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questionablecuttlefish · 6 months ago

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Okay Fine Let's Talk Timebomb and Season Two.

I do want to talk about this because I have a Lot of thoughts and feelings and it has been building up and building up, not only based on what's happening in other social spaces, but what people keep bringing into mine despite my best efforts to avoid it.

This isn't any kind of hatepost, I don't think I could hate Ekko or the ship if I tried, I just want to explain my very mixed feelings about the whole thing.

My likely-to-be-very unpopular take on Season Two's Timebomb romance is that it left me feeling uneasy and uncomfortable.

Not with what was in the show itself, I feel like that was perfect. Powder and Ekko sold me completely. They made me feel things. I even liked how Ekko and Jinx's story ended. I think it was beautiful, poignant, perfect...

...until.

'The Discourse' since, the way the fan culture has exploded around it, and particularly some of the creators' commentary on it, has made me sour on the whole thing.

It feels like I'm suddenly part of an increasingly small subset of people who saw what they did with S2 Timebomb and applied our media literacy to what was on our screens and got something very different to what the fandom consensus seems to be.

For context, I semi-shipped TB before this. Though I've always been Team Lightcannon, I had a lot of respect for timebomb, I understood it, I had read a few very good fics, I was just in the space of "Jinx has hurt Ekko too much for him to ever fully forgive her for murdering his friends, they might come to an understanding, and there will always be a silent undercurrent of love beneath the hurt, they may fight together on the same side again someday, but whatever bond they had as kids is broken and they can't go back, and both know it."

I respected, and still do, people who shipped them romantically, but I've always seen them as a broken childhood friendship being a much more interesting dynamic, and being hot for each other lessening that to an extent and not really adding anything to it.

All of his interactions with Jinx in season one are violent; she murders five Firelights point-blank in front of him in her intro scene, and Ekko reacts particularly upset to the pink-haired girl, Eve or Eva, whom Jinx shoots in the back. It's clear this isn't even the first time she's fought them. We don't know how many of Ekko's found family she's put on the Memorial Wall or how close he was with any of them.

Ekko is clearly convinced that "Powder" is gone, and the person who replaced her is a cold-blooded killer who can't be reasoned with. Leading to the Bridge confrontation, and this:

This is the first time Ekko catches a glimpse of "Powder", yes, but more importantly, this is the first moment he recognizes Jinx's humanity. He's hurting her, killing her, and he can't do it.

....and she knows he can't do it.

So, to save him the weight, she pulls a grenade, with the intent to kill them both, foreshadowing quite neatly where Ekko/Jinx (but not Ekko/Powder) is going to go in S2.

Fast forwarding from Season One here, Ekko disappears for 2/3rds of the second season, completely offscreen.

When we catch up with him he's woken up in the S2E7 AU; the Powder Timeline.

Here's where I start to get a little confused by the fandom take. Because, you know, I've seen enough Star Trek and Stargate and Supernatural and Batman the Animated Series and Quantum Leap to know exactly what this is.

This is the 'bottle episode', this is the 'Perfect World' trope, where the protagonists find themselves in an alternate universe - or trapped in a dream - or they've died or think they've died and this is their 'heaven' - where they have everything they ever wanted.

This is familiar storytelling and E7 follows a familiar pattern, the protagonist struggles to adapt to the surreal new circumstances, they are seduced by the illusion, particularly falling in love with someone in the Perfect World, but eventually, they start noticing something incongruous - something isn't quite right - (In this case, it's Vi's death, and Powder holding back her genius and hiding her grief to be support girl for others) - that reveals the Perfect World to be not as perfect as it seems.

And the hero has to choose to go home, because he realizes that this isn't real, it doesn't belong to him, he doesn't belong here.

Which is exactly what happens with Ekko in E7.

Which brings is to AU!Powder and Jinx.

And here's where I really start to struggle with the seeming consensus that the romance between Ekko/Powder automatically leads to Ekko/Jinx, like you can just transfer the one to the other.

I'm sorry, fam, I thought my basic media literacy was telling me that this girl:

Is not the same person as this girl:

....and I am not getting into any debate about "Jinx" vs "Powder" as identities within our current Jinx. I'm talking about Powder in the E7 AU.

AU!Powder is literally a different human being.

She may have been the same person up until the explosion in Jayce's laboratory, but from that fork in the timeline, she becomes a FUNDAMENTALLY different person to Jinx, shaped by different experiences, different relationships, different life events.

Powder's physicality with Ekko, as you can see in those GIFs, the casual intimacy, the clear affection, the way she touches him, looks at him, her awareness of him in her space, is so utterly opposite to the way Jinx interacts with him that if anything, it nailed home to me how savagely absent this kind of feeling is from his relationship with Jinx.

Powder loves Ekko. She leans on him, snuggles into him, touches his hands, dances with him, kisses him.

Jinx cares so little about him she barely makes eye contact and would casually kill him without blinking.

And I thought that was the point.

I really thought that was the whole point of E7. Being in the perfect world, getting his perfect love story with his perfect Powder, the girl Jinx could have been, but can never be, drove home for Ekko that his feelings for Jinx, both romantic and resentful, were tangled up in his illusions of "Powder", and it took living those illusions as a physical reality for Ekko to see his mistake.

To be true to himself, and true to her, Ekko had to let that go and go home.

To face his world's Jinx, and be there for her in her darkest moment, even if it meant giving up the love he'd found with Powder, a love that belonged to a different Ekko, for someone who could never love him back.

To me that was Ekko's most heroic moment, an act of selfless sacrifice. But that's what it was - a sacrifice.

Meanwhile, Season Two Jinx is not aware of any of this. The last time she saw Ekko was on the bridge where she nearly killed him, and for all we know she might have thought she succeeded.

She never talks about, thinks about, refers to, or even has scribble-nightmares about Ekko, not even once.

Season Two Jinx is, instead, having a love story of her own.

And Isha was and is a PUZZLE to me. Because she's more plot device than character, she isn't necessary except as a way to give Jinx a villain-to-hero arc and a way to reconnect to her humanity.

But she could have been Ekko.

If they really, really wanted us to have Timebomb Canon, instead of confining the entire arc to a bottle episode in an alternate timeline with a literally, physically different girl, they could easily have given all of Isha's considerable screentime to an Ekko and Jinx romance.

I'm sure Amanda Overton would have been on board with that. But that's not what we got. It's almost like reading two different fix-it-fanfics for the same character, put into the same show and running in parallel.

I'm not crazy, this is what's happening for Ekko in s2;

While this is happening for Jinx at the same time.

But Jinx's love story, too, ends with a tragic sacrifice.

And here's where the two stories finally intersect.

When Jinx is in her darkest moment, her absolute rock bottom, Ekko comes back into her life, a miracle, impossible, a Boy Savior.

But she's still ready to kill him.

Because she didn't dance with Ekko. She didn't invent a time machine with him. She didn't sit and watch the city lights with him and share a tender kiss and a heartfelt gift.

That was Powder.

Jinx and Ekko are resuming right where they left off on the bridge, right back to "I pull this pin and we both blow up".

They've both loved and lost, but their stories are absolutely unknown to each other. Ekko Doesn't Know About Isha. Jinx Doesn't Know About Powder.

It's only when Jinx (a genius, a reminder here) sees monkeys of her own design inside the Z-drive - recognizes her own handiwork, but knows SHE didn't make those - that, I think, sheer curiosity stirs her out of her darkness.

She has to know what that was about. She hesitates, just long enough for Ekko to speak. And, though offscreen, he tells her his story, and maybe she tells him hers.

And it's enough, just enough, to set Jinx back on her Redemption Arc, to become the hero Isha always saw in her.

Maybe even the hero Vi and Ekko saw in her, too. Her new costume is full of references to all of the people in her life who never gave up on her.

(side note, the yellow stars and crowns puzzle me, though - they're quite prominent, but who are THEY for? Isha? Maybe? Yellow isn't a color associated with anyone in Jinx's life, but that crown's identical to the one she scribbled on Demacia in Fortiche's map, is... this a very subtle future Lightcannon tease? Nah. I'm not that crazy.)

I mean her costume is also almost literally both a Fishbones and a Fiddlesticks cosplay, with her hair as Fiddle's tongue, so take from that what you will.

It's clear Jinx and Ekko war painted each other for the battle, but the Firelights are also similarly painted up, and (with Linke even confirming this) there really wasn't time to develop anything else, guys.

And I am, honestly, fundamentally angry at anyone who would suggest that, even if she'd been in any space to want it, our boy Ekko, one of the most genuinely good men in recent fiction let alone in Arcane, would take advantage of a girl he just talked out of suicide.

Moving on. During the battle, Ekko is knocked out and lying not far from Jinx. She doesn't even look at him, she leaps up to defend Vi instead.

And that's their final interaction on the show.

Instead of returning to Ekko, Jinx chooses one final act of sacrifice.

Ekko's final shot of the show is this.

He's sitting, alone, burning a mourning paper, where he sat with AU!Powder - where he and AU!Powder kissed - a place that has no significance to himself and Jinx, whatsoever.

It's little wonder who he's thinking about here, and which name he's burning on that paper. The girl he truly loved and lost.

For all he knows, Jinx is dead. But it's not only her he's mourning.

Or maybe he does know, or suspect, she's alive.

But either way, he's making one final act of sacrifice, too, with that paper burning into the breeze.

He's letting her go.

He's choosing his own story.

He's staying where he belongs.

Jinx may have become a symbol of the revolution, but it's Ekko who is, and always will be, the true hero of Zaun.

And this is Jinx's final shot.

Because let's face it, we all know she's on that airship.

She's "breaking the cycle". She's "walking away". She knows that Jinx has left too many scars on the people she still loves - on Vi, on Ekko, on the cities of Piltover and Zaun - for her to pick up the pieces.

She knows that if she's going to find out what "Jinx" might stand for now, she has to go very far away from everything and everyone. She has to leave it all behind and find something new.

Maybe even someone new?

And ultimately, that's why I feel the Timebomb we got was perfect, they shouldn't touch it, they shouldn't try to force it to be "Endgame", not because it couldn't have worked, but because that's the opposite of the story they told.

For the rest of my analysis, lol, this got a bit long but i have FEELINGS.

Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't buy Jinx and Ekko as a love story if they had actually told that love story. But they didn't. It had no screen time. They have less interactions in S2, maybe even in both seasons added up, than Vi and Loris. Let that sink in a bit.

We know it's Amanda's favorite ship, so she may have intended more, and may even actually give us all more at some point, but please, dear god, let's stop pretending they fucked or kissed or even held hands offscreen.

That's honestly a bit insulting to both of these characters, to insist hell or high water that this very important milestone in their relationship happened, but they just didn't even bother to depict it. That an entire love story (because it would be a whole one, remember, Ekko and Powder had a romance but Jinx did not experience any of that, she and Ekko are back at Square One) would just be cut for time.

They both deserve better than that.

Let's stop pretending there was some grand, horny, Forever Love story with 60 minutes of cut footage, all of it timebomb content, somehow left on the cutting room floor of an animated show where every single frame has to be deliberately hand painted.

Because if in some insane universe they had written, storyboarded, voice acted and animated an entire 60 minute additional timebomb storyline and then cut it from the show, that would itself be a searing indictment of the quality of the storytelling in that imagined arc, but that's not what happened. Anyone who knows how filmmaking works would shoot this one down, and the showrunners already have, so let's leave it behind.

I know Timebomb blew up hard, and I get it, but what we got on the screen is not confirmation that there is any relationship at all between Ekko and Current Timeline Jinx. If anything, Ekko and Powder's beautiful romance only highlighted the tragic 'never to be' of Ekko and Jinx.

And it's absolutely fine to look at the art book, look at the creator comments, and imagine what could have been. Draw the fan art, write the fanfic, imagine the what-ifs and the fix-its, those are all beautiful and valid expressions and deserve their space.

But don't go insisting it's "the canon" and going after the shippers of other ships for these characters as "not canon" or somehow offensive for existing, especially toward one particular ship that, yes, has been around much longer than timebomb, is uncool.

I think this is mostly people who are New From Arcane, it's Baby's First Ship and they don't know how to share space. The timebomb fans I knew pre-season two didn't do this, at least not often enough for me to notice or care.

But I'll just say to them, if a Timebomb follow up happens and they actually tell a good love story for Ekko and Jinx, I will accept it. Grudgingly, because I think Lux/Jinx is an untold, untapped story full of incredible character dynamics that would complete Jinx's story in ways that as much as I love Ekko, he's too tied to her past, he can't.

But I love Ekko, and I love Jinx, and I will accept it.

But I'll also say to them, if the followup doesn't eventuate, if things take a turn they don't expect, if Jinx's airship is heading for Demacia, maybe they'll have to experience just a taste of what it's been like for Lightcannon fans for ten long years.

And maybe that's healthy. Maybe that's okay. Maybe our endgames don't need to be 'canon' to have value and that's a lesson we should learn.

Maybe there's a new Light on her horizon, and that's okay too. Maybe Ekko won't be alone forever. Don't forget - until Arcane - his story had nothing to do with Jinx, and there was a whole lot of it.

More with the Firelights, maybe bring in the original Lost Children of Zaun from his old stories, his inventions, his parents, all could yet be in his future. Who knows? He might find a way back to AU!Powder - or she might rebuild what they worked on together, and come to him, no matter what butterfly effects that could set in motion...

But if Jinx is heading for a Light on her horizon, maybe Ekko might Explore some of his possibilities. Find a new Spark of connection. Just saying. Jinx isn't his only ship, either 😌

And it is okay for people to move on, and let go. Maybe, for two characters whose themes are letting go of the past, living in the moment, redefining their identities, and moving on, that's what their story should be.

#jinx #ekko #timebomb #league of legends #arcane jinx #arcane netflix #arcane #lol jinx #lux #lightcannon #discourse #fan theories #not a hatepost #shipping #ezko #ezreal #zeri

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jungkoode · 2 months ago

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ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS | 04

➔ PAIRING: Taehyung x Y/N (ballerina x stalker AU)

➔ MOODBOARD

➔ RATING: Mature, 18+, explicit themes and content.

➔ DATE POSTED: May 24, 2025.

➔ SUMMARY: Altars crumble faster in shallow water. But he still knelt like it was sacred. No one ever warned you that worship could look like love. Or that love could look like drowning.

➔ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, ballerina!Y/N, stalker!taehyung, obsessive devotion, psychological tension, fixation, worship dynamics, Paris setting, religious imagery, voyeurism, sacred/profane dichotomy, slow burn, touch starvation, ritualistic behavior, gradual corruption, power dynamics, mirror imagery, water symbolism, sensory details, clean/unclean fixation, contamination OCD, professional dancer, self-destructive patterns, compulsive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive tendencies, praise addiction, spiritual yearning, toxic attraction, dangerous adoration, self-loathing, body discipline, mental health issues, self-harm, mental deterioration, unresolved sexual tension (for now).

➔ CONTENT in this chapter: female rivalry/competition, eating disorders(eating cotton pads), ballet classes, self-demands, perfectionism, ribbon discarding (or not), convenience store reencounters and small discoveries.

➔ AUTHOR’S INTRO AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

➔ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 3,2k

➔ A/N: Okay. Okay. Everyone breathe. Especially me. (I’m the one hyperventilating into a protein bar wrapper at 3AM because I cannot believe this chapter EXISTS.) Welcome back to Altars in Shallow Waters, where we do not chase plot—we let it simmer on low heat while the characters emotionally spiral into the void like aesthetically pleasing depressive ballerinas and bleach-stained ghosts of men!!! ✨��🧼 So, this chapter. Let’s talk about her. The real action here is perceptual rupture. The moment you realize someone is watching you, but not in the “flirty eye contact in an indie café” way. No. In the “someone found your discarded legwarmer ribbon and folded it like scripture into their jacket pocket” way. Delicious. Horrifying. Both. Psychologically, this chapter is playing with reciprocal hyperfixation. How the act of being seen can unravel just as much as seeing. She doesn't name it, but she feels it—the way she catalogs his reactions, the way her interest grows when he avoids her eyes, like a cat with a wounded bird. She's measuring his discomfort like a dancer mapping mirror angles. Efficient. But curious. And curiosity? Is the gateway drug to ruin. Also let's talk about that ribbon. Because symbolically, she discards it—functionally useless, easy to forget. But he keeps it. Stores it like evidence of contact. That's how obsession works. You think it’s nothing. You think it’s gone. But it's in someone’s pocket. It's their proof that you touched the world they live in. On a more serious note: mental health themes remain central. He is not quirky. He is unwell. She is not "coolly aloof." She is also unwell. And the way those fractures collide? That’s what this fic is. Not fluff. Not romance. A slow collision of two very broken people who think they’re control freaks, but are actually being dragged by subconscious forces stronger than either of them.

And no, I will not give you relief. Not yet. We’re still descending.

➔ SERIES : PREVIOUS | NEXT

KIKI NATION’S DISCUSSION THREAD FOR THIS CHAPTER

PLAYLIST

Cotton dissolves like sin on your tongue.

You've perfected this ritual. The pad breaks down slowly against the roof of your mouth, becoming pulp, becoming nothing. The texture no longer bothers you.

Nothing bothers you before 5 AM.

Your reflection watches with clinical interest.

Dark circles beneath your eyes. Acceptable. Not ideal, but within parameters. You've calculated the exact amount of concealer needed to erase them—three dots, blended outward in concentric circles.

Precision matters, even in camouflage.

The cotton expands slightly as you work it around your mouth. Your stomach will feel full for approximately forty-seven minutes. Long enough to get through morning barre without distraction. Long enough to maintain focus when others are already thinking about breakfast.

This is discipline. This is necessary.

Your tongue presses the dissolving fibers against your teeth. No calories. No guilt.

Just the illusion of consumption that tricks your body into compliance.

The bathroom is eerily silent—except for the sound of your breathing.

Four counts in, four counts out. The same rhythm you maintain during adagio. The same rhythm your heart should follow during rest periods.

You reach for your hairbrush. The bristles scrape against your scalp, just shy of painful.

Good.

Pain means progress. Pain means you're paying attention.

Camille took your hairpins. All of them. The evidence was clear: her side of the room littered with them this morning, carelessly scattered like she couldn't be bothered to hide her sabotage.

How desperate. How transparent.

You pull your hair back until it hurts. The ponytail is tight enough to create tension at your temples.

Not your preference—a bun offers cleaner lines, better balance—but you adapt.

Adaptation is part of excellence.

The last of the cotton dissolves. You rinse your mouth, watching the water swirl down the drain.

Clean. Empty. Ready.

Your leotard fits precisely as it should. Dark blue, high-necked, modest in cut but not in purpose. The fabric compresses your ribcage just enough to remind you of your boundaries. Your physical limits. The container you must perfect.

White tights. No runs, no snags.

Navy leg warmers, positioned exactly three inches above the ankle bone. The little ribbons on the front—blue to match—catch your eye. Tacky. Childish. But the color coordinates perfectly with the leotard, and aesthetic cohesion supersedes your opinion on childishness.

Function over feeling. Always.

The cropped sweater—also white—settles just below your sternum. The ensemble is well thought out. Coordinated. It communicates seriousness, dedication, attention to detail.

These are not clothes. They are statements of intent.

Your reflection assesses you with the same merciless scrutiny you apply to everything.

Arms: acceptable. Neck: could be longer. Posture: correct. Weight: maintained within 0.4 kilograms of target.

You turn slightly. Check your profile. The curve of your spine, the placement of your shoulders.

No room for error. No allowance for imperfection.

The cotton has left a slight residue in your mouth—texture that reminds you of your choice.

Your control. Your discipline.

You think, briefly, of the convenience store. Of the cotton pads in their perfect packaging. Of the man who wouldn't look at you.

Kim.

The name surfaces without permission. An unexpected ripple in the still pond of your morning routine.

You dismiss it. Irrelevant. A random encounter that means nothing.

(But you remember the tremor in his gloved hands. The way he backed away. The way he watched when he thought you wouldn't notice.)

Your dance bag waits by the door, packed according to your usual system. Pointe shoes in their separate compartment. Towel folded precisely in thirds. Water bottle filled exactly to the line you've marked with clear nail polish. Kinesiology tape. Scissors. Antiseptic wipes. Bandages. Everything you need. Nothing you don't.

The dormitory is silent as you move through it. Your footsteps make no sound. You've learned to walk like a ghost. To exist without disturbing the air around you.

The kitchen light is on. Unexpected. Unwelcome.

Elodie stands at the counter, spreading something on toast. Butter, probably. Or worse—jam. Sugar and fat combined in a useless, indulgent paste.

You grimace. Her lack of will is evident in every bite she takes.

Every gram of unnecessary calories.

Every moment wasted on pleasure rather than preparation.

She'll be replaced soon. They all will. The company has no room for weakness.

"Morning," she says, her voice still rough with sleep. "You're up early."

The observation is pointless. You're always up early.

She knows this. Everyone knows this.

"Yes," you say, because a response is expected, not because the conversation has value.

Her eyes flick to your ponytail. Notice the deviation from your usual style. Her mouth opens slightly—about to comment, to ask, to pry.

You don't give her the chance. "Excuse me."

Two words. Polite but final.

You move past her, not waiting for a response.

The dormitory door closes behind you as the hallway stretches ahead, empty and dim.

Perfect. This is how mornings should be. Quiet. Solitary. Undistracted.

You begin the walk to the studio at your usual pace.

The route never changes. Left from the dormitory. Right at the café that won't open for another two hours. Straight past the bakery where the smell of fresh bread will soon fill the air.

Your stomach tightens. The cotton is doing its job, but barely.

You focus on your breathing instead. Four counts in. Four counts out.

The streets are empty except for delivery trucks and the occasional cleaner hosing down the sidewalk.

Paris pretends to sleep, but it never truly does. It just shifts its rhythms, like a dancer moving from allegro to adagio.

Your mind drifts, just slightly, to the convenience store again. To the fluorescent lights that made everything look sickly and unreal. To the man with the gloves who wouldn't meet your eyes.

Kim.

What a curious specimen.

Most men stare. They always have.

They look with hunger or appreciation or professional assessment.

They look because looking is taking, and you are something to be taken.

But he refused to look at all. Refused even to be seen himself.

It was... interesting.

The memory of his downturned face surfaces again. The curtain of washed-out hair. The blue latex gloves worn thin at the fingertips.

You wonder what his hands look like beneath those gloves. If they're as elegant as their shape suggests. If they're damaged somehow.

Scarred. Diseased.

You wonder why he was afraid.

(You wonder if he's still afraid.)

The thought brings an unexpected sensation.

A slight warmth in your chest.

A tightening that isn't hunger or discipline or determination.

Then, the studio appears ahead, windows still dark.

You'll be the first to arrive, as always. The first to warm up. The first to claim your spot at the barre.

You reach for your key card, already positioned in the outer pocket of your bag for efficiency.

The cotton in your stomach has begun to expand, creating the illusion of fullness. Of satisfaction.

This is discipline. This is necessary.

This is what separates you from Elodie with her toast and jam.

From Camille with her petty sabotage.

From all of them with their weaknesses and wants and human frailties.

You are not weak. You are not wanting. You are not frail.

You are becoming perfect.

The studio door beeps as your card registers. For a moment, you think you see movement in your peripheral vision—a shadow shifting, a presence retreating.

You turn your head, just slightly. Just enough to check.

Nothing. Just the empty street. The dim morning light. The faint drizzle that has begun to fall.

You step inside, leaving the outside world behind.

Here, in the studio, everything makes sense. Everything has purpose. Everything can be controlled, measured, perfected.

The lights flicker on automatically. The empty room waits for you, patient and demanding all at once.

You set down your bag. Remove your sweater. Take your position at the barre.

As you begin your first plié, you notice one of the blue ribbons on your leg warmers has come loose. It dangles precariously, threatening to fall.

Distracting. Imperfect.

You untie it completely. The ribbon comes away in your hand, a small strip of navy satin. You place it deliberately by the door, next to your things. You'll dispose of it properly later.

For now, it's been removed. The imperfection excised.

Your gaze returns to the mirrors, reflection multiplying—four versions of yourself executing the same movement precisely.

Arms: acceptable. Turnout: could be deeper. Neck: elongate further.

You move through your warm-up.

Pliés. Tendus. Dégagés.

Each movement builds upon the last, preparing your body for what you'll demand of it today. Preparing your mind for the scrutiny that will come.

The door opens at 6:15 and Madame Villon enters first, as always. Her eyes sweep the studio, landing on you without surprise.

She expects your presence. Your dedication is not remarkable to her.

It is baseline.

"Good morning," she says, her voice crisp in the quiet room.

You incline your head slightly. "Madame."

She moves to the piano, arranging her notes for the day's class. Her movements are economical. You recognize the discipline in her posture, the control in her hands.

She was exceptional once. Now she creates exceptionalism in others.

The other dancers begin to arrive. First Mathilde, then Sophie, then Clara. They move to their usual spots, begin their own warm-ups. Their reflections join yours in the mirrors, creating a forest of limbs and torsos and necks all striving toward the same impossible standard.

Camille arrives at 6:27. Three minutes before class officially begins.

Her hair is already in a perfect bun—the style you couldn't achieve today.

Her eyes meet yours in the mirror. She smiles. The expression doesn't reach her eyes.

"Morning," she says, her voice pitched to carry. To be heard by others. To create the illusion of friendship.

You nod once. Acknowledge the performance without participating in it.

Her gaze drops to your ponytail. Registers the deviation from routine. Her smile widens slightly—satisfaction poorly disguised as concern.

"No bun today?" she asks, knowing exactly why.

"No," you say, final.

She moves to the barre, taking her position behind Mathilde.

Her spot in the hierarchy is clear—not quite at the back with the weakest dancers, not quite at the front with you and Elodie.

Middle tier. Hungry for advancement.

Madame Villon claps once. "Places."

The pianist begins. Your body responds automatically.

First position. Demi-plié. Rise. Second position. The sequence is as familiar as breathing.

More familiar, perhaps, since you've never had to think about how to breathe.

Class progresses with its usual intensity. Madame moves among the dancers, making corrections. Her hand on Sophie's waist, adjusting alignment. Her voice sharp as she instructs Léa to extend further, reach higher.

She passes you without comment. Not approval. Not yet.

Just the absence of correction, which is its own kind of evaluation.

Center work begins. The barre no longer there to support you, to steady you. Just your body in space, responsible for its own balance, its own lines.

You execute each combination flawlessly.

Not perfect—perfect doesn't exist yet—but flawless in the sense that no one else in the room could identify your mistakes. Only you know the millisecond delay in your spotting during the final pirouette. Only you feel the slight tremor in your supporting leg during the adagio.

These are errors you will correct.

Weaknesses you will eliminate.

Imperfections you will excise, like the ribbon from your leg warmer.

Madame calls your name. "Demonstrate the grand allegro, please."

It's not a request. It's not even really a command.

It's an expectation.

You take your place in the center. Feel the weight of every gaze in the room. The cotton in your stomach has long since dissolved.

The music begins. Your body launches into motion. Jump, turn, land, extend. The combination is complex—designed to test not just technique but musicality, stamina, presence.

You move through it flawlessly again. Each beat accounted for. Each position achieved exactly as choreographed.

Your breathing remains controlled.

Your face betrays no effort.

When you finish, landing in fifth position with arms curved perfectly in low fifth, there is a moment of silence.

Then Madame nods once. Not praise. Acknowledgment.

"Again," she says to the class. "Four at a time."

By the time Madame signals the end of class, your leotard is damp with sweat. Your muscles vibrate with exertion. Your ponytail has loosened slightly—another imperfection to address.

"Thank you, ladies," Madame says. "Rehearsals begin at ten. Do not be late."

The dancers disperse, moving toward their bags, toward the changing rooms.

Conversations bloom in their wake—discussions of the day's schedule, complaints about sore muscles, plans for the brief break before rehearsal.

You remain at the barre, extending your cool-down.

There is no benefit to rushing. No advantage to socializing.

Your body requires proper care if it's to serve your ambition.

Camille passes behind you, her reflection catching yours in the mirror.

“Lunch later?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear.

A performance that continues.

"Perhaps," you say, noncommittal.

You both know you won't join her.

You both know she doesn't want you to.

The studio empties gradually. Dancers leave in twos and threes, their voices fading as they move down the hallway.

Soon it's just you and your reflection, multiplied across the mirrored walls.

You finish your cool-down. Move to collect your things.

The sweater goes back on—your body temperature will drop quickly now that you're no longer working. The water bottle is half-empty. The towel damp with sweat.

You look for the navy ribbon, left by the door where you placed it.

It's gone.

You scan the floor.

Perhaps it fell. Perhaps it was kicked aside accidentally.

But there's nothing. The ribbon has vanished.

Your eyes narrow slightly.

Camille. It must be Camille.

First the hairpins, now this.

But why would she take a discarded ribbon? What possible advantage could it give her?

Perhaps it's simply spite. Perhaps it's just another way to demonstrate that your space, your belongings, your boundaries are not truly your own. That nothing here belongs exclusively to you—not even your trash.

Or perhaps it's something else. Something you haven't calculated yet. Some new form of sabotage you'll need to anticipate and counter.

You straighten your ponytail. Adjust your sweater. Shoulder your bag.

The ribbon doesn't matter. It was defective. Discarded. Its loss is irrelevant.

But you remember exactly where you left it.

Remember that it was there, and now it's not.

Remember that someone took something of yours, even something you no longer wanted.

You don't know why you're here.

This purgatory with its flickering lights and linoleum floors that never quite look clean no matter how recently they've been mopped.

L'heure bleue.

The convenience store that exists in that strange space between your world and...

Perhaps it's curiosity.

Perhaps it's boredom.

Perhaps it's the man with the ashy blonde hair who seems to vibrate with anxiety whenever you enter his orbit.

Kim.

The protein bars are arranged in descending order of caloric content. You scan the nutritional information with practiced efficiency. This one: 15g protein, 160 calories, 2g sugar.

Acceptable. Not ideal, but functional.

Your body requires fuel. Not pleasure, not indulgence—just the bare minimum to maintain performance.

The store is empty except for you and him. The pink-haired girl is absent tonight. No buffer between you and his strange, trembling avoidance.

You approach the counter, place the protein bar down slowly, almost teasing.

The sound it makes against the surface is soft but there is no mistaking it.

A statement of presence.

No response.

You wait. Ten seconds. Twenty. Your time is valuable. Each wasted moment is a micro-failure.

You tap one long manicured nail against the counter. Sharp. Demanding. A single finger communicating what your voice shouldn't have to.

Still nothing.

Finally, you clear your throat.

There's a sudden scattering noise from the back room—something falling, something being knocked over in haste. Then footsteps, quick and uneven.

He emerges from somewhere behind rows of shelves, eyes are fixed on the floor, that curtain of hair hiding his features just as it did before. His shoulders curve inward, making his tall frame seem smaller, less substantial.

He doesn't look at you.

Doesn't acknowledge your presence beyond the most basic recognition that someone is standing at his counter. His focus fixes on the protein bar as if it's the customer, not you.

"Is the pink-haired girl not working tonight?" Your voice is cool. A simple question requiring a simple answer.

He doesn't respond. His fingers—still encased in those blue latex gloves—hover over the protein bar without touching it. His breathing has quickened, just slightly. Just enough for you to notice.

"Do you work here every night?" Another question. Direct. Uncomplicated.

Nothing. Just that same frozen posture. That same careful avoidance.

How curious.

How peculiar, this man who seems physically incapable of meeting your gaze.

As if eye contact might burn him. As if your attention is a weight he cannot bear.

Is he afraid of you?

The thought brings that same strange warmth to your chest. That same unquantifiable feeling you haven't yet categorized.

"You paid for my cotton pads last time," you say. Not a question this time. A statement of fact. "Why?"

His fingers finally move, picking up the protein bar with such care you might think it was made of glass. He scans it, the beep unnaturally loud in the silent store.

When he speaks, his voice is so soft you almost miss it.

"Three euros forty."

Just that. Just the price. Nothing more.

You extend your hand with exact change, coins arranged in your palm for maximum efficiency of transfer.

He doesn't take them from your hand.

Instead, he places a small plastic tray on the counter, sliding it toward you without making contact.

For coins. So he doesn't have to touch you.

The realization makes something in your chest tighten, and it’s not offense. Not exactly. Something more... interesting.

You place the coins in the tray. He takes it, careful not to brush against your fingers. Counts the money methodically. Places your change in the same tray, slides it back to you.

All without once lifting his eyes to your face.

"Thank you," you say, though you're not sure why.

The transaction doesn't require gratitude. It's a simple exchange of currency for goods. Nothing more.

He nods once, that same sharp downward jerk of his chin you noticed last time. His hands retreat to his sides, then behind his back, as if he doesn't trust them to behave appropriately in your presence.

You collect your change. Take the protein bar. Turn to leave.

That's when you see it.

A flash of navy blue, peeking from his pocket. Small. Satin. Unmistakable.

The ribbon from your leg warmer. The one you left by the studio door. The one that disappeared.

Not Camille.

Him.

But how? How did he get it? How did it travel from the dance studio to this convenience store? To his pocket?

You pause, your back to him, processing this new information.

He must have been there. At the studio.

Must have seen you. Must have taken what you discarded.

The realization should disturb you.

Should trigger alarm, concern, perhaps even fear.

It doesn't.

Instead, that same strange warmth spreads through your chest—that same unnamed feeling that isn't hunger or discipline or determination.

goal: 250 notes

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @billy-jeans23 @calmyourtitts7 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @dltyum

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tinyfantasminha · 7 months ago

Note

HIIIII ur oc is so cute i love her 🥺 her dynamic with jamil looks so funny could you elaborate on ur thoughts 👉👈

HAHA... yall yearn for some toxicity...

Recommended to read her OC intro/lore for context

No one knows why or how Vic’s attraction to Jamil began (I mean can you blame her?) At first glance, it might seem hypocritical for someone like Vic, who values raw honesty above all else, to be into someone who constantly hides his true feelings and intentions. But Vic is highly perceptive; she sees through Jamil's polite masks and recognizes the similarities between them. It’s his rare moments of unfiltered honesty (when his sharp tongue slips or his composure cracks) that make her swoon 🥰 On the other hand, when he’s overly polite or uncharacteristically kind, she finds it unsettling and even a little disturbing. It feels insincere and unnatural... ''T-That's not Jamiru...''

Jamil's opinion on her is that she's just a little weird. She reminds him a bit of Ace with her mischievous tendencies, which is precisely why he doesn’t trust her around Kalim. (She has a habit of charming Kalim into giving her “small” sums of money).

Still, while she can be... a little inconvenient sometimes, Jamil doesn't hate her, not at all!! In fact, Jamil would never admit just how much her constant attention and praise inflate his ego. Her enthusiasm for even his smallest successes leaves him secretly flattered, though he’s careful not to show it. He may even take advantage of her willingness to help him when it suits his needs...... she’s too eager to be useful to him for him not to 🤭

Despite his cool demeanor, he isn’t entirely heartless when it comes to her. His attentive nature means he’s quick to notice when she’s in trouble, and he sometimes finds himself worrying about her safety. That said, there’s a darker part of him, a tiny, selfish voice, that sometimes wonders if it’d be easier to just leave her to her fate. For example, if she were kidnapped, (basically the NBC event ig??) his initial instinct would be to rescue her. But then, the little devil on his shoulder might whisper, ''Just leave her. Think of the peace and quiet. No more headaches!'' while his conscience, his inner angel, would protest, ''You’d never forgive yourself if you left her!'' In the end, Jamil almost always listens to the angel, albeit with a heavy sigh and gritted teeth.

overall fun facts

Jamil seems to run into Vic more often than he'd like. While he’s pretty sure she’s not stalking him, the sheer frequency of their encounters feels like a cruel cosmic joke... He detests the way she greets him ''Hi, Jamiru~'' in that same overly sweet, breathless tone every single time.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s been jumpscared by her presence in the Scarabia lounge, usually because Kalim invited her over for dinner. Of course, Kalim never listens to Jamil's constant ''stop interacting with her so much'' speeches.

He now has a double reason to not get near the game board club (🐙🐙🐙)

Ace is quick to notice her blatant favoritism when she comes to watch their basketball matches, complaining that she always cheers for Jamil and not for him. Jamil pretends not to care of course, but we all know he basks in the attention.

#LONG POST???#oomfs who are here since 2022 no you do not remember the jamivic phase shut up #you can tell I take a lot of death note inspo for them 😭light x misa dynamic looking ass #i missed drawing jamil damn #twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twst oc #jamil viper x oc #twstvic #answered ask #myart

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hannie-dul-set · 1 month ago

Text

my youth is fee — [PREVIEW].

SYNOPSIS. there’s this one boy who keeps reminding you that there’s no price to enjoying the moment, and that there’s no such thing as a deadline in living life to its fullest.

PAIRING. taesan x female! reader. GENRE. college! au, romance, humor, coming of age, comfort (no hurt), light angst, childhood friends to lovers (fuck you, you’re never taking this trope away from me), younger brother! woonhak, taesan is your manic pixie dream boy. i saw the clip of him saying that his ideal type is someone he could tease and i’ve never been the same ever since— i.e. he’s a shameless flirt in this watch out. WARNINGS. swearing, alcohol, mc is older than taesan and shorter than him (it’s dynamic relevant i promise), the many struggles (and mistakes) of the eldest sister in an asian household, pressure and anxiety attached to a graduating student. yeah, i’m projecting leave me alone. WORD COUNT. preview, 5k | full fic, est. at least 30k LMAO.

RELEASE DATE. within the month of june. TAGLIST. dm/ask/comment to be added.

NOTE. this is my last major project before ultimately graduating and probably getting even less time to write at this point HAHAH so i’m really targeting to finish and release it this month for the sake of thematic relevance, and while my emotions are still on high HAHAHAH. if you've read some of my fics before, let me just say upfront that this is gonna be in the same vein as peach tree, love vomit, and mogi/nabi. meaning— it’s gonna be so full of love and endearment that ur gonna be sick by the end of it!!! woohoo!!!!

preview under the cut.

YOU’D LIVED MOST OF YOUR LIFE AS AN OLDER SISTER TO SIX BOYS. Well. Not exactly, but figuratively. Only one of those boys is your actual brother. The rest are totally against your own will.

See, you didn’t sign up for it. It’s just that your mom has five friends living in the same neighborhood, and those five friends of hers had five sons after she had you as a daughter— meaning, you were born into the role as a direct consequence of your parents deciding to marry the moment they reached the age of majority. Not the smartest decision, but they were high school sweethearts in love. Also, your dad was gonna inherit Gwangju’s fruit and vegetable monopoly, anyway. They were set out for life.

Anyhow, the details aren’t really necessary. This is just to explain why you, as a graduating senior, are so at home being surrounded by a handful of freshmen right now.

“Seonbae, I read your article in the Policy Studies Journal! I totally agree with your analysis.”

“You’re literally one week old in this program. Quit acting like you understood anything.”

“By the way, seonbae, is Prof Yeon’s classes really hard? I have him for my intro class, and—”

“Congratulations on your LOGODI internship, noona! Are you gonna be paying for the next round of drinks?”

It’s almost like your face muscles have stiffened from smiling too much, and your beer glass has been left untouched for the last ten to fifteen minutes. The kids continue to eagerly swarm you with questions and songs of praises. It currently being your department’s opening party and you being the face of your department— you kind of expected this much. Still, it’s a little overstimulating. But you continue responding to as many questions as you can because, again, it’s not something you’re not used to.

“Thank you for reading my article, Dohoon. Prof Yeon actually helped me a lot with it, and he isn’t as bad as you think, Jiyeon! Just keep up with the readings, and you’ll be fine.”

They’re cute. They’re excited. Keeping up with a bunch of energetic kids is something you’d been doing since the age of three. But as you continue to age, it does get a bit more exhausting as the years pass.

“Hey, now— leave your seonbae alone, kids. You’re all suffocating her with your questions.”

Your saving grace comes in the form of Kim Sunwoo sauntering out of nowhere to drop an arm on your shoulder from behind your chair.

A release of breath slips past your lips, right before it finally manages to touch the cold rim of your glass. You’re about to welcome his appearance with a smile, but he rips your gratefulness away just as quickly as he offered it. “She just got dumped. She’s suffering from a breakup right now.” Two pats on the same shoulder. Two very patronizing pats. “Let her drink her sorrows away in peace.”

The beer doesn’t even make it to the middle of your throat when you choke it back out. A chorus of gasps break out. You wipe your mouth with your sleeve as you snap your head back. “Kim Sunwoo, what the hell?”

He grins. He flashes you a peace sign. Then starts walking away.

“Hey, you, get back here—”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry to hear that, seonbae. I hope you’re doing okay.”

“At least you’d be busy with your internship to think about too much…?”

“Cheer up, seonbae! You’re probably too good for that Choi Soobin guy, anway!”

How the hell did these kids even know who your ex is?! Where the hell did Kim Sunwoo run off to?!

“I saw him once and…He’s actually really handsome.”

“O—oh, then— then forget about him, seonbae! You’ll find someone better!”

Somehow, you manage to excuse yourself from the brood of ducklings to hunt down that damned rat. You spot the hood of his jacket— sitting on the same table as Yeji, and giving you the perfect opportunity to yank in down and elicit a guttural yelp from him. “Gah!”

“Move over, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re here!” Yeji greets you, pushing off an extremely offended Sunwoo from his chair and taps on the seat the moment his ass leaves the surface. “Sit! I haven’t heard a whiff from you over break and the first thing I find out is that you broke up with Choi fucking Soobin. What the hell happened?”

“Correction. He broke up with her,” Sunwoo sniggers, straggling onto another vacant seat on the table. “Imagine the whiplash when I got the notifs ‘I got the internship,’ and ‘Choi Soobin dumped me,’ with not even a two-hour interval between each text. Crazy shit.”

You groan. Yeji very timely pushes her drink towards you and you take a swig.

It really wasn’t that dramatic of a breakup. The day you received the acceptance email, you had a dinner scheduled with your then boyfriend. If Sunwoo was whiplashed, how does he think you felt when you told Soobin about the news over pasta, him congratulating you and that he knew you’d get it— only for it to be followed by a pregnant silence as he nervously gulps down a glass of water, just to drop the foreboding opening of, “You’re amazing and I’m really proud of you, but…”

Ugh. Recalling it causes a vein in your head to tick. You slam the glass down on the table. “Is it messed up to say that I was more mad than heartbroken over it?”

“Girl, what are you talking about?” Yeju huffs. “I’d be pissed too if that hot of a guy broke up with me— not to mention a hot guy you’d been dating for three years! You didn’t even put up a fight! How could you just go with it?!”

“What, did you want me to beg him not to dump me? I have my pride too!” you screech back. Sunwoo is just watching you both like he’s watching a liveshow. “But that’s not the reason why I’m so pissed. This breakup just obliterated my 40 Year Plan, and I’ve been losing sleep trying to figure out how to get back on track and fix it.”

You fear you’ve just lost the room at the mention of your 40 Year Plan.

“Your…what?”

40 Year Plan. At age nineteen, you enter university. By twenty-three, you graduate and get a good job in the same year. Which is why you were so hell bent on getting the internship at the Local Government Officials Development Institute, under the Ministry of the Interior and Safety. Not only does it give you an easy opening to networking and eventually landing a job there, the internship is paid despite being a public institution— which is one of the major reasons why applications are always a battlefield every year.

You were warned by a senior while you were still in the midst of preparing your application. That there’s no such thing as free lunch, and the pay is definitely not worth the amount of work they put you through.

Nevertheless, it’s still your gateway ticket to landing a stable job fresh out of graduation, ensuring that you stay on track and stay on schedule. That plan’s been fucked entirely by your recent breakup, though.

You were supposed to get married by age twenty-five. Live a happy married life for the next five years domestically. Then your vacations in your thirties are gonna be spent travelling the world. Now, how the hell are you supposed to meet a new guy and fall in love with him just enough for you to want a ring on your finger— without wasting so much of your damn time on useless blind dates and dating apps— all within two damn years when it took you your entire life to meet Choi Soobin?

“My schedule has already been delayed after taking a gap year last year to save money,” you continue complaining. The alcohol is slowly starting to sink into your system. Your friends are looking at you like you’re insane.

“It’s…more fucked up that you scheduled literally your entire life,” Yeji remarks.

“And why does your plan only come up to 40 years old?”

Sunwoo knows the answer, but he asked anyway. “Duh. I plan on dying by then.” You immediately shut down their looks of worry because they say anything else. “Either from a car crash or through natural causes. I don’t want to die as an old lady. I need to be pretty on my deathbed.”

They’re not looking at you any better. “You’re completely abnormal,” she tells you.

“And what the hell makes you think you’d naturally die at that age?” he spouts.

“I don’t know, the sinking standard of living? The crashing global economy? The increasingly precarious geopolitical landscape? Fucking climate change?” you grunt, finishing the glass in your hand. “We’d be lucky if the world doesn’t end in twenty-years. Maybe I’d have to adjust my timeline.”

Your two friends continue to prattle about how viscerally insane you are, and you listen but let the words come in one ear and out the other while you tap a finger on the table, waiting for a server to come by so you can order another drink. In the background, mish-mashed with the voices of Sunwoo and Yeji, you heard the restaurant door ringing open. Seems like more freshmen are pouring in.

“Hi, is this where the public administration majors are partying?”

“Hell yeah, dude! Are you a freshman?”

“Yeah, but I’m from the performing arts department.”

“Who cares, you guys come on in!”

“Sweet!”

There’s nothing sweet about getting your plans derailed. As far as you remember, you’ve always been hellbent on speeding through life— growing up as quickly as you can so you live and die on your own terms. You moved out from your home in Gwangju to attend high school in Seoul. You gradually stopped asking for support from your parents when you got into BNDU with a full-ride. And you’re pretty sure the root cause for this insanity (as your dear friends like to put it) is your very formative childhood.

“Whoa. So this is what a college party is like.”

“Hey, don’t get distracted!”

Going back to your dearest mother and her group of high school friends— for three years, you’d also been their honorary daughter. And then another one of your aunties got married shortly after your mom did. It was at age three that you’d already started living for somebody else.

“Darling, come and meet Sungho!”

See, your mother and her friends never really…gave up on their youth. Even in their thirties and forties, even after starting their own families and lives, they always made sure to have Friday brunches at a new restaurant every week, weekend shopping trips and two-day-one night trips by the sea and uphill mountains. Naturally, these girl trips often became family hangouts. Your mom would bring you along, and your mom’s friends would bring along their kids as well.

The thing is, your moms and dads would often do their own thing, loosely supervising the rotational playdates held at someone’s else’s house each time— so you, more often than not, end up being the eldest person in the room that the rest of the kids look up to.

First, it was just you. Then came Sungho. Followed by Sanghyeok and Jaehyun. And then Dongmin and Donghyun in the same year. You were essentially the person of authority for these five until you were in first grade.

And then five became six when your mom gave birth to your younger brother—

“Kim Woonhak!”

Wait. The beer glass stops between your teeth. Hold on. That’s your brother’s name. Why are you hearing his name being yelled out in this restaurant? Why does that voice yelling his name out loud sound so disconcertingly familiar?

“Woonhak! We found your sister!”

Your drink dribbles back into the glass. Holy shit. That voice is Jaehyun. That’s fucking Myung Jaehyun. Your head shoots up, eyes wide, whipping around the room at the same rate as your heart is spiking, What the hell? Where the hell are they? Better question— what the hell are they doing here?

“Hey, are you good?” Yeji asks in concern. You wish you could answer with a yes, but the moment your eyes land on one end of the restaurant, you immediately clock the six heads sticking out like six sore thumbs. Oh god. Oh god, no.

You aren’t even given the chance to get your bearings straight when the other five finally notice where Jaehyun is pointing at.

Woonhak mouth falls open. “Noona!” Then he starts barreling through the crowd. The other five trail after him, and it’s not a very discreet sight. Your face falls into your hands. Is this a hidden camera prank or something? What the hell even is this?

“Hey, are we about to get accosted?”

“They’re coming over here, do you know them, why are they—”

“Noona.” You pull your face out of your hands, looking up to see your younger brother’s disgruntled face. He’s slammed his hands down on the table— your table, your two friends sitting on the same table. His brows are all scrunched up. His tone is nothing more than a whine when he says, “Why weren’t you answering any of my calls?!”

Ah, crap. You shuffle into your bag and indeed, you find four missed calls from him on your phone. You sigh, rising up from your seat because it doesn’t feel good that you have to look up at him, but even after standing, this kid still has a good amount of height above you. “I didn’t notice it vibrating, I’m sorry, but Woonhak, but what—” You eyes flicker to the head popping out from behind Woonhak’s right shoulder— a silly smile and an equally silly wave from Jaehyun. You let out a sound and drop your head down, a finger massaging your right temple. “What…what are you guys doing here? Why are you here?”

“Noona! This party is so sick!”

Jaehyun is quickly followed by Sanghyeok, who quickly jumps out from behind your brother, waving and jumping and very happy to see you. Next to him is Sungho, who’s looking very apologetic as he yanks on Donghyun’s jacket collar, who’s already starting to wander away, attention fished by your peers doing tabletop karaoke somewhere.

And then there’s Dongmin.

“Noona.”

The moment he steps forward, you’re prompted to look up.

There’s a smile on his face— quiet and playful, the same hint of mischief mirrored in his downturned eyes. A pair of glasses are perched on his nose, but the most prominent thing you notice is something else.

It’s the fact that he’s now looking down at you. You don’t remember having to look this high up just to meet Han Dongmin’s eyes.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Who...who gave you permission to get this tall?”

It’s enough that your brother already towers over you. Now this guy thinks it’s funny that you have to look up to him. But you can’t linger on this injury for too long because a sudden wave of whispers break from around you. You flinch, eyes peering to the side to see your peers and juniors gazes fixed on you in the center of the room. Your face burns.

“I told you I could sniff her down,” Jaehyun proudly declares.

“Yeah, that’s on brand.”

“Is that a pool table over there? Donghyun, let’s play a round, lets—”

“Noona, I’m so sorry,” Sungho solemnly mutters. “I told them we’d wait somewhere else until you answered Woonhak’s calls, but they insisted on looking for you.”

Oh, this is dizzying. You catch from the flicker of your eye Yeji mouthing that maybe you should take this outside, and you couldn’t agree more. You mutter a few muddled somethings and usher the boys out from the suffocating humidity and warm lights of the restaurant, dragging them into the dewy and cold streets of nighttime Seoul.

It gets significantly quieter. You find a spot under a planted dogwood oak on the walkway, the six boys sitting down and huddled up on the tree bench while you look at them, arms crossed and toes tapping. “None of you have answered my question yet,” you start with an exhale. “What are you doing here?”

Seeing them all together is like a sucker punch to the gut of guilt. When was the last time you’d seen this complete idiot ensemble? Four years ago? The one summer you spent at home in Gwangju before moving out for the second time for university? But even then you’d only see at least two of their faces once a week— except your own brother of course whom you had to wake up every morning each day else he’d sleep in until noon.

God, you’re pretty sure they were still a bunch of twerps back then, though. It irks you that even while sitting down, half of them are still kind of at eye-level with you.

“Why else would we be at the university district?” Jaehyun proudly sticks his nose out. “We’re also BNDU students. We’re here to party!”

“I’m sorry what?” you sputter. “BNDU students, what— what do you mean? Are all of you studying here? This year”

“Yeah!” Sanghyeok affirms. “

“Woonhak, you haven’t even graduated high school yet, what the hell are you talking—”

“Hey, c’mon now! Let them join us! There are plenty of drinks to go around!”

Maybe you should’ve picked somewhere farther away from the restaurant because one of your classmates— clearly inebriated— decides to butt into your business and invite your group of sparkly-eyed boys to something they obviously can’t refuse, like they’re being lured in by a pied piper.

It’s an inevitable mess. Jaehyun has already made at least seven friends from your major. Yeji is trying to hit on Sungho, who’s been trying to run away, red in the face. Sunwoo keeps on passing drinks to Sanghyeok and Donghyun and you make them tell you their addresses before they pass out beyond comprehension. And you’re keeping an eye on Woonhak like an eagle on the hunt for prey.

“Ow!” he yelps when you smack his hand the moment his sneaky hand tries to reach out for a beer glass.

“Don’t you even dare.”

He grumbles. “C’mon! I’ll be an adult soon anyway!”

You leer at him. Woonhak continues to grumble while being locked down on the seat next to you because you can’t trust your damn peers to know that this kid is a minor. Dongmin has also decided to join you on this table— and the fact that he’s sitting right across from you, cross-armed and relaxed, makes it impossible to ignore the mischief playing on his grin, clearly directed at you.

“What?” you ask him pointedly.

“I was just thinking,” he hums, cocking his head to the side as if he’s trying to investigate something on your face. “You’re gotten a lot grumpier since I’ve last seen you. Is that an effect of aging?”

Your blood pressure simply cannot get higher. “Dongmin, you lot are already on thin ice.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, raising two hands up in surrender. “But don’t worry, noona. You’ll still be pretty even when you turn sixty.”

This fucking kid, you swear. You catch your head in your hands with a defeated groan, not bothering to give him a response. You just had to be stuck with the most stressful one, even while growing up because sure, Jaehyun had the energy of eight toddlers in one body. Sure, Donghyun would suddenly hold you at gunpoint with questions about the universe and the solar system of which your middle school aged brain did not have the answers to. Sure, you’d get a heart attack trying to keep watch on Sanghyeok in case he pulled another flying stunt on the stairs and landed himself in the hospital again. But out of all the boys Han Dongmin was the one you’d always dreaded to babysit the most because—

“Noona,” he tries calling out to you as you continue to question your life choices while counting the crumbs on the table. “Noona? Hello? Can’t believe you’re gatekeeping your face from me after I called you pretty.”

—he’s always been way too blunt and brazen. To the point that even he manages to get under your thick skin.

“I still haven’t gotten a good enough answer as to why you six decided to hunt me down,” you nag him, diverting the conversation. “Do you plan on telling me now or wha—”

“Seonbae!”

Your interrogation gets interrupted by the arrival of a few of your female juniors, taking the liberty to sit around your table as well. Second years. Sophomores. They come to greet and congratulate you on your internship. You thank them with a smile and wait for the actual kicker— coming in the form of a whisper from the junior who grabbed a chair from the other booth to nudge herself next to you.

“Can…can you introduce me to the guy in front of you?”

You press your lips together to mask your amusement. You’ve got no reason to say no and stop a show from unfolding— and maybe you’d be able to get something to tease Han Dongmin with this time and finally instill some revenge— but once you finish your quick introductions and step back from the conversation, you’re pretty surprised to see the sudden 180 of his usual playful demeanor, and the sudden drop in his expression that you almost don’t recognize the man before you.

“Dongmin-ah,” your poor junior tries to test out his name.

“Just call me Taesan,” he suddenly corrects in a less than friendly tone.

You try to look at Woonhak for an answer to this change in behavior, but he’s busied himself with a game on his phone because you’d been policing all his fun tonight (his accusation, not yours), and when you shift your attention back to the two, the atmosphere had become absolutely, incorrigibly frigid within the few seconds that you were looking away.

“Is it a nickname? What does it mean?”

“Nothing much.”

“Ah, well, then, what’s your major?”

“I’m undecided.”

“O—oh, uh, where— where did you get your jacket? It looks so cool!”

“My grandpa gave it to me before he passed away.”

You physically wince at that one. You’re pretty sure most of those are lies because last you heard his grandpa is very much alive and kicking, but damn. He’s an impenetrable shield. You peer at your left and notice your junior visibly getting red and embarrassed. You’d like to step in and save her from any more of this, but she’s just as determined as Dongmin— on opposite ends of the battlefield.

“What’s your IG user, Taesan-ah? Let’s follow each other!”

“I don’t do social media.”

“Th–then— then, how about your num—”

“Seonbae,” Dongmin cuts her off. “I’m sorry, but I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not interested in you.”

Holy shit, what is this kid doing?

The tension is palpable. You’re pretty sure the surrounding tables have caught a whiff of the back and forths as well because the diameter around you is weirdly quiet for a party. What’s worse is that he’s now looking at you as if you’re part of the conversation, staring at you with a glimmer in his eyes that’s all too familiar when he’s plotting to stir up some trouble— a tell that he never outgrew since was like six.

He smiles. It’s a targeted smile. He looks straight at you when he says, “Right, noona?”

“What?” you croak in alarm. “Why are you dragging me into this?”

“Don’t play dumb now.” You receive a nudge by the foot from underneath the table. You don’t need to duck and look under to figure out the culprit. “How can I be interested in anyone else when I already confessed to you. And four years later, you still haven’t replied.

To say that you’re bewildered right now is an understatement. “Dongmin, what are you— what…what?” All your intellect and you can’t even begin to formulate a response. He just saying this like he’s reciting the national anthem. He’s insane.

And the way he’s looking at you right now tells you exactly that he finds your flabbergasted expression absolutely hilarious.

Dongmin lets out a huff and rests his arms on the table to lean forward, closing in the gap between you into barely half an arms length, all while doused in all the smugness of the world. “I don’t know about the other guys, but I came to see you with one goal in mind,” he says. And then, with the tilt of his head, continues, “Don’t you think it’s about time you give me a response, noona?”

A chorus of ooooh’s breaks out from all your surroundings. Your face is as hot as the sun, but what you’re currently feeling is incomparable to the sheer and visible mortification emanating from your junior. Woonhak starts to make gagging and barfing noises from the right of you. You’re far too taken aback to tell him off to do anything about it— to do anything about this, in general.

“Woonhak-ah, you might end up calling me brother-in-law one day, you know.”

“I’d rather die.”

To add onto the absurdity of it all, the remaining four start to make even more of a mess.

“Noona! Look over here! I can do a trick shot!”

“Hey, who vomited in the bathroom sink?!”

Which leads you to the very sound conclusion—

“I think…I think it’s time we all head home.”

Unfortunately for you, the night isn’t over yet. You still have to make sure your five non-blood-related idiots make it back home in one piece.

Sungho is fortunately still mostly sober, so he assured you that he can walk Jaehyun back to their shared apartment that’s just within the same neighborhood. Sanghyeok and Donghyun live in the opposite direction from you, so book an Uber for them and watch as Sanghyeok tosses his passed out roommate into the backseat before waving you goodbye. “You owe us a meal for ghosting us, noona!”

“Go take a shower first, vomit breath!” you yell back, then turn to the remaining sheep in your herd the moment the car drives off. “And you?”

For your sake and his, you forget all the nonsense Han Dongmin was spewing earlier. He just wanted to get your junior off his tail that badly.

“I’ll walk you two home first,” he replies. “I didn’t drink so I can get home just fine. But you— tsk. Probably can’t say the same for you, noona.”

“You—”

With a sharp inhale, you try to reach for his neck, but you realize you can’t give him a noogie anymore since he’s now a whole head taller than you. Dongmin notices what you were trying to do, and just as well notices that you’re annoyed because you no longer can. So, he dips his head down closer to your level. He provokes with that slight squint of his eyes that feign innocence, accompanied by the upturned corners of his lips.

You stare at him. You sigh. And then you push him back by the forehead using two fingers.

“Quit acting smooth, you’re literally a toddler.”

Somehow, he makes no attempt to egg you further and settles with laughing alongside your strides across the street, fixing the bangs you messed up while his other arm latches around Woonhak’s shoulders. Your brother verbally protests and whines but makes no actual effort to shove him off as you make your way back to your apartment building.

“Did you tell mom you’re staying over?” you ask Woonhal, climbing up the staircase to your floor. Your question, for some reason, causes him to stumble on the very last step, your eyes narrow at him.

This is suspicious. That much is apparent because he’s desperately trying to avoid your scrutinizing glare right now. Dongmin gives him a little nudge to answer before your patience runs out. Woonhak gulps. “Haha, well, she knows.”

Not good enough. “Kim Woonhak, what are you hiding?”

“W-w-well—”

He doesn’t need to finish replying because you get your answer in the form of a very familiar suitcase parked right in front of your apartment door. It has around a dozen keyrings and PopMart figures chained everywhere possible. Your head snaps at Woonhak. He immediately tries to shield himself with his arms.

“I didn’t get kicked out!” he loudly explains. “Mom and dad let me transfer to a high school in Seoul!’

They what?

Woonhak takes your lack of immediate response as an opportunity to continue squeaking out an explanation. “They—they said I could live with you while I study here and, uh—”

You can feel it— the blood rushing to your head, you can absolutely feel it. You try to close your eyes and take in deep breaths to keep it down but it’s no use. Despite all this, Woonhak continues digging his grave with caution.

“And I…I start school on Monday, so…haha…”

Yup. No use. Woonhak flinches when you move a step closer. Dongmin tries to calm you down with a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t get too angry—” But you smack his hand away and snap your eyes up at him. His smile twitches nervously. “Whoa, haha. Woonagi, your sister has gotten pretty scary.”

That sort of knocks you out of your temper. At least just a little bit. “I’m not angry,” you grit between your teeth. “Dongmin, go home. It’s getting late. And you.” You turn over to the guilt ridden Woonhak once more, completely avoiding eye contact with you with his hands behind his back. You sigh in an attempt to relax. “Get inside and unpack your things. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

my youth is free. © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

#taesan x reader #taesan x you #taesan au #taesan scenarios #han dongmin x reader #han dongmin x you #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor scenarios #bnd x reader #taesan fluff #taesan #bnd fluff #boynextdoor fluff #han taesan x reader #han taesan scenarios #han taesan fluff

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clementineofmine · 2 months ago

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So, I've been meaning to watch tua s1 again for a while and I finally sat down tonight with e1 and...

Wow. Just wow. Episode 1 is such a perfect story in so many ways. The character intros, the cinematography, the soundtrack, the storytelling, weaving present day with flashback so carefully.

Sure, some of the acting is a bit rough, the cast clearly hasn't melded yet (but the siblings haven't seen each other for years, so it works), haven't humanized the comic book characters yet...but then oh my god the dance scene.

I recall hearing sometime that they filmed the dance scene on the first day and wow just....every single cast member just blew it out of the water. Luther forgetting how big he is and punching the ceiling, Allison with her boa, Klaus dancing with the urn, Viktor in the stairwell and Diego basically closing the door in his face (so grateful to whoever first pointed out that detail to me, it's hilarious) so he can do his private lil dance in the living room.

And then Five shows up, and the whole dynamic of the siblings just gets even more chaotic.

One thing I hadn't noticed before about the back half of the episode is Fives coffee arc: he complains about coffee, goes out for a cup of coffee, doesn't get to drink it at Griddys for obvious reasons (I'll get back to this in a sec), and eventually goes to Viktor's...who offers to make him coffee. That was nice, and a subtle little narrative foreshadowing to Five that hey, maybe what you're looking for (a decent cup of coffee/person who ends the world) is right in front of you all along (Viktor, in both cases).

Of course, Five completely misses that message, because that's the idiot he is and we love him for it.

Okay back to Griddys: I truly forgot how much I loved this scene. If you hadn't read the comics, you don't really know much about Five at this point, just that he's a smartass kid insisting some mumbojumbo about him being 58 and stuck in the future. (Clearly his siblings don't believe him, so why should we, the audience?) So when he turns out to be not only telling the truth, but there being so much MORE going on...not only is he from the future but he's being hunted, knows he's being hunted, and is able to easily take down a cadre of goons with automatic weapons with a butter knife and a tie, and then smirks at the end of it....well that's insanely cool. What a way to build up a character.

(And don't forget that in e2 they immediately cut him down to a scared kid traumatized by his dead family....Five your s1 character arc is both top notch and sad beyond belief).

And if you had read the comics...well...it's even better because you get the anticipation of seeing those goons walk into the store, knowing that nothing less than batshit craziness is about to go down. And then... it does.

Whew. S1e1 my beloved, how I have missed you.

#tua s1 #its just so good #if you havent watched it for a while i highly recommend a rewatch #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #viktor hargreeves

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midnight1nk · 2 months ago

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So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut]

OH we technically guessed it right, we are getting an episode with 3 after all. Hell yeah! For that, friends, we each get an ice cream (gonna get myself some mint chocolate chip)

Now that we have our snack, let's enjoy the episode, shall we?

(the following is my live reaction:)

(god i love the intro so much, it makes my brain happy like :3 I'm telling you it's my Saturday morning cartoon)

YOOO are we getting more of 3 and Bob dynamic? oh HELL YEAH!

You gotta admit, we've been waiting for interesting character dynamics!! This was the ones I was on my list ever since the "No TV Make Mario No Okie Dokie" episode (but fr can they be money-loving besties? for me specifically?)

"sugar" right......

Well..... I mean, they are pretty valuable. Which ones were they? Someone pass me some thin mints

Bob: "And I took those cookies from you!" Why do I imagine 3 pulling the whole "taking candy from a baby" scenario and steal a wagon of those cookies from a Girl Scout? Either that or 3's scout leader for the SMG4 Kids, Girl Scout being gender neutral. Eh, probably the former, but could you imagine? *secretly writes this down*

Y'know it would be crazy if it was in the daycare and it was the kids

their lil brave march into the daycare, that really got a giggle out of me hehe

Bob: "These are dangerous guys." He's not wrong, they can be scary sometimes

the RETURN of Gooby4.... oh....

*WOTFI 2024 flashbacks* 😶 huh. (let's just move on, ok?)

(update: yeah don't think I didn't see 3 with the brainrot smh)

3: "I'M TOO YOUNG AND GORGEOUS TO DIE" PFFT HAHAHA that seriously got me, that's good ......wait. y'know how I said that 3 might be insecure about his self-image? huh. well, guess what's gonna be a new addition to the tier list :D

MEGGY?

ah, that makes sense 😊↕️ look at her, she looks so happy like :>

oh gurl, not that you would know but that's not what they meant /lh

YAY the M&M (sibling) duo is here! ofc he would be

"sugar rush" HAHAHA man they really do be saying some great lines this episode

oop that little bit of animation with 3, love that they sneak those lil bits in

welp, worst person you can have to teach about how "sharing is caring" haha (if anyone's going to bring up the endorsement usb, that didn't count, let's be clear on that)

wait, hang on, I got another bit of these:

writer Ink: "...And then the rat gang surround Bob and pull out their cheese swords." producer Ink: "Wow, I get it'll be tough for him to get out of that situation." writer Ink: "Actually, it's going to be easy, barely an inconvenience!" producer Ink: "Oh, really?" writer Ink: "Yeah, he's just going to show off how hot he is and then the rats would die from his attractiveness. Like they would say 'Oh no, he's hot!'" producer Ink: "Every one of them?" writer Ink: "Every one of them." producer Ink: "Wow, I'm glad he was able to defeat them with the power of gay awakenings... or something, I can't tell." writer Ink: "I mean, is anyone in the SMG4 universe really a 100% straight and/or cis?" producer Ink: "Fair enough! But what about Francis?" writer Ink: "Hey, shut up (he's dead)"

/silly

anyway, look how happy 3 is, enjoying that story :)

as someone who watched all of the final destination and saw movies, 3's not wrong

me likey :D

hold on, how come the kids get a free cappuccino? I want one! I wanna try 3's coffee >:( /silly

Bob: "Please go the fuck to sleep" OMG I haven't heard this audio for SO LONG, it was bc the I was rewatching a 64 Blooper "Shoot to the Observatory in the Sky". For what? uuuh it's confidential for the time being, folks. anyway this really hit me with nostalgia like you have no idea

PFFT HAHAHAHAHA I might pass out oh fuck

idc what anyone says, this is the joke of all time

oh i hate that png of Mario and his teeth /lh

NO MARIO THAT'S NOT IT

AY now Mario can match with Pirate 4 from the "Mario PC Virus" episode

btw he's so sweet with the kids like 4 does 😭 (just unfortunately putting them in dangerous situations unintentionally, whoops)

*head in hands* naurrrrr

*wheeze* the cutaway from that tho

yep, everything coming together, huh boys?

c'mon Bob, you got us in this mess, just give them the money!!

😦 and we're fuuuuuuuuuucked

OUGH I felt that to my core. stepping on legos are the worst smh

YES lesson here, folks: adapt on the battlefield

OUGH i felt that AGAIN

See? Bob was right, kids are dangerous (if you give them the right stuff) 😊↕️

goddammit we were so close

the boss? MARTY?! OH SHIT HE'S BACK, I TOLD YALL

ik 3, ik but that's GOOD, for me specifically

I gotta love this moment bc genuinely Marty is a menacing villain if you think about every crime he's ever done but because he's a cardboard cutout, most of us in the audience don't really take him seriously. For 3 and Mario tho, being in WOTFI 2023 and the poisonous pasta sauce fiasco, they know what he's capable of but they can always kick his ass again, just like last time

please puzzles, can you recruit marty? it would be cool i swear

oh, is Marty going to be mad about what 3 did?

*blink blink* wha?

Oh, I guess we're gonna have to go with that narrative. Like I said, we gotta adapt. it's time to improvise!!

Marty: "I'll let this sugar incident slide...this time." 👀 this time?

OOP and the cops got him. wait. WAITWAITWAIT HE'S GOING TO JAIL! maybe not in the same row but MAYBE he's with Puzzles rn in the same jail!!

sorry, this is just so adorable to see 💙

one day, we'll get "I need a hero" (shrek 2 cover) on an episode *cough cough* PV plus *cough*. Hey, if I was able to manifest the "Friends on the Other Side" into the show, we can do this

😨 OWWWW THIS IS WORSE THAN THE LEGO I FELT THAT SOMEHOW

sidenote: I do love 3's sunglasses here, slay honestly! It kinda reminds me a lot of Shadow's from the Sonic calendar art, strange for me to just say that but it's true (one day I'll have "Mario in Sonic 3". one day.......)

YUP this is a different jail from last time!! Not that this would stop him from escaping but wouldn't it be cool if we... gee idk... have him recruited for some revenge thing. perhaps 👀

(Team, if you pan to the right and we see puzzles, I would scream)

Oh, but trust. the cardboard kid is gonna come back somehow. Probably not alive bc the one who did it for Marty was Mario (y'know, aka the Avatar), but this cutout's going to be important somehow

Congrats to ElisCZ for your art being featured in the end credits! 🎉 And anniversary fanart for Puzzlevision no less, hell yea!!

(hey Team, why Puzzles? Not that I hate the choice but any particular reason why? hmmm *sits cutely* /silly)

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Wow, this was such a silly and fun episode! Seriously Team, you've done a great job, yall got be CRACKLING throughout the whole thing which isn't an easy feat. AND a 3 + Bob dynamic? I LOVE IT!! This was so good and I really hope we get to have more episodes like this, either with team-up dynamics or character exploration (like 3 in particular).

Now, as for my tier list I mentioned earlier, here's the updated version from the first one:

yep, 3's self-image issues are definitely in the "it keeps me up at night" pile 😌↕️

Anyway MARTY IS BACK!! Oh man, I'm REALLY hoping Puzzles would also recruit him into the revenge plan. He would be, dare I say it, perfect for it. Ok ok, you guys gotta see my (creative) vision here:

we will need Marty to transfer to solitary confinement row with Puzzles, or just have them in the same building, either one works

Then, for the next arc around June, WPNZ breaks Puzzles out of jail (and Marty uses the opportunity to get out of there too with his "son"), and then our two antagonists get a chance to have a whole arc for themselves to bond. y'know the whole strangers to friends to breakup (read: divorce) to reconciling. Hell, the Crew doesn't even need to be part of it at all, and that way we raise the stakes higher for the future. Side note: they didn't know Marty was in jail.

WOTFI 2025 would have Marty as the main anatagonist but this time, the whole Crew (yes. even Karen) would be there and once he's defeated but not killed, Puzzles would come and recruit him. Idk, probably for Marty losing his son or something bc of them.

THEN we get Puzzlevision Plus/IGBP 2 (+ the ultimate test of 3's character development if he gets recruited right before it)

😎 eh eh? how's that? *crickets* .....yea, like that's ever gonna happen hehe. I'll just uh. leave this in my concept vault and hopefully I'll get the fic out before the next arc. I wouldn't even count that tho if I were you. I really don't have much to say for this review other than that this was such an enjoyable episode, so have these instead:

Look at the cuties ^^. That's all from me, folks! I'll see yall in the next one, and remember: numbers always go first!

#smg4 #smg4 spoilers #ink reviews #fr this was such a pleasant surprise and I LOVED it 💙#certainly lots to think about after today #also update on the tier list ig LMAO #ALSO also I didn't forget the brainrot 3 was watching!! just didn't get to mention here lol

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lucky13cat · 3 months ago

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One of the things that I love about Kingdon is that as much as we joke about Langdon being obsessed with her at first sight and him constantly needing to check in with her or stare at her, it's Mel that reached out first. Mel.

Yes, we saw him stare at her during her intro (a very pointed bit because not only do we see it over and over again but it's because that's the only intro we see him react to), but it's Mel that came to him for their first case together when Robby, her attending and someone she's already talked to so may have been a more obvious option, is seated just a few feet away having a conversation with Langdon. (Which I have a whole entirely different tangent about the "I don't have a best friend"/"Well what am I?"/ "You're my best resident." Convo preceding that that basically boils down to Langdon and Mel both desperately want connection, both desperately reach out their hands, and both find that connection with each other after multiple rejections from others. But i won't go into that right now.)

And it's Mel that keeps coming up to him over and over. She comes to him about for the Captain Scurvy diagnosis and about updates for the little boy. She wants to talk him and also wants to make friends in the ED (her conversation with Santos). Her grasping for connection is what sets up the amazing Kingdon dynamic we see developing over this season. She opens the door, and Langdon, having been rejected by Robby and similarly seeking connection, falls through it, slowly then all at once.

Langdon is certainly the "fell harder" trope, but he isn't the one who "fell first," in my opinion. That was Mel!

And honestly I really hope we get to see some development on that dynamic in Season 2 whether it's through Mel reaching out on his first day back or a reversal of dynamics where Langdon reaches out to her first.

#kingdon #mel x frank #the pitt #frank langdon #mel king

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jesterkoops · 4 months ago

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Short tag-along on my previous post.

I think we need to be careful not to mix up the perspective of the AUDIENCE with the perspective of the CHARACTERS.

The reason I don't think Gemma being alive and being actually Gemma will have that much of an impact on the Mark/Helly dynamic is that Gemma being alive and still Gemma is a big reveal TO US, the audience, because we’ve operated on the assumption all along that she was not really Gemma, that she was braindead, that she was a clone, or what have you.

But for MARK, the character, it isn’t a revelation all because he’s been utterly convinced she’s alive and he’ll get her back this entire season. Her being alive was the driving force of his actions both as innie and outie. He DOES expect to find her alive down in the basement and get her out. He does know that Helly is Helena and Helena is complicit in holding his wife in the basement. So his entire behaviour this season has already been predicated on that knowledge, including the way he relates to Helly/Helena. That’s why that’s not going to change just because Gemma is actually alive. What IS going to change things is the REINTEGRATION. That is what’s going to change MARK's perspectives on things. Innie Mark will remember being in love with Gemma, someone who he had zero feelings for and towards whom he only felt a sense of duty to do what's right, and outie Mark will discover being in love with Helly, someone he didn't even know existed and whose outie is the woman partly complicit in holding his wife in the basement. I think that is the revelation for the character that will define the story moving forward. That is the underlying theme of the intro this year. Just as outie Mark is single-minded about getting his wife out of the actual basement, innie Mark will be single-minded about not letting go of Helly/getting her out of the metaphorical basement. Outie Mark might want to just resume his life outside with his wife, but innie Mark doesn't give a shit about that because his life is inside Lumon with Helly, not with a woman he's had zero emotional connection with.

It will be a complete mess and I have no idea how they will develop this, but boy am I curious.

[I'm also having thoughts based on this about whether or not it makes sense for Helly/Helena to reintegrate at some point, but they're all still very confused and vague, so I'll need them to marinate some more]

#severance #severance speculation #mark s #helly r #mark scout #helena eagan #gemma scout #mark x helly #mark x helena #markhelly #markhelena

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illuminatedquill · 4 months ago

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I am loathe to wade into the shipping discourse because it’s not how Severance should be viewed - at least in its entirety - but also the writers, directors, and cast members definitely seem keen on the audience being forced into Mark’s dilemma: Helly or Gemma.

This conflict is woven into the show’s theme and is featured prominently in the intro, even. So it’s hard not to get involved and have thoughts. It’s a deeply uncomfortable topic to consider, which I totally get and, speaking personally, I despise love triangles in stories.

Severance gets a slight pass because they’re actually doing justice to the concept and making it interesting and complicated but I will admit that I’m still not a fan of Mark x Helly. I think they were better off as just friends, with the romance firmly staying between Mark and Gemma.

If you’re not interested in hearing any thoughts about this then feel free to keep scrolling. Otherwise, read on:

Mark x Helly only makes sense to me if it adds weight to the final choice of him staying with Gemma in the end. From my point of view, Helly’s most interesting relationship is with herself - namely, her outie Helena. In this season, that seems to have been sidelined in favor of her romance with Mark which is . . . a choice.

It’s possible that leads to the popular theory that Helly becomes pregnant by Mark, one that I’m personally not fond of, since it makes the relationships even more complicated (and I think the show has enough complicated interpersonal dynamics as it is) but I am giving grace to the Severance writers to handle such a plot line with their usual creativity and keen guidance.

Anyway, I don’t think anyone watching the show with working eyes can deny that Helly is deeply important to Mark and even Gemma, to an extent. If Gemma is the impetus for the show even existing, then Helly is the catalyst that spurs the show’s characters forward with her firebrand personality. She’s exactly what Mark needs right now, and the same could be said about Mark for her. He grounds Helly and gives her a safe space, whereas she gives him purpose and the will to move forward. Mark needs that.

Helly’s presence is what spurs Mark to start the search for Ms. Casey (even if that’s been somewhat derailed this season).

There’s a valid argument to be had that Mark x Gemma, having changed and lost so much because and for each other, would be doomed to a lifetime of misery for choosing to stay with each other. There’s so much tragedy between them, even before Lumon cruelly split them apart.

Helly could be a new start for Mark, free from that pain. Her and Mark’s relationship feels youthful in a stark contrast to Mark and Gemma’s lived-in marriage. That is purposeful; the creators of the show have said that one of the themes for this second season is adolescence. And we know that they go well together, having seen them in action on the severed floor.

But . . . it doesn’t feel true to the themes of Severance if they do go down that route, at least to me. Mark’s central character flaw is his conflict avoidance: his unwillingness to face the hard and painful experiences head-on in an honest and open manner.

Helly is important to him. He loves her. She is what he needs right now.

But it has to be Gemma. Not because he’s married to her or out of loyalty to what they had before. Because that Mark and Gemma are gone. Dead. Neither of them are going back to how things were between them.

It has to be Gemma because that’s the only way either of them are going to truly get out of Hell. Going with Helly would mean not having to face all that hardship and pain and suffering that healing would require. It would mean that Mark and Gemma suffered for nothing.

They have to face it; all the damage done from Lumon, from their own selves, and from each other. Face it together and learn to love and be happy and live together despite it all. And they have to undertake that journey together.

Severance never takes the easy route. It’s making the statement that you cannot sever away the trauma and pain of life without losing your humanity in the process.

Mark x Helly vs Mark x Gemma. It gives more weight to know that, despite having the chance for him to walk away, he still chooses Gemma. That he wants to be with her after everything: the good, the bad, the ugly. To stand by her side and go through it all with love and honesty and faith that they’ll make it through this.

It’s Gemma. Always has and always will be.

(I know there’s the question about what Gemma would want, especially after finding out that innie Mark loves Helly - and if they do go down the pregnancy route, hoo boy. But I think we forget that Gemma is intelligent - innie Mark was born out of a need to forget her. And she knows and understands from painful experience how innies work. If anything, Gemma might be more mad about the fact he chose to get severed rather than him falling in love with another woman, considering memories of him were all that was keeping her going while locked away in Lumon’s dungeon whereas Mark thought creating a version that never knew her was needed to keep functioning. But, all the same, I don’t think watching her fight tooth and nail for almost an hour leaves any doubt in my mind that she would still want to be with him. It wouldn’t be easy to reconcile with but, hey, life and love are messy. It’s the story of everyone. Trying to avoid it deprives you of the full richness of our brief lives and robs it of meaning is what Severance is saying. But if she and Mark survive getting free and clear of Lumon and are open and honest with each other, then they’ll be okay, I think. And, of course, the love is still there, in spite of it all. That’s enough to convince me. It won’t be the same, but it can be good again. I know it can be. After all, winter never lasts forever. Spring always comes again.)

These are my own thoughts, I cannot stress that enough. It’s what makes sense to me. Even though I don’t care for Mark x Helly, I do adore Helly’s character and wish her the best ending possible. But with Helena as her outie, I just don’t see that being a possibility. And, no, I don’t believe that Severance is going to attempt a redemption arc for Helena. Not that the writers couldn’t write a damn good one for her - they certainly could - it’s just that particular narrative would require a huge amount of character work that should take multiple years and seasons to develop properly. You can’t just flip a switch and she’s suddenly Helly, even if she does reintegrate. I just don’t think it’s a story that should be rushed, like how it was with the resolution to Helena co-opting Helly’s bodily autonomy to be intimate with Mark. Fringe did that storyline way better and the reason why is because they had the time and space to do so. Severance does not - not in this current era of streaming shows where everything is condensed to 10 episodes max. Doesn’t matter how good the writers are.

#markgemma #markhelly #mark scout #gemma scout #helly r #helena eagan #mark x gemma #mark x helly #severance #severance spoilers #severance speculation

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riteliso · 17 days ago

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ALRIGHT SO

Here's how we're doing things, right? We're gonna go one episode at a time, and I'm gonna give my thoughts whenever they come up. This is a train of thought type beat, alright? Unlike my usual grandstanding authorial and analytical self, this re-watch is purely for the rant factor. If you don't know me, and you just happened upon this thread because you like reading she-ra rewatches, hello. I'm a writer from Canada who found she-ra in 2025 and is currently on her sixth watch through. From that, hopefully you can discern that I like this show, even if I'm likely gonna criticize parts of it. We good to go? Good. We start with S01 E01.

RIGHT, THE SWORD PART 1! A zoom in, with an angelic singing being drowned out by digital bloopy fright zone vibes, and then Adora being a fuckin dweeb as her leitmotif plays in a decidedly crystiline synth-y tone.

Now, what do we learn from this? This, aside from one gripe I'll have more to speak on later, is an excellent introduction. With the music alone we're essentially taken from the beauty of the planet, the overwhelming dread of the fright zone, and then into a hopeful tune that isn't FREE from these sort of digital themes in the music, but is very defined and separate FROM them.

This isn't gonna be one of those things where I praise literally every single fuckin thing so keep your panties on, I'm not gonna full-on overanalyzing avatar this shit, but the most important parts of a story are the beginning and the ending.

Now, when I say that, I am speaking pragmatically. Every part of every story is important-- but when it comes to what people remember, what they love, what they never shut up about-- it's the start and the end. You need to nail the take-off and the landing, people will forget the turbulence from the rest of the trip.

Now, what does THIS bitch's intro tell us about her? Well, a lot, honestly. Most of what we know about Adora at this point is she plays by the rules, but she is a notably goofy person. She's goofy, but she's unwilling to goof-OFF too much.

And while we get a taste of the rivalry they have instantly, with "That's low, even for you." "You know nothing's too low for me~"

We instantly see that that is not the CORE of their relationship.

I'd like to praise the voice direction in this show for the first of many times here. The voice actors do amazing work in this, and the direction can be felt throughout.

"Come on, you look stupid hanging there" can obviously be a seen as a strange first line to show the warmth these two share, but the inflection from Catra's voice actor, AJ Mikalcha, makes it read as downright sweet.

Also don't get used to me using names of the crew besides ND Stevenson because I'm so awful with names I was still calling Catra Katara half the time on my second re-watch and I was like 90% of the way to realizing I kinned her at that point

Also don't make fun of me for kinning Catra there's no RESPONSE to people making fun of you for kinning Catra THAT DOESN'T MAKE YOU SEEM MORE LIKE FUCKING CATRA OKAY

Anyway, the following scene makes it clear that this is not a one-way dynamic. The two banter, and it's clear Adora knows how to get under Catra's skin and annoy her as well. This is notable in a few places MUCH further on, but it is a difference worth highlighting NOW.

Once Adora leaves, Catra's primary goal is still to get under her skin. She's angry about it, she's mean about it, but she's still just doing what she's always done. The relationship between the two doesn't actually change as much as the context does. I'd say the relationship itself doesn't change much until the final season, at a scene I'm sure I'll have a lot to say about.

On the flip-side, Adora's goal when it comes to Catra is simply to fight her off. But that's not all there is. At points, it's clear that Adora holds some sort of REVERENCE for Catra, and while Catra is very capable of very mean things, don't get me wrong, Adora sees Catra as more of a threat than she realistically is.

At a few moments I'll point out she also relishes in getting under Catra's skin, but admittedly those are few and far between.

People have gone over this introduction billions of times, so I won't BORE you to death with it, but Shadow weaver's introduction does hint at a lot of what we'll learn later. I think it's very notable that while Shadow weaver brings a dark gloom that encompasses both our leads, her vile tendrils only dare to touch Catra. We learn the specifics of the dynamic these three have later, but it is a very unique and terrible situation to be the least favourite of an abusive guardian. Especially if you are repeatedly reminded of that fact.

I'm not gonna go over all the body language shit I've seen other text posts about it there's plenty of them a lot of focus in this show goes into tiny details where characters are constantly reacting to the world around them, and very rarely do we get lame stretches where anyone's face is just frozen and unflinching while they listen to someone else.

with all due respect to the setting at this point in time the bright moon rebellion is so pathetically anemic it's the two teens, some movie night lesbians, an immortal princess queen, and a bunch of fucking trees.

And you'd think the one carrying the team would be THE IMMORTAL PRINCESS QUEEN, BUT NO, ITS THE FUCKING TREES DOING ALL THE GOD DAMNED WORK

This introduction is fine. I don't particularly like it, nor have any strong feelings about it. It establishes the relationship between glimmer and her mother, but besides that it doesn't honestly do much. And don't come at me with "Uh, all it needs to do is establish that relationship?" Yeah, no shit, but we just had a better introduction to our other lead characters. And yes, those are the MAIN leads, the sort of heart of the show, but that doesn't mean that the other characters are unimportant. Glimmer's development later on is truly interesting, and Bow becomes a massively inspiring character. Fun jokey times are fine or whatever to show that they're immature and don't know the first thing about war, in contrast to our full-blown child soldiers raised from birth in the fright zone, but we really don't learn anything particularly INTERESTING about our best friend squad compadres in their intro, nor do we really see any of it until episode 2, to be frank.

This is something we don't actually see much of-- Catra has this ideal of being a conqueror, but it's very clear that she doesn't want that. Her threats are vapid and aimless-- She can enjoy some chaos, sure, but a shit-stirrer isn't gonna use that feces to build brick shithouses that they never intend to fall.

I think this should have been elaborated on more, personally. Catra is comically terrible with authority, and her plan, as stated later, is to wait it out until her and Adora are the ones calling the shots. But we don't really see what she thinks conquering even looks like, and it's not clear whether that's that she hasn't even imagined it and just likes evil words, or if she genuinely wants to rule with Adora as her Queen.

I gravitate towards the first, but that's partially because I wake up and post shit like "I want to destroy the world and rule its dust" and then forget I posted it when someone likes it 5 minutes later. If she do, in fact, as studies point toward, "be just like me fr," then I fully understand. If not, then I'd like to understand.

aw :(

Fuckin dweeb pulling the "my mom doesn't want me hanging out with you anymore" card

HA! Ah, what a bitch. Anyway, she's lashing out, but it's also quite tragic. A lot of people seem to think Adora IS, in some way, a people pleaser, but in reality she just has such an ingrained and violent sense of justice that she wants to right every wrong she has ever and will ever come across. She believes her validity is tied to what she can provide to the world, and she's got a natural sense of charisma, so it's natural for someone who refuses to blend in and naturally tends to put people off like Catra to have this view of her.

In reality, Adora is just-- a good person. And people LIKE good people. She's not a good person with an asterisk-- a good person with terms and conditions-- someone who falls into the definition of a good person while feeling and being treated like something else. Catra is the "a tomato is a fruit" of good people. Adora is just, like, a 1 dollar costco hotdog of a woman. An inarguable good treading water on this earth, no matter how hard it tries to pull her under.

Imagine falling for a brat with mad hops, like a fucking 50 foot vertical, you say you're too tired to play their favourite board game and they go hang out on your neighbour's roof, couldn't be me. Get fucked I guess

Yeah this is sad. Empathy is very much a learned skill, and people who don't learn empathy don't GET happy FOR people. Catra's not a complete person yet. She's not ready to be. That doesn't happen for a really long time, during an exceptionally long manic spiral. We'll get there, calm down, don't think about how far away that is and how much I've already yammered on.

Anyway, if you find yourself getting jealous or annoyed instead of getting happy for people, consider empathy isn't what you thought it was, and that you might still need to work on yourself.

fucking porno framing. Immensely sexual image, really. These bitches violently gay I suppose, I think I'm picking up on that during this sixth re-watch.

Buddy you got no idea how many problems those two already have you literally lose your little tiara at some point I think it ends up in the middle of a tree in space or something it's kinda unclear

Adora elbows her square in the nose during this so to everyone accusing Catra of physical abuse I just want it to be clear that Adora started it :/

Actually I'd like to retract that joke immediately because I know how people get about these two

My feelings are that they are literally child soldiers who were likely raised sparring each-other.

I was raised sparring other children and I ended up fine! Not for war, for Karate. And I didn't end up fine. And neither did they. Anyway, my point isn't even specifically that because this is sci-fi fantasy it's ridiculous to hold real life standards to it, it's more-so that because it's sci-fi fantasy there's extenuating circumstances that are going to affect how these two characters treat each-other. I'll go into hotter takes later, I'm sure, and get people to send me plenty of death-threats, but I'm gonna go into the nuances of exactly what forms Catra's abuse takes, and how it differs given by the separate circumstances we're shown the two in throughout the show.

my girl when I'm tryna live my best life playing as blue toad in mario 3d world

also holy shit we're only like halfway through this I am an AGONIZING yapper jesus fuck

Okay, what to say about lighthope-- well, their first words are "balance must be restored," far before they say Adora's name, so it somewhat lays out their secret priorities for us there. Besides that, I dunno, they got circuits on them? I don't have particularly strong feelings about lighthope, nor their introduction. I think they serve the setting and are written well, I just subjectively am not a sucker for the way they be. Their friendship with Mara is cute tho

I was gonna point out this is cute and how often I do this exact brat tactic but instead we data moshin, nothin wrong with a little data moshin, I'm down

This is the only reason she even wears a ponytail I'd stake my fuckin life on it

Once she leaves the fright zone that thing's fucking vestigial like a tailbone or having "any pronouns" in your bio when it's pretty clear you're very much a "she/they" type of bitch by now

glimmer why don't your windows have glass

or alternatively

how the fuck do you open and close that window

you can absolutely fucking hear her from this distance what on earth are you trying to pull

you a pillow princess tho how many of those arrows are just hitatchi magic wands attatched to a stick with duct-tape after the series ends do you think

The fuck you mean BOTTOM drawer we lookin at left and right here

or is this similar to my pillow princess comment and she's just addressing him and giving him an order

"Bottom; drawer."

It's established later on that he's a tech wiz but at this point in time they don't really give us much to lead us to the fact that he made that fucking thing

she's a freak

yes it's very sweet that she sleeps this way but I don't think it's some bdsm powerplay thing or anything like that, which would honestly be more tolerable, I think she's just like that

like how the way I'd sit in high school was to get two chairs and face them toward each-other then sit cross-legged across both

even if there weren't enough chairs to go around

people would sit on the FLOOR because I wanted to sit criss-cross-applesauce across two chairs, they wouldn't even ask for one of my chairs

also since I was sitting, again, cross-legged, it would have made more sense for ME to sit on the floor

I mean I think I got asked ONCE for one of the chairs and I just said "fine" but besides that people just let me sit on my fuckin throne

She really is kinda dumb, though. Like I ain't complaining, it's a character trait, but like obviously even if just you get in trouble Catra's gonna get blamed, you've seen it like at least once a month for your whole entire life

Mind you, can't really have Catra for the next part, because Catra's reaction to Bow and Glimmer wouldn't be "just let me have the sword" it'd be murder

oh wow we hit the image limit looks like we're doing TWO SEPARATE POSTS FOR THE VERY FIRST EPISODE YEE-HAW!!!!! THIS IS GOING TO TAKE ME FUCKING FOREVER

#spop #she-ra rewatch #she ra and the princesses of power #live watch

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vintagehellfire · 2 years ago

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Danse Macabre | E.M x Reader

summary: Your best friend invites you to a concert that you're less than keen on but you get much more devil worship than you bargained for.

warnings: porn without plot, plot? What plot?, choking, nipple play, blood play, bruising, oral (m receiving), sacrilege, bdsm, dom sub dynamics, just really stupid horny honestly. Eyefucking, teasing, edging???? Spit kink, mask kink, devil worship. This is just pure filth honestly, piv, unprotected sex (don’t do this with strangers ya’ll pls I’m begging) mdni 18+

word count: 8.6k

Thank you to @the-unforgivenn for beta reading this pure filth for me and for correcting my atrocious keystroke mistakes. I love you so much babe.

part two

How you got dragged to some sort of musical satanic ritual by your best friend Lilly was far beyond you. The heavy instrumentals contrasted too harshly with the light and theatrical vocals. If looks could kill, Lilly would be dead. This wasn’t your scene, it never would be, it’s what you told yourself. Sipping your gin, arms crossed, you scrunch your face, the bartender having been too busy staring at your chest while he poured your drink, resulting in a rather disgusting concoction. As if the night couldn’t get any worse.

One of the lighter intro songs came to an end before the pyrotechnics roared to life next to you, one of the guitarists emerged from behind the waft of smoke. It was then that your breath caught in your throat, the way that he played had you hypnotised, placing you in a trance so deep that you couldn’t tear your eyes from him even if you wanted to, veins protruding. Your eyes trailed over his body, tight jeans fitting to his body and a uniform dress shirt adorning his torso, long sleeves and turtleneck underneath, hiding any soft skin. As you would be met with a face, you were surprised to find that you were met with a helmet of sorts, breathing tubes and other such accessories adorning it, as well as sticking out the top. His eyes burned red like embers behind the wide goggles, a darkness swallowing the man behind the mask and drawing you in. Curiosity got the better of you, you watched closely when he stomped to the beat of the songs. he fans collectively let out a wave of screams, throwing flowers on stage. You rolled your eyes so hard they probably should have rolled out of your head. Were you attracted to the masked musician? In some capacity sure, but wholly? No. They just… they knew how to play well and those hands… you could admit those hands were something. You shook your head to rid yourself of impure thoughts, it wasn’t like you liked the music anyway.

Your face was stone cold and your arms were crossed over your chest unhappily, cleavage pushed up, and the leather of your jacket creaking. That was the thing about you, you’d rather die than remove your prized biker jacket. It was your battle armour, much like the guitarists get up seemed to be the band’s uniform. To them, it protected their identity, and it protected you – you wouldn’t be caught off guard, you wouldn’t be vulnerable, you couldn’t. Your icy stare pierced through the smoke, through the flames, as you focused your gaze on the guitarist in front of you. His white guitar distinguished him from everyone else just as your expression did you –perfectly sour.

The crowd behind you chanted along to the songs, screaming about Lucifer and the congregation and whatever other shit you chose to ignore in favour of your best friend. Lilly was one of them, jumping up and down, chanting every word of the hymns the lead singer belted out to the tune of the strong bass line and the chugging of guitars. As much as you wanted her to have fun, you rolled your eyes, this wasn’t your scene. Every song that started out heavy led to a disappointment with the vocals or the rock opera and so you just opted to be the designated party pooper and give your best glare towards the lead guitarist who seemed all too interested in your corner of the stage. He wailed on his guitar harder than you’d seen anyone wail on one before, a flash of worry briefly crossing your mind but you quickly pushed it down.

The masked man played through his songs flawlessly, fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, mind and body completely in tandem; however your pout, your knit eyebrows, and crossed arms caught his eye, he’d stare back at you through his tinted goggles, smiling softly to himself at how adorable you looked when you were so grumpy. He could tell this wasn’t your scene and so during the slow and long intro to a song he walked over to the very front, standing just a few feet above you. He tilted his head to the side, his mask listing as he stared, playing the intro as his eyes never left yours.

The small movement caught your attention, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you felt like the glowing embers behind the goggles were burning into your very soul, dissecting every little secret. He slowly points to himself before he gets his queue to jump into his next riffs, stomping away as he pushed through the heavy chords that thundered through the concert hall. You dared not admit it to yourself, but something inside you snapped, a warmth starting to spread between your legs. No, no you couldn’t possibly be attracted to this, right? But just as that thought entered your mind, it shot out of your head and straight to your heart when you saw the man before you strut over to his bandmate. The two bent over backwards together, the taller of the two supporting the back of the man with the white guitar. A cute moment, or so you thought, but as soon as the shorter was up for his solo, the taller wrapped an arm around him and pawed at his cock, tugging him into his muscled body, catching the one you had your eye on off guard. He rocked his hips into the other and rested his masked head on the shorter shoulder, fake panting. He did not falter however, and that had your brain reeling.

With a small smack on the ass, the taller let him go, strutting away as the crowd erupted in ear shattering screeches, and if what had just transpired wasn’t one of the hottest things you’d seen, you would have absolutely rolled your eyes, but instead it had you shifting in your place, all too keenly aware of the small flare of heat that lapped at you and the proximity of the other bodies surrounding you. You suddenly felt small, trapped; and you wanted nothing more than to run out and dunk your head under some ice cold water. What was wrong with you? Your eyes darted from side to side, hoping your best friend Lilly wouldn’t notice.

What went on next was just about to make anyone lose their minds, the lead guitarist started to throw guitar picks into the crowd, plucking one last one from his guitar and marching over to directly in front of you. The song they played next was clearly well known but it was only vaguely familiar to you, it was one you would listen to ironically while doing the dishes, one that you didn’t care much for, but was catchy nonetheless. What you didn’t realise was just how suggestive the lyrics were – and so when the man with the white guitar stood in front of you, spreading his legs to put himself in a more comfortable playing stance you thought nothing about it but his next motions had your panties soaking themselves in your slick. A long and crooked finger pointed to himself quickly, then he went back to wailing on his precious guitar just before giving himself a window of about a second to stop, his ring and middle finger very rapidly turned upwards, flicking rapidly as if motioning fingering you, his goggles deadlocked on your eyes. You could tell he was watching you for a reaction, and how you knew you wouldn’t be able to tell. Christ, maybe you should have listened to Lilly when she was telling you this band was horny. Truthfully, you had shrugged it off, what, some singer in a pope mask acting all horny? That didn’t exactly get your rocks off, but the moment you laid eyes on the masked men playing their instruments, all rational thought flew out the window.

Little did you know that the guitarist did have his eyes set on you, all queues already learned, his body moving on auto pilot, his performance was deliberately exaggerated just for you, his motions tailored to get you hot and bothered. He knew he played the best role, and as the show went on, with the lack of water, and the horrid head, he knew his veins were pronouncing themselves even more, fingers sliding around, fingering the fretboard with an expert speed. Every nook, cranny, and metal notch memorised by the calluses on the pads of his fingers, like an old lover he’d always know how to please. He would pride himself on it, on his accuracy, and he was thankful, oh so thankful, that his death metal band had allowed him the dexterity to pull something such as this off.

Your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his figure, stalking his every move like a predator with their prey, A game of cat and mouse you both played with each other from the stage and the crowd. At this point, all shame was thrown out the window and you were openly eye fucking him, blood boiling in your veins and mouth starting to run a little dry.

The final nail in the coffin was during their heaviest song during the show, a calm moment before the storm, before the stadium exploded in a downpour of black and white paper confetti. Your eyes fixated on the man before you as the song slows to a steady chug, breathy whispers sung into the microphones. It made your head spin as you were trying to compose yourself, breath hitching as the object of your lustful affection met your gaze. His black inky goggles bored you as he brought a shaky hand up, his other hand chugging the low E of his guitar. You were transfixed by the man, unable to peel your eyes from him as he slowly and seductively licked his hand, tongue expertly flicking between his fingers, his shaky breaths becoming ragged and exaggerated. Pressing his hand to his chest, he threw his head back in a moan, sliding his elegant fingers down the front of his uniform until it was level with his guitar, and exactly in time with his strumming, he fisted his hand and with a teasing motion he tugged at the air. Your mouth ran completely dry as you registered that he was feigning masturbation in front of thousands of people. He had you caught in a trance, hypnotised by his agonising motions, his eyes seemingly staring into your very soul, picking apart every last bit of you - he saw the scars inside and your desires all rolled into one. As his actions picked up, one hand still busy on his guitar, you let out a choked breath, transfixed by the man, ghoul, whatever he was, before you. He commanded all your attention, causing your mouth to run completely dry but it couldn’t have prepared you for his “release”-- letting go the moment the confetti cannon exploded. Your jaw slacked, a strangled moan flying from your mouth as you clenched your thighs together, mouth slightly agape.

The guitarist knew he had you in a chokehold at that very moment, smirking from underneath his coverings. Flawlessly he jumped back into the song and turned away from you, the game of cat and mouse had become too much, too real. It had only taken him an hour and a half to break you down, but once he did he felt a satisfaction he couldn’t explain, and of course he would try to hide it as he continued to strut across the stage as if he owned it. The reality was that he didn’t want to give away just the way this little game had affected him as well, an undeniable strain in his lower half. If his bandmates had noticed, they had clearly made it their mission to torture him, the rhythm guitarist getting on his knees in front of him during a solo, fucking into his own guitar as he pressed his head to the lead guitarists thigh. It wasn’t until the lead placed a boot on his shoulder to push away from him that the one on his knees relented, the crowd exploding in a rain of screams, and yet all you heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You resigned, the game had been won.

As you tried to catch your breath, you looked over to Lilly, thanking Satan that she hadn’t noticed your turmoil. The rest of the show had you holding your breath, knowing that the masked musician had made it his mission to play games with you. the show ended, you were relieved, you might have a moment yet to go home and get yourself off, forgetting the whole of the events that transpired.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and to the merch table before it gets too crowded!” Lilly cheered, sticking her handout for you to take, but as soon as she looked over your face her eyes drained of excitement. “Oh, are you okay? You look a little pale,” she noted, tilting her head to the side.

“Y-yeah, I,” You cleared your throat, “I’m fine, just feeling a little warm. I think I might head home but you go grab some merch. I’ll text you,” you lied cooly. You didn’t want her to know the profound effect that the lead guitarist had on you. With a nod she gave your shoulder a squeeze and darted off.

You could finally breathe, the suffocation that gripped at your throat just moments earlier had slightly dissipated. As dirty as your thoughts were at the moment, it was in your best interest to get moving, and so, as if on autopilot, you let your feet carry you as far from the stage as possible. You slipped past the crowd, weaving in and around groups of friends, teenagers reeling about the show, displeased parents. You wanted to beeline it out of there before anyone noticed you but unfortunately your plan was short lived as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and tug you behind a closed door.

Your brain ran at a mile a minute, trying to figure out whether it was cause for alarm, but as your back collided with the wall behind you, you were met with the masked ghoul from the stage pressing his knee between your legs, pinning you in place. All colour drained from your face as your breathing laboured. There wasn’t any fear in your body, not any longer, and if there had been any,it had been replaced with undeniable arousal, heat being sent straight to your core. It took all your willpower not to grind into his thigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The husky voice purred, a small accent peaking through. He smelled intoxicating, like amber and cigarettes, a tinge of iron poking through in the softest of undertones. It drove you crazy, mind spinning, dizzy with want. He cocks his head to the side, his nautical mask tilting, the black goggles seemingly bottomless, swallowing his eyes. The musician’s expression is completely unreadable and if you knew any better you’d say it was like a predator who had caught his prey. Your mistake was thinking the little game you both played was over, yet now it seems like it had just begun. The man leans into you, invading your space completely, his covered mouth coming up beside your ear. “Oh you thought our little game was over, didn’t you?” He pulls back, allowing your caged body some space. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, little one.” His sweet voice purrs, setting you over the edge, hips finally pushing into his leg as your head tilts back, smacking softly into the wall.

“Fuck…” The syllable leaves your mouth as a groan before you can do anything about it. Surely you were dreaming this, but when you opened your eyes, you were met with the same mask, the same expression that stared at you from the stage.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart, I’ll have to bring you to the green room. We’ll paint it red in sin .” You swore you could hear him wink from behind his coverings but you didn’t care, satan, you didn’t care as long as you could have him. You’d worship him in uniform, all sweat slicked and bloody if you had to. In this moment you had a one track mind and you’d be damned if you didn’t act on your desires… but maybe having these desires meant that you were already damned. “What, not as bold anymore? Devil got your tongue?” He mused.

“Are you going to run your mouth or are you going to fuck me?” You spit out at him, a feigned venom behind your words, but they were too lust drenched to be taken harshly. In an instant his body was against yours, thigh pressing into your cunt, slowly rubbing back and forth.

“Earn it.” He growled out, face burying itself into the crook of your neck to pepper both kisses and love bites across your jugular. Your body caught fire, desperate to be taken by the mysterious man then and there. You hadn’t seen his face and you were mildly worried that seeing it would ruin the illusion. Would you even find him attractive under all his coverings? You didn’t have time to think about it before his hands came to the meat of your ass, tugging you against him with a burning desire, fire coursing through his veins. The strangled moan that ripped from your throat was one you weren’t expecting, but did it ever feel right, his strained cock digging into your hips as he pushed your body closer to his. You could tell he was well endowed even through the fabric of his trousers, a heat creeping up your neck at this realisation.

“Don’t tease.” You spat, hands coming up to grip his slightly torn jacket, his arm coverings hiding any identifiers. You were going off of nothing aside from the little fire element pin that was securely pinned to the lapel of his uniform. Your hands found themselves tugging him forward, daring him to kiss you.

“Don’t be a brat.” The stranger growled, swiftly lowering the cloth covering his mouth before assaulting your lips with his. It was all teeth and tongues, pure lust taking over every one of your senses, and it seemed to be true for him as well. You kissed back furiously, nipping at his bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from him that would turn into a groan as you rolled your hips against his, begging for some relief. “Easy, pet.” He muttered against the plushness of your mouth, a small tender moment slipping through the cracks. As much as you enjoy rough, there was a certain swell that filled your heart in knowing that he wouldn’t push too far.

Your escapades were all tongue, teeth, and lips, strangled moans, and tugging at each other’s clothes until you both reached the green room wherethe band was supposed to be, however, your mystery man had ensured to clear it before he went out to find you. The only time either one of you broke from one another was for air or to push the door closed, locking it in the process. Both of you were too impatient, a carnal desire for one another pooling into your veins, fire spreading through you both and kindling in that very low spot in your abdomens.

“If you need me to stop, the safe word is Beelzebub.” The man’s husky voice cut through the groans, tugging your hips forward into his by the belt loops. He gave you a moment to process what he had said, but instead you grabbed onto his mask and tugged his head forward, lapping at his bottom lip in order to gain access to his mouth. As soon as he parted his lips, you were welcomed by his tongue dancing in tandem with yours. He tasted of wintergreen and cigarette smoke, a combination so sinful, so depraved that you should have been turned off, instead it flooded you with desire.

“Need you.” You panted out between kisses, the man unrelenting his assault on your mouth. You were utterly soaked through, and you were certain that the musician could smell you but you didn’t care, not right now anyway. You should have been embarrassed by being taken like this but it just turned you on even more knowing that maybe you would get to live out your newly discovered kink instead of trying to soothe — or smother — the flames by yourself.

“Do you need me?” The man mused. “Mmm, prove it to me, my little devil.” His hand crept from your waist down to your hips, and from your hips down to between your legs, agonizingly circling your cunt, thumb pressing into the seam of your jeans in the exact spot your clit would be in. “Show me how needy you are for me… Go on…” His husky voice teased. When you didn’t react he spun you so your back would be to him, a strong arm holding you against his body while the other busied himself with teasing you. His breath was by your ear now, and his cock pressed into your ass. He was so worked up that he began to rut his hips forward, moaning at the friction. His moan elicited a reaction in you, causing you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open. The tassels on his overcoat swayed with each rut of his hips, tickling the side of your face. You couldn’t imagine he wasn’t warm in his get up but you were too occupied to do anything about it.

“Please, fuck, I need you.” You choked out, eyes screwed shut as he teased. You felt him lick a stripe up your neck before nipping just underneath your ear as a small warning before latching his lips to the sensitive spot, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. The sickening combination of his lips on your neck, his hard on rubbing against your ass, and his fingers teasing your clothed cunt was becoming too much, driving your senses crazy. A low growl emanated from deep within his chest, reverberating across your back from the proximity.

“Then get down on your knees….” He spins you around, voice low and husky as he shoves you down, a mix of fear and burning desire settling in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your knees hit the ground with a thud and you’d be sure to bruise later, but that was a small price to pay. You watched him undo his belt and pull his zipper down before bringing his hand back up to his face, licking it slowly like he had during the show. You knew what was coming but what you didn’t expect was him to give you one last order as he spidered his fingers down the ruffled fabric of his shirt. “And pray.” An animalistic snarl came from beyond the mask as his fingers trailed into his boxers this time. The man tugged his cock out and began to stroke himself, chest heaving, his breathing became laboured.

“Oh, god.” You uttered, but the musician didn’t seem to like that. He let go of his cock, allowing it to bounce against his stomach, a stark contrast with his black attire. It looked delicious with the little opalescent bead of precum nestled on the very tip.

“No, my pet,” he purred, his thumb coming to your lips, slipping past them and into your mouth. It tasted of brass and sweat yet you opted to hollow your cheeks around it anyway, “you answer to our savior, satanus here. You are no longer in the house of god.” There was a cruelty behind his voice, corruption on his tongue. You would have thought the theatrics would have instantly had you shoving him away, but instead it left you craving the masked man, mouth salivating at the thought of him completely ruining you.

Without much warning, he tapped his cock on your lips, his precum smudging across your lips, and satanus, was it going to be his death. Your dark smudge of red lipstick would become ruins in the wake, the thought of a red ring around his member had his brain short circuiting, if you didn’t take him in your mouth soon he was going to lose it. Luckily you complied, opening wide to accommodate his size, letting your tongue lap at his tip as he slid in. He started slowly, almost carefully in order not to hurt you but soon enough you pushed his cock to the back of your throat, eliciting a strangled moan from him. His hands flew to your hair, desperate to hold onto something, anything, and he tugged you forward, pulling a moan from the very back of your throat. You pulled back, saliva building up in your mouth mixing with the salty taste of his seed.It wasn’t something you expected to like but you found yourself chasing it, craving more.

Your head bobbed over his length, your moans muffled as you tried to take him deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. His delicate resolve broke then and there, slamming into you at a frantic pace. He chased his high, immense pleasure searing through his veins as he fucked into your mouth like an animal, all sense of self control was gone. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him the most innocent look you could muster as you flicked your tongue over his tip, lapping at his slit. Agonisingly you pulled back, employing the aid of your hand around his length, taking only part of him in your mouth. You jacked him off as you hollowed your cheeks around his tip, tongue expertly flicking over his frenulum and eliciting the most pornographic moan from him.

“Satanus, save me.” The man hissed from above you, pulling on your hair to draw you closer. He was losing control, babbling about how pretty you looked on your knees for him. “You are so exquisitely sinful, my pet.” His chest heaved with every breath he took, fingers tangling themselves further into your head of hair, fingernails practically at your scalp.

You take the praise and you run with it, taking it as a signal to keep going, and this time you move your free hand up his leg, rubbing over his thigh as a tease, a preamble to what you were going to do next. You took his groan as a confirmation to continue, his breaths coaxing you to keep going. You slid your hand up, opting to rub his thigh teasingly, savouring the feeling of the looser material under your fingertips, toying with it before you continued your journey up. While your mouth and right hand busied themselves with his thick cock, your left hand came up to fondle his heavy balls. Who knew that praying to a false idol could be so pleasurable.

“Oh, oh, f-fuck.” The taller threw his head back, voice gruff and fucked out, clearly enjoying this more than he should have been. He was rapidly losing any grip on the situation and he needed to extract himself from it unless he wanted to spill into your mouth. It was his nightmare, his most sinful fantasy, having you like this after the show – a stranger, a person in the crowd. The amount of people that would absolutely kill to be in your position and it was likely that you weren’t appreciating it as you should have been. The man keened before tugging you back harshly, his hips stuttering at the sudden loss of contact from your mouth. “If you keep going like that, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweetheart.” There was a certain level of concern laced into his tone, one that you glossed over through your lust.

“Holy shit…” You breathe out, pupils completely blown, the colours of your irises practically disappearing due to how clouded your mind was with him, only him, nothing but him, and how divine his cock was. At your words, something inside him snaps and he grabs your throat, pulling you up. You could feel yourself growing more aroused by the minute. How he had guessed that you’d be into choking was beyond you, but fuck was this doing things to you that you hadn’t even thought possible.

“There is nothing Holy here.” He growled out, a darkness overtaking his voice. His words sent a cold shiver down your spine, one that found itself shooting down towards your core, causing you to press to him. The ember glow from behind his goggles scanned over your face, flickering, igniting a fire in the bits of your belly. “Here we succumb to our lust.” He breathes before letting your neck go only to bring his hand down to your chest and massage your breast, pinching gently through the fabric of your tank top. In an instant, his mouth attacked your neck savagely, teeth nipping at the thin skin, tongue flicking over the bites to soothe them. You tilt your head back to accommodate him, your breathy moans coming up right beside his ear as you rut into him. You’re desperate to be fucked at this point, needing him more than you need to breathe.

He pierced your skin with his canines, an animalistic desire for you taking over him. He could no longer think, all consumed by his desires. You felt his lips trail down, soft as a butterfly’s wings, stopping at your jugular vein before he bit down, causing you to let out a yelp. Your cry of pain turned into a pornographic moan as he sucked and lapped at your salty skin, a small sheen of sweat starting to gloss over you as you burned up. If this was what being in hell was like, you’d have a hard time coming up with reasons to wind up in heaven. Your torture didn’t end there; however, as he snaked his free hand up to your cheek, holding you in place tenderly as he continued his assault on your neck. He made it his mission to mark you up as his but you were too far gone to care.

“Oh Christ.” You moaned as he lapped at the bite marks he left, but he didn’t seem to like this. Not that you could see this much, but his eyes turned dark as he trailed his lips farther down, burying his face in the crook of your neck before he bit down hard enough to draw blood. Your pain was immediately covered in a strangled cry of pure ecstasy as he tugged you towards him, his hand on your breast moving to your hip, surely bruising it, fingerprint embedded in the skin of your hip bone.

The taste of iron filled the musician’s mouth, his hard on reacting to your metallic taste, pressing into your hip involuntarily. He couldn’t get enough of you - the intoxicating smell of amber and palo santo mixed with the salt from sweat, and the citrus of the gin… He wanted to ruin you once and for all.

“No, my pet, you are not in the house of God. Only the devil resides here. Will I need to have you pray to me again?” The growl that ripped from his throat has you soaking your lace panties, a choked sob escaping from your parted lips. As he took you in, he noted that you already looked completely fucked out, the bruising on your neck blooming like deep red roses, a symbol of both love and devotion. The only thing you could do was shake your head in answer to him. “Mmm,” the stranger hummed, “your body and blood are mine, sweetheart.” He teased you. As your chest heaved, you examined him, traces of your blood down his chin, and some smeared across his mask, his lips were swollen from the harsh and animalistic kisses he was giving you, and satanus were you ever attracted to him in this moment.

“Please… Can I see you?” You plead, your hands coming to his waist, trailing down slowly, your right hand making contact with his cock. The soft cant of his hips encouraged you to grip it gently, stroking him languidly as you await his answer. “Please…” You repeated, eyes desperately boring into the void behind his goggles.

“Oh, is my little pet desperate to see me?” He cooed out, his fingers skillfully finding your belt, undoing it at a painfully slow pace. It was your turn to buck your hips into him, rolling them into his touch. “Mmm, such a little slut, can’t wait until I get my hands on you, can you?” He teased.

“Satanus, yes, please! Wanna see you.” You groaned, breath catching as he slowly teased you through your jeans. “Need you, need- need- ah!” You cried, throwing your head back once again, eyes fluttering shut from absolute pleasure. It’s then that the man opted to unzip your fly, pausing his animalistic activities to gently tug your jeans over your hips. You weren’t having any of this slow and sweet shit; however, and kicked them off as soon as you got the chance to, allowing him easier access to your sopping cunt. The smell hit him immediately and he moaned, head falling against your forehead, his breathing ragged and strained. His cock reacted, bouncing in your hand and you continued your teasing.

“Then beg me for it, pet. I don’t think you’ve earned the opportunity to unmask me just yet.” His resolve crumbled with every soft touch, every stroke. He pushed into your hand and you took that as a sign to speed your motions before you pushed him back. Confusion was written across his features, that was until you let a healthy glob of spit hit his angry cock. “Oh mother fuck.” The man hissed out, crashing his bloodied lips into your own, allowing the metallic taste of your own blood to permeate your tongue. You reciprocated, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He parted his lips, granting you access, as he swiftly moved your panties to the side, his thick fingers slipping between your weeping folds. It took everything in him to not take you then and there, your pussy sucking his fingers in, tight and wet.

“Please, please, I need to see you.” You sobbed out between kisses, but it was clear that it wasn’t enough. The musician growled at your words, dipping his index into your slick and using it as a lubricant to tease your clit with, it took him a moment but he found the bundle of nerves. The instanthis calloused finger landed on your clit, your vision exploded into stars, mouth practically running on its own, incoherent pleas and various iterations of “more” tumbling from your swollen lips. You were finally giving him something to work with, the pleas, the praises. He continued working your cunt, curling his fingers into the sweet spot deep inside you, warm walls squeezing against him.

“Oh, darling. I’ll give you whatever your sinful heart desires.” He nipped at your bottom lip, splitting it with his canines before he pulled back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, however he refused to remove his hand from your cunt, slowing his movements only a fraction so that he could catch his bearings. “Are you sure?” He asked you, a worry laced in his voice. You nodded fervently, a saccharine look in your eyes peeking through beyond the undeniable lust. Whether you understood he was anxious about what you would think of him or not wasn’t apparent but regardless, you wanted to know who the man you were bound to fuck was.

With a swift move he tugged the mask off, tossing it to the couch behind him and removing his balaclava. What you hadn’t expected was the sight to take your breath away completely. His hair tumbled out of the bun he had it tucked into, and the messy curls cascaded down his shoulders, doe eyes framed by the prettiest eyelashes you’d ever seen, and his swollen lips? God you couldn’t even think anymore. You immediately kissed them, nipping at his lips, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking, tearing a moan from him, his lust filled eyes expanding even farther as you continued your assault on his lips. You bit down harder this time, cracking his lip. This time the metallic taste belonged to him and you couldn’t help but moan at his taste. You needed more.

“Please, I- I need you…” You panted, eyeing the man with carnal desire.

“Eddie, my name is Eddie.” And with that final confession he grabbed you by the hip and dragged you back to the roomiest surface he could find. It was all teeth, tongue, and the metallic taste of each other’s blood. Your hand on his cock and his fingers still working you open, movements becoming more erratic as he practically drilled into you with his fingers, setting an unrelenting pace that he seemed eager to keep up. Your knees hit the back of a couch, and his arm immediately shot to the small of your back, gently lowering you, a contrast to how he was abusing your needy body. Your hands moved to his hair in preparation for what was to come, yanking at his soft locks, releasing a deep moan from low in his chest. His hair was silky underneath your fingertips, few tangles in the way or your mission.

“Eddie, please.” You whined, flush with desire, unable to think of what you wanted anymore than wanting him. A smirk adorned his lips and he sank his knees onto the soft cushion, knees bracketing your hips perfectly, his hands coming up to frame your face, curls ticking your cheekbones as he did so.

“Open up, sweetheart.” He cooed. Instinctively you parted your lips for him only to feel a glob of his spit fly into your mouth. “Now swallow like the good devil worshipping slut you are.” You obeyed without question, swallowing down his spit with a pornographic moan. As you did, he took a moment to line himself up for you. “God, you look so beautiful, blasphemous doesn’t even begin to cover it, pet.” He praised as he rubs his dick against your soaked entrance, your hips rocking into him, threatening to suck him in. He hissed but slid his hand down your body, tracing your figure with his fingers, teasing in the most tantalising way, once he reaches your ass, he gives it a harsh slap at which you gasp out, choking on your breath, the sting of his hand making contact with your ass radiating a heat you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t expected it in the least but it was welcome nonetheless. “Behave.” He growled out, a darkness seeping into the word.

“P-Please, Eds… I need - I can’t, please.” You babbled, words completely incoherent. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point. His cock? His fingers? Were you asking to be fucked stupid? In all your incoherent ramblings and begging Eddie caught one thing that made his brain fuzzy around the edges. “Corrupt me satanus, corrupt me, please.” Playing into the whole devil worship aspect had him gone, his hips violently snapping into yours, completely disregarding that you might need to adjust to the stretch. Part of him felt bad, but your immediate response was to wrap your legs around his waist, crying his name out as tears brimmed your eyes, mascara beginning to run down your cheeks. To Eddie, you looked absolutely perfect. He leaned in and peppered kisses across your face to wipe away the tears that trickled down.

“S’this what you want, my little pet? You want me to ruin you?” His husky voice was in your ear as he dipped his head lower, his hips rolling into yours slowly. He moved masterfully for someone so scrawny, cock buried to the hilt as he rocked into you. Your mouth fell slack, tightening your legs around his waist and tugging him into you. “Come on, answer me, sweetheart.” He coaxed, pulling out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours. The pleasure and pain mixed together in a teasing dance, keeping you on the edge and overwhelming your senses all the same. You couldn’t verbally answer and so you turned your head, tucking your face into his neck and kissing up to his ear. About halfway up you landed on a sensitive spot, causing a moan to tumble from his lips, a shiver running down your spine. You latched on like a vampire, sucking over the spot, lapping over it with your tongue to soothe any violent bites you inflicted upon him. In turn he bit into your shoulder, trying to ground himself in reality instead of losing himself to carnal pleasure, the coil in his abdomen tightening evermore. His plan had gone to shit the moment you continued to nibble on his neck, your hands tugging harder at his lock, pulling him further into you. With a slight upward tilt of your hips, Eddie hit a new angle when he snapped his hips into yours, ploughing deeper into you. The both of you moaned in unison before he released a strangled whimper. It was your turn to break skin, your mouth filled with the crimson substance that sustained Eddie’s life. Releasing your lips from the wound, you kissed over his neck and to his shoulder, smearing the fluid across his upper half.

His pace picked up, slamming into you, deeper and deeper, nothing but the sound of breathless lovers, bodies colliding, and the sweet ecstasy of carnal desire flooding the green room. Your hand then came to his back, scratching down it and eliciting a whine from the man above you.

“Please, please, please.” You chanted into his neck. It was as if he understood what you meant, his hand coming down between your joined bodies to rub over the bundle of nerves, little figure eights being drawn over your clit. You were going to lose your mind, and maybe even your soul. Would selling it to the devil be so bad? It didn’t take long after that for a white heat to build, a pressure that you weren’t used to building, the coil tightening, threatening to snap like an elastic band.

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m close.” The man turned his head, kissing up your neck, over your cheek, and found your lips. His kiss was searing hot, burning with need. He chased his release with you, trying to bring you as close to the edge as he could, hoping you might be able to finish at the same time. “Don’t want to finish until you do.” The devil could be generous if he wanted to be.

“S’close.” You panted against his swollen lips, unable to give any coherent answer to him, not that you cared. If laying in sin felt this good, you’d bed the devil any day. “Please, Eds… Don’t stop.” And somehow he kept at it, the same pace, same pressure, same rough and unrelenting fuck that he had been using for the past few minutes. He knew that don’t stop also meant that he shouldn’t change a single fucking thing he was doing, and rightfully so. With a cry, you closed your eyes tight, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you came, the elastic finally snapping, and your release soaking Eddie’s stage uniform.

“Oh- fuck!” The man squeaked, his own release following shortly after. He could have sworn he saw stars in that moment, arms shaking beneath his own weight. His body fully collapsed on top of yours, your arms wrapping around him tightly, kisses tenderly placed on his shoulder. “So perfect f’me.” He mumbled into your sticky skin, reluctantly peeling from you. His brutal and domineering demeanour melted away, replaced by a certain level of care. You could see it behind his eyes clearly. “You okay, sweetheart?” He cooed, brushing your hair from your face, a few strands sticking to your forehead.

“Y-yeah.” You shakily breathe out, your voice hoarse from the activities that had just taken place. As you try to prop yourself up on your shoulders, you wince, a pain shooting through you. “Just sore.” You murmured, suddenly shy under the musician’s gaze. You didn’t dare look at him anymore, a twinge of shame filling your heart.

“Hey, sweetheart, come here.” He mumbled, scooting closer, not daring to pull out just yet. He pulls you up, legs entangled with each other in a pile of limbs, unsure of where one person ended and the other began. He pressed your warm body to his, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, rubbing soothing circles over your back, his gentle voice whispering sweet nothings to you.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You mumbled into his skin, placing a tender kiss over a forming bruise. “That was something else.” He hummed in agreement, allowing his eyes to flutter close for a second, letting himself enjoy a fleeting moment of human contact while he was on tour. While the guys were wonderful and he loved them to death, there was a certain intimacy that he missed in lovers. One that he didn’t indulge in as much these days.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you pulled away, debating whether to say anything to him, or whether you wanted to indulge in some more pleasantries. If you were any wiser and more observant you’d have noticed the longing in his eyes, his gaze trailing over your figure as you pushed away to gather your belongings. It was odd to say that the musician would have wanted you to stick around for some more aftercare, it would have been even stranger if he admitted to you that he just wanted you to stick around post coitus and have a drink, maybe a smoke, and get to know each other.

“Hey, hang on, let me clean you up.” His voice softened, taking you aback. “Come on, pet, I’m not gonna leave you like this.” He gets up only to tuck himself back into his slick soaked uniform, cringing as he does so. He grabs a water bottle from the nearby table and a small cloth kept on the vanity in the far corner of the room. “Come on, just sit.” He motioned back over to the couch and watched as you hesitantly padded over. You sat down on the cleanest area you could find, squirming as you began to feel Eddie’s cum slipping out of you.

“S’fine, you don’t have to.” You mumbled, turning away from the man. He sighed as he approached you, sinking to his knees before starting to clean your thighs. He worked his way up between your legs, cleaning the leaking spend from your cunt. He placed a few gentle kisses to the tops of your thighs, your eyes flicking over to him as he did so. That was the moment you got a good look at the man. Dark ink littered his skin, barely an inch was pure, untouched, the only areas you couldn’t see his tattoos were the areas in which you had drawn blood, the dried fluid flaking slowly. He continued cleaning you up, rubbing gentle and warm circles with the wet cloth. Part of you couldn’t help but find this incredibly thoughtful, your heart squeezing at the gestures, but the other half of you believed that you were probably just an easy lay.

“Hush, yes I do. It’s the least I can do.” His doe eyes met yours as he looked up at you through his lashes. “I made a mess of you, darling, and I need to clean you up.” His voice was sincere, soft even, and you couldn’t help but melt. You allowed him to tend to your tired limbs, and once he got to your neck, he apologised, knowing that it would probably hurt. You couldn’t help but stare at the softness behind his eyes, the fire that burned within had fizzled out and was replaced by some unnamed emotion. As the towel made contact with your neck, you winced, earning yourself a kiss from the musician. It shocked you that even after the heat of the lustful moment he was still willing to kiss you but you accepted it, melting into his lips. They were soft, a little chapped, but inviting nonetheless.

“Thank you.” You whispered against them, afraid your voice would give out if you spoke any louder. Your hand came up to his face, brushing your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before placing your forehead against his. “You’re sweeter than I anticipated.”

“And you’re kinkier than I anticipated.” He retorted and moved back gently, only to give himself room to fold the towel over to a clean side before cleaning up your face with a gentle hand. “Thank you for indulging me.” He cooed out to you, his sincerity going straight to your heart. You couldn’t help but nod.

“I should go.” Your voice broke, and in that same moment, so did Eddie’s heart. There was something to you that drew him in, that he wanted more of, that he craved. It flew past just the need for human contact, part of it had to do with the way you ran with the punches he threw, you went with the game you played from the stage all the way to the back room. Eddie nodded solemnly, pushing away.

“Yeah, uh…” He bit his lip, tossing the washcloth on the coffee table. Surely worse things had been on that surface in the past, but right now Eddie didn’t care about that, not about what was on that table, what would be in the future, or what he just threw onto it. “You don’t have to, I actually, I don’t know that I want you to. Can I at least buy you a drink?” He asked, standing up straight. You turn around, grabbing your pants so you could slip them back on over your legs.

“You want to buy me a drink?” There’s a hopeful tinge to your voice, head shooting over to look at the musician in question. As you did, you hissed out gently, the garden of blooming roses on your neck blossoming farther across your neck, bite marks adorning your skin like dark tattoos. There was no denying what had gone on.

“Sweetheart, I think we both left a mark on one another,” he teased, “when you pray to the devil so well, I think it’s hard for him to resist.” A twinkle in his eyes told you it was more than just the sex you both had. “Besides, it might help with the pain. What do you say?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed as if you were deep in thought, “only if the devil can treat me right.” You mused. “You going to change first?” You waggled your eyebrows, referring to his squirt-soaked trousers, only to receive a smirk in return. “Oh no sweetheart, I wear my battle scars with pride.” With that, he pushed back to grab his helmet, slipping it back over his head before taking your hand in his and leading you off to the bar. He wasn’t what you expected, none of it was, the show, the music, Eddie, but as you took his hand you couldn’t help the feeling brewing in your chest; the feeling that maybe the unexpected was exactly what you needed.

taglist: @munson-blurbs @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @word-wytch (if you want) @rip-quizilla @hellfire--cult @mystish

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #musician!eddie #stranger things au #mask kink #ghost bc #sodo ghoul #eddie as sodo #i'm obsessed #eddie munson smut #reader insert #music

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denpa-dere · 1 year ago

Text

house arrest 5

afab!mc x belphie

description: NSFW. You are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? Belpharoo to the rescue!

warnings: breeding kink with talk scents/scenting, afab reader with she/her pronouns. dom/sub dynamics. Spoilers: choking.

tags: @love-and-fiction

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) || Satan || Diavolo (mini) || Purgatory I ||

What you needed was a distraction.

Belphie figured he could make that happen. He shot off a quick text letting you know to count to five, then book it. At the top of the stairs, he swooned.

It wasn't so bad. Half-consciousness allowed his body to fall limp enough to absorb the blows without taking too much damage. The scene proved dramatic, having the others at his side within moments.

He couldn't possibly go to RAD in this state. Please, Lucifer, have mercy? Let him stay home just this once to recuperate?

Despite leery side-eyes and a few biting comments mumbled under-breath, the baby of the family got his way. No funny business, he promised. He needed to rest.

He promised.

Lucifer stalked off, sure to chew a hole through the inside of his cheek all the way to school.

Puffed up on his victory, Belphegor practically skipped his way to your room.

___

“Ah, Belphie!” You greeted the seventh-born, “Thank you for covering for me.”

He closed the door behind him, “It wasn't easy. It hurt, actually. And you owe me.”

“I do,” You soothed, meeting him across the room. You gingerly cupped his face in your hands, “Don't think I forgot.”

He leaned into your touch and sighed, smiling dreamily up at you.

“Anything you want,” You breathed, taken in by dark doe eyes rimmed with deep purple.

He reached for your hand, dragging it across his cool flesh, coming to rest at the base of his throat. He cocked his head to the side and hummed, hoping you understood.

With trembling fingers, you slid your hands around to guide him by the neck into a firm kiss. He melted under your touch, allowing himself to be pulled with you; to collapse onto the bed, a heap of tangled limbs.

Belphie sighed your name as you nipped down his neck, featherlight touch drifting to his waist. You ghosted your thumbs over his hip bones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in your wake.

“Oh I adore you,” you murmured against his forehead. You threaded a hand through his hair, gripping firmly at the roots. He whined at the pressure, tilting his head up, giving you access to the column of his throat. You sucked strawberry marks onto his milky skin, earning pretty whimpers to savor later in your memory.

Despite having the strength to snap you like a toothpick, Belphegor was something of a princess. A romantic at heart, he wanted nothing more than for you to choose him, over and over again. He bit his lip to stifle the sweet sounds threatening to spill from between them.

“Please,” He whined, “Stop teasing me.”

You had half a mind to put him in his place for even asking.

“Get your cock out,” You said, voice just breaking a whisper. His pupils dilated, fingers hooking in the waistband of his pants, shimmying the fabric down around his hips. He throbbed against your clothed body, already needy and leaking from his rosy tip.

You gracelessly shoved off your bottoms while he reached for you, desperate to melt together. You were going easy on him and he was losing his patience. Didn't you love him? Didn't you want to make him yours? Instead of voicing those thoughts, he nipped at your wrists, your hands planted on either side of his head.

“Behave,” You ordered, trying to hide your amusement. You never were good at that sort of thing.

You smelled so fucking good. Belphie had been safely sequestered away, content to sleep away this troublesome week. That was, until Beel had burst into their shared room carrying a bundle of your limp form, inoculating him with your heady scent. Ever since, the seventh-born’s dreams had been haunted by thoughts of you, you, and only you. It was humiliating– waking from naps with sticky sheets, a pillow clenched between his legs, his twin shooting him a piteous look that read: ‘I'm sorry. I should have shared.’

It was enough to drive a man mad.

You slipped a hand between your bodies, taking him in your warm grasp. A shiver rolled up his spine when your fingers curled around his length, coaxing a soft groan from the demon. He rocked his hips against you, smearing precum across your stomach in search of friction.

You raised up enough to angle his cock against your sex, slick from his adorable, needy display. You held him there, twitching against your slit, and waited.

“Please.”

There it was.

“Good boy,” Your praise shifted into a moan as you lowered down onto him. The stretch of your velvety walls had his eyes rolling back. Belphie groped at your thighs, your ass, your hips, eventually settling at your waist. Unable to hold himself back anymore, he set in at a feverish pace. He chewed his lip while he fucked you, hissing curses punctuated with high pitched moans.

You were starting to feel, maybe, just a little bit powerful.

You wrapped your hands around his throat and squeezed.

Belphegor thrashed beneath you, eyes wild, and came harder than he ever had in his long, long life.

___

Clutched against a content, sleeping Belphie, you were faced with a new problem.

How were you supposed to get him out?

Before you could figure it out, your bedroom door clicked open.

#obey me smut #obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #belphie x reader #belphegor x reader #x reader #love & fiction ✦

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bloodstained-ballgowns · 1 year ago

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i just rewatched ‘the woman who fell to earth’ a couple of days ago for the first time since it aired back in 2018 and the more i think about it, the more i like it.

thirteen is the only doctor for whom i feel a tangible, rose-tinted nostalgia. she wasn’t my first doctor, but she was the first doctor i watched live, the first doctor that i spent an actual extended period of time with over the episode rollout. her intro episode has middling parts (as can be expected with most episodes of Who) but there’s also so much good that i really want to highlight.

first of all, there are some really great character dynamics set up here. much more interesting than i remember, tbh. ryan is a guy who loves mechanics but is stuck in a warehouse job he hates, a guy who obviously wants to connect to people, a guy who by the end of the episode has lost both his mother and grandmother in the space of a couple of years and the step-grandfather he didn’t really want is all he has left (minus his absent father). that’s interesting.

yaz has a keen sense of justice and this raw, intense yearning to help people, to do something worthwhile, something more - the way she has chosen to express that is through law enforcement, but it’s not quite giving her the satisfaction she wants. that’s interesting.

graham’s experience with cancer means that he constantly feels like he’s living on borrowed time. meeting grace gave him purpose, gave him family, gave him the will to fight when he fought it was all but over, but now grace is gone. he and ryan aren’t related, but they’re family, and now they’ve got to figure out how to care for each other without the very lynchpin that brought them together. once again with feeling: interesting!

“i’m just a traveller. sometimes i see things that need fixing. i do what i can.” i like that they circle back to the ‘just some guy’ portrayal of the doctor here, both because it’s the one i’m partial to and because it feeds particularly well into the whole ‘the doctor is an unreliable narrator’ aspect, especially in the wake of the increased deification in the moffat era. it's a nice set up, even if it gets completely overhauled circa series 12/13. in fact, having thirteen keep this as a persistent attitude throughout the Timeless Child of it all could have been really effective re: her reticence with her companions and refusal to address or deal with her past.

the scene where thirteen builds her sonic screwdriver might be one of my favourite sequences in nuwho. i love that it’s a hybrid of alien tech and sheffield steel. i also love that they highlight the ‘mad inventor’ side of the doctor here (her teleportation circuit is based around a microwave?) and wish that they had carried it forward more. it would have been the perfect basis for her to bond with ryan over. jodie also pulls off the humour of the episode well, considering the significant shift from moffat dialogue.

i enjoy thirteen's outfit: the vibrancy of it as mirroring her childish excitability, but also as another part of the mask - if i dress all colourful then maybe i can ignore/outrun/masquerade my great capacity for darkness! etc etc. the shopping trip with yaz and ryan is a bit shoe-horned in at the end but it's cute that she finds it in a charity shop. (back in 2018 i bought a t-shirt with a couple of stripes across the chest solely because it remotely resembled the one she wore lol. nerd from a young age, me.) jodie also looks soo hot in capaldi's outfit though so a spin on the traditional suit would also have been appreciated.

some miscellaneous points: i like that she tells Karl off (“you had no right to do that”) right after saving him. i like that she gets it wrong at first and makes it clear that she’s working on the fly. she’s following her instinct, and that instinct is to help people. doctor who has been beautiful before but the cinematography takes such a huge step this era. “it’s been a long time since i bought women’s clothes” i am choosing to believe this is about river thank you and good night.

#if you read all of this you are so brave and also i love you #accidental essay #'potential' is the chibnall era in one word tbh #excuse inaccurate comparisons i do not remember enough about this era and what they carry forward #thirteen #thirteenth doctor #doctor who #the woman who fell to earth #ryan sinclair #yasmin khan #graham o'brien

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psaiouma · 5 months ago

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TOP 10 SAIOU AUTHORS EVER GO!!!!!

Due to the length of the response I will be putting everything in a Read More, but please do read it!! I have so much love and compliments to give!! And there's DEFINITELY more than 10 listed! But this list was hard as fuck and NOT definitive. Did I miss one of your faves? Write them in the replies :D!!!

Other than the #1 & 2, all of these are in no particular order!

Rovelae! THE platonic love of my life and my #1 inspiration. I would not be here and would not be writing if I hadn't read Hologram and all of her amazing other works. Genuinely, I believe that every single thing Rov writes is a genuine masterpiece full of complex thought and strict planning. Never in a million years did I think she'd become one of my best friends, but I always said she was my #1 long before we ever spoke a word to one another. To this day, no other fic has come close to the way Hologram has made me feel over and over again. She'd bashfully list many other things that should top it, but they simply don't. Her understanding of Shuichi and Kokichi, plus their dynamic, is something that speaks to me and my preferences directly. I cannot express the true glee I feel that she regularly asks me to beta and read her early works, and that I get to see inside that brilliant mind over and over. AND that she sends me pictures of snakes daily!!! You should read (among many others): HOLOGRAM (my #1 fic recommendation with ART I COMMISSIONED FROM CELE HERE!! AND ART BY AUNI HERE!!!), Ruin, Potion of Steal Your Heart, The Flat Effect (WITH ART AUNI DREW HERE!!), and Before the Stars Evaporate (She gets five recs because I LOVE HER!!!!)

FrostieFroakie! My beautiful, amazing, perfect, talented beloved <3 Any time someone asked me who my fave author was, I said Rov, and if you asked me who my fave nsfw author was, there was no competition. None whatsoever. And now the former is one of my best friends and the latter... is the love of my goddamn life of almost four years. <3 My faves have never changed and I WILL hold my angel up on the HIGHEST goddamn pedestal and you will too <3 Froakie is one of THE best authors I've ever had the goddamn PLEASURE of reading. Not only does she write the hottest shit ever catered to ME, but she does it all in such a way that you really feel like you're in a new world. She has one of the most vivid and amazing imaginations I've ever experienced in my entire life, and I will GLADLY rub in all of your faces that I get to see and hear every amazing thought that comes out of her gigantic, beautiful brain. Guess who knows the plots to the Orcahara and Wolf/Bunny sequels? ME, BITCHESSSS <3 On a much more serious note, I do genuinely mean it that I absolutely love everything she writes and does. Call me biased I do not give a single shit. She's never written anything bad in her entire life. [Once again, she will disagree with me, and she is always right about everything, but I do not care, her works are breathtaking and brilliant.] You should read (NOTE: all nsfw): Cowhara Sins (this is quintessential Intro to Saiou reading), Orcahara Sins, I Make Them Good Girls Go Bad, Hunting Season, and Despite Everything, (She ALSO gets five because she's my GIRLFRIEND and the LOML!!!!)

Unseeliekey It is with great sorrow that I tell you that all of Eye's fics on AO3 have been deleted. Last I'd heard from Eye in 2022, he was moving on to OC content, but would continue his multichaptered fics in the future. Should he do so, I know we'd all be GIDDY to see them, but for now, my inclination is to believe that won't happen, since his account still existed last we talked. Though I do not know my stance on fic saving and sharing once an author has deleted their works, everything that Eye ever wrote HAS been saved, with (I believe) one exception. If you DO want to experience some of the most incredible, breathtaking, life-ruining fics in the entire Saiousphere, I have the connections to get you the Goods(tm). His works are remembered fondly, and anyone who was lucky enough to be around when his fics were still up will most likely list him in their top ten, even though he's been gone for over two years now. From his magnum opus, Therefore You and Me(...), to You've Got the Right(...), to Kattar Shuffle, to Fob, to (...)Tragedy and Comedy(...), to Put the Knife Down(...), to Puppy Love, to (...)You are the Captain, to All Drama(...) and EVERYTHING in between, his works are remembered, worshiped, loved, and envied. Eye was truly, truly, a requirement of Saiou reading. And if you were to ever see this @unseeliekey, I hope you know that you were an inspiration to all, and it was an honor to have read your things while they were public. I hope you are doing well wherever you may be, and that you come back someday.

Majorinconvenience When filling all of these out, I saved Kam for last, because I knew it would be the hardest due to a falling out between what I thought was going to be an everlasting friendship. However, I also knew it would be a god damn lie if I didn't put them in my top 10. Their work still shines beautifully all these years later, and come hell or high water I am gonna recommend them. Kam's pieces are jaw droppingly, achingly gorgeous. They are filled with emotion and yearning very few are able to match. I could list many things from their time in the Saiou fandom, but the loudest of which is easily Drowned Words followed by "Gymnopédie No. 1" and The Truth is in the Eye of the Beholder. I highly encourage you to check out everything, though.

Chuwuyas Jul is, in my opinion, one of THE staples of the Saiouma Fandom. Not only being the GOD behind everyone's favorite reverse Phantom Thief AU, but also one of the funniest goddamn oneshots of all time, and also some of the best smut. Jul can write, Jul can DRAW, Jul is THE hottest person IN the Saiouverse and it's NOT even close. They are my favorite Komaeda kinnie and one of my dearest friends. Every time you read a Chuwuyas fic, you know you're in for the best goddamn ride of your entire life. They have SUCH a way of absorbing you in one of the best whirlwinds of all time, and it's a ride you never want to get off. Look, I do a lot of bragging in this post because I am truly proud of the friends and connections I have made, but I genuinely believe one of my greatest accomplishments and prides in my entire life is the fact that Jul has called me THE honorary Moriarty Kinnie, and the fate of Catch & Release has been left in my hands should anything ever happen to Jul before ch 5 releases. [Not that anything will happen. But holy shit what an honor????] You WILL learn about Moriarty Saihara (aka me) by reading Catch & Release. And you should also check out How to Fall in Love in Three Easy Steps!

LovingDefiance Did you think I would make a top 10 and NOT put LovingDefiance on it? I don't give a SHIT if they haven't uploaded anything in five years. I am STILL subscribed and if they were to ever make a return I WILL sob the happiest tears you've ever seen in your entire life. Quite frankly, their Love Hotel Collection (nsfw) is a must-read four part recommendation for me. Saiou switch, there's aftercare, and god DAMN are you going to have a good time. But that's truly not all. Everything they've ever written is an absolute goddamn treat that will leave you salivating for more. I have read and reread their entire collection many times, and it truly never gets old. I hope wherever they are, they are happy.

Rannas I fear this description will not be as long as it should be, but truly, all I can say is that Rannas' writing is great. They had my favorite fic in Your Hand in Mine, a Saiouma Zine, and I've been reading their works consistently for a long, long time. Every Rannas fic is something special and unique, with each sentence being filled with grace and care. I've known many people who have claimed Rannas as their #1 Saiou author, and it's not hard to see why. Hell, when looking through their AO3 again to recommend something, I was wonderfully reminded JUST how much I love everything they've ever written. I will not out their nsfw account here, but know that it is ALSO in my top 10, and it's in yours too. Of course, I am recommending Our Deal, but I'm also going to dance and sing about the hilarious Salmon Mode Series and Meeting Your Match!

Teharissa Though I only have one fic to recommend, Teri's writing is by far and in large the best goddamn stuff I've ever read. They are my FAVORITE writer when it comes exclusively to writing style. This one example will not do Teri justice, but you must trust me on this. It was an honor to work with them on Spilled Ink (a DRV3 writing zine) and their Kiiruma piece is the absolute best work in the entire zine. Also, overall, I just loved talking to them and I miss our conversations and getting to hear their thoughts. Truly an upstanding individual who I gleefully recommend with no hesitancy. I am begging you to read A Thousand Paper Cranes!!

Nxllberry Just to prove I'm not EXCLUSIVELY an oldhead yearning for 2020/1 (though I am), I MUST put Nxllberry on this list, but not for the reason you're probably going to assume. Though their fic Godspeed IS a good recommendation, and you should definitely check it and their other works out, I am here to spread the gospel (pun intended) on their fic Rising Tide, which is, to this day, my favorite postgame smut ever written, and the main reason they are getting put in the top 10. Nxllberry's work is absolutely legendary, and though I haven't checked out the MCD works, I'm sure if that's your speed then you're going to LOVE those. Because the way they handle emotions is just delicious in every way.

ME!!!! Ezra Psychiccupid! You should ALWAYS include yourself in your top ten!!! I always know exactly what I want to read in a way no one else does LOL!! If you don't love your writing and think it's the best then what are you DOING? Perhaps you are an aspiring author and you think people are better than you, and that's okay! It's great to have writers you look up to. But you better think your stuff is AWESOME or about to be awesome!!! YOU put that out there!!! I'm still a relatively new writer in the grand scheme of things. Saiou Prom was only done FOUR YEARS AGO. Sep. 2020. I've grown a lot and I've seen many things since then, but I loved what I wrote then and still do. GRR You should always been in your top 10!!! I'm fucking awesome and I write really good stories because I have really good ideas. I'm extremely honored and thankful that so many people agree. Please, please read my fics and also hype yourself up today!!! Feels a little weird to rec myself but if you DO read anything of mine, please have it be King Piece or In the Aftermath of a Killing Game. If you want to get a feel for how much my writing has grown and improved since those two, check out My Stick; Your Bites (latest work), or One Day We Will Both Die(...). Also, would be a fool to not rec my most popular work, Poison Mouth, though I hope something better outshines it one day :)))) Please,,,

HONORABLE MENTIONS: I have many friends and I know SO many talented people that I'm gonna shout out a LOT and you better be READY. (I'll try to be quicker here ahaha!)

Bcschauer! Aka Lulu! Do you want fluffy Saiou? Because this is the QUEEN of fluffy Saiou. I especially rec Behind Pale Gray which I WILL bully her about to finish. :) Cinderous_scrivenings! Aka Sixth! One hit wonder, though I've had the HONOR of reading more than has been posted. Please read What's Yours to Have, you won't regret it! I_Am_A_Ruin! Aka Bee! One of THE most important people in my entire life. I cannot recommend their works more. Bee has such a way of making everything they write whimsical, like you're sitting by an enchanted campfire being told a story. Their brain is so beautiful and massive. Narrowing down my recommended list for them is extremely difficult, but I think I'm going to go with Poor Unfortunate Souls, Bite the Hand That Feeds You(...) (nsfw), and Fluffernutters and Buttons the Bear! Kokichiouma! Aka Hope! Obviously, I'm going to recommend Reaching, THE time loop Saiou fic. But beyond Reaching, Hope is one of the most in-depth minds in the entire Saiou fandom, who has been writing V3 analysis and translation differences for years. I cannot recommend his work enough. Khattikeri! Aka Keri! Has one of THE BEST canon divergent/postgame AUs of all time. Alongside being one of the most talented people I'm honored to call a friend, Keri is brilliant beyond compare. Please read one of my favorite fics of all time, Everyone's Killing Reality. Notchucktingle! Aka Jess! I think now more than ever, Jess' work is not only incredible but NECESSARY to read. He is, in my personal opinion, one of the most incredible authors to read to get an authentic trans perspective and experience. As someone who is too scared to be out, these fics mean a lot to me, and I know they do to other trans people as well. He's also just an awesome writer. You MUST read Come Into the Water, but I think he'd be a little cross if I didn't also recommend his current brainchild Bad Habit, and who am I to ignore good food? ReturnToZero! Has been in this game a LONG time and has so much to show for it. You absolutely get the best of both NSFW and SFW fics with Zero. From Agrypnos and •.¸♡ Dreamweaver ♡¸.• to Wishing it Was You (KISSING PRACTICE FIC!!) and Drop-Dead Gorgeous, you will always find something to read! Thatsrightdollface! is THE current go-to if you want consistent, good works near-daily. How they have the writing capacity they do is beyond me but, genuinely, they are SO powerful. I'll confess that I slept on their works for a long, long time, but on Rov's insistence, I started reading daily and I have not regretted it for a second. My favorites thus far are The Rubber Horse Head Mask Strikes and "Gamest in the Land" even if it HURTS!! Myaami! Whose works are always to die for. Extremely excitedly, they are about to do a raffle for a PHYSICAL, PRITED OUT COPY of their fic Dawn Again, on this Vibrant and Violent Night (and you BET I'm getting on in that), but I'm also going to sneak in a recommendation for Dream with Me, because I LOVE this fic.

And SO MANY MORE!!!!! Seriously. I could list like. 20 more people in an instant.

If I did individual fics that I love??? We'd be here ALL DAY. (I'm working on a doc of every Saiou fic I've ever read, actually). It's impossible to make a top ten, truly. Some days, the honorable mentions are in the top ten, some days, you wake up and a brand new INCREDIBLE phantom thief AU has just dropped and all of a sudden you're talking to one of the newest, most brilliant minds of the Saiou fandom out of nowhere.

If you didn't make the list, please know that I love your writing. Even if I have you muted, even if we have beef, even if you never share your work, I love you for writing.

#saiouma #danganronpa #drv3 #danganronpa v3 #shuichi saihara #kokichi ouma #saiou #oumasai #ousai #ndrv3 #fanfc #fanfic recommendation #danganronpa fanfic #danganronpa fanfiction #saiou fanfic #saiouma fanfic #fanfiction #SO many talented people on this list wow #asks

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