#i have so many more thoughts and concepts if u have further questions

[gritty-big-naturals]

okay so *alexis rose hands under chin listening enthusiastically gif* I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED to read your kreids/mika vamp fic (i just cant read incomplete fics, so im waiting for it to be finished for it to be an entire treat f or me!) But like i still want to know about it , like where did the concept come from, and the desire to write *THEM* as vamps?! is there anything you haven't published yet you can tell me about it!? Do any other hockeys/rangers make an appearance? are they still hockey players?

TELL ME WHATEVER you want about this fic honestly, im so READY TO READ IT (no pressure!)

oHOHO I CAN TELL YOU SO MANY THINGS

the idea came from irma zibanejad, absolute queen, putting this on her IG story

i deadass saw the picture and went “ah yes. vampire time” and then i checked the kreidbanejad tag on ao3 and there was not a single vampire fic and i knew what had to be done

the basic premise is that mika’s been a vampire in secret for as long as he’s been on the rangers. he’s got a regular blood “donor” who straight up bails out of the country with no warning so he’s shit out of luck with a very short window of time to figure out how he’s gonna eat, with a big road-trip coming up

he’s got uh. Emotions about being a vampire and most of them are negative (it wasn’t his choice) so he Refuses to tell the team about any of it and just gets sicker and sicker as time goes on

MEANWHILE kreids has been absolutely in love with mika for ages now and sees him start getting ILL and is really freaked out about it and gets (somehow even more) clingy with mika who is also coming to terms with the fact that he’s in love with kreids.

it comes to a head when mika is like. delirious on a road trip because he hasn’t eaten in a month and kreids accidentally starts bleeding im sure u can imagine where it goes from there 👀👀👀

it’s gonna be primarily mika & kreids but other rangers will def be making an appearance, i’m just not Entirely sure whomst exactly yet

but tl;dr i saw pointy canines and said hey what if he was a vampire and also sad about it and also suffering

(also no worries about waiting to read til it’s complete i completely get u!! i usually only read one shots or completed works myself so. i felt that. but i will warn u i’m one of them bitches that takes 83 years to write two sentences so it may take a min lmaoooo)

[explorevenus]

doll parts ♡ leon kennedy x f!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 3.6k

description: leon may not take the best care of himself, but he certainly takes care of you. it's his favorite pastime.

tags/warnings: vendetta leon, established relationship, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dollification, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), mirror sex

a/n: this piece was commissioned by my lovely bestie @dollfacefantasy, who knows me so well in that she knew i was foaming at the mouth for an excuse to write dollification w leon >:3 AND it's based off of that one scene in euphoria where nate dresses cassie up LIKE GET OUTTA TOWNNNNN I WAS SO JUICED TO WRITE THIS !!!!!!!!!!!!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

You were mad. You were so mad, all the time lately, and you were past the point of wondering if you had any right to be. 

It was late, nearly half past midnight, the only sound in the dim house being the unrelenting patter of fat raindrops on the windows. Leon, too, was late, like he so often was. Of course, you weren’t allowed to complain or ask questions about his high paying job, or his whereabouts, or the secrecy, where all those injuries came from or why he didn’t return when he said he would for the hundredth time.

All your life, you thought relationships like this existed only in fiction, the trope of the distant workaholic who dismisses his partner’s concerns with nothing but his wallet and his sexual prowess, piling diamond encrusted bandages upon months worth of neglect, bottled up grievances and novels left unsaid. It was a concept confined to old movies and paperbound romances as far as you were concerned, before you met Leon.

You weren’t unreasonable, and you weren’t dumb. You had gathered that his mysterious government job really was important and strictly confidential, and you trusted that he was telling you as much of the truth as was permitted by the powers that be. You knew he cared about you, you knew he would rather be home with you than running around at the beck and call of the most powerful people in the country. You knew it was never his intention to hurt you.

But your awareness of his love for you didn’t make it any easier to swallow the unending cycle of broken promises, nor the visible deterioration of his mental and physical health while his ‘work trips’ became increasingly frequent until they all started to just blend together. 

You became numb to it after a while. It seemed selfish to demand his time and attention when he couldn’t help his circumstances. Even bringing it up made you feel like a monster, and it was all because you loved him so completely.

And you loved him so completely. You had seen him cry with laughter and sob with grief. You had seen him burn toast, fall asleep with the TV on, forget how to tie a tie, dread a mundane phone call, mumble to himself when he thought no one was listening. You knew his philosophies on life and love and death, you knew him heart and soul, and so too did he know you.

Thus, you just ate it, wore yourself down until you finally accepted that all those bottled up grievances, novels left unsaid and extravagant bribes were worth the privilege of being his lover.

Your eyes felt dry as you stared at the clock, counting in your tired mind exactly how many hours had passed since he was supposed to be home. It had been a long, rough day that would have been draining enough on its own, but the evening proved to disappoint even further. 

Leon heard about the karmic disaster that was your day through a handful of rant texts you’d sent over the course of it, each one more unfortunate than the last. Sympathetic to your senseless string of rotten luck, he promised to cut away from work an hour early to return home to you with your favorite dinner and enough doting on to make your teeth rot. He did not, of course, come home early, and not only that, but he didn’t come home at all, and you couldn’t get ahold of him.

If this wasn’t such a frequent occurrence, you might have been more worried about his safety, or even more angry at him for leaving you hanging on a day like this one, but you had become so familiar with this whole song and dance that your feelings around it were dulled.

You were just about to give up and go to bed when your phone lit up with a notification. Following the several undelivered texts you tried to send asking if he was okay, he’d given a simple response that you knew would redirect the course of your whole entire night.

Headed home in 15. Be in the dollhouse

You had long since garnered that the dollhouse was more for him than it was for you, even if he seemed to believe it was the other way around. It was nice to be pampered and doted on and styled like a Barbie, until it became a way for him to avoid talking to you about anything important. But that was neither here nor there. Dolls don’t talk, and they most certainly don’t complain.

With a deep, measured breath you exited the bedroom and turned down the hall, to what used to be a spare room but was now more aptly describable as a boudoir. The door creaked open to reveal the delicate, feminine space, heavy satin drapes blocking out any potential prying eyes. Between two solid oak wardrobes was an ornate standing mirror, the walk-in closet to the right overflowing with opulent clothing that hardly ever saw the light of day, just the familiar warmth of Leon’s cerulean eyes. 

At the other end of the room was an antique, three-mirror vanity, stocked carefully with luxury makeup, designer perfumes and every last tool one might need to style your hair, down to a box of satin ribbons in every color with which to tie it back. Leon was never one to do things half-way, and dolling you up was no exception.

Piece by piece, you stripped yourself of your clothes, hands moving as slowly and purposefully as his own would, as if by instinct. Just like a doll would be, you undressed to nothing but a pair of delicate lace panties, and you took your place at the vanity, your posture straight and your hands folded neatly in your lap.

All there was left to do now was wait for Leon, to stare at yourself blankly in the mirror and ruminate, to let your thoughts scream and echo around in your head until it would all collapse into silence, putting you in the proper headspace of an empty-headed little Barbie for Leon to play with.

You didn’t so much as flinch at the sound of the garage door opening, or move a muscle at all at the muffled thudding of his footsteps ascending the stairs. Your lips parted with a slow, deep breath, your posture straightening up one final time before the knob turned, and you watched the door open behind you through the reflection in the mirror.

He looked tired. To be candid, he looked like shit. It was evident he had left immediately from whatever dangerous, world-saving thing he was doing to rush home to you, not taking the time to change or freshen up.

Leon approached you gently, reaching over your shoulder to let his rough fingers cup your neck and throat, tilting your head up just enough to make you look at yourself, and to adjust your posture.

“Such a precious little doll, sitting so pretty for daddy,” He whispered, stooping down to plant a kiss at the crown of your head. His hands smelled like iron and gunpowder, and his breath smelled faintly of malted liquor poorly masked with mint. If only you could have confronted him about it. You just swallowed, staring straight ahead where he was directing your gaze.

Reaching over your shoulder, Leon’s steady hand plucked a detangling brush from the vanity, running his fingers through your hair carefully with his other hand. He felt through the length of your soft locks, mindful as always not to tug at any of the little knots he discovered here and there. Shortly after, he was running the brush through your hair with gentle veneration, delicate, even strokes that nearly threatened to put you to sleep.

Leon watched your expression in the mirror as your lashes fluttered, your head lolling back as if mindlessly chasing the attention. A low chuckle fell from his parted lips. “Feels good, huh? I’ll bet it does. Your hair is so messy, baby… You weren’t playing by yourself all day while daddy was gone, were you?”

He was teasing you. A subtle grin begged to tug at your lips, and you let it. Still, you were sure to shake your head ‘no’-- after all, you couldn’t have him thinking you had taken advantage of his extended absence to be naughty, even if you had been awfully tempted to. 

Carding his fingers through your freshly brushed hair, he hummed in mock consideration for a moment, like he couldn’t decide whether or not he believed you. Finally, he turned you around in your chair to face him, tilting your chin up so he could give you a kiss. “I know my baby would never. Always the perfect princess for me, even when I’m not always the perfect daddy.”

That last part came out a little quieter, like he was ashamed to even say it out loud, but somehow still, it was the loudest part to you. You softened.

He noticed, and he, too, softened. The tension in the air dissipated a bit– it was still somewhere around here, likely waiting right outside the door, but it was no longer actively present, at least. Leon gave you another sweet kiss, this one to your forehead, before gently correcting your posture again.

Pushing your hair back with a soft, fluffy headband, he opened up one of the drawers in the vanity and began to take a few things out. First, a light moisturizer, which he massaged into your skin with a jade roller that was cool to the touch and just as relaxing as always. Your moisturizer was followed by a gentle under-eye balm, a thin layer of primer and a hydrating lip oil.

The way he moved was so fluid, so methodical, like a conductor before an orchestra, and you were his masterpiece. In Leon’s eyes, you might as well have been carved out of the finest, most expensive marble, and you were to be treated no less delicately.

He stepped out just for a moment to wash his hands, a clean slate for the next step of the process, your makeup.

You honestly don’t know how he did it. Judging by some of the techniques and products he would use, you could only guess he must have been doing his research online or something, though where he found the time to do so was another question entirely. His lines weren’t always clean, his blending wasn’t always perfectly smooth, yet somehow you always still felt he’d managed to upstage you with the finished product– perhaps it was because he could see you in a way you couldn’t see yourself.

“Daddy?” You chanced a whisper, but he was quick to press a finger to the plush of your lips, ever so gently.

“Shh… Just sit nice and still for me, alright, sugar?”

You nodded, and he resumed his work with a careful touch.

Soft brushes and plush sponges worked their way around the surface of your face, applying shadow and powders and liner, with Leon holding his breath now and then to ensure a steady hand. Your cheeks were rouged, your lips were glossed, your lashes were carefully curled and it was all topped off with a cooling mist of setting spray and a gentle kiss to the forehead.

“There you are, hm? My beautiful baby dolly,” He mused, reaching forward to tilt your head up by your chin, then to the left, then to the right, checking over his handiwork from every angle. Adding a dash of blush to the tip of your nose, he deemed your makeup complete. “Just perfect.”

Slowly, Leon turned your chair around again, allowing you to look at yourself, and yeah. Wow.

You looked gorgeous, you were glowing even. All of your best features were adorned with purposeful swipes of blush, shade and highlight, your eyes dreamy and sweet, your skin smooth and radiant. He let you look at yourself for a moment, just admiring the expression of awe on you– you were always exceptionally stunning, of course, but you looked all the sweeter in these sacred moments in which you recognized your own beauty.

Leon rested one hand on your shoulder to recapture your attention, his other hand coming forward to stroke your cheek. Your long lashes fluttered as you met his eyes in the mirror, a silent signal that your focus had returned to him. Now the hand that caressed your cheekbone was coming forward to take your own. He helped you up from your seat at the vanity and across the room, to the plush chaise lounge in front of that standing mirror.

The room filled with the quiet noises of rummaging, Leon sifting through drawers and racks of hangers stuffed with what had to have been thousands of dollars worth of designer, a stark contrast to his own attire of largely plain black shirts and jeans that had seen better days.

But you were his princess. Leon was just Leon, and Leon couldn’t possibly deserve as much as a princess.

Turning over his shoulder, Leon approached you with a simple pair of white stockings in hand, sinking to his knees right before the chaise lounge to put them on you. Your ankle looked so slight and delicate in his strong hand as he lifted your leg, drawing a line of kisses up the inside of your calf to follow while he rolled the stocking up higher and higher, until the hem reached just above your knee.

He repeated the action with your other leg, the movement of his hands fluid and practiced, but his breaths were becoming shorter, his kisses a little wetter and needier on your skin. Your own breaths were quickly falling in sync with his own just by watching him dial in on your sex, his calloused hands propping your legs up onto his shoulders so he could shuffle closer.

Gripping you by the hips to angle you up to his liking, he buried his nose into the seat of your thin lace panties and breathed you in deep, as though he were starving for oxygen. The tip of his nose nuzzled forward to brush your panties aside, and just as soon as your slit was bared to him, his tongue was darting out to taste it.

He spread it flat in a slow, languid stripe from your weeping hole all the way to your throbbing clit, his lips closing around the little bundle of nerves to coax it from beneath its hood. You sucked in a breath, your manicured nails printing into the lush material of the furniture you were perched on, trying as hard as you could to keep quiet and still, to allow him to guide you, to play with you as he so desired. Luckily, he wasn’t in too stern of a mood this evening anyway– you weren’t likely to be reprimanded for small errors like that, especially not while he was otherwise occupied.

“Fuck,” He growled lowly into your cunt, leaving white prints where he gripped your pillowy thighs just to ground himself. You could feel his body growing warm as he lost himself in you, lapping up every drop of your arousal with greed. For just a moment, his dilated, denim eyes flicked up to look at you, his rosy cheeks gently squished between your quaking thighs as he puffed out, “Just look at you, my dolly… Daddy’s favorite little toy…”

Your eyes screwed shut with pleasure as his hot mouth met your center again, and when they fluttered open, you caught sight of it all in the mirror. It nearly knocked the wind out of you.

Your dainty legs spread out over your gruff boyfriend’s broad shoulders, adorned in delicate white stockings that looked pure and bright against his tight black t-shirt; his sandy blonde hair damp and messy as he wedged himself between your thighs and drank from you like a fountain; your hair and makeup fit for a gala as your expression contorted with rapture… it could have been an oil painting.

Every swipe of his tongue up the length of you, every flutter along your swollen bud, every deep, wanton, needy groan had your eyes rolling back in your head, your thighs trembling and tightening around his jaw. Every inch of you felt featherlight with electricity as he worked his magic on you, more than capable of making you cum in three minutes flat, but opting not to for the fun of it.

Not that you were complaining. At times he could get carried away in his teasing, but tonight was not one of those nights. Leon wasn’t going to waste your time dangling you over the edge much longer than was strictly necessary. As soon as he noticed you were having trouble sitting still, quiet whines and sighs of pleasure occasionally slipping out from between your glossy lips, he knew it would be unfair to string you along any further.

Leon was practically making out with your folds, the room quiet aside from the slick sounds and lustful whimpers that accompanied his dining of you. Soon it was joined with the low, husky timbre of his voice as he groaned into you, “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna make a pretty mess all over daddy’s face?”

In all honesty, you barely registered his words, but all it ever took to get you nodding like a bobblehead was that upward lilt in his tone that indicated he was asking you something. That was all you needed to know that the correct answer was yes.

Smirking briefly to himself as he witnessed your eager and rapt approval, he doubled the intensity of his efforts, his hands wrenching tight into your thighs to pull you flush against his face, but more importantly, to keep you from wriggling away. He didn’t bother to shush you when a shocked yelp bubbled out of you, your body jerking in response to the added stimulation. After all, it was the response he was expecting, and the response he yearned for.

Your shaking hands darted forward to claw at his hair, half-lidded eyes catching your reflection in the mirror once more. Your skin was warm, your breasts heaving as your spine drew into a fine arch and your lips parted to gasp in all the oxygen you could get to your dizzy brain, heels digging into the prominent muscles in his back. He felt every quiver and twitch of your muscles and it only spurred him on. He ate you up like you were his last meal.

Your vision went white as your climax crashed over you hard– the sounds he made were obscene, a satisfied groan vibrating from deep in his chest at the syrupy sweet taste of your arousal. It was an essence he couldn’t possibly get enough of.

As you laid there panting, your legs shaking after the tension in them released, Leon’s eyes dragged up the length of your body with pride. He carefully pulled your panties back into place with a sweet kiss to the bow in the center of them and an affectionate pat to the thigh. 

“There’s a good girl,” He hummed, crawling up from between your legs to kiss you, his mouth still warm and slightly slick with your own spend. “A perfect little doll. All I have to do is pull the right strings to get you to sing for me, huh, princess?”

Once more, you nodded, eyes fluttering shut just for a moment as he kissed your forehead. Then, he stood to his full height again, one hand taking yours and the other steadying you by the dip of your waist as he raised you up to join him, wobbly knees be damned. After all, he wasn’t finished playing dress-up yet. He took a moment to ensure you had regained your balance enough to be able to stand without assistance before opening up one of the wardrobes in search of the remainder of your outfit.

Moments like these only piqued your curiosity in terms of how his brain worked. Sure, you’d been dating for a long time and it was safe to say you knew him quite well, but his penchant for compartmentalization never ceased to astound you. He possessed the sometimes frightening ability to just switch his brain from one mode to the next.

You were brought back to reality once more by the feeling of his lips on your neck. He murmured into your ear, “Arms up, darlin’,” and he barely even finished saying it before you were complying.

You lifted your arms, and he slipped a new dress over your head. There it was, the compensation for being home late, for dropping off the face of the Earth again. The dress was flattering and soft, a delicate blush pink color with embroidered details along the bust and white lace hemming. He drew up the zipper without resistance, and as it reached its apex, the fabric hugged your form perfectly, as though the garment itself was made with you in mind.

Leon kneeled down to straighten out your stockings, and then the skirt of your dress, his eyes scanning over you meticulously in search of any little imperfections that might need fixing. Finding none, he wandered over to where he’d left his jacket, fishing a baby blue box out of the pocket. You had become quite familiar with that blue lately– Tiffany.

Nestled in the slender box was a dainty diamond necklace that now rested right at your collarbones, the clasp in the back secured with a smooch. He carded his fingers through your hair one last time before turning you around to look at yourself in the mirror, his hands rested on your hips, head stooped low to smother the crook of your throat in kisses.

“What do you think?” He whispered in your ear, nibbling gently at the shell.

“Beautiful,” You replied just as quietly, “Thank you, daddy.”

[missglaskin]

hiii! literally love the yandere!hotd, read every bit i have question i know rhaenyra is heir to the throne but have Viserys thought about making Y/N a an heir to the throne? thank u!!!!

I have plenty of others requesting something similar, so I combined them (:

Also, if anyone wishes to have concepts asked about this or add their insight into this, I would love it

Yan!HOTD Au, what if Viserys made the reader his heir instead of Rhaenyra?

With the death of the queen and Young Baelon dying not long after; The succession of the king came to question.

Despite Daemon being the expected heir, the council divided over the matter but cut short when Viserys demanded that no further discussion be held.

Before so, Otto proposed the king's firstborn child or, more specifically, his second child as a potential heir.

Lyonel laughs in disbelief, saying it's one thing to have a female heir, but to have a second child as an heir is just absurd. Tyland also scoffs at the notion; it’s insulting enough that the king made the realm accept you as his child. However, he refrains from saying it out loud, mindful of the last man whose tongue was cut off for making such remarks courtesy of the rogue prince.

When Daemon did what he did, coining young Baelon as "heir for a day," it was the final nail in the coffin.

In such a short time, Viserys has demanded to see you. As you face the black dread skull, Viserys shares with you Aegon's prophecy and his dream of a song of ice and fire.

In an instant that would forever change your life, he named you his heir.

You are dressed for the coronation by Rhaenyra and Alicent. When Alicent notices your trembling hands, she tells you to take deep breaths as Rheanyra reaches for your hands. Rhaenyra’s eyes are tinged with sadness, but she still gives you a smile. 

Your father is seated on the iron throne behind you as you stand in front of the court. Every lord bows down, swearing fealty but you can see their hesitation and disbelief. The first man who seemed sincere in his fealty was the sea snake.

Otto appears pleased as you look over the court, and Alicent smiles at you in support. Rhaenyra is standing close by and nodding as well, though her eyes still carry a hint of sadness. Rhaenys gives you a look that you're not sure whether it's one of worry or pride.

You finally turn to face your father, he's beaming with pride, and you can't help but become teary-eyed.

With Otto, he always thought he had your best interests in mind. Otto felt the need to make choices for you as you were still a child. Never mind the fact you were going to become a queen one day. Rhaenyra is the one who pushes you to speak up for yourself.

While Rhaenys counsels that the only way you'll gain respect is if you demonstrate, you can command the room. To others, Rhaenys may seem envious or harsh, but she’s genuinely looking out for you.

In the meantime, your father will have to marry again, and you better pray it won't be a son. After all, as history has shown, men will rather put a torch to the throne than have a woman sit on it. Rhaenys also says this to Corly, who assures her that it won't ever happen and that if it does, the fleet and army of Driftmark will be at your service.

Many anticipate that Daemon will be furious that a young girl was chosen over him, taking his claim. Daemon may harbor some resentment, but he will swear allegiance to you; never can he hate you. Whoever doubts your ability will have to answer to him.

When Alicent wed your father and gave birth to a son named Aegon. Given that Aegon may one day become his successor, they all expected you to despise him. Instead, they all look on with disbelief as they watch you play with the boy.

As previously mentioned, everyone anticipates Viserys to cast you aside and choose Aegon as his heir, but he refuses to do so. He promises you he will never go back on his word.

Alicent tells her father that she will never allow her son to steal the birthright from his sister. Otto responds she won't have to, which only confuses Alicent further because he also says that Aegon will still be king.

Alicent didn't comprehend what her father meant until Aegon reached adulthood, and she realized that by making Aegon king, he will have Aegon wed you.

However, as Aegon develops into the man he's, Aemond emerges as the better choice. They were unaware that Aemond overheard the conversation and took their words to heart. He already did, but he started devoting more of his days to sword training and studying philosophy and history.

Being married to you entails becoming a king consort, but Aemond didn't mind; in fact, he didn't mind you holding power alongside him as a sort of advisor. 

History has portrayed you as a good queen who ruled peacefully, but mushroom has claimed that you occasionally displayed cruelty and that Aemond was the whispering devil on your shoulder.

[literalite]

hi joseph! what are your thoughts on penacony arc? started it just yesterday and i'm not vibing with it 😭 afaik this is a pretty common feeling towards the beginning and especially 2.2 chapter but i've also seen people defending them. it's always intersting to see your opinion about any media in general, you have some insights i never really thought about. good luck on whoever you choose to pull!

omg hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii im so glad u appreciate my takes about these sillyyy gacha games rubs hands together lets get into it.. ive finished the whole story at this point but so sorry if i end up spoiling ill try break it up patch by patch

tldr; i think penacony is def a plot that gets more refined the further u go on, which i think makes sense because of how large and expansive the cast is to begin with they also throw like a fuckton of different plot points at u so theres a few different veins of thought u can chase in various directions. theyre going for more of a mystery and more morally ambiguous cast than the other planets/locations we've been to so far so i think its more a side effect of the genre so to speak. there's more room for error here and i admit i got tripped up at times esp in the beginning. i actually really liked 2.2 but it might be because my personal favourite penacony character got a lotttt of screentime, my fav patches have been 2.1 and 2.2 because at least in my opinion thats when the plot sort of tightened and wrapped up so it was less just stuff all over the place left to mislead us. this latest patch's story (2.3) is probably my least favourite but im still like sorting out why exactly. overall i think penacony might have had the best plot so far

2.0 - if one dreams at midnight aka black swan, sparkle and misha, and the introduction of penacony in general

the opening of this event/world was REALLY good i loved having acheron walk us through the hotel. probably one of the more engaging new gameplay tutorial processes i've been through and it raised so many questions (who is she/who is she to us/whats with the red text/WHAT IS GOING ON) that from someone who was admittedly not entirely sold on the whole dream hotel concept i was pretty easily hooked. admittedly i think the sort of concepts they were laying out for us in this new world are a lot more abstract than what we've previously encountered so i know a few of my friends ending up getting kind of tired of all the philosophical exposition and started just fast tracking their way thru the dialogue... which is a shame! yes theres a LOT of it and not all of it feels relevant in the moment but as someone who sat thru and read it all i think it was pretty solid. maybe they just need to get a bit better at being succinct

DGFghj the cutscenes and the characterisation in this patch were really beautiful moving stuff because i swear to u going in i didnt give a fuck about like. most of the cast like my only thought going in was oh i want sundays gender. but what i REALLY enjoy about penacony is that it felt like all the characters served a purpose in the story and there wasnt any characters just shoehorned in for the sake of more units to sell. does that make sense? for example in the xianzhou luofu i love that cast i swear but if you really look at them you could probably axe at least five of them from the roster and the main story would have remained exactly the same. like they appeared in the plot but they felt palpably unnecessary. whereas at least right now with all the playable characters that first appeared in penacony all played vital roles in progressing the story. i think for the amount of characters and how interesting they all are thats pretty solid storytelling, even if it amounts to just a lot of exposition at times. i liked the various clashing ideologies and paths it made for way more substantial narrative than any of the other locations so far

2.1 - into the yawning chasm aka the aventurine story ft. acheron

i think this patch had the strongest emotional story running through it, but i could be biased because i LOVE aventurine. to be clear i really didnt care about aventurine prior to playing through this story quest

im serious btw like i actually could not care less about him. it was solely the story quest that made me do one of my biggest 180s on him so far, and i know i'm not alone in this sentiment. i was actually really surprised they were spending sooo much time in his pov and mindset i think it was a decently bold move considering that we literally fight him by the patch's end- imagine if we'd spent half of belobog in cocolia's shoes for example. IT PAID OFF- i genuinely think the slightly less enthusiastic response to 2.2 is in part due to how fucking surprisingly amazing 2.1 was. i think acheron's presence in this one for me could have done with more but she has a stronger overall place in the narrative over the course of all of the penacony story quests that it somewhat balances out. the trailblazing crew took one hell of a step back for this patch but everyone was fine with that and i hope it encourages the writers and the devs to be okay with our like "main protagonists" being less of the pov characters. its interesting when you get to see other's lives, if anything for a gacha game it should honestly be encouraged? but anyways yeah this one was my fave patch on just the story alone

2.2 - then wake to weep aka robin and boothill's patch, as well as wrapping up the main plot of penacony AKA the sunday patch. to me.

i do think this one's story is a little weaker than the first two and especially in comparison to 2.1... but nevertheless i really loved it still mostly because i'd been waiting for sunday to unveil his true colours this entire time. the english va for sunday? fucking incredible it was the amount of just barely leased emotion holding on by the barest thread of control you could detect in pretty much every line he said that really hooked me onto the character. i think this update's plot is a little messy in terms of like pacing- at some points it dragged on and on others it felt way too fast but i adored the false ending and the whole twist of it all. some aspects of the story were admittedly really repetitive for some reason? a lot of the dialogue felt a little too overexposited- as much as i love the express crew when they're altogether they really just like yapping on about the same thing on repeat... i don't think the whole talent show thing was necessary LMFAO going into sunday's history lesson/mind palace construct would've been more than enough.

alllllso i get why boothill was here for this but at the same time of all the characters he feels the most... redundant? this sentiment is mostly influenced by the next patch because i really thought we were going to like actually go somewhere with his set up with aventurine but that kind of just.. didn't happen. like hes more necessary to this story than say, qingque or i guess bailu were for the xianzhou luofu but regardless his presence in this while amusing kind of lacked the oomph that all the other characters have had

this patch's cutscenes were definitely the best of all the ones we've seen so far, in my opinion, basically only rivaled by the aventurine vs acheron fight. all of sunday's scenes were chef kiss to the highest degree the way the line "through harmony, we obtain order" lives in my mind literally rent free. honestly i just like watching this whole thing

its fantastic. SUNDAY is our best villain so far hands fucking down i really liked the whole social contract aspect of his methodology. as much as people mischaracterise him sighhhh just the betrayal of his own sister in a bid to fulfill her dream, albeit misguidedly, is just so lovely and tragic i just. HRGHHH fucking phenomenal work. i know people got taken aback because sunday spent 2.1 being so focused on robin's murder, and i agree his turn straight back to his originally laid plans was more abrupt that i would have personally liked, but i still really enjoyed the whole thing fghjk. i am so biased because ive loved sunday from literally the moment his little chibi invited us to penacony at the end of the 1.6 stream (??) so every aspect of it was amazing to meeee. this patch had a slower build up to its climax than the others but its still my second favourite wuagh

2.3 - farewell, penacony aka firefly and jade's patch

im sorry this one is probably my least favourite ;-; they gave us really high expectations (the whole aventurine vs/with boothill ending, jade's introduction to penacony, etc etc) and i knowww this was always meant to be the last chapter of the penacony story so i shouldn't have expected them to unfold whole other untouched plot points at this stage but.... after all the high stakes of the rest of the story this ending while in some aspects kind of satisfying, fell short. for now! i expect them to bring the whole ipc scheming plotting thing back, they seem like a faction that will encounter a reckoning closer to the endgame of the story as opposed to being wrapped up right now. on an emotional level and specifically for the trailblazer and firefly's relationship, this was a fine patch! it was really cute... i just think that with how much emphasis we got on the pov of the other characters i really wish we'd spent time more with the rest of them. i guess i expected the ipc to bare their fangs a bit more here, but it still felt like it wrapped itself up cleaner than i would've preferred. sfdgfghjhkjk sue me i like chaos i want action i want them to fiiight... i guess it'll just be a matter of time though. not on this world, but maybe someplace elsewhere. we can only hope! in this regard i actually preferred the xianzhou ending, with tingyuns funerary service... it had more of a true weight to it than the goodbye the astral express gave the dead trailblazers and gallagher. they shouldve gotten a cutscene idkkkk

my brain is steaming so im gonna curb it here but basically in order of my fave to least fave the penacony patches go as follows:

2.1 -> 2.2 -> 2.0 -> 2.3

as someone who's only played genshin and hsr from hoyoverse i think this is a really good sign as to increasing complexity and depth to their characters and plotlines. the penacony narrative works because as self contained as it is it also presents us with a lot of questions and differing viewpoints that i daresay most of the other worlds both from genshin and hsr have so far been pretty much completely lacking. this really felt like a big beautiful puzzle getting assembled before our eyes and while the pieces didnt all seamlessly fit its just so much better than i am used to from this company im excited for the next worlds to come :D

[thompsborn]

Don't want to end up oversharing, but I've been following homeward bound from chapter 3 and so much has changed in my life for the better ever since then. I weirdly feel like I've been maturing alongside the fic. I'll be getting my bachelor's degree in two months and I started reading during my first year. You have no idea how special this piece of work is for me and I'm very thankful you've decided to share it with us. I absolutely trust your process cuz each chapter you release is just perfection, whenever you're ready to release more I'll be there to read it. Now getting on with the actual question (sorry for writing so much ijbol), what do you think Harley and Peter think their dream home would be? What style, is it an apartment or a house and all that stuff.

oh my god i ?? i am lowkey crying omg

homeward bound is so special to my heart, i could write pages upon pages about my emotional attachment to this fic, but that would take a whole lot of time and i wanna try and answer your question, but just !! like i know logically people really care about hb too, like i’ve read so many comments and gotten asks and i know it but getting new asks or comments still sends me reeling because it’s so mind boggling and i’m just like?? damn!! thank u sm i’m glad that my post nwm coping mechanism turned general life coping mechanism has been with you like this <3

also! congratulations on getting your bachelors!! hell yeah!!!

okay, okay, okay, so to answer your question, i think it varies on the era of their lives, so like

peter growing up probably always thought it would be nice to have a house one day because he knows his parents had a house that he could very vaguely remember living in, but he was pretty open to home being anything. harley, on the other hand, grew up in tennessee and probably always assumed he’d live in a house because he’s always lived in a house. it probably wouldn’t have been until after meeting tony and thinking about maybe going to new york one day that he even considered the idea of living in an apartment, but even then, he couldn’t imagine it being permanent

by the start of homeward bound things are different. harley is living in the city for the first time, living in a dorm and sharing close quarters with harry, and he’s mourning tony and his life before the snap, still struggling to a world that’s so different from the one he remembers, so for him the concept of a dream home feel irrelevant. like, he’s focusing more on just making it to his classes and his shifts at late night and the unexpected social life that he sort of develops with the friends he was not planning to make, so picturing his future doesn’t extend further than getting through his first year at ESU and signing up for classes, yk?

peter, at this point, has entirely lost his sense of home and assumes he’s never going to get it back (which is why he has not once referred to his apartment as home, outloud or in his head) so he has no dream home because he doesn’t think he’ll ever have a home

i’ll keep this as light in spoilers as possible, but i’ll tag it homeward bound spoilers and give a warning here that this is future hb stuff butit doesn’t actually give away the plot if that makes sense?

the series is called homeward bound for a reason, basically—it’s following the theme of home. the mcu trilogy is titled with home becoming inaccessible (homecoming, far from home, no way home) so i want this series to explore an idea of finding it again

as the series progresses, ideas of home and what it is and what it looks like are going to change and adapt, but in terms of your question specifically, harley and peter are going to wind up with the same idea of a dream home: a small cozy house, not in the suburbs but not in the heart of the city either, within a reasonable driving distance from their friends.

(bonus: harry loves the idea of a penthouse, but in reality would like a house like his moms, or a nice apartment if the location is worth it. gwen grew up in apartments and likes the idea of a house but wouldn’t care if she never moved into one.)

[kikiyo]

could you talk about kik and her desires? ( ie: does she WANT to be dead? does she want to live the life that was stolen from her?)

oh this is SUCH a good question, thank u from the bottom of my heart for asking bc this should be quite an interesting lil thought experiment ... let us dive in :3

first and foremost, to understand kikyo and the general concept of desires (or, more base-level, just "wanting" as a whole), it's helpful to look at her childhood and the way she brought herself up. her parents died shortly after kaede's birth, and so she was alone at the age of eight. it's not said exactly when but it wouldn't have been very long after that, taking on the role of kaede's mother, essentially, that she would have started training as a priestess. from the jump she was adept at keeping her own childish emotions at bay out of necessity, as she was responsible for her younger sister, as well as the duties requires by a priestess. the pair, probably around the time kikyo was 15 or so, and so kaede was around 7, traveled and slayed demons whilst training. everything about their existence was survival-based, and in the direct service of others.

when kikyo is given responsibility of the jewel, she is even further obligated to set aside any rambunctious emotions, wants, desires, fears, etc. that might make her come across vulnerable to yokai and evil men seeking the jewel. she had to turn herself to stone, and shed the happiness, joys, silliness and breakdowns that humans all faced – she was not able to want, because wanting would prove to be her downfall.

there's also a sidenote on this, something i haven't gotten into much at all but it is actually a major aspect of kikyo's character, that she was cursed by tsubaki (a fellow, rival priestess who was jealous that kikyo was given the jewel to protect), to die a violent death should she ever fall in love. kikyo wasn't worried about that, generally, because she didn't consider that she would ever fall in love. of course, it happens, the curse plays itself out, etc. etc. but all to say even if she didn't actively fear this curse, it still existed and she was aware of it, and it barred her from the part of herself that might one day have those desires.

onto the more specific part of this question re: does she want to be dead? the short answer would be no; but like all things it is of course a little more complicated than that. she would rather be alive, all told, but in death she found a sort of freedom she lacked in life. in fact, on this very subject, in a strange and unexpected way, she is able to want and desire and show that vulnerability more freely and completely than ever before. due to the soul she possesses being darkened by wrath, it is typically a desire that has to do with anger and hatred, but even then, this is a freedom all the same. and one she never had experienced beforehand.

the second question, does she want to live the life that was stolen from her – god, yes. and i think this is largely why she loathes inu so much, and why she is so cruel towards kagome. it is hurt, anger, resentment – she wants so badly to be able to live that life; firstly on the level that, in a literal sense, she was killed at so young an age and in her resurrection she knows that her time is limited and fleeting. secondly, because she never even had a chance to begin with – with her life as it was, she was always doomed to unhappiness, loneliness. she nearly had an out to that, with inu and the jewel, and that was taken from her – she sees inu alive, and she is jealous of that chance. she sees kagome being loved, not just by inu but by so many, and she sees this girl's happiness, kindness, and joy – things which she never had, and could never really express (save for kindness, which i would argue was always something she held onto as well in her lifetime, and she has a similar capacity for it as kag but most assuredly doesn't act on it often, especially now, and when she does it manifests differently).

kikyo had to hold back from wanting, from longing, from desire in its entirety. she is given that freedom, finally, in death, but this comes at a cost – that it is finite, and she does not have her entire life ahead of her. no matter her course, her path; she is fated to tragedy.

[susandsnell]

Coco ilu PLEASE drop the queer reading of Bunnicula essay 😭 hope ur having a good day, i am dying at the thought of (chester??) the cat looking at that tiny bunny sucking the red off an apple like 'i know what u are..'

!!!! I love you too, anon, omg, thank you so much for sending me such a delightful question! Had a surprisingly decent day as well, so I hope you had a great one too!

Thanks so much for asking me about Bunnicula - I read it in about second grade, after my 'introduction' to Dracula beyond pop culture was Dead and Loving It the year prior (and seeing Bela Lugosi clips on the old movies channels here and there), and this was a much more digestible, less terrifying experience of vampires for baby Coco.

First off, the "I know what you are" memes are funny, but genuinely, I think Chester the cat and Harold the dog were such an old married couple. They're not quite as acrid as Statler and Waldorf or as affectionate as Timon and Pumbaa, but the way they snark at each other, affectionately disparage one another's literary tastes, and tease about various neuroses, as well as playing Holmes and Watson for the mystery of the story speaks for itself! That Chester is the one who needs to overcome his prejudice of outsiders is an interesting wrinkle to this, but he's working on it through therapy and, literally, as the text says, "finding himself". I mean, if this isn't a gay cat unpacking his internalized issues and respectability politics with the help of the zanier Bunnicula and the more self-assured Harold, I don't know what is.

Next, there's Bunnicula himself; an homage to tropes of both classic vampire films and the trashy television fare of the mid-20th century, which is already historically very popular with queer people for many reasons - camp factor, the affinity many of the LGBTQ+ community towards horror, and especially how easily identifiable the vampire in particular is as a queer figure. The core message of the story is that of accepting and celebrating the differences of others; Bunnicula is indeed a vampire, but, being a vampire rabbit, only sucks the life out of vegetables and is therefore harmless - it's Chester's judgment of him making him an outsider that's the issue. (Sidenote that the concept is cute + funny + kid-friendly enough that it sidesteps the usual lame cop-out that is the vegetarian vampire.) The vampire as an outsider - and hence queer - is an age-old reading. Further, while there's definitely space for queer narratives of feeling like a monster and/or imperfect/toxic stories aimed at teenagers and adults, the vampire as specifically oppressed and in a work aimed at kids works uniquely well in this context since Bunnicula's harmlessness allows him to sidestep the usual conundrums of monster-posing-genuine-threat-as-stand-in-for-oppressed group (looking at you, Zootopia.). (Added addendum that while I mentioned narratives for kids having to exist in a simpler moral universe here, this 1:1 is an issue I have with many 'vampire as a stand-in for queer people' narratives -- True Blood/Southern Vampire Mysteries ran into it frequently, although otoh I found the latest Interview With The Vampire TV show to handle it with better nuance. It's tricky territory, to say the least)

The meta-narrative to this can't be ignored. The author, James Howe, came out as gay decades after writing this with his late first wife, Debbie, and has expressed many times that though he was closeted/uncertain at the time of writing the original novel, he on reflection must have subconsciously imbued it with themes of being a horror-loving, artistic, bullied outsider that reflected his own childhood experiences. Likewise, he's noted that Debbie, who was Jewish and had similar tastes and experiences, was probably doing the same. Since coming out, James Howe has engaged in extensive anti-bullying and equality-focused advocacy work, and has since made his priority incorporating themes of compassion towards the outsider in all his writings for kids - his later works have even featured canon gay characters. From what I've read, these themes have persisted through the rest of the Bunnicula series (though I think I only ever read the first book).

All this to say: Chester and Harold are married, Bunnicula is their flamboyant housemate.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

208 of 2023

A personal about you.

Created by dogbreath8592

Oh, what about you? What do people call you?

Jelle. Or Jelle-tje for the reference.

How many years have you been on this earth?

Almost 33.

What's your brothers/sisters like? If you don't have any, do you wish u did?

I only have one younger sister and she’s more serious than me, and we have a different appearance.

What's your scale say?

Mild thinnes. Pfff.

Parents, what's there names, where they at?

Ellen and Stefaan, they’re in another country.

Your thoughts... reactions, whatever.

Dinner time.

There's a place called heaven, and a place called hell... where you goin?

Wherever. I’m gonnza stay on Earth.

Music, what does it mean to you?

Life.

What's life like for you? do you like it, or what?

It’s been tough, but there’s some beauty to it anyway.

Where do you stand on religion?

Not my cup of tea.

Do you smoke, drink, or do drugs?

None of these. I’m not allowed to drink anymore.

Were you honest on the last question?

I’m not 12.

What does virginity mean to you? Is it a mental or physical thing?

It’s just a concept.

What's going on in your head today?

Work, physiotherapy, dinner.

Have you ever had your heart broken? How did it feel?

I have, it feels devastating.

Do you think you need therapy?

Might be, for my eating disorder.

Has anything traumatic ever happened to you?

Where do I start. Does sexual abuse and brain haemorrhage count as traumatic?

What's your views on life and death?

It’s just the way it is.

Family Matters Do your parents live together?

Why wouldn’t they?

Are there any members of your family that you just don't talk to anymore?

We rarely talk in general, it’s normal here.

Is your intermediate family close?

Kind of.

How about your cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents?

My grandparents are deceased. My further family is distanced and that’s normal in my country.

Do you have any nieces or nephews? How about any cousins with babies?

Three of my cousins have children and that’s it.

Your parents ever abusive?

My mum, let’s leave it in the past.

Any family members with mental issues, or drug/alcohol abuse issues?

No. Just smokers.

Do you spend the holidays with your family?

Usually Christmas.

How do you feel towards your family members?

I love them, but we don’t need one another 24/7.

Do you consider pets family?

Of course I do.

Do you even have any pets?

Yes, two cats.

Did you ever go on family vacations?

Only some travelling with my dad.

Have you lost a family member recently?

No, not recently.

School (gonna skip this because it’s on hiatus) Where do you go to school? Favorite class? How are the teachers? The students? Do you have a main group of friends? Does the cafeteria food suck? Do people smoke in the bathrooms? Do you hate or like school? How are you grades? Do you consider your school to be shitty? Did you ever go to school high or drunk? Did you ever cut class? Did you ever smoke in school? Do you sleep in class sometimes? Which class do you hate the most?

More personal questions... What goes on in your head when you're feeling sad?

I hardly ever feel sad.

What about when angry?

Whatever makes me angry at the moment.

Happy?

Whatever makes me happy at the moment.

Anxious?

Whatever makes me anxious at the moment.

Have you ever felt suicidal?

Yeah, when I was much younger.

Is there a person that you love more than anything in this universe?

More than one.

Have you ever been in love?

Maybe twice. I love many people in different ways.

What do you do when someone dies?

...what do people do in such situations??

If a friend ditches you, or uses you, do you stay friends with them anyway?

No.

Do you have social anxiety?

Not social.

Do you have any mental disorders?

OCD and generalised anxiety disorder, also an eating disorder.

Have you ever had a drug or alcohol problem?

No.

What do you dream about most?

Trains.

Does it ever feel like time just disappears?

Quite often. Days pass fast.

Is there anyone you would take a bullet for? If so, who?

I don’t think so.

Past What was your childhood like?

Bad, but with some good memories here and there.

If you had to sum your personality up in one word, what would you use?

Complicated.

Is there anything that you wish never happened?

I guess I mentioned two things before.

(typical question)Is there anything you would go back and change?

If possible, but the past is the past.

Did you enjoy your childhood?

Not in particular.

Do you have any friendships that are still strong from way back?

Not really, but I do keep in touch with some people.

Did you change schools, or move?

Moved, but as an adult, so never changed schools.

What did you think highschool or middleschool would be like?

Our education system doesn’t work like that.

Is it what you thought?

That ship has sailed long ago.

Present How was today?

Very nice. I did really well at work.

What was the last fight you had about?

I don’t remember. I don’t engage in fights.

How much do you think you've changed?

Well, I’ve grown up for sure. I’ve changed for better.

What's one thing that you are proud of accomplishing?

Regaining my mobility after being paralysed.

How come you're so great?

Because I’m always myself.

What are you feeling right now?

I’m tired, but content.

What are you wearing?

Another hoodie because I was in the shower.

Is it cold out?

It is. It’s winter, after all.

Are you listening to music?

Yeah, I am. Lange Frans & Baas B - Supervisie.

How come you're taking a survey and not doing something... useful?

It’s evening. I’ve done lots of useful things today already.

What do you think about this survey anyways?

It’s going.

What's going on after this?

Who knows what the future brings.

Future Do you see yourself in college?

I already have a degree, doing another one.

What do you think you would want to do?

The same job I’ve had for the past 9 years.

Do you believe you'll be successful?

On my own way.

What about a wife/husband and kids?

Married already, but no kids for me.

Pets?

Our two cats are enough.

Where would you like to live?

Where I live now. Or back in my hometown.

What type of house would you like to live in?

What we have is okay.

Do you plan to stay in the same state and country?

The country I live in doesn’t have any states.

Do you see the future being better or worse than now?

We’ll see what life brings.

Do you even think about the future?

Not much. I live day by day.

How much time do you spend planning for it? (if any)

None. I’m too old for that.

Do you just live for the moment?

Just said.

Are you afraid what you're doing now, is going to screw up what comes next?

No.

Friends Do you have any really good friends?

More than one.

Would you consider any of them to be like brothers/sisters?

Yeah, most of them. Some are like uncles.

If something was really wrong, who would you go to first?

My husband.

Have you ever had a friend that you swore was just like you?

Not really. We’re all different and that’s beautiful.

Did you find that you were wrong?

N/A.

Has a friend ever seemed amazing and then crushed your heart?

Yes, but I found out why and I’ve forgiven him.

Can you forgive your friends easily?

Yes, if there’s a reason.

What's the worst thing that happened between you and a friend?

Ghosting me.

Have you ever began to like/love a friend in a boyfriend/girlfriend way?

All my relationships have started like that.

Has a friend ever began to like you like that?

I said.

How much crap can you take from your friends?

My friends are not like that.

Do you have more female friends or male friends?

Male, definitely.

Which friend do you feel knows you the best?

More than one.

Any friends you hang out with just for the sake of it?

I don’t think so.

Which friends do you think you'll grow old with?

Hopefully all of them.

Anybody you wish you could be friends with? (for the first time or again)

Yes, there are a few people.

Miscellaneous What time of day is it?

Evening.

What's your favorite season?

Summer.

How much longer until you go to sleep?

After this one.

Are you alone?

No, my husband is sitting next to me.

Is there someone that claims to be your boyfriend/girlfriend?

No. We’re not school kids.

Ever consider killing someone?

What a stupid question.

If you were given a consequence free chance, would you?

No.

What do you do before you go to sleep?

Put the TV on.

How about when you wake up?

Get up and take my meds.

What do you want right now?

To sleep.

Have a nice day, and you say

Doei!

[ellie-bygrave]

Reader

Anable, A. (2018). Playing with feelings: Video games and affect. U of Minnesota Press.

In this text, Anable explores the use of affect in games as a tool to provide connection and individualisation of the player. They focus on multiple ways games relate to affect, describing how they can be both a frivolous distraction and create some of the most meaningful moments in our lives. Their initial dive into the historical context of affect provides a base for the reader to build upon when they later discuss some more complicated conceptual ideas. They critique other theories and provide alternative ideas, relating them to the works of others and tangible examples from modern games. Though some concepts are complex, Anable’s work provides a different perspective to other discussions of affect. The specific focus on video games allowed me to apply other ideas of affect to games more easily, developing my understanding of affect as a whole.

Atkinson, P., & Parsayi, F. (2021). Video Games and Aesthetic Contemplation. Games and Culture, 16(5), 519-537. https://doi.org/10.1177/1555412020914726

This paper takes a different approach to the typical “are video games art?” question. They instead provide thoughts on the aesthetic experience, arguing that the effects of art and aesthetics within games depend highly upon the audience and their willingness or ability to engage with it. Although some terms and assertions are complex, their frequent use of examples from well-known games creates links that allows the reader to better understand the principles presented here. A point they discuss at length is the use of the environment to drive navigation and how different aesthetics can signal a change in pace or expectation for the player. As a game artist, aesthetics are essential to consider, so the authors’ discussions on aesthetic principles, such as “foregrounding” and purposefully creating disinteresting areas, have given me new things to think about when creating environments.

Berger, J. (1972). Ways of Seeing. Penguin Books. ISBN 0-14-013515-4

This book, adapted from a BBC television show, features topics relating to the nature of art and representation. Berger touches upon how time and context can drastically alter the way we view art, urging audiences to be sceptical of even those images he presents within this work. He discusses the representation of women and the male gaze, a topic which interests me, particularly in relation to video games. He includes conversations from women, who provide relevant and useful contributions to the subject, providing insight into the portrayal of women as passive objects in media. Though there is lots of further discussion on different topics, I found the conversations surrounding the context of art and the portrayal of women to be the most enlightening in relation to my own work. Whilst the television series is slightly outdated now, the theories it discusses are, and likely will always be, still relevant today.

Buorgonjon, J., Vandermeersche, G., Rutten, K., Quinten, N. (2017). Perspectives on Video Games as Art. LCWeb: Comparative Literature and Culture 19.4. https://doi.org/10.7771/1481-4374.3024

Though video games as art is sometimes a controversial conversation, the authors bring together many different critical arguments from both sides, evaluating the strengths and flaws in the theories. The paper discusses the more superficial visual aspect of art in video games and the deeper emotional elements that are often discussed in relation to other art forms. They explore the relationships between the purpose of art and how video games can fulfil that purpose. As my primary focus is on the creation of art for video games, I have great interest in the debates seen here. The conclusions drawn by the authors about the unique opportunities for expression that video games allow over other art forms, especially regarding interactivity, are something I will consider in my work moving forward.

Cairney, T. (1990). Intertextuality: Infectious Echoes from the Past. The Reading Teacher, 43(7), 478–484. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20200444

In this paper, Cairney explores the different theories presented about intertextuality by a variety of prominent authors on the subject and specifically the ways that children apply and understand intertextuality. They discuss the unavoidable influence that the books we read have on our own writings and, whilst this paper focuses primarily on the way intertextuality influences writing, the theories are applicable to all forms of media. Cairney writes that, whilst there is often awareness of intertextuality, it tends to be regarding story and plot rather than the more conceptual ideas of characterisation and genre. They add that their study found that often writings were created from personal experiences, not just by drawing inspiration from other works. Although some of the principles were devised 30+ years ago, they are still relevant and are evident in my own art, where I am constantly inspired by other works.

Dalila Forni. (2019). Horizon Zero Dawn: The Educational Influence of Video Games in Counteracting Gender Stereotypes. Transactions of the Digital Games Research Association, December 2019, Vol. 5 No. 1, pp. 77-105. ISSN 2328-9422

This paper discusses gender stereotypes in video games and the way they can influence their audiences. Forni references other works on similar subjects to reinforce their assertions, taking into account statistics and facts as well as opinions. They take an in-depth look at a specific game, allowing them to relate many of their points to a well-known example, enabling the reader to contemplate Forni’s points contextually. The author leans into controversial discussion rather than shying away from it, resulting in a stronger argument overall for gender diversity in games. Gender plays an important part in video game art in many ways, but most relevant to me is the way environments can tell stories about the characters themselves. Forni’s discussions on the importance of accurate and diverse representation will undoubtedly influence my implementation of this in my own work.

Green, Amy M. (2017). Storytelling in video games: the art of the digital narrative. McFarland

In their book, Green analyses how the unique features of video games influence the narratives we find in video games. Their discussion takes into account differences in genre, length, and the forms the narratives can take in order to consider many informing factors on this topic. They begin with discussion on historical storytelling of “the human experience”, reinforcing this with other works by experts in their field, before linking their ideas with examples from games. Green’s writing is accessible and interesting, providing some excellent analysis of narrative and what it means in the context of video games. This book gave me an overall wider understanding of narrative as a concept and has allowed me to actively identify different techniques used by some of my favourite games.

Juul, J. (2011) Half-Real: Video Games between Real Rules and Fictional Worlds. MIT Press.

Juul explores the complex concept of how video games utilise real rules in a fictional world to play off what audiences already know. The author begins with a history of games, discussing how rules have governed traditional games for thousands of years all the way to modern-day digital games. Drawing from commonalities across many games, they find that a set of rules is essential for establishing something as a game. As well as mattering to gameplay, rules also define the environments games take place in – they must make sense for the story they are trying to tell. Juul makes the point that throwing a ball in a field makes more sense than in an empty space, a principle which influences my decisions when creating an environment all the time – whatever the intention for the gameplay, the environment must abide by rules that make sense to the audience.

Koenitz, H. (2019). Narrative in Video Games. Amsterdam, Informatics Institute. 10.1007/978-3-319-08234-9_154-1.

This paper aims to compare different lines of thinking that other theorists have presented about the role of narrative within video games. It discusses the ideas behind Narratology and Ludology and the differences between them, as well as discussing theories that seek to stray from those models or that combine parts from each of those theories. The author also discusses the way that the use of narrative can affect a game’s design and the idea that the narrative can become part of the player’s experience. Koenitz effectively presents multiple points of view from different texts, picking out the key points that each theory is based upon, explaining both the merits and weaknesses to allow the reader to draw their own conclusions. This paper helped me further understand the role of narrative in games and how adapting different theories can change the overall player experience.

Morris, P. (2003). Realism. London, Routledge. https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=ROSAAgAAQBAJ&lpg=PP1&pg=PP1#v=onepage&q&f=false

In this book, Morris discusses theories of realism and how we can apply it to fictional media. Despite there being no one agreed upon theory of realism, Morris compares the way we talk about realism in everyday life compared to in fiction and how the boundaries between the two are often blurred, critiquing certain texts that have aspects of realism and non-realism. A subject the authors discusses is whether fiction can and should portray the harshness of reality, or if it is indeed even possible to do so, using a comparison of written word to a mirror to show that even text which purports itself to be reality cannot really come close. This provided me with a new perspective, showing that the emphasis in my own work should be on representing reality with the emotions it creates rather than trying to visually signify reality.

Perreault, M. F., Perreault, G., & Suarez, A. (2022). What Does it Mean to be a Female Character in “Indie” Game Storytelling? Narrative Framing and Humanization in Independently Developed Video Games. Games and Culture, 17(2), 244-261. https://doi.org/10.1177/15554120211026279

This article provides a research-based view on multiple different narrative frameworks, with emphasis on the way in which women are represented within the narrative. It focuses on how narrative can be used to create deep characterisations and interactions to present a story that appeals to a female audience. The authors also touch upon how video games are changing to include more female-driven narratives, highlighting that women have been typically used as secondary characters in games, existing only to further the narrative for a male character. The research presented in this article allows the reader to achieve a greater understanding of the ways narrative and interactivity can be used simultaneously to drive the characters’ stories and provide a sense of development to the player themselves. This gave me a different lens through which I could critically analyse texts, focusing on aspects of narrative relating to the portrayal of women.

Piper, A., Algee-Hewitt, M., Sinha, K., Ruths, D. and Vala, H., 2017. Studying Literary Characters and Character Networks. Digital Humanities Conference.

This paper succinctly summarises and discusses different theories of characterisation and archetypes within media. The authors use mathematical principles to show how character dynamics have changed throughout history, with focus becoming more on central characters as those in the peripheries diminish. Their application of statistical analysis allows them to further develop some of the more outdated and shallow theories they discuss, finding a deeper understanding of characterisation that can be applied to all media, not just the literary examples they use. Their theories have allowed me to further understand some of the archetypes presented by others and to apply newer ideas to my own reading on characterisation.

Summers, T. (2016). Understanding video game music. Cambridge University Press.

In their book, Summers presents many different ideas about the use of music in video games. Their discussions in Part II on the functions and effects of music was critical in furthering my understanding of semiotics in music and the use of music to convey meaning. They delve into the way particular musical phrases can become associated with certain feelings early on in a game and can even be affected by the player’s own choices, using specific examples to further iterate the point. They also discuss another interesting point that games can create their own semiotics within games as well as using already-established musical “rules” from real life, a point which can be applied to semiotics in other forms, not just music. The creation of new semiotic connections is something I’m eager to explore more within the context of art and design in the future.

Tarasti, E. (2018). Musical Semiotics – a Discipline, its History and Theories, Past and Present. Recherches sémiotiques. https://doi.org/10.7202/1051395ar

Tarasti combines music history with the general theories of semiotics, exploring several questions relating to how the music sounds, the context, and its relation to Peirce’s theories of semiotics. They aim to bridge the gap between general semiotics and music, outlining some modifications that must be made to the principles to apply them effectively. They reference classical music pieces and explain the way semiotics are used, describing how music can become “absolute” in the way expressions or motifs gain meaning. I often include music in my digital artworks, so understanding the way semiotics can influence audience perception is essential in conveying the right message. As Tarasti explains, musicians and listeners already have an idea of what certain musical expressions signify, so applying this is essential in creating meaning.

Ward, L, M & Grower, P. (2020). Media and the Development of Gender Role Stereotypes. University of Michigan, Michigan.

Ward and Grower’s paper discusses the wide range of ways gender stereotypes are present in the media and how they can affect audiences. They analyse the differences between male and female stereotypes and the potential reasons behind these, including a lack of recognition for female stories and a lack of respect for them. Whilst the focus is on the negative portrayal of women and girls, they also discuss the harm that male stereotypes can have, furthering the toxic masculinity that is so prevalent in society today. They relate their analyses to several different theories, discussing where they align or stray from each other, using up-to-date research to emphasise their points. I was able to apply their discussion to my own analysis of texts, looking deeper into different characters to see how their theories matched up with the media I was looking at.

[violentviolette]

even MORE FANDOM related questions because I cannot get enough (really loved how you put the whole "hero vs villain" structure of bnha and also the todoroki family dynamic into words, really well said genuinely). what are your thoughts on dabi's and hawks' dynamic? I'll admit, I'm not too knowledgeable on hawks' character beyond him growing up in a hero institute(?) and endeavor being his favourite hero since he was a kid (crazy connection there). would you say that you have a relationship akin to their dynamic (whether fanon and/or canon) irl? going outside of the bnha universe, what other characters would you say hit home for you as closely as dabi does (they can be anime or not) and other pairings you would say align with some irl relationships? I'm assuming chuuya is a top anime character for you, and if so, would love to hear your thoughts on his silly lil' self. IF you were in the bnha or bsd universe, what do you believe your quirk/ability would be, or what would you LIKE your quirk/ability to be? (you can tweak pre-existing ones to form something new or claim/combine pre-existing ones if you'd prefer). not too sure how much you know about pokémon, but if you were in the universe, which town/region would you like to grow up in? and if you were a gym leader, what type would you be and what would be the main quirks and colours of your gym outfit be? (if you want to go as far as listing the main pokémon you'd have as well, I'm all ears) Hell, you can be a gym leader of five types altogether for all I care. or create your own type (like a 'trans' type) and list pokémon you believe are trans as your main. non-related fandom question but you've reblogged posts about writing previously and I was wondering if you had somewhere you posted things (fics or smth) unless it's purely a journalling side-hobby or similar. anyways, hope all the noise in life has dialled down and that your father dies of his illness soon !

OUGHH anon listen. listen. i fucking love hawks with every fiber of my being that little bird boy has me by the *throat* i am SOOO NORMAL about him under a read more to save all ur dashboards

i genuinely love hawks so much i think he's an amazing character and he's so deeply intertwined with the todoroki's i very much consider him one. him and dabi both having father issues over the same man is genuinely so fucking funny to me. like imagine u meet a guy there's definitly something wrong with him and he's highkey got daddy issues and then u find out he's got daddy issues with UR DAD like aljksdhjkdsklasdjkhaksldj fucking gold but no on a serious note i ship dabihawks so hard. i think they're such great mirror images of eachother. they're the same and different in so many ways but their core ideologies are so different it makes for such a great push and pull between them. hawks comes from a deeply abusive household where he was neglected and beaten and then essentially sold off to a goverment agency to be trained as their super soldier. the hero commission i think is such an amazing concept that horikoshi absolutely squandered and did nothing with

like, the hero commission is introduced to us as this force for good, in the public eye theyre an agency that works with the top heros to keep everyone safe. but they're shady af, they ""adopt"" an abused and vulnerable child from a low income family, then abuse him further and train him as a disposable tool. they use him to kill in the name of the "greater good" and have him take the "unsavory" commissions, doing the dirty work that no one wants to publicly admit to in secret, always saying its the right thing to do, but is it? is any of that moral or right or just?? is any of that worth it? worth the countless people like lady nagant and hawks whose lives are stolen from them as children and are forced to become murderers for the state?? does their humanity not matter? how many people must be sacrificed for "the greater good" before its not worth it anymore? how is the commissions grooming of children to become murderers any different than all for one's grooming of children to become murderers? the only difference between dabi and hawks, is which side got to them first. all for one takes, abuses, and grooms dabi from childhood to become a murderer in order to create his ideal society. the hero commission takes, abuses and grooms hawks from childhood to become a murderer in order to create their ideal society. and yet one of these men is the number 2 hero and the other is a terrorist. what is the different? where is the line? have they not both suffered under the hands that guide them? are they not both irreparably broken by a system that swears its meant to protect them? are they not both failures? and hawks' internal struggle reflects this!! we see that the guilt of all the things he's done, the people he's killed, everything he's lost, and all he's sacrificed for the commission weighs on him. we see how it eats at him, how he doesnt consider himself a good person anymore, how he hates himself for every life he's taken, how he resents the commission for essentially enslaving him and caging him. how desperately he wants to be free and how the commission exploits his desire for a peaceful world by pretending everything he's done will be worth it for that goal. and he just keeps telling himself that over and over again, that it'll all be worth it one day, no matter how much he knows deep down that its a lie i think after his and dabi's original fight, it would have made much more sense for his character development for him to have defected or at least stop siding blindly with the heros. after the fall of the commission horikoshi essentially just stops giving hawks any development and stagnates his character after having learned absolutely nothing and their being zero consiquences for the heros. like dabi showing hawks murdering twice SHOULD have caused the public opinion of him to shift and for people to turn against him and for him to have to actually face and confront the person the commission turned him into and how much he hates that person and that should have been the tipping point for change but instead there's zero consiqunces, no one cares, hawks just doubles down on becoming endeavors new adopted son and just continues to follow him blindly and become a sexy lamp. it's so annoying and infuriating and one of my major gripes with the canon. hawks deserves so much better. he deserves to break

as for having a hawks of my own, that would be ryo LOL him kinning hawks and me kinning dabi was originally how we got to know eachother. we met in a cluster b server and he had a hawks pfp and was running a gore channel called hotel transylvania and i instantly fell in love with him LOL turns out we have like, multiple kin pairs in common which i just think is really funny. we have maimed and killed eachother in so many lifetimes <3 true love right there

as for other kins i have a few but not too many. rin okumura from blue excorcist, catra from she-ra, Akira from devilman crybaby, nezumi from no.6 and a couple others i do love chuuya!! he's my baby, i dont fully kin him but he is big me energy. i dont have too many in depth thoughts cause ive been avoiding the manga and spoilers cause ive liked watching the anime fresh but his and dazai's relationship is everything to me lmfaooo love some bitter ex's who still unconditionally love one another and who work so flawlessly together and compliment eachother so well and can just jump right back into things as if no time has come between them. also love the unshaken and unquestionable trust that comes with letting something destroy u knowing the other person will save u before its too late. soukoku is just *chefs kiss* and dead apple is SUCH a good arc for them

im terrible about inserting my current self into those universes to pick a quirk or gift tho cause like, in my mind i already exist there lmfaoooo so i can never actually pick a different thing than what my kin already has. like cremation is 10000% what my quirk would be and i would absolutely not be a gifted but actually be the current embodyment of an ancient summoned god LOL

as for pokemon i'd probably end up a water gym leader cause i always end up with a water team whenever i play lmfaoo i just cant help it i love the soggy wet little dudes. but personality wise id probably be a dark/fire type trainer. or i'd have like, nothing but dog and fox pokemon. my favorite as a kid was ninetails because ofc it was lmfaoooooo now it's vaporeon tho i love that little water fox so much

i do have an ao3 but i post there very very rarely. im not great at writting and so i just kinda dabble in short little stories when i get a real itch or have an idea i cant let go of. right now there's only 3 on there but ive been working on another dabihawks one but its taking me 90000 years a;lksdjjahsdklajsd

but thank u anon i really appreciate the kind words and questions and stuff!! im glad u enjoy my ramblings about how normal i am about anime men LOL

[silversatoru]

i made this instead of doing my stacks of homework ^

step bro!itadori yuuji x f!reader

synopsis: i don’t think i even have to say this but you get stuck in a dryer and your step-brother yuuji fucks the shit out of you

t/w: 18+!!!, aged-up yuuji, stepcest, noncon/dubcon, manipulation, filming without consent, mild impact play, creampie, mild overstimulation, mild dumbification (but also reader is just dumb), mention of masturbation

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: hey!!! i joined this super fun collab hosted by my new gf @suna-reversed​ (thank u for letting me be a part of it!!) so if you enjoy this i highly recommend checking out the rest of the talented writers in this collab :) the jujutsuhub masterlist is here !! also,, biggest thank u my lovely friend @brandmeyelena for helping me to plan and perfect this fic throughout the entire process <333

you were a good daughter, certainty not the sharpest or the most intelligent, but you were helpful and compliant and you always did your chores. and you truly didn’t mind helping out around the house either; sweeping the floors and doing the dishes was easy enough, but there was one task that plagued you a bit more than the rest — doing the laundry. the buttons were just so confusing, and there were so many of them! and on top of that, your short stature made it nearly impossible to empty the fresh clothing out of your top-loaded dryer. 

you were struggling with that exact issue right now, pushing onto your tip-toes as you tried to reach that last pesky sock stuck at the bottom of the dryer. your finger tips brushed over the warm fabric, just an inch short of being able to snatch it into your hand.

you wiggled your hips a little further, your feet lifting off the floor and your weight shifting so you fell deeper into the dryer. you were finally able to grasp the sock, but you were unable to push yourself back out, feet swinging wildly as you tried to squirm your way out of the machine.

“hey, what are you doing?”

your face flushed at the sound of your step-brother’s voice coming from behind you, your senses becoming suddenly aware of how far your dress was riding up your thighs. a pitiful whimper of embarrassment slid past your lips as you realized you couldn’t even pull your dress down — you needed both hands to hold you up and prevent you from falling into the dryer. 

“ah! yuuji! ...i got stuck,” you pouted shamefully, thankful that you couldn’t see his face right now.

“again? isn’t this like... the third time?” he asked it like a genuine question, but you still felt stupid for getting stuck in the same predicament multiple times.

“mhm, can you help? please?” you whined at him, still wiggling your hips in a poor attempt to free yourself.

this only made your dress slide higher, the underside of your ass cheeks becoming prominently visible against the edge of the fabric. yuuji couldn’t help himself, gabbing his phone and snapping a few secret pictures of your exposed back-side. he planned to save those for later, maybe jack off to them if he was bored, but then a different idea flooded his head — you were no position to stop him from doing whatever he wanted right now.

he propped his phone up on top of one of the various laundry baskets, starting a video recording without your knowledge. then he waltzed back over, sliding a single finger under the fabric of your dress and tracing his finger around your round ass cheek. the sensation of touch made you flinch, your mouth gaping open as you fumbled over your next word.

“y-yuuji?” you stammered, trying to move away which only caused your ass to jiggle and shake more than it already was.

“shh, i’m helping,” he murmured, stroking his finger all the way down to your thigh.

he moved his other hand over your pretty cunt, the fabric of your panties hugging perfectly against your folds. he brushed two of his fingers up your clothed slit, causing you to yelp and continue to wriggle around.

“step-brother? what are you doing?” you continued to question him, your voice light and laced with confusion.

“i’ll help you get unstuck, but you have to repay me somehow, little sister,” he clicked his tongue at you, an evil grin that you couldn’t see stretching his lips.

he continued to poke and prod at your soft, clothed pussy, his mouth salivating as he imagined the things he could do to you in this position. every brush of his fingers coaxed gasps and whimpers from your lips, your worries and protests falling on deaf ears.

“y-you’re my brother, yuuji! w-we can’t do this!” you continued to argue, but his gentle fingers were starting to feel really good — small streams of fluid flowing out of your cunt and seeping into your panties.

“it seems like you want me to,” he observed, poking his finger at the small wet spot that was forming now, “and mom and dad won’t be home until later. no one will find out”.

you felt his strong hands weave their way underneath the straps of your undergarments, swiftly pulling them down your thighs and letting them dangle from your ankles. you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of your wet cunt being exposed to the cool air, shifting your hips and filling yuuji’s head with more sinful ideas.

you couldn’t see anything (with your head still being stuck in the dryer) but you heard your brother’s own pants fall to the floor, a loud clank of his belt buckle against the tiles confirming your suspicions. everything about this felt so wrong, but at the same time, you’d always been shamefully attracted to yuuji — eyes lingering on his chiseled chest for a little too long when he walked around the house shirtless.

your head was swirling with thoughts like: would it really be that wrong if the two of you indulged in each other while no one was around? it’s not like you were actually blood related or anything.

on the other hand, yuuji had a one-track mind, and he wasn’t having any of the doubts that you were — he had a tendency to listen to his dick instead of his brain. and right now your round, plump ass was staring him in the face and begging to get fucked. how could he not take advantage of this opportunity?

he lifted his hand and gave a firm slap to your right ass check, earning a gasped yelp from you which made his dick twitch and strain. he mumbled under his breath, something along the lines of ‘i’ve always wanted to do that’ but it was kind of hard to hear from the depths of the dryer.

he’d used a reasonable amount of force, a puffy handprint forming on the surface on your skin. he decided that the other cheek should match, delivering another firm strike to the other side and watching you squirm and whimper at the impact.

he grabbed his phone and pulled it over for a few close ups, showing off the swollen skin to the camera. he then placed a finger at the front of your entrance, the puffy, slick walls sucking it in as he delivered a few warm-up strokes with his hand. the camera picked up on all the grotesque squelching noises made by his finger in your cunt, as well as the embarrassed yelps and moans leaving your lips.

now that you had two matching, swollen hand prints, and your pussy had been properly prepped, he decided he was ready for the main course. yuuji returned his phone to its spot on the laundry basket before grabbing a low stool from the corner of the room and setting it in front of the dryer so he could stand on it for easier access. his cock was red and veiny, begging for entrance into your tight cunt as he wrapped one hand around it to position himself.

you’d always imagined your step-brother’s dick to be lengthy, and your assumptions were proven correct when your felt a tight pressure in your core. his girthy size pushed and stretched at your walls, pained mewls leaking from between your teeth as you clawed at the bottom of the dryer.

yuuji let out a groan that was almost animalistic, throwing his head back and placing a firm grip on either side of your hips. the way your pitiful form was positioned on the dryer gave him excellent access, the curve of his dick allowing him to stretch you deep, reaching all the way to the spongy patch of tissue that made you feel so good.

a jumble of grotesque noises filled the room, a chorus your sloppy moans, yuuji’s pleasured grunts, and the steady slap of his hips on your ass. he’d imagined what this would be like more times than he could count — fucking himself into his fleshlight and mumbling your name while he did so. but no matter how many times he’d dreamed of this moment, he never expected your walls to be so tight — so perfectly snug around his cock.

“yuuji!” you repeated his name a few times, head so dazed from the overwhelming bliss that you’d forgotten all about the initial guilt you’d felt.

“see, i knew you’d like this, little sister. your big brother would never steer you wrong, would he?” he knew his words were manipulative, but god, you were much too dumb to understand or grasp the concept of manipulation — you’d just agree with him like you always do.

“no! he would never!” you whined, letting your head dip lower into the dryer so he could fuck you at an even better angle.

your messy cunt squelched and squeezed a small stream of juices down your thigh as he picked up a deeper, faster pace, your moans becoming higher and more unsteady in response. he could feel your sloppy walls fluttering and constricting against him, his fingertips digging deeper into your hips as he let out a few breathy moans.

the tip of his cock slammed into your pleasure spot with every stroke, voiding your brain of any cohesive thoughts you might have had hiding in there. you moaned and whimpered over and over, whining yuuji’s name like a mantra as drool spilled from your lips.

yuuji could almost imagine your perfectly fucked-out face — your eyes rolling into your head and your mouth hanging open lazily. he grunted at the thought, deciding that the next time he fucked you it was gonna be somewhere that he could watch your face and really enjoy the show — because there was definitely going to be a next time.

there was a tight coil forming in your stomach, building up more and more the longer that your step-brother railed himself into you from behind. you hardly even noticed how sore your hips were getting or how numb and tingly your legs were from being bent over the dryer, yuuji’s dick filling you up so well that those things became an afterthought.

after a few more pounds to your oozing cunt that hit deep enough to graze your cervix, you felt a heightened wave of pleasure begin to crash over your body. surges of the most blissful sensation you’d ever felt racked through your systems, your whines becoming borderline screams as yuuji fucked you through your orgasm.

the way your warm, messy walls fluctuated and gripped around his cock pushed him close to his own climax, but he wasn’t quite ready to be done with you yet. he continued to provide heavy, forceful thrusts, abusing your now sensitive cunt and moaning loudly as your juices squelched out around the edges of your entrance. the disgusting sounds of your fluids squeezing out around his cock nearly sent him over the edge again, but he was determined to ride this out for as long as he could.

“it’s too much!” you wailed between heavy breaths, every stroke sending jolts of overstimulation through your clit.

you wiggled and whined, legs clenching together in defense and causing your pussy to wrap even tighter around yuuji’s dick. the added pressure and increased pleasure was something he could no longer surpass, succumbing to his own orgasm just moments later.

“fuck, feels- too- fucking- good- shit,” he grunted a long string of mostly profanity, emptying his hot release into your caverns as you continued to cry out and whimper underneath him.

yuuji had fucked you even stupider than you already were, your head way too dazed for you to even realize he was filling your insides with warm, sticky semen. he milked his orgasm all the way through and then some, his cock aching and twitching by the time he finally pulled it out of your white-stuffed cunt.

he wrapped his toned arms around your waist, finally pulling you out of the dryer and attempting to stand you up. but between the lack of blood flow to your legs from being stuck, and the good fuck yuuji had just given you, your lower extremities were in no shape to hold you up. you sunk right to the floor, your messy pussy spilling everywhere and leaving puddles of fluid and semen.

“thanks for helping me get un-stuck, big brother,” you looked up at him with admiration, blissfully unaware of how he was using your utter stupidity to his advantage.

“of course, you want me to carry you to bed?” he gave you a sympathetic look, squatting down with his back to you.

you hummed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing onto his muscular back. he carried you down the hall and into your room, laying you down and handing you an old towel for you to clean yourself up with. you were a pitiful site, hazy eyes and an ignorant smile resting on your face as yuuji admired your damaged little cunt for a few more moments before returning to the laundry room.

he grabbed his phone and ended the video, thankful that you were much to oblivious to notice that it was recording the entire time. he was definitely going to hold onto the recording for safe keeping and later use — and shit, maybe he’d even upload it to pornhub and make a quick buck too.

[mysticmousecat]

Part of "He Knows" part 2

I'm hoping to be done with this part soon, but the writer's block is real you guys. Also, yes, I am aware this chapter is incredibly self-indulgent sounding but I'm already this far into it and I'm not turning back now. Also Also, I mention in this that the ChemTech component mines release minute levels of radiation, I say that because I have a theory (Probably incorrect but a fun idea) that the components ChemTech uses are actually an isotope of Uranium, specifically U-238 which while not super good for producing energy, is fantastic for using in metal textiles and produces something called Depleted Uranium after being processed which is like a fine dust that when inhaled is incredibly toxic and upon long term exposure (Like growing up in a place where it is incredibly unregulated in the atmosphere) can cause diseases and cancers to show up later in life, such as lung cancer *hint hint* (If you wanna know more about this theory, because there is so much more in my brain, send in an ask and I'll go further into detail. Anyway, science talk over and back to my self-indulgence.

“I started working on this concept shortly after I returned to Zaun,” Viktor started, holding the object up for you to see better, and upon closer inspection you found it to be some kind of armor it seemed. “Being back in the Undercity reminded me just how severe the pollution there is, much to the fault of the chem mining that takes place there. I started working on an armor plating that could protect the wearer from the minute amounts of radiation released from mining, while the levels are not immediately harmful, I feel my falling ill is proof enough of its long term affects.”

You stared at the distinctly feminine shape of the garment. “There a lot of women miners?” You asked, sending a side glance toward Viktor, who, for just a split second, you could have sworn you saw the slightest hint of a blush, but it was gone before you could really look at it.

“…No,” He finally said, then seemed to rack his brain for another response for a moment. “Though this is more for the people who live near the exposed seams, like I did,” You nodded at his explanation, it made sense, protect the internal organs from radiation damage from the ChemTech components, valid idea. “I also may have known when I made this prototype that I’d be asking you to be the one to wear it.” You took another glance at the armor, noticing now that it was indeed very close to your own shape and size, you didn’t know what to focus on more, the fact that Viktor had known he wanted you to wear this first or the fact that the bust size seemed to be a near perfect match to your own, you tried not to think about that one too much, it was sending your brain to dangerous places. “So, will you wear it?” Viktor’s question pulled you from your thoughts.

You eyed the garment again, trying to figure out where it began or ended or how you’d even go about getting into it. “How do I put it on?” The smile Viktor gave you brought heat to your skin, a mischievous glint in his eye suddenly replacing the slightly nervous look that had been there previously.

“You will need help.” Was all he said before laying the garment down onto the table behind him. He turned back toward you and cast an inquisitive glance toward you, placing on hand on his hip, the other supporting his weight as he leaned on his cane, seemingly scrutinizing you.

“What?” You asked, you could practically see the cogs turning in Viktor’s head as he thought.

“If I make a request, do you promise not to hit me?” He asked, his eyes snapping up to meet yours.

“I guess that depends on the request.”

Viktor looked at you and then back to the armored garment on the table, then back to you. “This garment is designed to be snug against the wearer, and I’m not sure it will fit over so many…layers.” He finally said.

You looked at your best friend for a moment, only halfway processing exactly what he had just said, was he asking you to… “Viktor are you asking me to strip?” He seemed to actually choke at your response, which you will readily admit is hilarious, but still failed to quell the sudden fire under your skin.

“I am doing no such thing!” Viktor sputtered. “I’m simply saying that while this garment could go over your jacket and shirt, I may have a harder time fitting it to you properly, though I will happily try if you’d like.” You thought about it for all of a few seconds before you brain supplied a very helpful, ‘fuck it’.

“Okay.” You spoke. You’d expected him to be surprised, maybe a bit shocked that you’d agreed to essentially get half naked in front of him, but instead you swore you could see the slightest hint of mischief in his eyes, an ever so subtle smirk on his lips before he schooled his expression back to perfect composure. That had been your first warning of what was to come, the beginning of what would be the most wonderful of hells that you would be forced to endure over the coming weeks.

“Perfect.” He said as he started rummaging through a drawer behind him, finding what he was looking for in the form of a fabric tape measure. You pulled the zipper of your jacket down as he made his way to the front door of the lab, flipping the lock loudly, giving you a slight startle. “Definitely would not want any uninvited guests.” While knowing no one was going to be barging in while this was happening did ease some of your nerves, you still had to deal with the fact that Viktor was very much about to see you in barely anything but a bra.

[kodzumie-archived]

Hello! I love your writing so much! I have searched a long time, but barely see any female dom readers x male characters anywhere. Whether the reader is nsfw dom or the dom in the relationship. Can I request Kokichi & Nagito x dom female reader? Nsfw is preferred but you can choose if it is or not.

❝AMONGST YOUR REIGN❞

Synopsis; What they’re like as the submissive one with a dominant partner.

Featuring; Kokichi Oma and Nagito Komaeda x Fem! Reader

Warning(s); (N)SFW, established relationship, dominant reader, submissive characters, bratty sub (Kokichi), public sex, slight degradation, mutual humiliation, edging, handjob, blowjob, and slight body worship.

Kodzumie’s Note; Thank you so much! I’d be more than happy to write submissive characters! They’re my favorite concept! Though I feel as though I faltered during Nagito’s part and the end of Kokichi’s, so perhaps one day I’ll rewrite this. But I hope you’ve had an incredible day! Muah! <3

➤ KOKICHI OMA

⤷ Upon a singular inspection, many would surmise Kokichi to be the one retaining control within your relationship, the seclusion of your shared bedroom being no exception to this as well.

⤷ His boisterous jests and devious antics conducting bystanders to believed he possesses a domineering persona in contrast to you; the equable follower. After all, he is the Ultimate Supreme Leader, it’s a common contemplation of his yearning for power over others; to withhold control.

⤷ Yet, comically so, such generic presumptions couldn’t be farther from the truth. Even as the infamous, violet-eyed deviant composed fallacies through the ruby-dyed tip tongue of deceit, he was all too aware of the glare trained upon the back of his head; casually veiled irritation within the sheen of your hues.

⤷ Kokichi—ever the instigator—pressed on; meddling upon your buttons, carelessly. His unsuspecting and frankly disturbing audience—Shuichi—far too unaware of your strained visage.

⤷ Your boyfriend chuckled, flinging his arm around your shoulders as he reels you in. A line connected to a hook, waving forth with such mindless temptation.

⤷ He smirks with every tantalizing word as he professes; you’re ever-so riddled in desperation for him, claiming your relentless begging. All the while Shuichi tugs at his collar, avoiding meeting your eyes as his pale complexion rosettes with discomfort. An equal dosage of such coursing through you as you begin to clench your teeth.

⤷ You’re painfully aware of the provocative smirk lacing his lips from the corner of your eye. He knows what he’s doing; the willingness to utter such intimate information that, nonetheless, was nothing more than mere fabrications. He’s got his eyes trained upon his goal, striving forth to attain such.

⤷ And as he leaned forward towards Shuichi, mischief glimmering within his eyes, he questions. “Wouldn’t you agree, Shuichi?” The final straw plucked as the hook that swayed was seized; you finally caved, taking the bait.

⤷ Straightening your composure, you meet Shuichi’s eyes as an apologetic gleam brushed upon your hues. Sighing, you apologize for your boyfriend’s unruly antics, excusing the two of you from the clearly uncomfortable noirette.

⤷ For a moment, Kokichi hadn’t stood up to trail behind you. He waited a moment, and it was just enough for you to crane your head towards him with a countenance that induced poignant shudders to wrack through his spine. Your lips are sewn into a fine line as your gaze narrowed at your defiant boyfriend, stipulation painted upon the canvas of your features.

⤷ He was fully knowledgeable of what was to come, especially with a glare akin to the emphasis of control directed at him. Thus, he leaped onto his feet and towed behind you; avidity engulfing the encompass of his thoughts.

⤷ After a mere two right turns followed by a left, the two of you stand before a public restroom, one in which you entered without a moment to peer back. You were agitated, that much he knew. Yet he couldn’t help the bubbling of arousal as he hurried to enter the confinements of the room.

⤷ Upon entering, Kokichi’s quick to find his back forced against the door, successfully shutting it as your left hand fiddled with the lock; a click resonating within the restroom.

⤷ You loomed; your right leg poised between his as you shift your weight against him, trapping him against the door. He gulped at the tension; the mere centimeters of your dangerously nearing knee to his straining erection.

⤷ Though he wasn’t able to dwell on the adrenaline of the anticipated friction as your fingers clamp beneath his chin, directing his gaze to interlock with yours; a cold fury within your eyes.

⤷ He knew he should’ve treaded within steady waters, tentatively backtracking under the subjection of your piercing irritation. But—a cluster of faulty decisions—he figured that’d be far too boring for his tastes. He pranced along the edge, a singular seam attaching him to the grapples of restraint.

⤷ Jabbing upon the last of your dwindling patience, he wanted to push you past no return. To unleash you innermost ascendancy, and inevitably subdue him to your beck and call. With each stab at your withering compliance, he strived for you to take over; to reduce him to mere whines upon the ripples of pleasure.

⤷ Leaning forward, his lips hovered above your own as he met your eyes. “Awh, are you mad at me?” He taunted; a sing-song timbre plaguing his gibes. Breath fanning against your cheeks, his pallid complexion flushing at the proximity.

⤷ Though he wasn’t allowed another moment of retaliation as you raised your knee, rubbing against his clothed dick, earning you a gasp from the male. Reeling his head back, he shifted his weight to lean against the door as makeshift support. His breathing suddenly the slightest bit ragged as his cheeks flourished with piqued arousal.

⤷ Much to his dismay, you don’t repeat the raise of your knee. Instead returning your foot to the ground, and your knee departs from where his carnal desire had needed you most. But he wanted to hold out for a bit longer.

⤷ As quick as his smirk had vanished, the sinister smile returned to his lips as he exhaled, playfully sneering. “Oh? Did you expect me to say something?” His half-lidded eyes a pair of violet-hued, pools of rousing.

⤷ Cocking his head to the side, he snickers upon your furrowed brows and agitation-induced twitching of your fingers; itching to be wrapped around his throat to constrict his taunts.

⤷ It was exhilarating. The sultry anticipation in which he indulged himself in at the lucid sensation of his imaginative fever dream; he could practically feel you pushing him to the edge over and over and over. He craved to be under your reign, to unravel endlessly under your blissful grazes.

⤷ And it seemed as though his innermost covets would eventuate as your hand redirected itself from clutching his chin to entangling itself within his locks, forcibly reeling his head towards your face as you engulf his lips within yours.

⤷ The sudden movement eliciting a swallowed gasp from the violet-eyed deviant. His moans melting in the encompass of your mouth as your tongue protruded within his; pressing and intertwining amongst ragged pants.

⤷ The kiss was rough; one lapping needily whilst the other nibbled in vexation. Kokichi’s mewls are drawn-out sporadically as you mildly clamp your teeth atop his bottom lip, tugging at the skin before sucking; inducing a choked gasp to escape from the rumbling of his throat, each moan a crescendo of swallowed desperation.

⤷ As you pulled away, a string of saliva remained intact for a moment longer; connecting you two even as you part. Though it soon dissipated, it’s remanence upon Kokichi’s chin as his tongue emerged from between his glistening lips; glimmering in the traces of your saliva, claiming him.

⤷ His brows furrowed as his cheeks were doused in rose, a searing flush of desire flashing upon his complexion in which darkens up the latching of your lips to the base of his jaw. A stuttered whine falling from his mouth, your hand within his hair tilting his head farther to provide you more access.

⤷ Every suck lapped by the grazing of your teeth inducing breathless cries from your boyfriend. The sensitive skin of his neck peppered in your lovebites as you traveled further, fingers unraveling from his disheveled hair to unbutton his top.

⤷ Your grip was tight; aggressive. With each button untied, you hazardously popped the front open and delved upon the newfound skin, exploring with every lick and bite. All the while your boyfriend struggled to maintain his composure, drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he squirmed, restlessly.

⤷ Choked moans interlaced with husky pleas echoed within the bathroom as your thumb rolled over his right nipple, whilst you took his left within the moist cavern of your mouth, flicking the hardened bud with your—flattened—tongue.

⤷ Upon the humidity and the lingering trail of saliva atop his left nipple, Kokichi arched his back, furthering himself within your mouth as he yelped. Meeting your eyes in haste, he noticed your derision-laced visage as you rolled the bud between your teeth.

⤷ There was a particular shading overlaying your eyes, providing you the daunting emphasis of sovereignty.

⤷ Popping your lips off of his nipple, the moisture reeling the chill of the restroom as Kokichi shuddered, exhaling shakily upon your departure. Adrenaline coursing through his blood as he eagerly piqued at his predicament.

⤷ “You sure had a lot to say before,” You began, pinching his right nipple, tearing a yelp from his lips as your boyfriend rutted his hips, attempting to garner some form of friction against his aching cock. “But look at you now.”

⤷ A hushed laugh escapes from your lips, a satire smirk lining your visage as you finally raised your knee once more, providing your boyfriend with the stimulation he yearned for. “You look so pathetic, can’t even speak from how desperate you are.”

⤷ Before he could even retaliate to your claims, proving that he was still fully capable of uttering coherent sentences, his words were morphed into wanton moans as you began moderately rubbing your thigh against him; identifying the outline of his erection against your leg.

⤷ His mind fogged with the mist of lasciviousness as he paced his thrusting hips to synchronize with the bouncing of your leg. He attempted to withhold his equanimity, yet the fog of carnality thickened and blurred the urges of retaliation.

⤷ Instead, his mind strayed farther; to the pit of his stomach in which the bubbling of his arousal had began to brew. The pleasure soon overwhelming as your lips reattach to the crook of his throat, engulfing a patch of skin between your teeth as you rolled it, gently.

⤷ He squirmed; riddling himself in ripples of orgasmic relief as he began ceaselessly hump your thigh, desperation mauling at the bindings of his self-restraint as he chased his high.

⤷ But you wouldn’t allow him such alleviation. Tearing away your knee, you revel in the contortion of his countenance. His brows stitched together in despondency upon your departure and the loss of poignant rubbing. Gloss brimming his eyes as sobs of mindless pleading wracked through him; disarray of the devious prankster he was known to be.

⤷ Though you wouldn’t cave into his weeping fit, rather, you chuckle at the sight of his helplessness. Whatever traces of defiance he’d once flaunted in hopes of tempting had been long abandoned, leaving him behind as a muddled mess of tears and feverish pants.

⤷ His shirt barely hanging by the conjunction of his elbow and forearms as his shoulders and chest remain exposed to the draft. His skin speckled in bite marks and lovebites; the markings of yours truly.

⤷ Chest rising and falling in rouse-tainted ventilation, Kokichi wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling his body to be pressed against yours. He yearned to be closer; to be ever-so near to you and bask within your heat. Yet as sensual as his actions may have presented themself to be, you could feel it; you could feel him.

⤷ His painfully erect and depriving cock straining against his pants, nuzzling against your thigh. It was evident within his lilac hues that he was attempting to conserve his compulsion, biting back the urge to grind against the limb, focusing on your lidded gaze instead.

⤷ The sight of his attempted restraint―his inner-conflict and suppression of libidinous instinct―was ever-so pleasing; so very enticing.

⤷ It enthralled you to witness him vigorously attempt to abide by your demands, subduing to your biddings regardless of his ever-more painful erection against the bindings of the double layers; his boxers and pants. He’d given in, willing himself to comply with all that you command in order for you to bring him to bliss. He’d be good for you.

⤷ Thus, your hand had trailed itself down the dips of his sides. With each rub at his plush skin, you neared the hem of his pants. The realization painting the canvas of Kokichi’s expression with anticipation as you hooked your index and middle finger within the fabric, tugging it downwards.

⤷ A gasp fogging the tense air as the cool draft wafted against his bare shaft; exposing his precum-stained tip which leaked with droplets of compelling lust. The crown of his dick roseate―flushed with hues of temptation―and with the imploration of being relieved; in which you decided to provide for him.

⤷ Prodding your thumb against his dampened slit, you massage the leakage of precum around the swell of his tip. He jolts at the sensation, stuttering a moan as he rocks his hips against your touch, attempting to acquire more touch; more friction. Though he soon halts his movements at your piercing glare. “You take what I give you, or you won’t get anything at all.”

⤷ He gulps, nodding at your words as his breathing remained ragged. But his nod wasn’t enough for you, you wanted to hear him succumb to you. “Use your words, ‘Kichi.” You hum, nibbling the shell of his ear as you begin to pump his length.

⤷ His gasps resonate within the confinement of the bathroom as he bites back his moans, albeit poorly. He nods his head to the rhythm of your fisting, attempting to string together a proper sentence whilst savoring the feeling of your hand ever-so-slightly clenching around his cock; using his own pre-cum as lubricant.

⤷ “Yes, yes, yes, yes―fuck!” A mantra of pleas slipping past his lips as he involuntarily bucks his hips against your fist. His eyes widening at his fault as he rapidly whirls his head up to meet your eyes in which darkened with an authority that blossomed ripples of warmth within his chest.

⤷ He awaited your reprimanding; your stabs of denial at his sporadic strive for stimulation. Yet you simply quickened the pace of your fist, feverishly rubbing him, swiping your thumb and prodding upon his vein; to which he’d let out a rather prominent moan.

⤷ Stars flickering within his vision as you went faster and faster, your ministrations increasingly rugged. The familiar sensation of his oncoming arousal pooled within his gut; awaiting to boil over and engulf him into a realm of orgasmic relief.

⤷ Yet he’d felt an inkling of dread at the thought of you pulling away once more, building the buddings of his climax only to pull away at its brimming. He could feel the overwhelming sensation of his orgasm steadily approaching, and thus, he swallowed whatever remnants of his pride were left.

⤷ A gleam of tears gloss his violet orbs as he interlocks with your gaze, his lips noticeably quivering at the intense pleasure he’s receiving. “Please!” He sobs, shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

⤷ With a tenacious smirk, you tilt your head in feign of faux perplex. “Hm? Please, what?” The smug timbre of your voice would’ve irritated Kokichi to no bounds if he wasn’t so desperate for the satisfaction of his orgasm. His arms tightening around the grip he’d had around your neck, he pulls you closer, nuzzling into your shoulder.

⤷ “Please let me cum, please! I’ll do anything. I promise I’ll be good, please!” His shameless begging eliciting a visage of surprise, yet it aroused you all-the-same.

⤷ Tightening your grip around his cock ever-so-slightly, you glide your fist faster than you’d previously gone, pacing to milk him of his orgasm; to stain his tip and your fist in thick ropes of his release.

⤷ His breathing instantaneously dissolved into an arrhythmic mantra of whines in which steadily reached a crescendo; biting into your shoulder to muffle his cries as he neared closer and closer.

⤷ Upon your palm rubbing against the underside of his dick, tracing over his ever-so sensitive vein, Kokichi’s long awaited orgasm washing over him with a tidal wave of shock and jolts throughout his limbs. His heated seed spilling over and coating your hand in his cum; to which you smeared across his length as you eased him through his high, pumping him slowly.

⤷ After a minute or two, he manages to regulate his breathing. Although his heart continued hammering within his chest as a lust-drunken giggle escaped his lips.

⤷ His weight shifting against you as his body nearly topples in exhaustion, his eyes steadily drooping as he nuzzled closer into your warmth. Your arms envelop him within an embrace as you press a fleeting kiss against the tip of his ear.

⤷ Assisting him to the sink, you situate your boyfriend atop the counter. His visage fogged with oncoming somber as the prolonged orgasm had withdrawn multitudes of energy from him.

⤷ You’d reached over and grabbed the towels from the dispenser, cleaning up the mess tainting Kokichi’s skin, careful not to elicit any more stimulation upon him; having already been drained. He appeared so fragile; delicate upon the mere brush of your fingers as he mewled between mellow breaths. 

⤷ After having finished cleaning him and washing your hands, you sling an arm over his shoulder, reeling him within the warmth of your side as you embrace him. Your lips find the surface of his temple as you place a fleeting kiss on the delicate skin, Kokichi nuzzling closer to you in an affectionate response.

⤷ The aftermath of you domineering demeanor spurring a flurry within your boyfriend’s heart in remembrance of your previous actions and his jabs that’d insinuated your sovereignty; such a thing that one would not typically surmise of you. Yet it was a truth—your shared veracity—as the two of you saunter along.

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ Much to be expected of him—bountiful jabs at his self-worth by his own loathe-laced tongue—he views himself as unworthy of your ministrations; paving to suffice his needs and mellow him to a mere clutter of breathless whines and pleas.

⤷ You were a figure culminated of divinities; his beloved angel. And thus, he couldn’t find it within himself to possibly allow someone of such sovereignty to lay a finger upon filth such as himself.

⤷ It wasn’t as though he was particularly against the deed itself; far from it. What he wouldn’t give to be blessed by the sensation of such blissful brushes from your touch upon his skin. Truthfully, he’d catch himself fantasizing of what your body would feel pressing against his; bare, exposed to one another.

⤷ But following after such thoughts would be the perpetual venom of his innermost guilt. A suffocating fog of shame for tainting your sanctity within the encompass of his mind. He didn’t deserve you, he didn’t even deserve to think of you.

⤷ He’d restricted himself of his covetousness, swallowing back his sinful yearnings in accordance to his self-loathing. He’d assumed that wishing for the impossible was a hope riddled with the plaguing of despair; the inevitable cracking of his heart inbound.

⤷ So he was deduced to beyond that of a lifetime’s worth of appall when you’d first mentioned engaging in such ludicrous deeds with him, of everyone that were far more worthy. And yet, once the two of you had gone through with it; tainting yourselves in the avarice of lust, Nagito had felt the slightest bit more reassured.

⤷ But, of course, he remained unwilled to initiate such intimacy, regardless of the overwhelming tides of desire that’d engulfed his mind, straining his pants.

⤷ Even as his complexion flushed rosebuds of wishful yearning, he swallowed back any attempt to voice his arousal. He continuously believed he didn’t deserve to ask for so much. He should be satisfied with what you give, and grateful that you’d initiate anything, to begin with.

⤷ And yet, he couldn’t help but squirm as he laid beside you atop the mattress of your shared bedroom; your body sprawled beside him, albeit unaware of his ever-straining issue beneath the covers.

⤷ Although he hadn’t uttered a word of his piqued rousing, you’d noticed his restlessness as he readjusted his position for approximately the twelfth time within the past three minutes. And, with a flicker of your eyes directed South, you’d caught a glimpse of the root of his shifting from beneath the layering of the blanket.

⤷ Turning onto your side to face your boyfriend, you clear the tense silence with a supposedly innocent inquiry, “Are you alright?” Though you didn’t need to ask, you’d already been aware of the answer.

⤷ Nagito seemed startled by your question, reluctantly meeting your eyes with the faintest tint of roseate upon his cheeks. He nodded his head; refusing to speak due to a distrust of the stability within his voice. With each passing moment, his erection becoming increasingly distracting and uncomfortable.

⤷ You blink at his response, visage painting your dissatisfaction. Although you decided not to give for an answer you were never going to receive.

⤷ Instead, you arose from your position, slinging your leg over his hips as you straddle him. His eyes widen immensely as he nervously waves his hands in defiance. “You... You shouldn’t do that!” He attempted to argue, but it was already too late.

⤷ He was aware you could feel his bulge pressing against your ass from beneath the blanket, the layer of fabric unable to secure his dignity as he avoiding your gaze, hiding behind his hands in which were covering his flustered countenance.

⤷ You had to have been disgusted by him. Without your permission to feel such, he’d succumbed to his greed. What could he possibly say? Cornered within the encapsulation of shame, he falls into the abyss of self-loathing once more; thought upon thought of his foolishness.

⤷ And yet he was snapped out of such a state of mind when you’d delicately tugged at his wrists, revealing his face to you. Unlike the disgust he’d expected to be awaiting him, he was met with your expression of sincere, sympathetic amusement.

⤷ “Nagito, it’s okay.” You whispered. Rubbing circles over his knuckles with your thumb, you pressed gentle kisses atop the plush skin. He’s taken aback by the delicacy of your actions; in which he deems himself undeserving of. Yet you maintain your smile as your kisses begin to trail down his forearm.

⤷ As he lays beneath you, his eyes gleam in awe as you pepper his skin in pecks of delicate devotion. From his arm to the conjunction of his throat and shoulders, you trail a path of kisses that each ignite combustion of flames upon his skin.

⤷ He’s unaware of whether he should put a pause to your ministrations, or to accept your affections; subduing to the greed that seems to swallow him in his entirety.

⤷ Each kiss you pressed against his skin proceeding to melt his reluctance. Easing him into the moment as he savored the sensation of your humid mouth lapping at his skin, nearing the uncomfortable strain in which protrudes further; the romance budding within each of your movements admittedly arousing for the male.

⤷ Though his breath hitched as you began to gradually tug his pants, relieving his erection of the confinements within the fabric. His heart thumping within his chest as adrenaline coursed through his veins, inducing a ragged groan as you continued to kiss down his body; against his v-line.

⤷ It was as though you’d strived to have your lips explore every dip of his body; familiarizing yourself with the figure of your lover, entirely. 

⤷ At long last, your lips brush upon the base of his cock, tentatively parting your lips to suckle gently upon the skin as Nagito instinctually throws his head back against the pillows; all the while, chanting mindlessly, internally, that trash like him didn’t deserve such an overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation.

⤷ You tread up his length, guiding your tongue along the underside of his cock. Your ministrations gradual, indulging in every moment as you coat him in your saliva; a makeshift lubricant.

⤷ With each slowed lick and suckle, Nagito finds himself steering towards a steady rising of his relief. His heart fluttering within the confines of his ribs as he savors every second; his belief that he was undeserving of such pleasure fueling his rise to climax.

⤷ Finally, your lips situate themselves upon the crown of his erection. Hollowing your cheeks, you collect a puddle of saliva within your mouth, steadily spilling it onto his tip.

⤷ Nagito shuddered at the ever-so-slightly cool fluid as you swirl it around the head with your thumb, smearing the makeshift lubricant. He awaited, desperately, for the moist cavern of your mouth to engulf his length; providing him a pleasure he could only describe as enchanting. A grace upon someone of no worth such as himself.

⤷ Just his luck, he didn’t need to wait any longer as you took his tip into your mouth; attempting to adjust yourself to his girth as you flick his slit with your—flattened—tongue.

⤷ His breathing sporadic upon the unbearable pleasure and intense sensitivity, your boyfriend squirmed from beneath you as he gasped and writhed. You smiled as you ever-so-slightly took more of him in. He was so sensitive, how adorable.

⤷ You inhale through your nose as you inch downwards, ensuring you’re able to breath with every bit of him you take in. Upon his precum dribbling onto your tongue, you moan around his cock at the saltiness of the alluring concoction. The vibrations of your voice sending him through worlds of disarray as his―already uneven―breaths turn shallow.

⤷ After engulfing half of his length within your mouth, gently suckling on him with hallowed cheeks, you begin to bob your head at a moderate pace. A rhythmic pattern of harsh sucks followed by delicate blowing; all in which was rapidly inducing your boyfriend to unravel.

⤷ Wrapping your hand around his pace, you pump his length along with the bobbing of your head, providing stimulation to where your mouth is unable to reach.

⤷ Your hand clenching around his base, you bounce your forearm against his thigh with each pump of your fist; the plush limb providing steady leverage and cushion for your arm.

⤷ As the ticking of seconds pass, you increase your pace. Going faster and harder with each bob and thrust as the baritone whimpers of your boyfriend serve as an encouragement to keep going; to milk him of his high and witness him unravel before your eyes, a sight you’ve come to adore.

⤷ You’re aware that he’s nearing, for every rise of your head, his back instinctively arching to claim more of the rippling pleasure you were gracing him with.

⤷ Popping your lips off of his length, you rapidly fist his cock from his base to the crown, a speed your head seemingly unable to match as the speed proved to be too much for Nagito.

⤷ With a final pump, he comes undone; the warmth of his translucent cum coats your fist as you considerably slow your pace, allowing him to ride out his high without unintentionally overstimulating him.

⤷ His breathing heavy as the sweat accumulated upon his face inducing stray baby hairs to cling against his temple. He’s worn out; exhausted from the sheer bliss you’d blessed him with. His mind fogged with the aftershocks of his orgasm, his eyes trained upon the alluring sight before him.

⤷ Raising your hand to your lips, you swipe your tongue along your knuckles, licking up the remains of his release. Your eyes fixated onto his ghost-green orbs as his complexion darkens further, and a single thought protrudes within his mind. Another round would be nice.

[terrence-silver]

Feel free to just say "nope, no thoughts on this," but I noticed you rb'd the post I did where me and my friend had talked about terry as an egg (who will probably never go further than that). I don't remember if you've ever written about terry and transness in himself (you have that lovely one about him and an nb partner), maybe through a certain worshipfulness of/comparing himself to trans women in the 80s and now? wondering if you have any thoughts/ideas/concepts? - VQT

I headcanon Terry always felt vaguely otherized, you know?

I mean, it is apparent that he does in the military. He immediately doesn't fit the bill of something he supposedly ought to fit the bill of by the standards of the era and the army bubble; the traditional masculinity of an overly macho environment in the army in the late 60's. Twig is a bit of an outsider, isn't he? Bet he very much felt it too. Bet people reminded him that he is, especially the likes of Captain Turner. But, I envision his internal conflicts started way before that. I always had this imagination that a young Terry was closer to his mother then his father and that he'd often bond with her as she beautified herself in front of an elaborate boudoir mirror like some sort of 50's old Hollywood movie starlet and it became apparent that the art of transformation was something that always had his interest as a concept. Maybe he tried too a couple of times in secret. Tried on her pearls. Her rouge. Beauty's beauty, right? His child mind didn't understand why it had to be limited to just mom and what the societal expectations of that implied. Until his father discovered him and gave him a disciplinary beating or some sort of punishment only another Silver can come up with, of course. Transformation hurt, but it was always there in the aftermath. Maybe the pain of his reprimanding made it more memorable.

This is the same transformation, he in a roundabout sense first utilized when he ceased being Twig and started being Ponytail. I don't think he had the definitive language for it at the time or a clear understanding of what was going on with him other then his friend dying and him needing to commemorate and usurp him in order to become something better then what he used to be. Keep a comrade's memory alive through himself. His need to change was always there. Always present. So, he changed. Terry changed into himself through Ponytail as a surrogate.

Then came the 80's and while I envision Terry's identity and sexuality were always very fluid, it is most obvious in this era. Most abundantly clear in this very decade. Taking his voyeuristic and stalking tendencies into question, I think he'd seek out individuals that pique his interest and he'd just follow them around and observe them for whatever reason. Just the curiosity, control and powerplay of it all. I think Transwomen can very much be some of the many diverse people he watches for equally diverse reasons. After he researches them, gleefully prods into their utmost privacy via his channels and resources and confirms they are in fact what he thinks they are, he watches their daily routine. Them picking up groceries. Returning from work. When they turn on the light. When they turn it off. Who they bring home. If they bring home anyone at all. Them just living in the most mundane of senses. He doesn't understand why, but he visualizes himself in this rear window life he spies on them through. He too became himself after the war, he rationalizes. He became an 'actual man', the way he sees it. A man as a man should be. Not Twig. A winner, not a wimp. Unlike in Vietnam, now he's the pinnacle of manhood. He's muscular and strong and handsome and people want him --- but, he feels he could be more and he can't explain why or how --- or maybe he knew why and how, he simply wouldn’t admit it to himself. For a while, I feel Terry himself would write off his interest in Transness as purely lecherous. It is easier that way in his own. Isn't entirely untrue either because part of it is entirely perverse on his behalf as is honestly most everything he does anyway. But, I also think he’d be curious and innately fascinated because he’d relate to the struggle and the journey of it all. 

That’s me, in a way, somehow, somewhere, Terry feels.

But, he also thinks this ability is godlike. To become so fully yourself. So undeniably you. He admires it and he wants it too, even though, by all accounts, he should be impressed with what he is now, and he is, but there’s always a question mark at the end of every sentence with Terry. A big what if? I think that Terry's obsession with control is pathological and he almost wishes he could shapeshift sometimes, into whoever he wishes to be at the moment --- without any limitations of the flesh. Turn into whoever he needs to be. He'd fetishize as much as he ascribes an almost fantastical, mystical quality to Transwomen, because he too is himself now, even though he feels he could be even more so. I think that furthest he'd go is try make up again. Something that might've had him punished as a child.

He brushes it off by it merely being the 80's.

You can get away with some much flamboyancy in the 80's, no?

Glam rock is in fashion --- make up is in the media mainstream.

Or rather, he’s a Billionaire and rules are whatever he makes them (and however he unmakes them, the same way he’s been making and unmaking himself for years now) --- justifications are plenty, but they usually boil down to him being powerful and doing whatever the fuck he wants as a result and enjoying it every step along the way. It feels good. It feels right. It feels like him.

Terry puts on lipstick, lets his dark curls loose, wears some elaborate bathrobe, heels that make him easily seven foot tall, decked out in jewelry --- he's beautiful. Imposing. Magnificent. The most beautiful woman on the world --- even though she's neither here nor there and quite frankly, Terry doesn't want her to be, because I imagine he'd wish to keep every part of himself, fitting no specific label, fitting no specific box. Terry's simply Terry. With a gender expression entirely unique to Terry. This woman would have the world kneeling for her if she was real. Maybe she is real? Even more so than before. There's no shame in the act. No sense of not fitting. It is not some hidden thing. A secret. No. In fact, he feels even more powerful than before. This is just another persona for him, right? Another role? He's just experimenting and being cheeky. Terry comes dangerously close to an epiphany. He continues wearing himself like that in privacy. But, he never crosses over the threshold. Then comes the thirty year absence between the tournament loss of '85 and John returning into his life and his elaborate need to become himself is padded by him making up countless other personas meanwhile. A great many to compensate for the feeling of otherness that still persists, even into his old age.

Terry's staggeringly and baffling standardized now.

To alien lengths.

Until he’s no longer himself, or rather, as far removed from himself as he can be.

I think that alienation from himself led to severe repression and depression.

He eats 'properly' and keeps 'proper' company and acts 'properly' and makes 'proper small talk at proper garden parties hosting a proper upper class New Age liberal elite consisting of, perhaps, a few ambiguously LGBTQ+ individuals in subtext (like that one dude who’s name slips me, I’d analyze, far too fascinated with John’s jawline) that too, staggeringly so, fit the cis mold of acceptance to the point of being intentional tokens ---- and Terry deliberately staged his whole life to be pristine, safe, clinical, calculated and commonplace. There is nothing about Terry Silver that is off. No, no. He's bricked himself off after what I assume is the aftermath of a couple of severe mental breakdowns, various attempts at therapy, drug overdoses, remissions, recoveries and identity crisis's in abundance (involving Terry genuinely not understanding who or what he is) and I feel he sought to pad the fall-out of all these various incidents by forcing himself, for the lack of a better word, to act super straight and immensely Cissgender and Heternormative in order to once more hide himself and make himself digestible for the world at large. Which is, I think, a role that didn't make him all that comfortable and with good reason. In fact, he looked awkward, cringed out and even miserable the whole time --- all courteous smiles. All subdued, coordinated mannerisms. I think this could be the prime root of his suffering. Terry, at his old age, is still going through major identity issues. Terry still hides bits of himself. Terry still can't be himself. Terry has hid everything, starting from his Karate expertise, to his time in the military, to his sexuality, downright to everything else. Terry has worn masks and fabricated personas all his life and for the longest time, he’s enjoyed and relished in it.

Until it has became stifling.

Too difficult to handle --- too painful.

He wants to shed himself and he quite literally wants out.

[juniorgman187]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue (Reid Fic)

*MY GIF

Summary: Despite her engagement to someone else, Spencer grapples with the reality that he’s in love with SSA Reader when he sees her in her wedding dress.

A/N: I am so fucking proud of Spencer’s speech that I wrote.  Playlist: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe + FINNEAS This song hurts so good :,) Category: Fluffy happy ending! Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: possible unrequited love, soft angst  Word Count: 6k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Call it a superpower or a sixth sense, but I had this inexplicable, preternatural ability to detect when we weren’t heading in the right direction - a skill unaffected by even shut eyes or the deepest slumber. 

It seems as though after all these years of being (y/n)’s passenger, my body has developed a survival adaptation in order to offer her guidance before she would even have to ask, or worse - lower her pride and admit she’s lost! 

With as hard-headed as she is, she’d sooner drive us to Timbuktu before asking me for help.

I was half-asleep when I peeked through one half-lidded eye to observe where we were only to see she blew right by Gregory Boulevard when she should’ve turned left on it. 

“Um, you should make a u-turn at this next light,” I gently advised her before returning my head to its previous position perched on my hand. I closed my eyes again with the presumption she would follow my navigation and make a u-turn, but when I didn’t feel the car change course, I opened them to see that she blew right past the stoplight, too. 

“Hey, my apartment’s that way.” I gestured behind us while looking at her for the first time, catching a smug look on her face. That’s when I knew I was in for it. “Where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“You know I don’t like surprises,” I grumbled, slumping back into my seat with partially renewed energy. Her little antics never failed to get my heart racing. I never knew whether to expect a sweet sunset or a sea of snakes when it came to her. She was that polarizing. “Can I at least get a hint?” I egged on, considering she had yet to even reply to my first statement. 

She was completely unfazed by my pleading. She didn’t even peel her eyes away from the road - that’s how little attention she thought I deserved. “Mmm depends. What’s the magic word?” 

This blatant tease was successfully getting a rise out of me. “Pleaseee,” I dragged out the word as if it would do me any good to let her hear it for longer, but in reality, she just liked to hear me beg. 

She took a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth, a chupse, to express her displeasure before saying, “Ooh tough luck. The magic word was actually mushroom, but nice try.” 

A mirthless chuckle escaped me for willingly falling for her tricks despite knowing she’d pull something just like that. This girl was the bane of my existence, but at least she still rewarded me with a hint anyway. 

“Your hint is …” While pondering what hint to give me, her eyes traveled to the side, away from the road long enough to make my heart palpitate in a “if-she-doesn’t-pay-attention-to-the-road, we’re-both-gonna-die” kind of way. 

“... something old.” 

Again, she tore her eyes away from the road so she could register my reaction, but truthfully, I didn’t have one. I had no idea what that hint meant. Or rather I had too many ideas, far too many to limit to just one. 

She could’ve been talking about the age of a location, the history of a place, the vintage appearance of something - virtually anything.

“There’s an infinite amount of possibilities about what that could mean,” I argued. “If you actually want me to guess, you’ll have to give me something more.” 

As expected, she was not a fan of my whining and simply rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, stop complaining and use that big brain of yours. I’m sure you’ll figure it out before we even get there.” 

Although there was a high probability she was right that I could’ve solved it by myself, it was more enticing to feed off of what she could give me. “What if I ask you ‘yes or no’ questions?”

The gears in her head were turning as she weighed the pros and cons of humoring my offer. “You better ask some good questions then,” was her answer, which was the long way of saying yes. 

“Is this ‘something old’ an object?”

She hesitated, then decided on, “No.” So I took that as maybe. 

“Is this ‘something old’ a place?” 

There was no indecision with this answer. “No.” 

“Is this ‘something old’ as in appearance?” 

Again, a partial hesitation, but still ultimately a, “No.”

Realizing I pretty much exhausted the tangible, I settled for something more abstract. “Is this ‘something old’ a concept?”

“Yes, you could say that.” 

Her answer would prove to be redundant, as just seconds after we would arrive at our mystery destination. 

Ellie’s Bridal Boutique. 

“Something old, something new. Something borrowed, something blue.” I recited to myself under my breath when I finally unearthed the meaning. The rhyme was a wedding tradition that referred to the things a bride is supposed to wear on her wedding day that’s meant to provide protection and prosperity for the new couple - a superstition.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” She mimicked the sound of a winning buzzer. “And you are going to be my something old.” 

A short chuckle left me as I stepped out of the car. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do - wear me?” I jested. 

“Well you are a very pretty boy, but I don’t know if you’re pretty enough to wear down the aisle.” 

“So then how am I going to be your something old? I’m only two years older than you.” 

She stopped dead in her tracks on the sidewalk to reach for my hand. I’d be lying if I said the chilling warmth of it didn’t make my breath hitch. My eyes fell to where our bodies met, but they rose to look at her again when she finally spoke. 

“You’re the very first person I met when I started working in the BAU, which makes you my oldest friend on the team, and since you were the first one that saw me, I wanted you to be the first one that saw me in my dress, too.” 

I was already aware that she’d picked out her wedding gown months before, so this appointment couldn’t have been anything more than an alteration update. The only reason I knew that, besides the obvious, was because I could still remember with perfect clarity the morning she came into work after her fitting. She marched right up to my desk to wave a picture of her in the garment right in my face. It wasn’t until I drew back with my head that I could see the image clearly. The dress, while incredibly stunning on her, ‘didn’t fit right’ - her words, not mine. 

“But that’s not how it’s actually gonna look on me. I asked them to take in the waist, change the neckline, and alter the length.” She vividly described to me, letting her finger run over the digital photo of the dress as she spoke. “Do you see what I mean?”

I lied when I said, “Yeah, I do,” because really, I didn’t need her to describe the details to me - I could already see the vision. Even if the dress was the wrong color, length, and ‘poofiness,’ I’d still think she’d look lovely. 

It was my only hope that her future husband would think so, too. 

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here for my alteration with Reagan at 4.” Just as quickly as she introduced herself to the receptionist, she was being whisked away by an older woman who seemed to have recognized her. 

“Oh, (y/n)! It’s so good to see you again! Come, come, your dress is ready. I just know you’ll love it.” 

Before she slipped out of my vision completely, (y/n) turned around to address me. “I’ll be right back, I promise. Just wait here.” 

I raised my hand in the air to give a short acknowledgment goodbye and followed her instruction to sit in the chair that lied directly in front of a circular raised platform. 

“Are you the groom?” A soft voice from beside me suddenly asked. I looked up to see it was the receptionist holding a tray with a glass of champagne. 

“Oh, I’m okay thank you,” I denied the alcohol with a shake of my head. “And no, no I’m not. Just an … an old friend.” Again, her words, not mine. 

It would come as a surprise to both me and you that with as much as I know about the world, I had no idea how long this would take before I saw her again. With my estimates, it should take maybe fifteen minutes maximum before she walked out in her dress, but who knows? It’s (y/n) after all. She runs on her own clock. The sun rises and sets on her. 

At least in my world it does. 

By around minute 17, I realized my estimates were way off and there was no way she’d be coming out any time soon, so with all that I could do in that store having been done already, the only thing left for me to do was read. Nothing of quality, though. Just those frivolous bridal magazines on the coffee table beside me. I didn’t even want to think about the germs and bacteria that were harboring on these reading materials, but if it meant it’d cure my boredom then perhaps the contraction of microbes would be worth it. 

To say I wasn’t well-versed in fashion would be an understatement and reading the subscriptions only emphasized that further. To put it in perspective, you could style my future bride in a medieval frock and it wouldn’t discourage me whatsoever because I simply have no understanding of what a ‘good’ wedding dress is, therefore, I cannot make an accurate comparison. 

Take, for example, the dress on page 17 of Modern Bride. The model was donning a high neck, long sleeve creme satin dress. I thought it looked quite nice and classic, but the excerpt described it as totally out of style and too old - a faux pas.

But when comparing that dress to the gown on page 24 of The Bride’s Guide, I couldn’t spot a single difference between the two, yet this passage was written in complete adoration. “This dress is vintage done right,” said the article. But to me - they were exactly identical! What was wrong with the first one?

Maybe it was a good thing grooms weren’t allowed to help pick wedding dresses because if I had to assist my bride in picking her’s, then, of course, it would be bad luck! I’d probably pick something utterly horrendous!

I had to admit it was slightly humiliating to confront my incompetence relating to wedding dresses, so before my self-esteem plummeted any further, I set the magazines back in their rightful place on the coffee table so they could once again be what they were always intended for - extraneous decor. 

With a flick of my watch, I noted the period of waiting had only increased by three minutes. Again, I had yet to master the art of wedding garment fittings, but how was 20 minutes not enough time to put a dress on? However, unlike my better half, I had (relatively) zero problems admitting my ignorance, whereas she’d rather drive us off a cliff or into a lake before letting me know she was lost. 

In surrender to my lack of knowledge, I rose from my seat to approach the receptionist and ask if she had a more accurate estimate for how long it would be until I saw (y/n) again. But as it turns out, any estimate she might’ve been able to tell me would’ve been completely wrong for she wouldn’t have even been able to finish her answer before the aforementioned future bride entered the space behind me. 

Remember before when I said I had no gauges of good fashion to outrank a medieval frock? Well, I stand corrected. 

(Y/n) in her dress is what I will measure everyone against. And no one will ever compare. 

“Wow…” The word came out of my mouth before I could think to stop it. My tone was so honest that it scared me. “I’m - You’re …” I was at a total loss for words that I had to sit back down to hopefully regain some clarity. She laughed at my stupidity with a laugh so gentle, I couldn’t not laugh back. 

“That good, huh?” 

I wordlessly nodded while my mouth lied openly in waiting. But the right words never came out; there just weren’t any that could capture this vision of perfection in front of me. 

My mannerisms had clearly already given away the true level of my admiration, so in an effort to lessen the enormity of my obvious wonderment, I reluctantly broke my gaze away from the angel in white and picked up a magazine on the table to perfect the notion of nonchalance. 

“You look . . .” She impatiently waited for my addition, even doing the most adorable little twirl in her dress to give me the full view in the meantime. “Nice,” was the adjective I settled for, as it was such a thoughtless response that perhaps it would convince her that there weren’t a million thoughts on my mind. The most recurring one, and arguably the most troubling one being: I think I’m in love with you. 

“Nice?” She repeated like the word stung her tongue, more out of mock offense than earnest disappointment. “You’re reading your magazine upside down so it’s gotta be better than nice.”

I bashfully looked down to find that, sure enough, her words were true. The magazine was upside down and therefore a total revelation of just how ‘nice’ I really thought she looked.

I tried to hide my smile behind my knuckles as I pressed a fist to my lips, deciding on the most sincere compliment I could give her. 

“Nobody holds a candle to you, (y/n),” I nodded in affirmation. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

After saying so, I nonchalantly - well as nonchalantly as one could when caught slack-jawed and completely in awe - reoriented the catalog. Had I glanced up even a second later, I might not have caught her reaction to my words and the way they made her smile uncontrollably. I looked back down at the magazine with a smirk, giving it a brief flick to open up the pages all the way to me and parrot the motions one would make if they were actually reading.

We both knew I wasn’t though. 

It seemed I never left that wedding boutique because even as we arrived outside my apartment later that day, my mind was still there, stuck on the future bride in her gown.

“Earth to Spencer!” She waved her hand in front of me to grab my attention despite already having it. “We’re here!” She announced. Who was I kidding? She always had my attention. I only wish it didn’t take me this long to realize that the reason she was constantly at the front of my mind was that I loved her.

Nearly about to exit the car, the millionth and one thought rang in my head like a bell - wedding bells, if you will. 

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

At a tantalizingly slow speed, I released the doorknob and turned back towards her.

“...I love you.”

She furrowed her brows and shrugged with her mouth, forming a confused pout. “I love you, too, Reid?” She kind of laughed when she said it, so I knew she thought this was just a friend sending off a friend goodbye, but I couldn’t let her think that’s what I meant. 

“No, not like that.” I clarified with the utmost candor. “I’m in love with you.” I shook my head when I said it which, in any other context, might make you think I was lying, but the shake of my head was merely the physical manifestation of every bone in my body knowing I shouldn’t be saying this, but my heart still having the audacity to do it anyway. 

I confessed with that brutally honest tone again, the one so raw and vulnerable it leaves you nauseous and breathless all at once as you anxiously anticipate the other person’s response to your vulnerability. But I couldn’t even meet her eyes, I was too scared. Even if I had, they would’ve been vacant. Her spirit had vanished from her body, and in its departure left just the shell of a woman who was completely void of color. Her flushed face was a remnant of the shock that paralyzed her and it wouldn’t disappear even as I tried to bring her color back. 

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I wish I had better timing - trust me, I will beat myself up later for not saying it sooner. But I promise you, I am not trying to ruin things between you two and I would never actually try to stand in the way of your wedding - you have to believe me. I want you to be happy and if he’s what makes you happy, then I will live with that. I just had to tell you now because ... if you married him without ever knowing how I felt, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.”

This was true - I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I hadn’t said anything - but now that I have - will she be able to forgive me?

Vacant stares turned into piercing glares that drove, what felt like, a thousand daggers right through my heart. She was looking at me as though I were a stranger - completely unrecognizable to her. 

(Y/n), it’s me. It’s Spencer. Don’t you remember me? My heart pleaded. I’m still the same guy I was before. I’m the first friend you made on the team, remember? I’m your something old. Please, please remember me. 

By the time I came to the woeful conclusion that she wouldn’t reply, at least not now, there was only one question weighing on my heart heavily enough to make me ask it before I left her car. 

“Would it have been better if I didn’t tell you?” 

My question stayed answerless even as I lingered at the door after getting out, waiting for one. I knew I should’ve closed it, but I couldn’t. In many ways, it would’ve been shutting the only open vessel to her, formally closing myself off from our friendship. The possibility of losing her as soon as I walked away was too real, and I wasn’t ready yet.

“Please, (y/n), talk to me.” It was a trending theme to have every word I spoke be underlined by this profound piteousness. “Say something.” Say anything.

“I ... I need to get home,” She quietly whimpered, practically begging me to let her go. Up until then, I didn’t want to, but I suddenly wished I had shut the door sooner so that I might not have had to hear the quiet addition, “To my fiancé.”

The color she was so void of in her face? It seems I must have recompensed, for not only was I crowned her something old that day, but I was also her something blue. 

_ _ _ 

If there were a guidebook on all the things to do as the love of your life’s wedding (to someone else) nears, I’d like to think I was following all the protocol. 

Since my not-so-subtle confession, I had yet to press the subject or force her for an answer to my final question, which I think she was thankful for. I also hadn’t plotted a giant scheme to ruin the wedding, nor did I have any intentions of doing so. 

For all intents and purposes, I was acting as a gentleman (who’s in love with you but whom you’re not marrying) ideally should.

You would think that after my big declaration, (y/n) would do everything in her power to avoid me. It’s what I would’ve done. But she’s no coward. That exact heart of gold I fell in love with made no exceptions. Because even after what I did, she still had it in her to extend her kindness to me. 

She’s stubborn like that, remember? 

And though she was showering me with a treatment I didn’t deserve, it still wasn’t enough for my greedy heart. 

The true pain lied in the pretending. Every day I would have to come to work and talk with her and laugh with her and smile with her - I would have to be her friend … pretending that was all that I wanted and nothing more. 

It was both a blessing and a curse that she was acting just as she always had with me. It may seem weird to have expected, nay - wanted - a different reaction from her, but I just wanted something. At least, if she was angry, then I would know what I said had some effect on her, but she was just so indifferent. Like what I said didn’t matter. 

It’s been said that there is a thin line between love and hatred. Hate and love both seem to be involved in the neural processing of what is sometimes referred to as the arousal effect of emotion - this is a technical term, so arousal can be negative. Scientists studying the physical nature of hate have found that some of the nervous circuits in the brain responsible for it are the same as those that are used during the feeling of romantic love – although love and hate appear to be polar opposites. Therefore, the same brain circuitry is involved in both extreme emotions. So, as strange as it may sound, if she didn’t love me, then I at least wanted her to hate me, just so I’d know she had any passion for me that matched my burning passion for her.

But as it turns out, she would never go on to display signs of hatred or love, for she never acted passive-aggressively, never gave me the silent treatment - nothing. Nope, she just acted as if it never happened. She went on with her life, essentially expecting me to do the same, but how could I carry on with life while she was still carrying half of my heart with her? 

It’s an impossible feat, that - to walk around with half a heart. And it’s one that has not gotten easier with time. If anything, time has made it worse, and the closer we got to the wedding, the more difficult it became for me to hold back. And with this exponential growth, it was only inevitable that the pinnacle of difficulty came right before the wedding. 

Before shit hit the fan, she arranged, or rather insisted, that I give a speech at the dinner rehearsal. That hadn’t changed, despite almost everything else having done so. Up until the minute I arrived at the venue, I could’ve recited that speech a million times, forwards and backwards, in my sleep, or even in Russian. But I lost any ability to form coherent thoughts from the second I laid eyes on her. 

As soon as I opened the door, she stood at the entrance to greet her guests, having taken a radiant form that I could only imagine would not pale in comparison to what she would look like tomorrow on her actual wedding day. That thought alone scared me shitless. 

If this is how beautiful she looked tonight and it was only just the rehearsal, how would I ever be able to resist her less than 24 hours from now when she would be marrying a man I could only dream of being half so lucky as?

“Spencer!” Familiar crinkles formed around her eyes as a result of her gigantic smile when she saw me and hugged me thereafter. Her embrace was strangely tighter and lasted for longer than usual, not that I was complaining, but I had to wonder if she was compensating for something. What’s that saying - keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? Was she killing me with kindness? That might’ve been wishful thinking though. Because the same flash of indifference I’d been dealt in recent times came back into her face and tone after hugging me. “You’re at table five with the rest of the team.” 

“Oh, thanks.”

That was it? Just a ‘Spencer!’ and then a nudge in the direction of my seat? No questions about my speech? No threatening comments to not say anything that would ruin the charade we’d been playing for months now? Had she forgotten I was even giving a speech?

“Oh, wait, Spencer!” I felt her hand on my shoulder before I heard her voice. “You left this in my car a couple months ago. I’ve been meaning to give it back to you, but I didn’t remember until today.” 

The first thing that raised a red flag was what she was saying. I’d left something in her car? That would imply that I’d forgotten something, and we both knew that wasn’t possible. But the second suspicious element was the matter of what she claimed I’d left behind. She was handing me a book with the back cover facing me. From the looks of it alone, it wasn’t mine. Clearly, it wasn’t mine. I knew every single book that resides on my shelves and this one has never once crossed them. That, on top of the new book smell and the lack of a wear in the spine, was enough to tell me that not only was this a book I’d never read nor was one to grace my bookshelf, but it was most certainly not one I would have left behind.

She was lying. 

She saw the realization dawn on me, but knowing I would mention it, her hand’s grip around my wrist, which I hadn’t noticed was even there in the first place, tightened, sending me a message. 

She knew I saw the deception. There were so many flaws in what she was saying, that she couldn’t have possibly been clueless of them. It was too easy. Or maybe that was by design. She wanted me to figure out it was a lie. But why?

What was she hiding?

The final thing to leave me when she did was her hand. In its place, it had left a a near perfect indentation in my sleeve. How flawlessly it sculpted to her hand told me just how tightly she was holding me. What was she trying to say?

That’s when I flipped the book over to see the cover. 

Can Love Happen Twice?

And right on the inside cover page was scribbled - in a handwriting so distinctive it could only belong to one person and one person alone - “Yes.” 

_ _ _ 

My heart was racing the entire night as I anxiously awaited for the moment to give my speech. Nothing seemed to ease the tension. Not a sip of water, not the loosening of my tie, not the self-soothing bouncing of my leg. But all it took, all it took was one glance from her and suddenly, the storm within me had settled. 

“Next up we have a speech from Spencer Reid!” 

I rose from my seat like a floundering mess, as to be expected, because how can you possibly catch your bearings as you’re about to make a speech to a room full of people?

“H-hi there. I’m Dr. Spen- I’m Spencer Reid. I’ve worked with (y/n) for several years now and - and so I, um, I wrote this speech for her, so, so I’m gonna read it to you all now,” My stammering had gotten the best of me, so before I could unravel into the mess I surely came off as right about now, I spun from my previous position facing the majority to facing only her. I needed to see her. I needed the reprieve of her eyes again, and she was happy to give it to me.

“(Y/n), from the moment I met you, I thought who is she? And I mean that quite literally because I had no idea who you were and why you were there,” Laughter from the crowd erupted, but her laugh was the only one that mattered to me. “But also because there was just something about you that told me I needed to talk to you. I had no idea what that instinct to strike up a conversation with you would lead to, but I trust my gut a little more now because that very intuition gave me one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” 

To my words, an endeared pout formed on her face. She was touched, and I was glad. 

“Over the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years we’ve spent together, I have enjoyed every single measure of time with you. You have taught me more about life and myself than I could have ever learned otherwise - which says a lot,” This once again brought her to laughter. “So I thank you for that, because without you, there would be no one to tell my campfire stories to, there would be no one who could recite Jung or Freud with me, and there would be no one I’d have to correct when they drive down the wrong path,” My own chuckle cut my sentence short. 

“Life with you has simply been made better, and my only hope is that tomorrow, as you get married, you too, will experience that eternal bliss with which you have surely bestowed upon everyone who has had the privilege of knowing you.”

By now both of us were on the verge of tears, hers more apparent than mine as she used the palm of her hand to stifle her sniffles. 

“There is so much more I could say about how great you are, but your favorite author, F. Scott Fitzgerald, has said it best. ‘She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful’,” A tear ran down her cheek as my own eyes welled up beyond their means. “So to you both - may you have a life as beautiful as the bride.”

Even if that life isn’t with me. 

I tuned out all the clapping and cheering, and set my focus solely on her, giving me full liberty to see the way she rose from her chair and escaped the room. Not even shock could paralyze me or stop me from running after her. I sprung so fast into action, which required the maximum amount adrenaline, although I could not credit my speed to the rush, but it was more the exclusive motivation to find her that powered me. The entire time I kept calling out her name as I frantically chased her out of the venue. 

“Spencer.” 

I didn’t even see her there at first, probably because I was half-expecting her to be jumping into a cab or running away from me some more when I found her, but just as before, she made it too easy for me. She was waiting for me, standing there in no spectacular fashion. 

The wind was blowing strands of hair in her face that were not so large so that I couldn’t see the red rings around her eyes that were caused by the irritation and formation of tears. She was simply staring back at me with this look in her eyes as if she wanted to say something. 

In the silence, I could still appreciate how astonishingly gorgeous she was. How badly I wanted her. I would’ve whisked her away and taken her as mine if I knew it would make her happy. But that’s just it - I didn’t know. 

I needed her to say it. So say it. 

Say it, darling. 

Spoken through a congested voice (which spoke volumes in reality because of the mere revelation that she was indeed crying) was the plainest, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she vanished back into the restaurant, leaving me to my devices on the sidewalk. 

She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. 

_ _ _ 

Perhaps the false confidence in my speech or what little she had to say to me after it or even the hidden message in the book got to my head, but whatever it was, I was feeling suspiciously alright. Luckily, that feeling didn’t deviate even as I made my way to the church. 

Upon arrival, everything seemed exactly as it should be, so consequently the lack of something out of place did not adequately denote what lied just beyond those doors. Or should I say what didn’t?

Much to my mortification, it was a completely empty church. Every pew, though decorated for a wedding, was uninhabited and showed no indications of having been such recently. As I walked further in, the door automatically shut behind me with a loud bang. It would’ve shocked me more had something else not caught my attention already. 

It was (y/n), standing at the altar … completely alone. 

Suddenly, it felt like I’d been drawn in by this invisible gravity, which was now floating me down the aisle. My feet could not carry me to her fast enough.

I was sure this was some kind of dream simply by the way the light gleamed through the stained glass windows, casting banners of golden luminescence on her. It was as if heaven itself had come down with the specific delegation to illuminate the vision of one of its fallen angels. 

“(Y/n)?” My voice reverberated throughout the chapel, ricocheting off the high, painted ceilings and back to me. “Where is everyone?” 

It wasn’t until I reached a certain point in the middle aisle, that I realized her veil had been covering her face this entire time. The angel in white only turned more heavenly when she flipped the veil backward, revealing herself to me. 

It took her a moment to answer, but it was her head that answered first before her mouth did. She began shaking her head slowly, followed by a short, unequivocal, “No.”

As you might imagine, I was dumbfounded. “No?” That answer wouldn’t have made sense in the context of what I had previously asked. 

“No.” She repeated, with somehow even more definitiveness. I decided it was best to stay silent and wait for her explanation. 

“No, it wouldn’t have been better if you didn’t tell me.” 

There was my answer I’d been searching for. 

“God, Spencer - what took you so long?” 

From the breathlessness and the rushed cadence of her voice, I knew precisely what was coming next. She instantaneously abandoned the bouquet she’d been clutching in favor of her hands’ ability to pull me in. The pressure on my fragile skull when our frenzied lips finally met was not a punishment so much as it was a reward. And just as we began to find our rhythm, I slid my hand into her hair, which I began to regret when I realized just how much time and effort probably went into its structuring. I pulled away the moment I felt a carefully placed pin lodged within her hair slip between my fingers. 

True, for a moment I was unable to open my eyes afterward from the sheer elation I was experiencing, but as I came to, I found myself looking at the hairpin I’d accidentally extracted from her curls, one that I could’ve sworn I’d seen a fellow coworker of ours donning in the past. 

“Is this -”

“Yep, it’s Penelope’s.” She admitted through the most debonair giggles. After giving her a quizzical, and only partially judgmental glance, she managed to blurt out, “What? Why are you looking at me like that? It was my ‘something borrowed’!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

reid taglist: @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person 

[yelenasdog]

heavy is the head that wears the crown (mob!arvin russell x fem! pastor’s daughter! reader)

genre: angst+fluff

summary: arvin had always heard the saying “heavy is the head that wears the crown” but never truly understood what it meant. not until now

words: 4.06k

warnings: since this is based off of a tdatt, family death, mentions of death, mentions of mobs, kissing, marriage, murder, smoking, suicide, cancer and i think that’s it. it’s also kinda melodramatic, and i haven’t watched tdalt in a while so a lot could be plot inaccurate also idk anything abt the mob or mafia so like dont k*ll me thx i just like joe pesci

a/n: first, i owe the amazing concept of mob!arv to @kelieah ! so go follow her for more mob!arvin goodness!! basically i’m obsessed w 90s mob movies and watched goodfellas and casino and few too many times lately and oops here we r! i tried to write this from the narrator in tdatt’s view, so if u wanna read it like that then cool! btw the pic w the dress is just an idea of the dress reader is wearing not what she looks like! ok enjoy i’ll stop rambling

·。·。·。

“So, Arvin. I was told you paint houses? That true?”

Arvin hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it again. He wasn’t a painter, no, he killed people. For a price, that is.

But rather than saying no, the jab in his side from his uncle told him to answer otherwise.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

The Pastor nodded, taking a drag from his cigar, imported all the way from Cuba. He then placed what was left of the long stick in the crystal tray in front of him, the tapping of it on the reflective surface seeming almost deafening.

“Can all your family be traced down to one place, son?”

Arvin gulped, avoiding his eyes, darting his own around the heavily decorated room. Another jab to his side. He winced, meeting the older man’s eyes. He may not know much about the life he was about to enter, but he knew enough about what that meant.

“Yes, sir. They can be, minus my father and my mother. They’re gone.”

Not even a full beat of silence later, the Pastor spoke.

“How’d he die?”

Arvin was taken aback, though he knew that question was coming. His jaw clenched, as did his fist by his side. If the Pastor noticed, he didn’t speak on it, barely lifting his eyes from the document resting on his desk.

“Suicide, after the war.”

“And your mother?”

He took his lip in between his teeth, feeling the skin break, the tears well in his eyes for reasons he would excuse as the pain he was inflicting.

“Cancer. It happened when I was young, I didn’t barely even know her.”

The pastor looked up, slimming his eyes. This time he did notice the glimmering droplets, welling up in his chestnut colored eyes, threatening to fall. He appreciated the boy’s attempt to keep his emotions in check in front of his would be superior, leaning back into his chair.

“It’s alright, boy. You’re allowed to cry, it was your mother.” His southern accent was thick like molasses, his words drawing out. Arvin still felt that it wasn’t acceptable, though, so he only sniffled and directed his chin further up towards the ceiling. He stood there for a while, nerves running through his every cell. It was electric, like white lighting making its way through his veins at a painstakingly slow pace.

“Right then.”

The pastor stood, walking towards Arvin and his uncle. His expensive loafers tapped along the cold floor as he went, the sound pestering to the ears of Arvin, taunting him. He reached a soft hand out, which the boy standing opposite to him gladly took. He observed how the Pastor’s hand was without scars, calluses. Anything that would point to evidence of him being a killer, doing his own dirty work (or “the Lord’s work” as he liked to put it).

“Welcome to the family, son.”

And as Arvin smiled widely and shook his hand with an iron grip, he began to wonder what his new life would entail doing the “Lord’s work”.

He thought he had a pretty good idea, but boy, was he wrong.

“So, how’d it go?”

It was later, and Arvin was sitting with one his most favorite people, Y/n. The pair were resting in an open field, the wildflowers around her just almost competing with the beauty she held. He bashfully looked to the dirt under his shoes, noticing how only inches away, her hands picked at the damp grass.

“Went well, I think. He told me I’m ‘part of the family now’.”

She smiled at him, and in that moment with her hair so widely astray, and wearing that pale blue dress he adored so much, Arvin’s heart felt a certain emotion he hadn’t necessarily felt for someone at this multitude before. He had felt it for Lenora, his mother, his aunt and uncle. But it was different, then. Because now as he sat with her by his side, his love for her was realized at its full potential.

She began to ramble on, congratulating him on becoming a member of her father’s so called “family”, telling him how proud she was. He couldn’t keep focused on the sweet words that were falling from her lips like honey, though, as he was too caught up in his own head, his own thoughts.

“Arv?” She asked, voice laced with slight concern, but mostly with curiosity.

“Sorry, darlin’. Just thinking.”

She blushes, it’s the first time he’s called her that before. She tries to carry on conversation, though with her heart beating through that pretty dress of her’s, it was a bit difficult.

“About what?” She questioned, doing her very best not to pry too far, to be invasive in the very reserved Arvin’s mind.

Truthfully? He was promising himself that he would marry her one day, make her his wife. But telling her that he was only thinking “‘bout the future” would have to do. I mean, truthfully, he really was!

So he answered her, and she was content with said answer, abandoning the subject and returning to many praises for Arv. The standards for the “family” were high, and though she believed in him fiercely, she knew that at his core Arvin was the sweetest soul she’d ever met, and she was skeptical he could put that aside to do whatever the job would require.

“Arvin?”

He looked up, and she nearly lost her breath. It was Arvin’s sunkissed skin, tanned from working under the hot sun, the beams beating down on him. Or perhaps it was the freckles that lightly dusted his crooked nose, like a constellation from the cosmos above. Maybe even it was the mop that sat on his head, the color all the same of those sweet brown eyes of his. Whatever it was, she felt it could only mean one thing.

Y/n Y/l/n was confident she loved Arvin Russell.

“Hmm?” He asked, tilting his head like a confused canine. Adorably endearing, she thought.

And though she had much to say, she was afraid that if he were the dog in question, then the puppy had got her tongue, so to say.

“Y/n/n?” The boy said, nudging her with his elbow, making a melodious giggle erupt from her chest. “What, cat got your tongue?” Arvin teased, and she only shook her head and smiled, as he had no idea how correct he really was.

“You could say that.”

The two shared laughs over the exchange, and at some point (neither of them are quite sure when, how, or who leaned in first), their lips connected in a short and sweet kiss. It seemed that it only lasted for a moment, and as soon as they pulled apart, Arvin and Y/n both were dying for more.

But they resisted, Arvin reaching out a cautious hand to entangle with hers. She bashfully grinned, as did he (though he did his best to resist).

“Y/n, I really like you.” He had said, his thumb running small circles upon her skin. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you like me too.”  He laughed, nervous notes to the sound.

“And well, I was wondering if you’d like to be my girlfr-”

And with a light groan, Y/n had wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing both of them to the ground. She connected their lips, the kiss so oddly blunt, an attack on his lips that he had no plan of fighting off. His hands found her hair, and her’s moved to the sides of his face, holding him so tightly, as if she was afraid he would let go.

“Yes.” She pulled away panting, her lips swollen, his flushed. “Yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend, Arvin.”

They smiled as bright as the setting sun above them, and Arvin pulled her close as she buried her face in the warm crook of his neck. They stayed like that ‘till the sun went down and the stars came out of hiding, the cool summer breeze blowing around them. They both still felt it, then, the love they had only just began to realize was there. And they would continue to feel it for years to come.

Like when Arvin would get back from a job, sometimes with blood splattered on his crisp white shirts, his dirty work getting, well, dirty. She would slowly peel it from his body, taking care to make sure he wasn’t hurt. She would do her best to wash the crimson stains from the fabric, sighing if it was seeming to be of no use. Arvin would come up behind her where she was working at the sink, wrapping his strong arms around her middle and resting his head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Arv,” she would start, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, “damn thing won’t budge.” Arvin would just chuckle, reaching up a gentle hand, gentle only for her, to tuck the hair behind her ear, quietly speaking.

“Well I think it looks pretty good, darlin’. It’ll do just fine.” He would spin her around to face him, and pepper small kisses on her skin, smiling at her reaction. And if he was hurt, she would take care to use a warm washcloth, wiping the scarlet splatters from his creamy complexion. 

The juxtaposition of the shades was always bewildering for her, oddly beautiful in a way. She never said so, though, only muttering praises of how proud she was, how strong he is, things like that. And Arvin would watch her, honey colored eyes following her as she moved about to fix him right up. No pain would have any real effect on him, not when she was there to reassure him, make him whole again.

As Arvin moved up in their small town world, in the “family”, he remained just as kind, just as gentle. Nothing really changed, no, only the lines on his forehead deepening and the crows feet becoming darker when he smiled; And Y/n’s role, as well. She stopped cleaning him up, stopped trying to rid his shirts of bloody reminders of his living. Arvin seemed to no longer be “painting walls’, but rather making sure jobs were done, everyone was staying in their places.

And things led to another, and all of a sudden Y/n and Arvin were moving into a big house, bigger than Arvin had ever even been in before. Deals and arrangements were made, settlements too.

One regular Tuesday, Arvin came home from what Y/n could tell had been a long, long, day. He was exhausted, but had this unmistakable look of excitement and joy plastered to his face. He had come in bursting through the door, not even taking off his hat or overcoat before making his way over to Y/n and kissing her silly.

“Well hello to you, too, Arv.” She laughed, amusement and curiosity both equally swirling around in her brain, wondering what could possibly have inspired this behavior.

“Things are happening, sweetheart, good, good things.” He took her hands in his, briefly shaking them before planting a kiss to them and walking away, a big smile on his face. And truth be told, not that she would admit it, it scared the Hell outta her. She wasn’t quite sure as to why, but something was itching at her brain, warning her that whatever was brewing wasn't a good thing. But nevertheless, she maintained her grin, painted lips never faltering.

The next day, when the “good things” were supposed to be happening, Arvin was seriously wondering why on God’s green Earth he had expected this to be easy.

“Come again, son?”

Arvin swallowed, shifting on his feet. He mentally scolded himself for ending up in this position again, standing in front of the Pastor’s desk, all kinds of confused. But it had to be this way, it was for the best, he knew. The sun shone through the window above the desk in front of him, right into his eyes, nearly blinding him. The Pastor didn’t really care, though.

“I’m asking for your blessing to ask Y/n’s hand in marriage, sir.”

The older man slowly nodded in understanding, taking a long drag from the expensive cigar between his fat fingers, the gold ring on his pinky also shining brightly under the harsh sun’s light.

“I just thought that after our arrangement-”

“Arvin, I don’t regret making you an heir, I don’t.” He stated, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Hell, I can feel something big and bad coming, boy, you understand? I know God’s will is holding out on us, on this family. But it’s running thin.”

The young man clenched his jaw, internally cringing on what that might mean to the family, for the family, what it meant for Y/n. He bit his tongue, feeling the iron seep onto his taste buds.

“And I know those damn Teagardins are plotting, they’re plotting for our downfall. Making you next in line is something they won’t see coming, and I trust it’ll stay that way. But I don’t quite understand

“Well I love your daughter, I love her so much that it hurts. And if worst comes to worst…” he stopped, his bottom lip wavering for a moment, trying to carefully dance around the different outcomes of this conversation. “I feel I’ll be better able to protect her if we’re married, if she’s truly mine.” That part might have been a lie. Y/n has never been his, never would be. She was her own person, outside Arvin, outside the family. It was what he loved about her above all else.

The Pastor was quiet for a moment contemplating his response, calculating it.

“Would you die for her?”

“Yes.” The answer came without thought, it was automatic for Arvin.

The Pastor smiled widely, lifting his arms.

“So, when’s the wedding, Arv?

Turns out, it was exactly a year, a month, and 6 days until Y/n and Arvin would tie the knot. Arvin had spent time, waiting to find the perfect moment to ask her the big question. He had decided on a night where the moon was bright and the sky was clear. They sat together in what they had donned “their” field, the greenery around them rustling in the wind. Though he was nervous, he had delivered a stunning speech that had taken poor Y/n’s heart by force. It ended up with both of them crying like babies and a shiny ring on Y/n’s finger.

The wedding itself had taken place on a beautiful summer’s day, and Y/n had worn a pretty white dress that had made Arvin almost faint when he saw her, standing there on her father’s arm. She was all decked out in the most expensive diamonds and pearls, courtesy of her father, making her shine like a crystal of sorts.

It was the best night of her life, Arv’s too. But the joy they had felt must have an inevitable end, as the worst night (Arvin’s too) was soon to follow.

It had been an ambush, the death of the Y/l/n family. The death toll had managed to wrack up every member immediate member of the esteemed mob family, including the Pastor, his wife, and their two sons. A bomb planted in the trunk of their Cadillac that had gone off, placed there by who knows. 

When Arvin had heard, his immediate reaction was to thank God that Y/n had decided to stay with him that day, to go lay in the fields just the two of them. Immediately after she had been told, she had fallen into Arvin, her entire body weight being put into his arms. Sobs wracked through her frame, her tears dampening Arvin’s yellow button up.

Once she had “come to”, Y/n had grown to be furious rather than sad. As when you look at the lineage of her family, look at the ranks of the mob and who’s to rise to power when the one in front of them dies, well Arvin was right after Y/n’s big brother, Jamie.

And Y/n had loved her big brother, she had loved him very much and would like to believe that Arvin, her sweet, sweet Arvin, would never do anything of that multitude just to satiate his hunger and appetite for power. The hunger for power she wasn’t even aware he possessed. But how in the Hell was she even supposed to be sure?

“I want to believe you, Arv, I do. But I can’t! It don’t make any damn sense, Arvin!”

“You really think that low of me, Y/n/n?”

Y/n had been shouting, trying to confront him for a crime he hadn’t committed. But Arvin was calm as he spoke, his eyes only watering and his voice only bordering on wavering. Y/n reached a trembling hand to her scalp, pulling lightly on her roots. The tears slipping down her face were hot and salty and she hated it so much.

“What else am I supposed to think?” She lifted an arm, sniffling before putting her other one on her waist, the blue of her dress, the same dress Arvin adored so much, just barely matching what was to become of her mood. She was started to regress, the red hot anger from before transforming to a stormy blue of unsure waters.

“My whole family is dead, and it just so happened that you asked me to stay with you the day they died! My whole family is dead!” She screamed, her voice a crescendo of sorts. “And everyone is clean, Arv, except you. You got the motive, you got the alibi, I’ll give you that much.” She paused, briefly wiping her nose and looking to the blank wall to the left of her father’s office. “It’s funny;” she dryly chuckled, and Arvin looked up.

“You went from doing my daddy’s dirty work to gettin’ some poor bastard to do your own. Ironic isn’t it?”  

Arvin stepped towards her, pain twisting his insides up to see his best girl afraid of him, cowering away from his touch.

“You still have me, Y/n. I’m your family.”

She looked to her feet and back to him, shaking her head.

“No, Arv. You’re not. And you will be sorry for what you did to him, to all of them. You will be.” She said, walking away with her heels clicking heavily on the wooden floors. Arvin stood still for a while, not quite sure where to go next. But it dawned on him as the stained glass shone down on his feet in the most poetic manner, that he was already there.

So he dragged his feet along with him, breaths ragged and short, his head slowly tilting up towards the glorious light. He only had to go a few feet, before he sat down in the old leather chair, the only emotions he felt being those of an imposter. He thought back to all the nervous conversations he’d had with the pastor while he was sitting in that chair, a trembling Arvin usually standing opposite, awaiting instruction.

He darted his eyes across the mahogany surface in front of him, looking at all the various things that he only could associate with Y/n’s father. His valued cigar box, the crystalline tray that rested next to it. (He swore he could still smell the fresh smoke, wafting from the little dish.) He opened it, the latch clinking before his hand reached in and his fingers clasped around one of the thick rolls of tobacco. Before he could light it, he felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, and dropped it back into the box, slamming the lid.

He laid back, resting his weary head. Arvin took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, before falling into a not so peaceful slumber.

He was only woken minutes later, Joseph, Y/n’s uncle, wanting to know if Arvin had seen her lately. He shook his head, muttering an annoyed “No”. Joseph got the idea relatively quickly, exiting the room. He heard the chapel’s doors close, taking that as his queue to leave once he saw the time. So he grabbed his hat and his coat, leaving the office and making his way through the dimly lit space. His attention was caught, though, by the cross by the front pews, so beautifully shining. Arvin put down his things, and walked over to the pew, sitting down on the uncomfortable hardwood. He bowed his head, putting his interlocked fingers utop the surface in front of him.

He hadn’t done this in awhile, this whole praying thing. It seemed naive in his way of life, with the things that happened around him, the people lost. But nonetheless, if ever, now was a good time to try.

“Heavenly Father, I, I, uh, I need to talk to you. To, uh, set the record straight.” His hands were sweaty, tears welling in his eyes.

“Y/n, she’s- well she’s the love of my life, God, and I don’t think she loves me anymore. Hell, she wants me dead. But I don’t blame her, I couldn’t ever. Not after...” he paused, his bottom lip shaking, “Not if she thinks I killed her family. But I didn’t, Father, I didn’t and I could never. But she don’t see that. I need her to see that.” He raised his voice, the bitter droplets rolling down his reddened cheeks, hitting his shoes.

“I can’t live without her, I won’t. So I guess I’m askin’ you a favor, Lord. Just… let her know I didn’t do it, that I would never hurt her.” His voice cracked, his words barely audible, not that whoever was listening cared.

“That I love her so much.”

Arvin muttered something of an “Amen”, and then just sat there for he wasn’t sure how long. His silence was interrupted by a mellow and raw voice, cutting through the silence like the sharpest dagger.

“It was the Teagardin family. I just found out.”

Arvin stood and turned so fast he dizzied himself, having to hold onto the back of the pew for stability. His bottom lip quivered, his flushed features gaining a confused look.

“Y/n/n? How long you been there?” He questioned, not bothering to wipe his eyes. She shifted from one foot to the other, fumbling with her hands.

“Long enough.”

There was a mutual understanding at her few words from the two of them, and an apology within them all the same. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose runny and her overall appearance disheveled. Despite that, just the fact that she was there, to him, made her the most beautiful girl in the world. 

Arvin could tell she was holding herself back, her emotions, too, as she started to speak, barely able to get through a sentence as she rambled about how she shouldn’t have assumed things, and that it wasn’t right of her to accuse her beloved of something so dire. But none of it mattered to Arvin as he strode towards her, her words only ceasing when he finally wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m so sorry, Arv.” She sobbed, gripping onto him for dear life. That was all she said, repeating it over and over again with the exception of “I love you” also being reiterated. 

Her husband spoke over her hushed tone, saying “It’s alright, doll, I know. You were right to think that, it’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” They continued that way for some time until they both regained their bearings, Arvin wrapping an arm around her shoulders and walking down the front stairs of the chapel. 

“Let’s go home, sweet girl.” He had said, so they did. Arvin kissed the side of her head, regarding once more how he loved her, before starting the ride home, his hand on her thigh the whole time, not wanting to let her go for even a second.

His mind was plagued with thoughts of the past, and he remembered an old saying he had heard long ago. What was it? Ah, you know what they say.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

·。·。·。

how we feeling folks did we like? gimme feedback if u wanna! mwah love u, take care of urself

 xx hj