stop if they safeword, but it's just as important that the dom trusts that the sub will safeword if they're unhappy with whatever's going on. the dom has to trust that the sub trusts them.

and so kant safewords. and yes he's saying 'i don't like this anymore, i want to stop'. but he's also saying 'i paid attention, i listened, i remembered. i know you meant it and i meant it too. what you told me was important to me. i value what is important to you. i didn't just dismiss it, i didn't just dismiss you. this was never just a tool. it was never fake to me. i never used this against you. i really am telling you the truth and here's the proof.' (which, for the record, is also what he was saying before the safeword when he was like 'i know you've never trusted anyone before, i still haven't forgotten our plans, i still want to go to iceland together' - it's all reassurance that he hasn't forgotten and that it wasn't fake, that he meant all of it and it's all important to him too). and he's also - maybe even more importantly - saying 'i trust you. i trust you to stop because i'm telling you stop. if you will listen to nothing else i say, i trust you to listen to this. i'm trusting you because this is important to you, and it's important to me. i trust you to keep me safe. i trust that that if i say this word, you won't hurt me anymore.'

which is exactly why one of the first things bison says to kant afterwards on the beach is 'you think i can't kill you, don't you?' because he knows. he knows exactly what kant using that word meant, what he was saying. it's why he froze, why he was so thoroughly devastated, why he briefly lost his shit then completely fell apart afterwards - because even though it was just one word, he heard everything behind that word, and what was underpinning all of it, which was basically kant saying this isn't over for me yet. i'm still in this relationship with you. i'm still yours and you're still mine. i still trust you. and though you might not trust me right now, i know you'll trust this.

(and that's also why he repeats it so many times imo. by saying it over and over, he's proving that it isn't just a desperate or panicked plea to get himself out of that situation - he says it again and again, making a point to look bison right in the eye each time, bc that's acknowledgement that he's well aware of what he's doing and saying by using their safeword, and he wants bison to know that too: this isn't an accident, this isn't a mistake, this isn't a last ditch effort to live. i'm saying this on purpose, because i know what it means for you and me both.)

which yeah, is kind of a kick in the guts if you're bison. he knew he couldn't hurt kant. he knew he wasn't angry the way he was pretending to be angry, because the hurt was just too visceral (which i'll expound on in a second). and here was kant basically sticking his fingers in a fresh wound. here was this man he shouldn't trust at all, telling bison that despite who bison was and after all things bison had done to him (deserved or not is irrelevant here), he still loves him - not just with words but proving it in a very tangible way. a way that was theirs and theirs alone.

that was what gutted me on my initial watch. i obviously didn't think about all of it consciously in that moment, but i still knew it was there. i still felt it, the same way bison did. kant safewording in that moment was never just about him saying 'stop, i don't like this, please stop hurting me' and bison knew it, which is why he reacted so strongly to it (and why i did too lmfao)

so that was my initial thoughts, but liz @ropebunnykant brought up a really interesting point that i hadn't considered at first which is that kant was also safewording for bison's sake. which, while it hadn't been my first thought, definitely wasn't the first time i've heard of something like that happening either - a sub safewording, not bc they necessarily need to, but bc they've noticed that their dom isn't enjoying it/isn't in the right headspace to continue etc. and when i went back i could see it so clearly, esp as kant started to repeat it.

bc what happens immediately before the safeword use? kant pushes, and bison says shut up. kant continues pushing, and bison keeps telling him to shut up. the back and forth of bison and kant's safeword discussion is once again so important to the context here - kant asking if he can just say bison's name to stop him, and bison telling him no, that they need a way to differentiate when 'stop' is just a word and when it's genuinely meant.

bison telling kant to shut up was his stop. and kant pushed, because he didn't realise it straight away, because he had so much to say and for the first time bison was listening, because sometimes stop doesn't mean stop. but at some point kant realised that this stop did. and what did bison teach him to do when he really needs to stop?

and so kant safewords.

i do think kant could have kept playing that game for as long as he needed to. as long as bison was angry, kant would have stayed chained up like a dog. he didn't have to - he proved he could easily get out of his restraints in their very next scene. he could have asked the caretaker to help him get away. but he didn't. he chose to stay. maybe he wasn't on the boat, but at that point kant was a willing participant in what was happening, he was consenting. why? bc kant deserved punishment. bc bison deserves to punish him. bc to him staying there is it's own kind of proof. bc if bison's angry then he's still talking, and if he's talking there's hope. apathy is what was going to kill kant and he knew it - if bison's angry, that means he still cares.

but then we get that shot of kant's pov, of bison staring down w the gun pointed at him, barrel shaking, tears in his eyes. and it's not fun anymore. neither of them are gaining anything from this. bison's anger has finally given way to hurt, to heartbreak - kant knows in that moment that bison isn't getting any kind of satisfaction out of making kant squirm, and likely never was. which literally goes back to the core of a dom/sub relationship, doesn't it? you engage in that kind of dynamic bc both parties are getting something out of it. kant was getting the flagellation he thought he deserved after what he'd done to bison, the punishment he wanted (and to a degree needed) as payment for his wrongdoing and the sense of absolution that provided him. bison got the satisfaction of providing that punishment, of letting out that anger, of making kant hurt for what he did - or so kant thought. bc the reality is that bison wasn't getting any satisfaction out of punishing kant. no matter what he said or did, no matter how he hurt or degraded him, none of it made him feel better. and kant hadn't noticed that until that moment (which i think he can be forgiven for, given everything that he was going through). but then he does notice.

bison wasn't getting anything out of the hurt he was inflicting, and was inflicting pain upon himself in the process. and if one of them is not getting anything out of it - if one of them is actively hurting themselves in a way that doesn't feel good - then they need to stop. someone needs to safeword. kant knows this. and so he safewords - not so bison doesn't kill him, as some people have said, but to stop bison from hurting himself any further.

and so kant safewords immediately. retracts the consent that perhaps bison hadn't even realise he'd given willingly. he ends the game. he uses his safeword just like bison taught him to, bc it matters and he trusts him and he loves him. that hasn't changed, not even like this. and he repeats it so many times for that very reason.

and believe it or not, i feel like there is still so much more to it i could pick apart even beyond this. bc god there are just so many layers!!!! like there's fear in it too, bc as much as kant is unconcerned abt the gun and is sure that bison won't hurt him, he's still human. some degree of fear is normal. i also think kant sensed an opening in bison's defenses that he wanted to get at just so that bison would just listen to him - bison wasn't really in the headspace to listen to anything before then, which is exactly why kant hadn't really tried to explain himself properly. it would've been pointless. and as much as he loves bison, kant is still kant - he still knows how to work people. i also think kant was tired and hungry and emotionally exhausted and while i do think he would've played along for as long as he had to, i think he also needed bison's anger and attention to fuel him. faced w nothing but his sadness, he lost all steam. kant's own sadness and overall feeling shitty probably hit him full force in that moment too, and he didn't have the strength not to fold under it. and so he safeworded.

however, if i start picking apart all of that i really will end up writing 10,000 words and no one really wants that, least of all me. but the point that i really want to make is that kant safewording in that moment was never really abt him not wanting to die. it was about care and it was about trust. it was about acknowledgement. most of all it was about love. and we'd all be doing the story and these characters a disservice to simply go 'hehe he safeworded out of murder' while not also addressing what it really was! which was kant acknowledging their bond, showing bison care in the only way he could while telling him he loves and trusts him all at once!! it was him claiming ownership of the ownership bison has of him!! he said penguin bc there was literally nothing else he could have possibly said in that moment that would have had the depth and significance than that one little word did!!! he said more with that one word than he could have said with a thousand other ones!!! and it drives me crazy whenever i think about it for more than 5 seconds at a time!!! thank u for coming to my ted talk!!

[danosrosegarden]

hold tight - edward nashton x fem!reader headcanons (NSFW) ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{kinktober: day one. prompt: breeding. 🎃}

{contains: some obsessive yet shy edward, mentions of pregnancy, creampie, and very mild descriptions of overstim.}

☽ You suppose you should've seen it coming. Edward didn't fuck you, he made love to you. And he usually made love with a good dash of submissive obedience, a slight streak of bashfulness. His hands would roam your body with a soft and quiet kind of adoration, a gentle appreciation. He was so sweet to you, holding your hips like you were a glass ornament. Shattering your fragile frame would hurt him, too. He could not afford to have blood on his hands when it came to your comfort and satisfaction.

☽ He was different tonight...it was as if a switch had been flipped. He would never want to hurt you, but he hardly registered the way his fingers dug into your skin with a greedy hunger as he thrusted into you. He panted hard and deep as your hands gripped the sheets beneath you and your jaw fell open.

☽ "Eddie, Ed...wait."

☽ Your rushed words pierced their talons into his stomach. He felt sick to his lurching guts. What did he do wrong? He always has to go and fuck up everything good, doesn't he?

☽ But you're grinning as you catch your breath. He watches your bare chest tremble, rise, and fall. "Jesus, Eddie, where did this come from?"

☽ His cheeks are lit aflame as he fumbles for an answer. "Just...just wanna be inside you." You chuckle. "Hmm, yeah? Tell me about it."

☽ The coils of his brain are short-circuiting, the wires of his mind smoking and shooting sparks. How's he supposed to express how deeply he wants to be a part of you? How is he supposed to convey his darkest, most carnivorous desire without scaring you off?

☽ "I...I'll try," he mumbles, his hips starting up their quivering movement once again. "I d-don't wanna frighten you."

☽ Eddie whines as your legs wrap around his waist and pull him even closer. "You can't frighten me, honey. C'mon, tell me what you want."

☽ His thrusts are sloppy and jittery as his long fingers find their way to your lower stomach. They brush against your smooth, fluttering skin. "I...hmm, fuck...I think about it sometimes."

☽ He's too flustered to say it without the shroud of vagueness clouding his words, but it's clear what he means. "Oh, yeah?" you tease. "You wanna fill me up, Ed? Wanna get me pregnant?"

☽ Clearly, he was not anticipating your candor, because now he's gripping your hips like you'll disintegrate into dust if he lets go. You have to understand where he's coming from, though! He's never met someone who has put that level of affection and credence into him! For somebody to want to carry his baby...even if it's just pretend for now...him, of all people! He can't help but ravage your innards with reckless abandon. Just a bit.

☽ He can feel the steady heat rising in his gut. It's utterly humiliating how quickly he's close just from hearing your whiny cries to please, fuck, fill me up, I want it so bad, I need it, Eddie, I need it!

☽ And oh my, does it feel blissfully divine when the heat finally bursts. It's like he's floating. He can feel your quivering pussy gripping him tight. He grits his teeth through the shooting pinpricks of his overstimulation and fucks his cum deeper. The sticky, sodden sounds are delectably obscene. His face is burnt a feverish scarlet as he pulls out of you and watches his cum leak. It's such an alluring sight, the milky liquid dripping from your already soaked cunt. It takes all the power within to stop himself from diving down and tasting you right then. He wouldn't want to overwhelm you.

☽ Again, even if it's just make believe, a filthy fantasy you two indulge in...it's the thought behind the action that counts, the message behind your pleading for him to fill you up, make you full, that makes him want to grab hold of you and never let go. <3

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

I've been unable to work on my longer WIPs for some reason but take this. for lack of a better title:

idiots locked in the world's most romantically charged staring contest

Heist Mark x Y/N (reader) | 628 words

You wait just around the corner, quiet and out of sight, and lightly smack Mark's arm with the back of your hand when he tries to peer around you, lest someone see and you have both your covers blown.

Your partner rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and you level him with a stare.

You understand the anticipation, but patience is crucial for jobs like this. You wait for the signal. One wrong move could cost you a lot more than just your loot.

The little nook of the building you're waiting in is, rather conveniently for means of slinking around unnoticed, out of the way, and quite narrow. Even with Mark leaning back against the opposite wall, you are mere inches apart.

He checks his watch. 'Should be any minute now,' he utters in a hushed voice.

You nod. Several seconds pass. Distant chatter echoes down the halls, muffled into a steady background ambience of rich party attendees blissfully unaware of the thieves in their midst.

You look at your partner, simply because you have nothing else to do. He's craning his neck again in a futile attempt to peek around the corner more subtly.

His suit for the night is crisp, and gives his silhouette a sharper outline than the more typical cosy sweaters and soft flannel shirts. His hair looks especially dark cast in shadow, but there's enough light from outside the enclosed space that you see it reflected in his eyes. Softly glowing white and orange and magenta specs, floating on deep brown. Pretty.

It's as he turns his head back to face you, that he notices you staring, and meets your gaze without missing a beat.

Mark smiles, faintly roguish, but gentle and just for you.

He holds your stare, and something to the way he does so makes you wonder if he sees the same lights sparkling in your own eyes, and if he finds the sight as oddly captivating as you do.

A minute passes.

Mark loosens his tie.

It's a simple, small thing, but it stirs something inside of you, and you don't know why, but your breath hitches a little and your eyes widen slightly and he definitely notices. But he doesn't say anything and neither do you. All he does is keep looking intensely into your eyes until he doesn't because his gaze is flickering elsewhere — trailing across your features, settling on your mouth for longer than can be dismissed and when you bite your lip subconsciously it's as if he's mesmerised. You can hardly recall where you are or what you're doing here, none of it matters as much as his head tilting ever so slightly and then—

A voice through your earpiece jolts you out of your stupor. You suddenly take stock of the warmth from Mark's breath on your face. Your noses almost bumping. When did he get so close?

You press a button on your earpiece to answer the call, and by the look on your partner's face, he hears it too. It's Wubba and Bubba, giving the signal as agreed, and the moment is gone and your friend clears his throat and straightens up, as a confusing mixture of disappointment and frustration and lingering excitement flutter and twist in your gut.

When he moves out of your immediate space, the inches feel like miles.

You push the feelings down. You have work to do.

Mark mumbles something over the voice channel before turning back to you once again.

'You ready, buddy?'

The corner of your mouth quirks up, matching his own eager grin.

'You know I am.'

His grin widens.

'Good,' he says, adjusting his sleeve and finally getting a better look around the corner, now that the coast is decidedly clear. 'Alright, partner. Showtime.'

[kometqh]

𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬

Commander Fox x F!Reader Fox is a meticulous man. He doesn’t do things for ‘the sake of it’. So why couldn’t you tell the meaning of his words now? Word Count: 2,133 Warnings: Mild swearing, angst, mean to sad Fox. A/N: This came to me an hour ago and I needed to write it or else I'd be biting my pillow :( I hope whoever reads this will enjoy it <33

Fox is mean. Fox is rude. He’s rude, but in such a way that one can’t counter. Fox is a meticulous man. He doesn’t do things for ‘the sake of it’. No. Each word and action has meaning to it. Usually you prided yourself on being able to read his mind, understand his tactics. So why couldn’t you tell the meaning of his words now?

“It’s over. Don’t try to contact me again.” Were his words as he sipped on some whiskey neat. He looked so relaxed, so nonchalant as he destroyed a year-long relationship. But even as his words tore through you, he couldn’t look you in the eye. He didn’t respect you enough to even look at you as he ripped your love for him apart.

“But what about-“

“I’ll come by tomorrow to pick my things up,” He quickly interrupted, intent on silencing you, “It’s about time I did this. I don’t see this relationship working out… In the long-term. You’re fun, but you can’t give me what I need.” He continued, eyeing the golden liquid with a stern gaze and furrowed brows.

His words cut through like broken shards of glass. They dug into your skin, cutting and tearing with practised precision. He was aiming for where it hurt, straight for your heart.

“You’ve got nothing to say?” He asked, finally looking up from his glass. That meant something, but what? You couldn’t tell. Not anymore. “Good. I’ll see you there, two PM sharp.”

“Okay.” You uttered out, looking down at your lap as you reached for your handbag.

“Okay? That’s it?” He prodded with a raised brow. Your reaction set off sparks in his brain, his neurons working hard to convey the confusion from a mental level to a physical one. He expected you to cry, to beg him to stay, to question why he was doing this. He almost felt betrayed by your lack of response.

His body was rigid, shoulders stiff as he remained glued to his seat. The movement of his glass had stopped, his hand resting flat against the table in between the two of you.

It took you a moment to collect your thoughts, to swallow down the flickering, burning pain of your heart shattering.

“I’m… I’m sure you have a reason,” You spoke slowly, carefully, rising from your seat with wobbly legs, “I just don’t wanna hear it. See you later, Commander.” Your words were quiet, meek, as you walked away without sparing another glance at him.

Fox was the one who broke up with you. He was the one who tossed you aside like a used tissue. So why, as you walked further and further away, did his chest hurt and his fingers itch to reach out for you?

Three precise knocks on your door interrupted your holofilm. You were currently laying on your sofa, mindlessly watching your favourite romcom. The events of last night replayed like a broken tape, Fox’s voice replaying like a broken record, and your heart twisting and breaking like a broken toy.

You cried on your way home, you cried as you showered, you cried as you fell asleep. You were hoping it was all a dream, that your darling commander would reassure you, tell you it was ‘just a shitty nightmare’, but deep down you knew it wasn’t.

With a heavy sigh and a heavy heart, reluctantly, you abandoned the comfort of your sofa and made your way over to the front door.

The sooner you let him in, the sooner he would leave.

The soft ‘click’ of your door and the gentle breeze that pushed its way into your apartment had your heart racing and your gut twisting. Bile rose up into your throat as he came into view.

Your gaze remained trained just below his face, centred on his chest. He was wearing the hoodie you had gifted him with. What was the point? Was he doing this just to antagonise you? The sweet and caring Fox you knew was gone, replaced by this complete son of a bitch.

“Hi.” His voice came out sweetly, softly as you opened the door far enough to let him in. You were very eager to slam the wooden structure in his perfectly awful face.

But instead, you turned away, making your way back to your sofa and fuzzy blanket.

“Come in.” You threw over your shoulder, settling into your makeshift comfort.

You retrieved your TV remote, and turned to him one last time.

“Feel free to roam around and get anything of yours. If you need help, or can’t find something, just ask.” And with a soft click, the sound of your favourite holofilm filled the otherwise silent space of your apartment.

All Fox said in response was ‘Okay’ before he got to work, carrying two empty cardboard boxes inside.

He headed into your bedroom first, much to your relief. You really did not want to see him.

Tears crept at the edges of your waterline, tickling and teasing as you attempted to focus solely on the film. But you couldn’t help yourself, and soon after you tuned into the muffled shuffles of Fox moving around your room.

Just a mere day prior, you would have called it your shared bedroom. When not on duty, the Commander spent most of his days at your place. The only time he wouldn’t sleep over was when he was working overnight, which wasn’t often.

Tugging your blanket closer, you dabbed at your eyes, ridding them of any evidence of crying.

But you knew Fox, and Fox knew you. When you woke up, your eyes were red, puffy and swollen. You felt the way you looked; like shit. No amount of makeup or face cleanser could wipe away the evidence of your care for him.

Fox was an observant man. He knew when something was off, no matter how well you managed to mask it. And to know he was the cause of your pain, Fox couldn’t help but cruelly indulge himself in the pain in his heart.

It was a simple fact; you were in love with the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, Commander Fox.

Commander Fox, of the Coruscant Guard, was in love with you. Enough so for his brothers to know of you. He had told them many stories, and even showed them pictures of you.

He had crept into your heart like a preying fox, stealing from your farm until all you were left with was your heart. And that, he stole too.

The sudden noise of your bedroom door opening and closing snapped you from your thoughts. Fox was awfully good at that.

He stood there, holding one of the boxes. It was filled with a few pieces of clothing you had gifted him. Clearly he wanted to hang onto those, and you wouldn’t stop him from doing so. The Chancellor did not pay the clones, you had learned soon after the beginning of your relationship with Fox. The first time you had gifted him a hoodie and some matching socks, he went mute for a whole twenty minutes. He changed out of his blacks very quickly and soon after that before showering you with gentle kisses and words of appreciation.

And now he stood there, clinging onto those few belongings like a small child. He could keep them. You wanted him to have something that belonged to him and him only.

“I-“

“I think you left some things in the bathroom too, if you wanna grab those.” You spoke softly, not even bothering to pause your movie or even glance at him.

“T- Thank you.” He stuttered out, his arrogant, nonchalant façade having faded away the night prior.

With that, he shuffled into your bathroom next, the sound of him knocking a few things over reaching your ears. Followed by a loud ‘Kriff’ before the door clicked open and closed again. That was quick.

“I’ll get going now.” He said, lifting both boxes up. With his back turned to you, you allowed yourself one glance at him.

He was wearing his favourite hoodie and a pair of black joggers. You remembered how he said they were his favourite, they allowed him to breathe easier.

The two boxes looked too large, and even though you knew he was perfectly capable of opening the door himself, you still stood up and went to aid him.

Your hand reached the doorknob just as his did, and you quickly retracted it. Your body took a screenshot, completely flinching away from him. The last thing you needed was for him to touch you, to give you a glimpse of what you loved and cherished, to take it all away and leave you wanting more.

“Sorry.” He muttered, moving away from the door to let you open it.

A soft click and a shuffle later, he was making his way out. With his back turned once more, you allowed yourself one final glance. His curly, overgrown hair was your favourite. White streaks decorated the locks throughout, starting at his root and some ending at the tips.

You loved his hair.

Your fingers itched to reach out, to ruffle and tug at it one last time.

Slowly, he placed the boxes down and turned back around.

Unlike his appearance, his gaze pierced right through you. Fox was a meticulous man. He didn’t do anything without a plan.

“Still have nothing to say to me?” He asked, half expectant, half wary.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and your grip on the doorknob tightened. He sure had a lot of attitude for being the one that broke up with you.

“Excuse me?”

“I know you’ve got something to say,” He paused, his gaze flickering down to the floor, “You always do.” He whispered that last part, almost affectionately, as he looked back up at you.

He looked tired. His eyes were droopy, and his hand twitched at his side, fighting not to drag over his face tiredly. Did he get any sleep? Why did you care? He made sure that that couldn’t be a concern of yours any longer.

“Not really, no.” You said, looking to the door.

“Oh, okay.” He replied, pursing his lips.

The air between you had become cold, and yet somehow stuffy as the two of you stared at each other. “I guess I’ll be going then.. See you around.” He said, turning his back and bending over. You watched him, glued to your spot. There was one question nagging at the back of your head, threatening to spill over the tip of your tongue.

As he took a step away, you followed, until you could stand outside of your doorway.

“Wait.”

He turned around, one eyebrow raised.

“I have a question. Only one.”

“And it’s?” He prodded. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he waited. Only you could have him feeling so desperate, so eager, to hear your voice, to listen to your line of thought and questions.

“Was… Was it ever real? Us, I mean.” You asked, hugging yourself. You finally did what you couldn’t do since last night; look into his eyes.

His irises reminded you of warm honey. Soft and sweet, sticky and dense with secrets and cultivated thoughts.

He took a long pause, his eyes searching yours.

You couldn’t rip your eyes from his, and bile rose in your throat once more as he took longer to reply. Maybe he wasn’t even sure what to say. Maybe he wasn’t prepared to answer this question. Maybe he never thought he’d have to-

“Yes. I loved you from the very beginning, and I love you now. I’ll always love you,” He paused, his Adams apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed harshly, “But I can’t be with you.” Not if I want to keep you safe, he thought.

“I see.” You replied, and with a heavy heart, you half turned, propping your door open.

“Goodbye then, Commander.” You uttered, leaning your head against the doorframe.

“Goodbye, cyar’ika.”

With that, you turned on your heel and shut the door behind you.

Fox stood there for a moment, watching the wooden structure as he listened to the sound of you locking the door. Followed by a thump, as you leaned on it and slid down.

Tears pricked at his waterline, salty and unforgiving as he listened to your mellow sobs and hiccups.

Fox was a meticulous man. He never did anything simply for ‘the sake of it’. That’s why he had to do this, to keep you safe.

But he’d be back.

He would be back for you, he would keep you safe and earn your forgiveness, love and trust back.

He would be back for you, once this was all over.

[haley-harrison]

Eric Kripke is the Alfred Hitchcock of our generation. In this essay I will outline the main types of horror they use, offer examples, and elaborate the genius of the said tropes.

It will come as no surprise to anyone familiar with the man's work, that Kripke loves his ✨gore✨. Now that he's no longer restrained by CW's PG rating, he gets to go full-throttle with it in The Boys. That isn't to say that Supernatural didn't get it's fair share though - I mean, just remember the "Skin" episode in season one - that scene where the skinwalker changes his skin is pure body horror. Masterful.

Okay, Haley, so what? Some of us aren't squeamish. What's the brilliant part?

Good point, my med/bio orientated reader. That gets me to the second type of horror (and my personal kryptonite): psychological horror.

Here we get to lovecraftian themes. And I don't exactly mean Cthulhu. See, lovecraftian monsters are incomprehensible to the human mind, which generates horror through the unease of being unable to understand. Similarly, certain characters that the majority of the audience cannot identify with, can be used to the same end. Lemme illustrate this with two examples: Homelander and The Deep.

I reckon it's safe to assume most people aren't sadistic psychopaths, nor zoophiles with a penchant for sea creatures. Therefore the extreme Otherness of these two makes people uneasy, disturbing on a fundamental level. Hitchcock refined that particular horror trope by sprinkling his movies with taboo-topics of his own time, such as implied homosexuality. (*gasp* 🏳️‍🌈😆)

And here we get to the now well-known horror rule: the unseen monster is the scariest monster. More broadly, what is only implied can be more impactful than having the exact scenario shown on screen. The unsaid leaves more to the imagination (which is the most powerful tool for horror), and creates and additional dread with the element of unknown. People are unsettled by what else there might be, when elipses replace a clear answer.

Now back to Kripke, and how CW's censorship actually worked in his favor in Supernatural.

Maybe you saw this coming, but the monsters aren't the lovecraftian element. (Really, with the exception of tulpas and wendigos, none of them were even remotely scary). As I said above, Homelander and The Deep are lovecraftian because they're freaks. Unsympathetic freaks, but imagine if we took that first part away...

I shan't say it.

Just. Something something, american gothic, shit's implied and that's the point.

Haley, is this an elaborate ploy to talk about shipping? Really?

No. This is about environmental storytelling, gritty noir filter, camera angles, and just how much is left unsaid. This is about trauma, and repression, and the emotional reaction of the audience when they're left to ruminate a bit on the kind of lives the Winchesters had. It's about the missing scenes, the psychology, the implications - just -

*deep breath*

Another brilliant thing is how Kripke plays around with bathos - causing contrasting feelings in quick succession to give the audience emotional whiplash. The quips sprinkled in between the violence. The unexpected gag right before a gut-punch. It accentuates the experience for the audience. Like the way Dean's relationship with food is often played for laughs, but when you mull it over it's not hard to figure out the underlying food scarcity while growing up.

And furthermore, where did the money come from when times were tough? A myriad of angst-fics went ahead to answer that, which just proves an implication is far superior to exposition.

Then there's Hell. We don't get more than a few seconds of flashes, but think about it. Wouldn't Hell use every torture method imaginable? And what's the most psychologically damaging thing you can do to a person, especially a man?

I think you know the answer.

And that realization is the dawning psychological horror.

Finally, I'll leave you with this:

Just... Kripke!!!

I'm biting stuff!

[kinardsevan]

any other lil snippets or sneak peaks we can get about the helicopter fic?<3

when I tell you I quite literally am not working on this story right now.... like I'm not? I just spent the last 90 minutes writing you this scene. (also if you want teasers for the aneurysm chapter coming next you're gonna have to ask 😂)

-

“You’re gonna scream,” Tommy replies. “A lot.” 

A small squeak comes out of Evan; not quite a whimper as much as an understanding of what’s about to happen. He takes a couple of deep breaths as Tommy watches him, and reaches up to shove the fabric between his teeth, nodding when he’s ready… or at least as ready as he’s going to be.

Tommy has to take his own deep breath before he lifts the first axe and then swings it down into the tight, open wedge in the frame to widen it. Evan screams at the jostling, but the first one isn’t bad. 

Once Tommy has the first axe placed as a wedge, he uses the second one as a hammer, deepening the wedge until he’s got enough leverage to do the next part. He glances over his shoulder at Evan, watching him briefly. The blonde is shaking and sweating on the ground, but still somehow keeping it together. 

“I’m really sorry,” Tommy tells him then, his voice trembling. “I’m really, really sorry.” 

He shoves the second axe through the frame as he hangs onto the first, angles both of them, and then pulls. Evan wails, barely deafened by the fabric in his mouth as his feet kick against the ground as the onslaught of fresh blood flow rushes through his arm up to his fingertips until Tommy’s effort has created enough space for his arm to drop through. It’s the kind of wail Tommy only ever usually hears coming from infants. That high-pitched, broken, gut-wrenching kind of cry that starts out full of power and dies into a shaking, breathless sob as Evan’s elbow hits the ground and he curls into himself fully, wrapping himself around the limb to protect it. 

Tommy tosses the axes back to the ground and kneels then, getting down at eye-level with Evan, running a hand through his hair as the blonde sobs from the pain. 

“Okay,” he coaxes gently, continuing to stroke his head. “You’re out. You’re out.” 

Evan doesn’t calm down, and Tommy can’t really blame him. Still, he doesn’t stop working, because they both need him to keep going. He digs through the first aid kit, gathering up the iodine wipes and antibiotic ointment. He goes back into it again a minute later, finding the front pouch of the bag. He’s not even sure if it’s in there—it’s not part of the supply list, but always felt like a smart thing to keep on hand—and he has to fish around for a moment before his fingers wrap around the small case. 

“Evan,” he says softly as he settles back on the snow, unzips the package. His boyfriend looks up at him, still snuffling, still crying. Tommy sets it on the ground at his side, reaching back into the first aid kit for gloves. 

“Tommy,” he whimpers, the no, please no, lacing itself around his name. Tommy locks his jaw, his teeth clenched so tight together at the sound of Evan’s voice that he almost can’t deal with the way this is all making him feel. 

“We can’t leave this open to the elements,” Tommy tells him. “If we were gonna do that, chopping your arm off actually would’ve been the better option.” 

Evan scowls up at him at the suggestion, but it does nothing to stop his tears. He takes a few breaths and slowly pulls his arm away from his body, finally getting the full view of the injury that Tommy has already seen. ‘Open’ doesn’t do it justice. He has tissue and ligament exposure, and the realization of that brings on a fresh round of tears. 

“God damn it,” he cries, holding his arm out towards Tommy. 

Tommy shifts on the ground then, moving one leg over Evan’s arm, above his elbow before resting it on his other thigh, effectively pinning the limb into place. 

“With any luck, you’ll pass out from the pain,” Tommy offers up, as though it makes anything better. Evan shakes his head, just letting the tears flow freely. He doesn’t watch as Tommy wipes his arm down with the iodine wipes, tries not to scream when he uses the antiseptic wipes. Definitely doesn’t pay attention when Tommy threads the needle. 

But even after all that, he can’t stop the way his body tries to thrash off the ground, reach out for the meat of Tommy’s thigh when the needle digs into his forearm, physically bites his boyfriend’s calf as Tommy keeps his arm pinned with both legs. When he’s tied off the first one, he rests a hand inside Evan’s stinging, throbbing palm, lets him squeeze for a few moments until the worst of the pain has passed. When Evan lets go, he readjusts the needle, starts the process again, tries his best to ignore the agonizing screams coming from the man he loves next to him.

Evan doesn’t stay awake through the rest of it. 

[deeplyridiculouslyinlove]

Thinking a lot about how Moiraine and Lan in Season 2 is essentially an exploration of the “does the bond chafe” scene from The Great Hunt, and how it turned something I disliked in the books into something I really love.

While there is a lot going on for Moiraine in this scene in the book, a core part of it is that she’s worried about Lan feeling compelled to abandon their mission both because she is worried she will die and he will freak out and because she is worried he will come to care more about Nynaeve than their battle against the Shadow. I get where this scene is coming from, both in emphasizing that Lan and Nynaeve are made for each other and in giving us insight into Moiraine’s calculating nature and the amount she is willing to sacrifice goodness for rightness, but I feel like this does Lan and Moiraine both a disservice, as well as their bond. Despite 20 years together, it feels like she doesn’t fully trust him. It also doesn’t quite make sense to me how they could have a conversation like that if they can feel each other’s emotions - it reads to me as blunt but not honest, and I’ve always assumed a core tenant of Moiraine and Lan’s relationship is deep honesty since they’re each feeling the other person reacting on a gut level in real time to every sentence said. Anyway, the scene landed poorly for me on my first read through and I still don’t love it even with a far better understanding of each of these characters on a reread.

So I really appreciate how the show flips this on its head and makes it about Moiraine doubting herself, not doubting Lan. In Season 2, Moiraine is embarrassed and insecure that the thing that made her who she is and that connected her to Lan has been taken away without her consent. You can extrapolate from this that she could also be worried or sad or insecure because she fears Lan might want to be Nynaeve's warder instead now that Moiraine is (in her eyes) useless in their quest, but there’s no indication that Nynaeve as she stands on her own is a primary motivation for Moiraine’s worrying about Lan. Moiraine’s callous actions towards Lan are so clearly rooted in Moiraine’s own fear, and not in Lan’s behavior. And then we get the final scene where Lan asks to be let back in to their bond. He has his out right there, he could go off and find Nynaeve and he chooses not to. Yes, this is because he is a man of his word and he took an oath, but it's also because he is devoted to Moiraine as a person, for who she is and their shared dedication. We aren’t left with Moiraine wondering when Lan will ask Moiraine to release him from his bond, but instead with him doing just the opposite and asking affirmatively to be rebonded. I find it really beautiful and it just speaks to this core of each of their characters that feels really authentic to me. And I think it will strengthen Lan and Nynaeve’s eventual relationship because it will feel like a very purposeful choice he’s making to enter into it, instead of something he’s pushing against. (It will also make the red door that much worse helpp.)

[trohpi]

regulily microfic [cross-posted on ao3]

@marauders-rarepair-fics • june 3: slytherin • 769 words

“Are you alright?” a curious voice breaks the careful silence in the secluded corner of the library.

Regulus flinches and ducks his head, quickly wiping at his tear-stained cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“You really don’t look it.” The intruder— because that’s what they are, Regulus thinks bitterly— has an accent. Irish, or maybe Scottish, he can’t quite tell.

“Well, I am,” he replies tightly. “So go away.”

“Mm, I don’t think I will,” the stranger says promptly before plopping down on the floor next to him. Regulus’ brow furrows in indignation and he whips his head up with a fierce glare, finally getting a good look at whoever had the gall to encroach on his space.

The first thing he notices is how pretty she is.

The girl is his age, or maybe a little older, and she’s wearing a Gryffindor tie. The colours draw out the deep reds of her auburn hair, which is pulled into a simple braid that falls over her shoulder. Her head is tilted as she looks at him searchingly, though when they make eye contact she smiles, her jade eyes bright and keen.

“Hello,” she says, sticking her hand out to shake. “I’m Lily Evans, second year. I don’t recognise you, so you must be a first year, right?”

Regulus ignores her hand. “I said go away.”

“I know.” She drops her hand back into her lap. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he sniffs haughtily, though the effect is rather ruined by his teary eyes and splotchy cheeks.

“It became my business when I stumbled upon you crying in my spot in the library.”

It is moments like this that Regulus curses his pale skin, which turns a mortifying shade of red at her words. “Oh, your spot? Pardon me, I didn’t realise Madam Pince gave you ownership of these particular bookshelves.”

Lily levels him a stern look. “This corner is pretty much abandoned. My best mate and I are the only people ever back here regularly, so yeah, it’s my spot.”

“Typical Gryffindors, thinking the whole world revolves around the two of you,” Regulus says, fiddling with his sleeve in embarrassment.

“My best mate is a Slytherin,” she corrects, and Regulus’ whole world stops.

A Slytherin? Best friends with a Gryffindor…?

“What?” he asks dumbly, and Lily huffs impatiently.

“He’s not in Gryffindor, he’s in Slytherin.”

“And you’re still friends with him?”

Lily blinks at him for a second before some wave of understanding passes through her face and she softens.

“Of course I am. His House doesn’t change who he is.”

Regulus swallows thickly, looking away. “My brother said he hates me because I’m in Slytherin, and he’s in Gryffindor.”

“Well, your brother’s an idiot,” Lily says bluntly. “Anyone that hates people because of their House is a fool.”

Something in Regulus’ chest warms and he lets out a wet-sounding laugh, wiping at his eyes. “Well, Sirius has always been a bit thick.”

“Sirius?” Lily blinks, sitting upright in shock. “Your brother is Sirius Black?”

“Er, yeah. I’m Re—”

“Regulus, I know. Black wouldn’t shut up about his baby brother finally starting school the entire ride here.”

“Oh, lovely,” Regulus sighs, face warming for an entirely different reason now. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the bookshelf behind him. “He’s both humiliated and disowned me within my first few days of school.”

There’s a moment of contemplative silence before Lily declares, “I’ve got to smack some sense into your brother.”

Regulus’ eyes fly open in horror.

“Wha— No!” he exclaims, scrambling off the floor to follow a fiercely determined Lily, who is already standing as she smooths out the wrinkles of her skirt.

“Someone has to. He cares about you, he’s just too pigheaded to see that,” she turns to Regulus, her green gaze fiery and brilliant and piercing in a way that makes him want to squirm. “Besides, that’s what friends are for, right?”

Regulus’ gut swoops. Is that what they are? Friends? He’s never had any friends— not if you don’t count Kreacher— but he’s also never felt like this about anyone, so he assumes they must be.

He nods once, just for a second, a quick show of acceptance for the hand she’s clearly extending. Lily beams at him and her smile is intense and warm, just like the rest of her.

“Brilliant. Be back in a jiff, then.”

Regulus blinks, his mind piecing together the meaning behind her words just in time for her to leave their secluded space. Then, he’s chasing after her.

“Wait, Lily, don’t…!”

[go-go-devil]

top 5 soulsborne NPCs... OTHER than patches. and top 5 games you hope to play next year!

Honestly I can't answer the second one since my autism is too unpredictable with when it allows me to actually sit down and play a new game, but I've got PLENTY of soulsborne npcs I'd love to gush about (besides the legend himself) so let's get to it!

Solaire:

May as well get the obvious out of the way lol. There's honestly SO MUCH going on with Solaire's character and motivations that goes far beyond the reasons he's usually so beloved. Yes, he's a genuine ray of sunshine willing to go out of his way to help us in such a desolate, cruel world, has a extremely pleasing/memorable design + wonderful voice acting, and is canonically bisexual. Obviously there's a lot to love from all of his surface level interactions.

...But he's also far more complex than simply being a nice person! He's a regular human devoting himself to an impossible mission solely for his own sake, and his doubts and desperation over it hits me so hard, especially in his regular ending T_T. I always found this quest to find his sun to be a metaphor for self-discovery as a means of fighting back against depression. I think Solaire knows fully well how terrible this dying world has become and has possibly even lived a bad life considering how happy he was to become undead and travel to Lordran, using his quest as a means of staving off the dread in his soul before it turns toward any suicidal inclinations.

No I'm not being edgy. I truly think all of this is intentional to his character, much like how I think the entirety of DS1's view on hollowing is a metaphor for depression and/or barring oneself from the world vs. actively opening up to it. That's why it's so important to support our grossly incandescent friend and Praise the Sun! ☀️

Griggs & Laurentius:

Decided to put them together since they're both very similar characters in my eyes.

I've found (on this site at least) that these two are often overlooked compared to most other DS1 characters, and honestly that's a damn shame since they've got so much to offer outside of their very useful magic teachings. For starters they're both sad, pathetic men who immediately love you for saving them from their own embarrassing predicaments which I think more games need for their male npcs lol. In all seriousness though, I always felt the game did a great job giving them so much character in each of their interactions; both in how close they grow to you and in how much they care about their respective crafts of magic. The pair also have similarly sad stories regarding what they lack, with Griggs's incredibly low sense of self-worth when he compares himself to Logan and Laurentius having always been an outcast even in his own community.

What I'm saying is that they're both much deeper (and also more tragic) characters than I feel they're given credit for, and I wish the rest of fandom would talk more about them.

Mephistopheles:

Sometimes a character doesn't have to be super deep for me to love them. Sometimes they can simply be an incredibly evil woman with a deep voice and great design who manipulates you until finally betraying you when you least expect it. 🐍⚜️🖤

With Mephistopheles I can actually understand why not too many soulsborne fans talk about her since she's probably the most obscure character in the entirety of Demon's Souls: one who requires you to have a pure black character tendency (which requires you killing non-hostile npcs to get) in order to even see her. As of now I haven't had the guts to try her questline yet, but I do plan on it trying it for my next DeS playthrough because holy hell is she hot- uh, I mean really a interesting character! Even though I said earlier I don't think she's as deep as several other npcs in the game, she's still a character with a lot of juicy lore surrounding the organization she runs and her choice of manipulating people into killing her targets instead of getting her hands dirty herself.

Also I fucking hate her Remake design oh my god it's so fucking bad I just wanna throw up everywhere what the fuck were they thinking T_T

Lucatiel:

My favorite character from DS2 (with Straid and Ornifex following very close behind), and of course she's basically just that game's Solaire equivalent with a gender bending design. My tastes are so predictable lol.

Besides her INCREDIBLE design and amazing voice acting, I feel out of all the npcs she does the best job at conveying this game's theme of connecting hollowing to identity. She comes into this land with so little regard for herself and already suffering early memory loss from the slow hollowing she's going through, and but unlike the other npcs (who are actually affected by the curse in any way) we have the chance to save her through our cooperation and going out of our way to engage with and get to know her. In this sense I see her as the reverse of Solaire's quest and honestly wish future soulsborne characters played around with the series' character tropes as well as she did.

Also she's trans. It's canon and I accept no criticism for saying this ;-)

Greirat:

I haven't finished DS3 yet but oh my soul do I love this little thieving rat man so much <3<3<3

I'm almost too afraid to say more yet since I haven't finished his questline and thus technically haven't fully absorbed him as a character yet. So far though he's done so much to endear me to him! His questline with the blue tearstone ring and overall connection to the Undead Settlement gets me soooooo emotional, as does his withered voice and charming demeanor despite all the horrors he's had inflicted on him and his few loved ones.

And of course that's not even getting into how a certain other npc interacts with him during his questline, but I cannot say any more since you specified not to mention him this time despite how much it PAINS me not to. All I'll say is that I am beyond disappointed in most of this fandom for sleeping on these two characters' relationship with each other -_-