#insane loops is correct

[theautumnpicker]

Although Roland still sits above him, Astarion stretches out his body, assuming a pose he's been told is most fetching, with one arm underneath his head, the other resting along his side, fingers just brushing the mattress.

But Gods, it's uncomfortable to hear Roland's words and to be scrutinized by him in this way. He's painfully vulnerable. It's like he doesn't know that Astarion could crush him with a word or two. He wants to physically squirm, to avoid those eyes. Instead, he just feels entirely too exposed.

"I mean... no? Not really?" It wasn't supposed to be a trade, anyway, not at first. Astarion is pretty sure of that, even if it feels more confusing now than it did before. He pulls the covers halfway over his own body and curls slightly inwards, ruining the careful effect he'd just produced.

"Look, I— I've never really gone to bed with someone because I wanted to." He can't look at Roland. "That's what this was supposed to be. Just ... for fun. And fine, also because I was hungry and you smelled delicious. But I think I mentioned that part." Astarion doesn't think he brought Roland here under false pretences, but he's willing to be convinced he did so.

Astarion can see the anger in Roland's eyes even as it fades away. He avoids eye contact. Of course he'd be the one to upset this sweet, laughing boy, when such a thing seemed altogether impossible. Their hands touch, and he lays back again, looking up at Roland now, at the figure he makes sitting up above him in bed.

"You're asking if you did something wrong?" He's a little in disbelief, just shaking his head at first. "It's not that I was unhappy." Astarion takes a moment to replay what happened, to think through it. "Your blood is ... unusual. That was pure bliss. And then I suppose after that it was just— I was trying to return the pleasure you gave me." Which he'd failed at, evidently. No one had ever confronted him in this way. "I'm not a selfish lover. It feels unfair to leave you without."

[kindahoping4forever]

Ash IG Story

[emdotcom]

Thank you Astral Spiff for combating the narrative that Post Shift 2 is a hard game o7

[silversiren1101]

It finally happened: I had to use something I learned in classes in a serious discussion that I never thought I'd use outside of tests and simple interview questions.

Big O notation brought up in a real discussion during code review.

>Head in hands<

[bobthedragon2]

for you, @homingpidgeon my friend, you get this insanely large dolce pumpkin candle with some sort of anthropomorphic, hairy egg advertising its elegance!

link included in case you actually want this massive thing

[emilys-bangs]

The last thing you reblogged gave me an idea !

Touch starved Emily who is friends with you but would never dare ask you for unnecessary hugs etc., you two are close but she doesn’t want to cross that bridge since she definitely likes you a lot more than just a friend and also she’s scared of being so open and vulnerable that she admits she needs a hug and a cuddle.

You two are on a case once again, end up rooming together and there’s only one bed. You both don't really mind and go to sleep, each one on their respective side of the bed - except when you wake up in the middle of the night, Emily is cuddled around you, having subconsciously seeked your touch while she’s asleep.

You can decide how to go from there if this idea is any good to you, no worries if not and I hope you have a great week 😘😘

Tysm for requesting, I hope you have a great week as well! I sincerely thank that one post about touch starved Emily that made us all go insane <3

----

midas touch | e.p

Tags: touch starved Emily, room sharing, bed sharing, fluff, a ridiculous amount of yearning

Word count: 2.5k

You’d have to be blind not to notice Emily’s affinity for touch.

It’s something you’ve picked up on after a mere week in the BAU, and honestly, you’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like she craves touch, physically needs the added comfort of hands wrapping around elbows, arms slung across shoulders and casual side-hugs. In the more lax confines of Rossi’s living room or o’keefe’s, it’s not unusual to see her wrapped around somebody, or at least closely sharing what’s meant to be personal space. 

At work, however, it’s different; a bit more subtle, but still palpably flowing with love—the way she sneaks behind Garcia’s chair and wraps her arms around her neck in hello, Emily’s cheek pressing against the analyst’s. How she runs her fingers through Spencer’s messy curls, and how—despite his protests—he lets her, almost imperceptibly leaning into her hand before she pulls away. Her hip is frequently attached to JJ’s, their temples touching as she slides her palm into the back pocket of JJ’s jeans. Rossi is given paternal kisses on the cheek, Morgan dragged around with his hand in hers, their fingers interlocking in a weave of pale and dark. Even Hotch gets his fair share of physical affection from her, though more subtle but no less loving; a tugging at his belt loops, a nimble fixing of his tie, the brush of her fingers along his elbow.

Everyone gets a piece of Emily’s attention. 

Everyone except you.

It upsets you in ways you can’t fully explain—at least not without admitting to yourself that you’re falling deeply and helplessly in love with her. None of it remotely makes sense; despite her very deliberately withholding her touch from you, she’s been nothing but lovely, always having your back and gently correcting you when you slip up. 

But still, when an overbooked hotel forces Hotch to relay the unfortunate news of doubling up and she turns to you, surprise renders you silent. 

“Me and you?” Emily asks, paying no mind to JJ next to her.

You speak through your dry throat, “Um—yeah, sure.”

Hotch places the key in your hand, glad to have one pair down. You dig it into the flesh of your palm.

“I’ll take that one, thank you.” Rossi plucks a key from Hotch’s hand and turns away, leisurely walking to the elevator as protests rise behind him.

Hotch shakes his head, exasperated. You almost feel sorry for him. “Morgan?” He says, looking at him. Morgan nods, which leaves JJ with Reid.

Reid looks pleased; JJ less so, but she doesn’t protest as she takes the key from Hotch.

“Aww, good luck, pretty girl.” Emily coos, cupping JJ’s cheek and tapping it playfully. Jealousy stirs in your stomach, hot and acidic as JJ shrugs off her hand with an eye roll, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

The key is in your hand so you turn on your heel, a bad taste in your mouth as Reid starts to protest, the sound getting lost somewhere between Emily’s soft laughs.

She knows them longer than she knows you, you think as you take the stairs two at a time, trying to outrun the beating of your heart. Your somewhat blurry eyes pick out the door with the matching number on your key. Your legs take you to it, almost on autopilot.

“Hey, wait up,” Emily’s voice carries, reaching you in a cloud of spun silk. There’s a rush of air behind you and you feel her creeping over your shoulder, the scent of her perfume choking you sweetly. “You don’t want me to sleep in the hall, do you?”

You can’t bring yourself to rise to the teasing in her voice. Fitting the key in the lock with unsteady fingers, you mumble, “Would’a let you in if you’d knocked.”

But trying to keep your distance doesn’t work, because the one bed in the room glares at you as soon as you push the door open.

Your throat goes dry. 

Emily hovers impatiently at your back and you swallow as you take a step into the threshold of the room, wondering how the hell she’d share a bed with you when she seems reluctant to touch you in the first place.

Panicked, you take your bag and head into the bathroom before Emily can say anything, desperately needing a moment to compose yourself. It’s safe to say you spend more time in there than you usually would, lengthening your short routine to busy yourself.

Only when you’ve semi-calmed down do you go out, finding her perched on the edge of the large—king sized, at least—bed.

“Hey. Are you okay with this?” Emily’s eyes are wide and dark, shining with concern. 

There’s no place for you to sleep anyway if you said no, but somehow you get the feeling she’d make it work if you were uncomfortable. A confused rush of emotion runs hot under your skin; lingering jealousy and ever present bitterness and confusing pleasure at her concern.

God, you need to go to bed.

“I’m fine with it,” you force a smile. It must not be very convincing, because Emily frowns, a delicate pull drawing her brows together. Just before she says something, you speak. “Are you okay with it?”

That snaps her out of it. “Yeah,” Emily murmurs, a dimple winking at you as she gives you a small smile, “as long as you don’t kick.”

You didn’t expect her to agree so easily. Some part of you wonders if she’s lying, but you can’t look at her eyes long enough to decipher that—you’re mildly afraid if you sunk into their depths you’d never be able to claw your way out.

“I haven’t had any complaints,” you try to shrug casually. “Do you prefer a side?”

“No, go ahead. It doesn’t matter what side I sleep on, I always somehow find my way in the middle.”

That makes you crack a smile.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind her and you press your knuckles into your eyes, wondering if you can possibly get through this night without losing your already delicate composure.

It’s just a bed, you tell yourself as you take out a pair of sweatpants to serve as pajamas. And it’s just for one night. It’s fine.

It’s fine. Sure it is.

You’re already in bed and beneath the sheets when Emily walks out of the bathroom. It’s a mistake to look at her, because you think you’ve just fallen deeper in love.

She’s shaking her hair out from the confines of its ponytail and it falls in soft waves around her shoulders, curling at the ends where the water sprayed it. A cotton tank top gently hugs her body, and pale blue shorts skim the tops of her thighs.

She’s not wearing a bra.

You’re staring.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to share tonight,” Emily smiles sheepishly as she lifts the covers and climbs into the bed. A lump is lodged in your throat at the sight of her bare legs slipping through the sheets, shimmering softly from her lotion. It smells sweet, she smells sweet—like warm cocoa butter—and it takes everything in you not to inhale deeply like a creep.

“Neither was I.” You croak. Emily settles her head on her pillow and you try not to stare at her lashes, so naturally long and thick even without her usual mascara.

She’s literally going to be the death of you.

“G’night,” you mumble and turn away before she can answer. The heat in your cheeks burns, and you dig them into the pillow in hopes of cooling them down.

“Night,” Emily whispers back. The sheets rustle as she presumably turns, too.

Needless to say, it takes a while for you to fall asleep. 

It must happen at some point, though, because something wakes you. You open your eyes to the darkness of the room, unsure what it is. You just know that you’re abnormally warm and trapped beneath something smelling like cocoa butter.

Emily.

Your sluggish brain slowly puts the pieces together. Her arm is around your neck, cutting across your chest; her thigh is hitched over your hip. Cold fingertips are hooked into the collar of your t-shirt and you shiver despite the warmth of your own body. Slow breaths puff across your neck, warm and even.

Briefly, you think you’re dreaming, but just as quickly that thought dissipates. She’s too real, too warm—and anyway your imagination could never come up with something as divine as this.

You’re not completely innocent either. Your arm is hooked around her waist, your skin directly touching the warm skin of her waist. Her tank top has risen up and your blurry eyes catch a tattoo on her hipbone; a faded butterfly.

You should let her go. 

It’s an internal battle, because she fits there, perfectly, and even though you know it’s wrong, you close your eyes and continue holding her. 

It’s wrong, it’s so wrong. She doesn’t want your touch. She’s made that perfectly clear, but her warm body, the soft tickle of her hair, they cloud your senses, fog your brain and hide all traces of reason or sensibility.

But still, half asleep or not, you can’t betray her trust like this.

You’re just about to force yourself to let go when Emily snuggles closer, a long sigh escaping through her nose. Her lashes tickle your skin, wispy and light across your neck as she nestles into your collarbone.

Fuck.

You hold still and wait for her to move again. She doesn’t, other than the steady rise and fall of her chest, so you close your eyes too. You would’ve thought it would be difficult to fall asleep with almost every inch of her body touching every inch of yours, but you’re encompassed in warmth and softness and the scent of cocoa butter. 

Really, it only takes a minute before you’re asleep again.

———

She’s still in your arms when you wake up. Your alarm didn’t ring yet—it must’ve been a combination of Emily’s warmth and your internal clock that woke you up.

Her head is now on your pillow, one of her knees slotted between yours and her arm around your waist. She’s like a clingy koala, even in her sleep, and it only makes your heart ache.

Through the blurriness in your vision you see the small freckles that dot her cheeks. They’re tiny, almost unnoticeable, scattered over the bridge of her nose and under her swooping lashes. Her fingers tighten in your shirt and again the guilt surfaces, but it’s so slow to rise in the pale morning light, when you’re sluggish with sleep.

Emily’s eyes flutter open. 

Shit, you freeze, your muscles stiffening. 

You’re caught.

Suddenly you’re staring into dark chips of obsidian, clouds of sleep swirling through them. At first Emily gives no reaction, but then her brain evidently catches up and her eyes widen, her fingers letting go of your shirt.

Just before you apologize, she does.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts. Her voice is raspy and you fight the shiver before it travels down your spine. “I get really—”

“Clingy,” you mumble. “Yeah, I know. It’s obvious.” Your voice is soft, mainly because you’re too tired to fight with your own demons so early in the morning.

“I’m really sorry,” Emily whispers again, mortified. Her cheeks flush a pretty pink as she retracts her arm and her leg, curling back into her side of the bed. The sheets she leaves behind are warm, and you fight the urge to place your hand where she once was.

“S’okay. You do it with everyone, I know that.” Then, because it’s the morning and your brain is half asleep and still fogged from holding her, you ask, “Why not with me, though?”

Her teeth chew down on her lip. “Why not with you, what?” She mumbles.

“Emily,” you sigh, “it’s too early for you to mess with my head. You know what.”

Emily gives a sigh of her own. She doesn’t look at you as she fiddles with the hem of her tank top and drags it back down, hiding the exposed sliver of her torso. It doesn’t help that your eyes follow her movements, because her shorts have ridden up her thighs.

“It means…more when it’s you.” She eventually says, her voice quiet. Your breath hitches and she continues looking down, frowning at the hem of her tank top. “Everything does. Can’t touch you like that and pretend it means nothing.”

The slight slur to her voice makes her confession all the more intimate. As does her bed head, the red sleep lines on the underside of her arm. This is a soft Emily, a vulnerable one, and she’s laying herself bare for you in the morning light while sleep still lingers in both your eyes.

It only confirms your love for her.

Your relief is palpable; it quickly shifts to affection, something flowery crowding the back of your throat and making it hard to swallow. She doesn’t hate you, she doesn’t think you’re disgusting or repulsive. 

She couldn’t touch you because it would give her away. Because it’s the most genuine aspect of her, one she can’t dampen or hide any more than she can stop her heart from beating.

It seems almost too big a revelation for this small hotel room bathed in morning light. Still, your hand reaches for hers. You wrap your fingers around her own, both of them now resting gently on her stomach.

“It doesn’t have to mean nothing.” You whisper.

Emily’s eyes snap to yours. They’re like the black, bitter coffee you have no choice but knock back in precincts all over the country. They make your heart race, because they come closer—she comes closer—until both your heads are resting on the same pillow again. Emily cups your joint hands with her free one, reverently protecting the tenderness of your touch.

“You’re…” Her breath hitches and she falters, then sucks in a breath, “You’re telling me you want this?”

You squeeze her fingers. “More than anything.”

Emily blows out a low sigh. You bring your free hand up to trace the curve of her brow; she leans into it. “I do, too.” She confesses. “More than anything.”

Your thumb travels down to the corner of her mouth. “Then there’s nothing stopping us. Is there?” You ask gently.

“No.” Emily sighs. “Nothing.”

She tilts her head, lets you continue exploring her face with your fingertips. Her features are gently traced; the bridge of her nose and the outline of her lips and the shape of her brows. Slowly, her knee worms its way between both of yours.

You smile and Emily smiles back, a shy dimple in her cheek. 

“Be clingy. With me,” you murmur, keeping your voice low because you’re afraid love already spills from it, “I want you to be.”

Her nose nuzzles into your cheek. “You’ll soon regret saying that.” Emily mumbles, the vibration of her voice reverberating through your skin. It fills you with strange peace.

“Never.” You whisper.

Until the alarm rings, the two of you spend your time erasing away the boundaries, learning the lines of each other’s bodies with your fingertips with slow confidence.

Because now, you have all the time in the world.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 16

Prompt: Massage  Pairing: Masseuse!Felix x fem!reader WC: 1.8k Summary: First times can be scary, even if its just a massage. But we all have tension that needs to be worked out, right?

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Felix or any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: Lightly abusing professional power, nervous reader, pervert Felix, fingering (fem receiving), squirting.

 “You removed everything, correct?” Felix’s voice is deep and gentle, like you hope his caresses will be.  “I actually had a question about that-”  “You do need to remove socks,” he quickly jumps in, “but underwear is up to your comfortability.”  You giggle, embarrassed. “I suppose you get that a lot.”  His eyes crinkle into a friendly soft smile, “I could write a book and use that as my title, yes. Must be your first time.”  You hop onto the terry cloth massage table in the provided robe, eager to relieve the mounted tension in your body. “Yes sir! I’m a virgin. A massage virgin. It’s my first time. Receiving a massage. Professionally. I’ve like, gotten a massage but not, not like this.” You backtrack and loop with embarrassment, looking everywhere but at the pleasant man in front of you.  Thankfully he seems to gloss over your insane babbling, standing with his back to you as he lights a tea light under a bowl of fragrant oils. “Feel free to lay face into the table with your towel loose.”

 Dimly lit, music softly playing in the background, a handsome masseuse, it all feels like heaven. He hums quietly with the music, voice as velvety as his touch, his hands running down your bare back. Oils warming under his palms as he pushes and pulls at your fascia. Your skin shines and glistens as he rubs down your body. Felix can’t help but notice that for a first timer, you easily slip into a soft pliant puddle on his table. So easily moldable, so easily manipulated. You’re just so trusting, and you should trust him, because he’s a professional he gently reminds himself.

 His hands press and catch on a knot, forcing an almost animalistic grunt from your lungs as it snaps back into place. He can feel you tense up below him, cringing and curling down to the tips of your fingers and toes.  “It’s alright, I’ve heard it all before. It a very natural reaction,” his voice is soft and rich, coaxing you gently like a startled cat. “Whatever your body tells you is right, just go with it.” The warmth of his tone matches that of his palms, lulling you back down as you breathe deeply. He’s not exactly lying, he tells himself as his cock twitches in interest. He really had heard every manner of vocalization in reaction to his talented hands. From whines to groans to the occasional expletive, nothing really surprised him anymore. And yet here you were on his table and one little grunt was enough to have him considering risking his career.

 It was his kind response, his strong fingers, the buzz from the fragrant oils dulling your better judgment, blame whatever but once that groan left your lips a dam burst within you. Every press producing an appreciative moan or sigh as he worked your aching muscles. The glide of skin over skin aided by lotion felt almost transcendent. Separating not only your cramped up fascia but your soul from your skin and bones.

 A hand slips deep between your thighs, your sex flooding with heightened awareness. His pinky narrowly missing direct contact with your slit, he’s so tantalizingly close you find yourself wishing he’d slip up. But his hands are practiced, using the towel as a guide to avoid your bare sex.  It wasn’t professional of him, Felix knows this as the side of his hand wanders up. He can almost feel the steam coming from your dripping hole as he grabs a handful of inner thigh. Abs tensing, another throb of interest. Cock pressing to the edge of the table in hopes of concealing his weakness, he gently lifts your thigh to support your lower back and grant him better access to your hamstring. The towel slips up slightly, exposing more of your wetness to him.  Heat flashes in your ears as cool air hits your sex. Folds dripping wet, there’s almost no way he can’t have noticed it. Your body tightens again below his hands, you’re so easy to read it’s almost unfair.  “Just keep breathing into the places that are holding tension, bring your awareness there,” Felix’s voice sounds strained as the heel of his palm circles where your thigh and buttocks connect.  “Sorry,” you squeak. His palms migrate up and up until he’s working the side of your hip, almost fully palming an ass cheek.  Fuck it, Felix thinks as he starts to reposition your leg. “You carry a lot of tension in your hips and quads, I’m going to need to spend a bit of extra time with them if you're okay with that. I’ll need to reposition your towel though.”

 He’s shameless as he pulls your towel lower, revealing the naked globes of your ass. Vision tunneling as he squirts oil directly on them, against all he’d been taught. Proper procedure was to warm the oil in your hands but he couldn’t resist watching the clear liquid drizzle and disappear into your crack. Breaths reedy he starts by pressing his thumbs into the meat of your ass, digging a large indent where they lay, dragging the globes apart as he pulls the tension from your glutes, revealing more and more of your most private areas.  You’d notice he was shameless if you weren’t so deep into the depths of relaxation, unbothered by how horny you’d become. Strangled groans erupt with each pull, covering his own small grunts. The momentary pain morphs into deep pleasure as your brain slowly numbs over. You can’t help arch back begging for more, for harder, for just a bit deeper.

 The tips of his fingers just barely graze your slit, glistening wetness leaving glittering traces of stickyness. Felix gasps, freezing as his cock throbs. Precum drips steadily into his light cotton pants, a not so mysterious dark splotch slowly forming. One of you should have shame or sense, it should be him. His fingers brush past again, your hips wiggling back to meet him. The both of you still in silence, panting, the barrier between client and professional growing thinner by the second.  “Turn to your front,” Felix’s voice is hoarse and choked. Haphazardly he throws the towel over your ass. Normally he’d hold the towel in place as the client rotated under it, preserving their modesty and relaxation.  In a lust filled daze, you don’t bother to cover your torso as you shift, nipples pebbled and aching for his touch. At this point you’re practically praying to whatever god or demon would listen to drag this man down with you.

 This is so much worse, Felix realizes as he tugs down the length of your arm. Yet he can’t look away from your face as it morphs into pained pleasure, brows knitting and mouth falling open. Your lips look soft, too soft. How soft they’d feel wrapping around him. It’s even more difficult for him to hide the now pronounced dark spot near his crotch, clinging to his rock hard erection.  Felix tries to stand at your head to work on your shoulders and to hide himself better. The image of him dropping the head pillow under the table and slamming his cock into your open throat briefly flashes in his mind, weakening his knees as he spurts another bubble of painful precum into his underwear. “Harder,” you mutter.  Felix nearly passes out as blood rushes from his brain. “Sorry?” “Feelsgoodharder,” you slur as his thumbs stretch over your collar bone.  “Harder?”  “Please, I can take it.”  His eyes roll back in his head, something deeply primal activating with a shiver of his spine. Emboldened by your pleas he fully presses his palms into the tight bundle of muscles right below your collar bones, fingertips stretching down to your areolas just barely able to brush the edges.  You keen below him. It’s agonizing. He moves just the bit lower to graze your nipples, slowly as though he’d be struck down from on high for doing so. No, just the manager if she found out how he’d acted.

 Your quick breaths are hypnotizing. Felix can barely comprehend his actions as he falls deeper into the spell, playing with your breasts like putty. He’s doing the opposite of his job, his calling, he can at least see that. Your tension wound so tight your back is nearly levitating from the white sheet.  “You’re so tense,” he mutters.  “Yeah?”  His hands skim over the expanse of your stomach, towards the shifted towel. “I can fix it but you need to trust me.”  “Anything,” your breathy agreement barely registers in your brain. His arms feel strong as the flex to lift you, moving your limbs into another position, sliding an adjustment block beneath your ass. His finger fit so comfortably inside of you, you hardly notice he’s slipped them in at all. Not until the pads hook upwards, small but confident in their target. Well studied in anatomy, taught in school and outside of, he easily targeting the spongy soft tissue along your walls and presses into it. A primordial groan punches upwards from your core, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. His fingers stir in your gut, a mix of erotic and alarming.  “Just relax for me, yeah?” The reassuring low tone floats through the air as his other hand presses just over your mound. “Breathe and let your body do what it wants.”

 Clearly his speech was meant as a warning peptalk more than comfort. His fingers hook up, whole arm jostling as he fucks up into that laser focused spot. Immediately your legs kick and hips attempt to buck, sandwiched to the mat by his other hand. The bridge between pain and pleasure blurs in your mind as a sob wracks your chest. It’s so much. It’s so good.  “Only a little bit more I can feel you squeezing me,” Felix is focused, its almost a point of professional pride to him. He doesn’t even have to know you to know how to please you, how to tease that release from your muscles. This climax belonged to him, given enthusiastically by you and your trusting body.  Spine jolting and curling the opposite way you’re ripped from your spell suddenly, an urge building in your gut and ringing every alarm bell available. A stream of release erupting from you just in time for your eyes to pop open. Coating the table and his wrist with a caught gasp, you look at each other, wild eyed and breathless as his fingers pull from you.  “Oh shit,” you stare agape.  Felix is silent. Ghostly white.  “Your table-”  “It’s fine.”  “Your next client-”  “It’s fine.”

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

SQUEAKY CLEAN

KINKTOBER DAY 5 - SHOW WORSHIP WITH TOMMY SHELBY

Pairing.| Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Summary.| You cost Tommy a promising deal. He can think of a thousand ways to make you pay, so you’ll start by dropping to his feet.

Warnings.| Dubcon, degradation, humiliation, brat taming, mean Tommy, cruel talking, rough handling, shoe licking.

Word count.| 1.3k

The infamous Tommy Shelby was warned in the beginning. At the mere second of laying his eyes on you precisely. You were a brat, completely up yourself, ill mannered to anything that breathed. But Tommy loved a challenge, reminding a woman of her place, not to mention a woman with a body like yours. 

However tonight, he believes you’ve pushed him to a tipping point. The anger bubbled in his blood like it was boiling stew. His jaw was as hard as stone as he kept his eyes on the road as you approached Arrow House. The front lights turned on, drawing you two in like moths for your punishment to commence. 

This happened little, you feeling no emotions or thoughts besides fear and anxiety. It was splitting your body into two. The anticipation of the long silent drive home was driving you insane. 

There was only ever one thing that Tommy commanded you to stay away from, his business. But you just liked pissing him off a bit too much. In a mere fifthteen minutes, you had found a way to ruin a deal he had been pushing on for months. A deal that would be a game changer for his business.

As he parked the car out in front of your home, your body trembled as you dared to look over at him. He swiftly got out of the car, walking over to your door and opening it for you, like he always did desperate how much of a brat you were. Without looking at you, he held his hand out for you. 

Taking a hold of his hand with a shaking manner, he pulled you roughly out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you as he practically dragged you inside. You winced at the pain, but cautiously refused to resist him. As he opened the front door, he shoved you inside. 

The foyer was empty, you prayed all of the maids were asleep at this late hour. The last thing you needed was another audience for his taming lessons. Tommy huffed out, slamming the door behind him. If the help wasn’t awake already, they would be now. 

As he lit the cigarette in between his lips, he looked you up and down, his expression unreadable. 

His disobedient wife.

He stepped to you, slowly taking your coat off of your shoulders. You stood still before him, your eyes darting around as you anticipated some sudden movement from him. Tommy stepped back and threw your coat to the side. 

“On your knees my love” Tommy softly ordered. 

Gradually, you fell to your knees, your thin dress barely no comfort for your knees against the wooden floorboards. With his hands behind his back, he slowly moved towards you, your eyes on his crotch. But you couldn’t be any further from being right with what you were expecting to happen. 

“Listen well, because I will only say this once. Lean down and clean my shoes with nothing more but your tongue” Tommy said emotionlessly. 

“Tommy” you frowned, immediately going to lift your body from the floor but Tommy was quick to push you back down. 

“When I make an order, you follow!” Tommy bellowed, your hair looped around his hand as he forced your head back. 

You whimpered like a dog, staring at him with wide eyes.  His chest rose and fell through his anger, cigarette in between his lips close to slipping out. As his rage lowered, the tightness of his grip loosened. 

 “My little brat of a wife… Oh how your eagerness to be a thorn in my side had taken you too far this time” Tommy tutted, shaking his head to you. “You’ll forever regret your decisions tonight. I only ever had one rule with you, do you remember what that was?” Tommy asked, his tone dripping with a mixture of disappointment and sarcasm. 

“Don't mess with your business” you whined. 

“Correct” he nodded. His gaze lowered to his dress shoes, he tilted his right foot up, a wicked smirk growing on his lips. “Come on then my little wife, lean down and beg me for forgiveness” Tommy ordered condscendingly. 

“Tommy” you pleaded, eyes tearing up. 

“I won’t tell you again” he grunted, his hands on his hips as he tapped his foot on the floorboards. 

Shamefully, you looked down to his feet and gulped down your dignity. Lowering yourself to his feet, you looked up to him one last time in hope of mercy. Tommy only nodded for you to continue. You forced your tongue out and gave him a small lick. 

“Do better than that my love” Tommy snarled, pressing his foot against your mouth. 

You sniffled out, forcefully keeping your tongue out as you dragged it over the leather. The taste of it made your face cringed and you prayed that no maid would dare to wander at this moment. Slowly, you took his shoe inch by inch with your tongue. You gagged out when he forced you to lick underneath his foot. But your thighs squeezed together.

“Should be fucking grateful that I don’t make you do it during the family meetings” Tommy grunted out before he took a long exhale of the tobacco. 

“Thank you Tommy” you whined, tears rolling down your cheeks, completely and utterly humiliated by this punishment. The smirk that grew on his lips was sinister, this discipline was lowering you down to your place far too easily. 

A long hard spanking would be much preferred by you. But Tommy knew you enjoyed those too much, no matter how black and blue your rear could get. 

You choked loudly as you moved onto his other shoe. Throating clenching tightly as you felt your stomach urge to push out your guts completely. 

“Wait until it’s hunting season my love” Tommy laughed, tilting his head down at you. 

You shot up onto your knees. Before he could react, your arms wrapped tightly around his left leg, your lower body straddling his foot. With your face pressed against his pants you whined out. 

“Please Tommy! I’m sorry! I promise to never upset you again!” you promised sobbingly. 

“Hurry up now my love, if you do a good job I”ll let you fuck yourself on my shoes, how does that sound eh?” He hummed to you, patting your head like you were his pet. 

The vanquish latched onto your thoughts and you lowered your head in defeat. There was no room for pleading, Tommy had his mind set on this and you would be physically forced to follow if you didn’t willingly submit. 

“It sounds good Tommy, thank you” you forced your smile as you slowly slid back onto the wooden flooring. 

Poking your tongue out, you closed your eyes as you tried to quickly take in every inch of the leather. Holding down your gags, your scrunched expression began to hurt as you looked like a fucking dog to Tommy. The urge in your core tortured you as your hips subconsciously humped. the air.

“Every day when I return home, I expect you to be on your knees ready to clean my shoes” Tommy disclosed. 

Your head snapped up to him, eyes flashing with fear as you felt your heart pound in your chest. 

“How long will I have to do this for” you cringed, blinking away your fresh tears. 

Tommy hummed dramatically and took a long pause as he debated his answer. It built the heavy dread of anticipation in your stomach. 

“Until you’re begging to clean my shoes, how about that eh?” Tommy nodded. 

“Tommy please!” You begged, whining like a pathetic dog. Your body shot up in protest. 

“This is no one’s fault but your own. Your place is always at my feet. You understand my love?” Tommy spoke sternly, his nostrils flaring at you. 

“Yes Tommy, I’m yours” you answered submissively, a pout on your face. 

Tommy bent down, his hand patted your head in praise. As you looked up to him with wide eyes, he smiled innocently to you. 

“Good! You can suck me off later to tell me how sorry you are for your behavior tonight. For now, prop yourself on my shoe and pretend it’s my cock eh?” Tommy grinned.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: You try and take Tangerine to the movies to cheer him up.

Prompt: "Watch where you're going! You almost took my eye out with that thing!" - "I've never heard a bigger lie."

~ for you my lovely @j23r23! love you and thank you for always supporting my writing! ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

When Tangerine is in a bad mood, he usually manages to turn everyone else in a bad mood.

This evening, he's being particularly moody as he mopes around your shared apartment, feeling crushed that he and Lemon lost one of their big jobs to some rival assassin.

You're curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone as he paces in front of you, muttering curses and insults at his rival. Lemon is in his room, listening to some music. He seemed fine with not doing the job, but his brother is very obviously spiraling from not having something to do this evening.

"Tan," you say, pulling Tangerine's attention to you, and then you smile a genuinely happy smile. "Wanna go see a movie with me?" you ask, to cheer him up. 

Tangerine looks at you like you're insane. "No," he deadpans. 

You narrow your eyes at him, only slightly hurt. "No? Then what? You're gonna complain uselessly the entire evening like a loser?" you laugh lightheartedly.

Tangerine's cheeks turn bright red. "Fuckin' pardon me?"

You stand and smile kindly at him again, rushing up the stairs to your room to change and call to him, "Be ready to leave in ten minutes or I'm taking Lemon instead."

Your threat clearly works because soon, you're standing in the line for popcorn. Tangerine is holding the tickets for the movie in his hand and he intends on paying for your popcorn too—even though he doesn't outwardly look happy about it. 

While you ramble on and on about what kind of candy you think he would want considering he'd turned down popcorn, a teenage couple, dressed in costumes for some new superhero movie, almost bumps into him and the boy's prop almost smacks Tangerine in the eye.

He groans and then grabs the boy's arm just as he almost hits you. 

"Oi, watch where yer goin'! Ya almost took m'eye out with that thing!" Tangerine exclaims.

You frown, sensing the couple's fear as they stumble away. You hold Tangerine's forearm, calming him down. "Alright there, barky," you tease with a smaller smile, "I don't think they meant to almost hit you."

Almost hit you, Tangerine wants to correct you because he didn't give a shit if that thing had hit him.

He eyes lose any hint of violence, however, when he hears your voice but then his eyebrow shoots up in question. 

"Barky?"

You laugh, not meaning it badly. You never do. "Yeah. You're like a guard dog sometimes. Although, you're always all bark and never any bite." 

Not with you, he thinks again but he doesn't say it aloud as he just huffs and walks closer to the counter to order your snacks.

Tangerine finds the movie incredibly irritating and he almost walks out multiple times. The only thing keeping him with you is you. The way you laugh along to the corny jokes, the way you squeeze his hand sometimes when something a little scary happens during the action, and the way you'll look so captivated by the romance scenes.

As the movie continues, Tangerine's attention has turned to you. He's barely watching the screen now as he finds you much prettier than anyone on the screen. 

Once the movie is finished and you're walking back to his car (because yes, he'd also driven you here), he comments, "If I'd known that tosser was in it, I wouldn' hav' gone," Tangerine snarls.

"Who?" you ask curiously, looping your arm in his as you keep him close. Tangerine looks at you and he sees how you're shivering. Without a word, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders and continues the conversation as if nothing happened, his arm still wrapped around your shoulder like a teenage boy who'd just made a move.

You smile and pull his jacket closer around you. It smells like him. 

"That Ryder prick," Tangerine says, "He's so fuckin' unbearable."

You pause and feel warmth in your cheeks as Tangerine continues and adds, "I know you think he's hot and all—"

"I never said that— I don't think he's hot!" you snap immediately, defending yourself.

Tangerine laughs and rolls his eyes. "I 'av never heard a bigger lie," he says and pokes your cheek, grinning wolfishly, "you were practically drooling all over yourself."

Your heart skips and you look at him, retorting, "and how would you know? Why were you looking at me during the movie, Tan?"

He knows you've caught him and he pauses, finally laughing. "Okay, fuckin' touché, darlin'." Tangerine shrugs and only pulls you closer to him.

"You're way more interesting than some stupid movie anyway, can ya blame me?"

Tangerine is relaxing, his tense demeanor from earlier in the evening has vanished and you smile. This is what you wanted. You feel successful in cheering him up and making him forget about his damned work for a while. You like his company and you smile up at him. 

"Okay, rate the movie out of ten," you say, grinning.

"Three, because I had to watch that arsehole think he can act," Tangerine says and just as you open your mouth to protest, his lips hit your temple and you tense, a familiar warmth spreading inside your chest. "But then ten because I got to spend some time with my favorite girl."

tags: @tansgirlfriend, @brokeaesthetic, @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld, @longlivedelusion

[3-aem]

hey if it isn’t any trouble…as a fellow artist could you please give a little anatomy tutorial/ back tutorial? I always struggle with drawing detailed backs like how u do lol💖

i thought i had a full back but ig not.

2 fold: one practice via studies of real references, and also get urself an anatomy guide to deepen ur understanding of what muscles are interacting and why. anatomy for sculptors is a good basis because to sculp you actually need an insanely good understanding of skeletal muscular interactions.

im ngl theres just a lot but a good example is me freaking out learning that ur shoulder blades move, crying bc theres a skeleton in all of us, and then going okay ya that makes sense based on all the back pics Ive seen so far.

the book also helps you with these ‘lets identify’ bits that help you learn what to look for and build that mental model.

the repetition loop of: is what im drawing correct, no-why, correct it x 10000 is actually how u learn ig or is at least how private art classes work (where a teacher steps in and tells ur lines are wack) and u gotta figure out how to do that for urself. there is literally no other way to get better. you don’t just magically stop doing something bad without first learning what you’re doing is wrong as obvious as that sounds. (i assume ur coming to me for realism bc otherwise id say fk h8rs, follow ur heart)

as for skin, idk how to give this tutorial at all. i don’t do anything special to my knowledge. and its kind of hard to break down in my head what you might like: color, lighting, texture, something else ;-;

but at the very least for texture its just my brush (i use oil brushes)

[sufferu]

Been working on this one for a while! :D

Reaction Ficlet: The Cave

____

“Why are you pretending to be a madman?”

Ferris snorted.

Everyone abruptly turned to look at him.

“That’s such bullshit,” he muttered, in answer to their unspoken question. “He’s nyot faking this. Petelgeuse is full of shit.”

“…How can you be so certain?” Julius asked tentatively. In the corner of the room, Subaru flinched. Julius hastily moved to clarify: “I’m not taking the word of a Sin Archbishop over yours, Ferris,” he said. “And even if it had been the case that he was correct—“ His eyes flickered to Subaru, trying desperately to convey his intentions through his hunched back. “— I wouldn’t be able to fault Subaru for trying everything he could to get back to his loved ones after — that — even if the method DID end up being somewhat cowardly. …But what made you come to that conclusion?”

“Because,” Ferris said stonily. “If Subaru-kyun had wanted to fake something like this, he would have had to fool a woman with the ability to read people’s intentions —“ Crusch blinked. “— the psychopathic stalker who had been making careful nyote of his every movement for the past month —“ Rem flinched. “— and also me, the greatest healer in Lugunyica. Even one of those things would have been difficult, but all of them at once? Far better liars than Subaru wouldn’t have been capable of it.”

“Your madness is too lucid,” Petelgeuse was saying. “The crafty, deliberate way you seek sympathy and beg for love, it is quite rude to those who are actually insane.”

Wilhelm growled, looking very much as though he would like to leap through the screen and tear the Archbishop’s head clean off his shoulders for that comment.

Ram stared at the screen, a look of silent agony on her face as the horrifically tragic implications of those words sunk in to her being. Was he really that desperate for uncomplicated affection, that he might go this far to get it?

“He would’ve been desperate enough to try it,” Tivey said quietly. Nothing about his tone was accusatory: his eyes were full of sympathy. “I wouldn’t put it past anyone to give it a shot in a situation that dire, and sometimes people can surprise you.”

“Nya think I’ve nyever had to deal with a patient lying about being sicker than they were?” Ferris shot back, keeping his voice quiet even despite his clear agitation. “It is nyot difficult to tell true from false — and it DEFINYITLY would nyot be hard to do so if I were examinying him so closely, or if he had been attempting to falsely mimic something that complicated, OR if it were immediately following such an emotionyally traumatizing experience on his end, let alone all three at once.” Ferris leered at the screen, his tail lashing. “That Sin Archbishop is projecting. Subaru wasn’t faking anything.”

Tivey didn’t look convinced. “But—”

“Subaru,” Ferris interrupted, letting his tone rise to a normal level of loudness as he called out to the boy in the cage. Subaru flinched. “Were nyew faking it?”

Everyone in the room erupted into yells as his question met their ears.

“Oi!” Garfiel shouted, eyes widening. “What’re you asking here??”

“Indeed, I suppose!” Beatrice agreed, visibly enraged by the accusation.

“Over the line!” Ricardo roared, eyes widening.

“Why would you ask him that?!” Tivey cried, having kept even his own assertions at Subaru’s likely guilt quiet enough for the boy not to hear any of it.

“Ferris!” Wilhelm snapped.

“I���” Subaru stared back at him, eyes wide and guilty.

“Subaru, you don’t have to answer that,” Crusch said quickly. “I’m sorry my knight asked you something so insensitive. I’ll reprimand him for it later, please just — try to relax.”

If anything, this only made him look even guiltier, prompting him to break eye contact and stare at the bottom of his cage, hugging his knees. “I might’ve been,” he admitted. “I don’t remember much about— about that loop.”

Anastasia — one of the only ones to not have reacted to the healer’s outrageous proposal — hissed softly.

“And there nya have it!” Ferris said, voice dripping with false cheer. “Nya can’t fake something that elaborate on accident. This was all real.”

“It seems she has arrived,” Petelgeuse said, in his sing-song voice.

As if to answer him, another called out from the shadows:

“—I’ve found you.”

Rem leapt forward, morning star in hand, and the fight began.

“So she did find him, then,” Julius said softly.

“Maybe he’ll escape…?” Mimi asked hopefully.

“It won’t make a difference,” Ferris said dully. “He’s dead either way. We all knyow that much.”

“You are a band of fools to enter the domain of Master Roswaal, Lord of the Mathers Territory and commit illegal acts,” Rem was saying. “With my master absent, I, Rem, sentence you to death in his place.”

“As tattered as you appear? You should not make promises you cannot keep. To begin with…” Petelgeuse grabbed Subaru by the hair, mocking her with his manhandling of his limp body. “You have come only to take this young man away from here, so enough with your convenient excuses.”

“…ch him.”

“Eh? What was that?”

“I said, DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Rem roared, launching herself forward in earnest.

“Awfully bold of him to mock an oni with the object of her affection,” Ricardo muttered darkly.

“Please get him out of there,” Otto whimpered, staring at the oh-so-familiar cave in which his friend was trapped. “Please don’t — I know he’s going to die, but please don’t let him die THERE.”

“It is deeply regrettable,” Petelgeuse lamented. “A devotee of love to an extend such as thee… Why are your eyes firmly locked on one such as this? An effete, ignorant, disgraceful, shameless sight such as this… Truly the product of sloth!”

“What do you know about Subaru?!”

“Disgusting,” Ram growled. There was only one word for this display, after all. Take your eyes off my precious sister! she wanted to shout. But it would be useless and pathetic to shout at a memory, so she bit it back.

“Please tell me Natsuki-san didn’t internalize an insult from an Archbishop of Sin,” Otto muttered, already dreading the answer.

— Knowing what he did about the man’s self-esteem, the answer was undoubtedly “Yes.”

“He isn’t finished!” Rem shouted. “I am here. I have not forgotten Subaru’s words. I will take him by the hand and lead him away. So long as I am here, he is not finished!”

“I…” Wilhelm pressed his lips together. “…am not sure how to feel about this situation.”

“Don’t get between Subaru and me!”

“Neither am I,” Crusch muttered.

“I think it would be sweet,” Ferris said casually. “If she wasn’t also his murderer.”

Julius looked at him, concerned.

“Do not speak such words so cheaply!” Rem spat. “I already have my salvation! After that night when I should have lost it all, there is no greater than what I had that morning! That is why!”

“Ah,” Rem whispered in the present moment, having realized something important. Her eyes flitted towards Subaru, curled tightly into a ball as he sat in his cage. “So that’s how it is…”

Petelgeuse lavishes rambling praises over the oni girl as she fought. He cawed, and cried, and celebrated as she rushed forward desperately to save the boy chained to the wall—

For just one moment, she caught his eye. Time slowed down. Love filled her gaze, and she opened her mouth to call out.

—and then, all at once, her body collapsed in on itself.

Everyone in the audience fell dead silent, struck dumb with shock and horror at the image in front of them.

Rem’s eyes widened, a horrified choking noise escaping her throat.

“The Authority of Sloth,” Petelgeuse whispered dramatically. “Unseen Hands.”

Julius covered his mouth with his hand, pupils having shrunk to pinpoint dots.

“You are not permitted to run from this,” the Archbishop whispered. He extended his hand forward, guiding Subaru’s eyes. “Look. Go ahead, look. Look, please. This girl is dead. She died for love. She fought while injured, struggled against her fears as she stepped forward, and died with her desires unfulfilled. Look, please. Look at her burns. This is the result of your actions.”

Wilhelm roared, breaking the silence that had just a moment before taken over the room so thoroughly. “Don’t even suggest such a thing!” he howled, momentarily forgetting that he was watching a memory. “What a vile thing to say to a victim of your own sin!”

“It was by my hand!” Petelgeuse crowed. “It was by my fingers! It was by my flesh! But it was you, you, you, you, you, you who, who, who…killed her, yes!”

“Subaru,” Otto said desperately, turning around to face the recipient of those horrible words. “Subaru, please tell me you didn’t listen to that!”

The present Subaru was shaking, having tucked himself away so thoroughly that even his ears were no longer visible.

High above them, Rem’s body danced like a puppet on strings. There was a horrible tearing sound as her muscles ripped. “Owww,” Petelgeuse mocked in a high-pitched voice. “Ow it hurts, it huurts, the pain, the paain, save me, saave me…ah, Subaru?”

“He’s dead now!” Julius suddenly shouted, eyes fixed desperately on Subaru’s shaking body. “Subaru, he’s dead! You killed him! You took care of it, he’s gone!”

“That’s enough!” Anastasia’s yell wasn’t aimed at Petelgeuse, or the other audience members, or Subaru in his cage. “That’s enough! We get it, we understand! Now stop it, let him go — you’re hurting him!”

“Subaru!” Beatrice cried, banging her fists against the glass. “Subaru!”

Inside the cage, Subaru was having what looked like a seizure. He was shaking violently all over, his mouth was starting to foam slightly, his fingernails were digging long, bloody trenches in his arms — and he wasn’t responding to anyone’s screams as they desperately attempted to snap him out of it, his eyes glazed and his mind trapped somewhere dark and cold and full of the cruel laughter of a violent madman.

Ram felt as though she was ready to pass out. Her little sister’s mutilation and desecration, her little brother’s cruel memories, the fact that she had been nowhere near EITHER OF THEM—

“N-Nee-sama?”

Ram jerked.

Her dear little sister was staring at her, alive and well, eyes full of worry. Ram croaked something intelligible, and then jumped forward to hug her tight and bury her face in her shoulder.

The Subaru onscreen had no such luxury.

“PEETEELGEEEUUUSE!” he screamed, lunging forward to bite the Archbishop’s throat. The madman jumped back, evading his attack and letting him smash his head into the rock floor — laughing at the sight. “I’ll kill you, I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU! DIE! DIE! DIE, DAMN IT—”

Even knowing good and well that such a promise had long since come to fruition, Wilhelm roared in agreement. That show of pure, unbridled rage was at once comforting and agonizing in its familiarity: comforting in that it was something the old man could understand, and agonizing in that he understood too well just how much it hurt.

—Maybe if Subaru heard his show of support, it would soothe him out of that frightened, miserable state, seizing and whimpering on the floor of his cage.

The Subaru onscreen raged and screamed and cried, but Petelgeuse merely turned away from him, as though he was hardly there at all. They would continue with the plan, he announced. Regardless of this setback, they would go forth.

He turned to the wailing, enraged, frenzied boy only at the end of his little ceremony, nothing but mild interest in his eyes for the victim of his awful crime. “If you accept the Gospel into your heart,” the Archbishop declared as he left. “Then I know you shall be saved.”

Wilhelm slammed his fist into the armrest of his seat. It splintered under the force of the blow.

—Or he would have left, except that he stopped to admire his second victim before he was gone.

“You, too, are a devotee of love,” he praised. Her lifeless body dropped to the ground with a clattering sound. “You died for love, defying your destiny with all your might. However, you lie ruined and unfulfilled, having lost the object of your love, unable to fulfill your desire with emptiness hovering all around you…because you were slothful!”

And then Subaru was alone, with nothing but the dead body of a dear friend to keep him company in the dark.

“What an awful way to treat the dead,” Crusch muttered, disgust in her eyes. Disgust for this barbarity, for this senseless violence, for this injustice disguised shoddily as the hand of fate — the Soldier King Candidate condemned it all from the bottom of her heart.

The sight of Subaru being chained and left to die in that cave made Otto want to be sick. In another life, that…

That…

“So he starves this time, then?” Ferris asked tonelessly.

Otto didn’t know how to answer that. Everyone knew what was going to answer next, after all. There was only one way this could end.

“Kill you…kill you…kill you…”

He was going to be sick.

Subaru was thumping his head into the rock, exhausted and bloodied and bruises from his efforts, and all for naught: he was still trapped and sealed in his fate. And the worst part was that he didn’t even care. “Kill you…” he whispered, eyes unfocused and blurred with rage. “Kill you…I’ll kill you…”

Wilhelm stared, a very uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut.

…Perhaps he would have felt less uncomfortable, if the present Subaru was not shivering and softly crying out in his cage. If he had been able to look upon this moment with righteous vindication. If, today, he had been fully satiated with how things turned out.

But there was something that had been lost forever in that dark place, wasn’t there?

— Had Wilhelm, too, lost something of himself that was truly irreplaceable, in that dark moment when news of his wife first reached his ears?

Julius stared at this horrible scene and thought back to the moment where Subaru had entrusted him with the death of what had been his greatest enemy. A sense of guilt settled strangely in his stomach. Had he stolen Subaru’s chance at closure, back then? What right had he to steal a moment so important?

It was your rightful duty, his mind whispered. Subaru asked you to save him and his loved ones, and that is what you did.

— The vain hope slipped through Julius’ mind, then, that the boy’s nightmares of today ended with him stepping in to whisk him to safety, once and for all.

“…Why wasn’t I there…?” Reinhard whispered.

“Petelgeuse!” Subaru cried, overwhelmed with hate and rage and grief, in a cave where nobody could hear him scream. “Petelgeuse! Petelgeuse! Petelgeuse!”

Otto would have died in that cave, once upon a time. Perhaps he had, even. Had this Subaru just taken his place?

Ram gripped her sister tight.

Garfiel gripped his own knees, wanting nothing more than to launch himself forward and free his friend from that disgusting place. But this was a memory, and he could do nothing but watch.

Beatrice wasn’t even watching anymore, too busy calling out to the seizing boy who couldn’t give her a response.

And Emilia—

There was a noise. A subtle movement. Subaru raised his head to look, his eyes fixing on a truly gruesome, miraculous, horrific sight.

“No fucking way,” Garfiel gasped.

“Rem,” Subaru whimpered. Then, louder. “Rem, REM—”

He broke off, using his teeth to grab the collar of her shirt and drag her the rest of the way forward. For somehow, Rem had survived her brutal treatment at the hands of the Sin Archbishop — and even with all her limbs mangled and broken like those of a doll, had managed to crawl towards him in the dark of the cave.

“Oni strength is nothing to sneeze at,” Wilhelm muttered to himself.

Julius could only stare in awestruck, speechless horror.

Rem coughed out blood, spilling all over the manacles.

“Rem—!” Subaru whimpered, but Rem was too focused.

Too focused on — something — to respond.

“Hu…” she whispered. “…ma…”

At once, the blood that Rem had coughed up froze within the manacles. At once, the manacles broke apart, bursting from the inside.

Ricardo whistled lowly. “Smart,” he commented.

“Rem…wait,” Subaru begged. “Rem, wait, do…”

“Live…” Rem whispered. “I…lo…”

And then she was dead in his arms.

Ferris exhaled slowly through his teeth.

The wails of grief echoed from the metia and throughout the theater: long, high-pitched, punctuated by heaving gulps for air, and utterly heartbreaking.

Slowly, as she listened to someone mourn this loss so completely in her stead, Ram began to loosen her hold over her beloved sister. Slowly, she sat up again.

Rem squeezed her hands comfortingly. Ram took a deep breath, and then let go.

The sun was bright as the pair exited the cave. One of them was walking. The other rested limp in her arms, never to wake up again — not in this life.

Subaru smiled, eyes dull and faded. “Let’s go, Rem.”

Ram swallowed.

Eventually, somehow, the boy arrived back at the Mathers Estate. He was too late. The village had already burned to a crisp.

Snow had started to fall.

“Petelgeuse…” Subaru hissed.

“The snow…” Otto faltered.

Subaru had frozen to death in that last loop, they all remembered that. But Roswaal had been gone, so he couldn’t have caused it — and none of the Witch Cult had any sort of fire magic that could do the same.

So who — or what — had been responsible for it?

There were bodies. Old man, young woman, the man who gave him a sword, the lady who had flirted with him that first day — none had been spared. Each body found was more gruesome than the last.

“Petelgeuse…” Subaru snarled.

If Subaru were to lose sight of his rage, he would lose his mind. This was a situation that Wilhelm knew intimately — but he had never seen it from quite this angle before, and he was slowly realizing just how badly it unsettled him.

That rage, that anguish, that loss… Far from being embridled with righteous fury on the boy’s behalf, Wilhelm found himself wishing more than anything for Subaru to never have experienced any of it.

This was nothing but pain. There was no honor here.

Ram was dead, in front of the shed that everyone knew held the corpses of the village children. The bodies of no less than five Witch Cultists surrounded her. She hadn’t gone down without a fight.

Subaru fell to his knees in front of the manner proper, the snow picking up in a proper storm. His voice rose above it in a wail. “PETELGEUSE!”

The roof of the manor cracked, and broke, and the large head of a monster burst out of it all at once.

Julius’ eyes widened. “That—”

“But we all knyew that was coming,” Ferris muttered.

“SLEEP.”

—said the Beast of the End.

“ALONG WITH MY DAUGHTER.”

Subaru’s body had frozen solid. A gust of wind blew his head off his shoulders, and — finally — this loop of nightmares came to a close.

Emilia stared at the screen, uncomprehending. She had not said a single word since Petelgeuse had first shown himself in the cave. Her face was blank, her eyes glazed and dull.

Ram sat next to her, wordlessly placing her hand over that of her dear friend. Emilia twitched slightly, and then — gingerly — took her up on the offer, squeezing once. Neither woman said a word, wrapped in their own little bubble of silence.

On the other side of the room, Beatrice was sobbing, desperately trying to call out to her contractor curled up tight in his cage. More people were joining her, unable to bear the sight of Subaru melting down for even a moment longer. Ricardo was trying to tease him (“Kinda embarrasin’ ta see yerself cryin’ like a baby, right? Don’t worry, we won’t tell Emilia—”). Julius was trying to talk him up (“Subaru, it’s over, remember? He’s gone. He’s dead. You won, and everyone got out safe!”). Garfiel was trying to break the glass (“WHY. WON’T. THIS. BREAK—”)

But then, in the midst of everything—

“Subaru-kun.”

Everyone’s heads whipped around at the sound of a name being called.

Rem was smiling gently, standing by the far side of the glass cage. How had none of them noticed her getting close. “Subaru-kun,” she called out, with the exact same inflection she had watched the version of herself on the screen voice time and again. “Subaru-kun.”

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Garfiel growled. “What are you doing?! Get away from him, you psychopath!”

“Leave him be, I suppose!” Beatrice snapped, still pressed against the glass herself. “You are the last person who should ever be allowed near him again, in fact!”

“Using a nickname like that — after everything you’ve done?” Wilhelm stood up, ready to pull her away by force. “Will you never be satisfied?” he hissed. “What more will you do to that boy?”

“That’s not fair!” It was Otto who objected, leaping forward to shield the woman from the other audience members. “Rem saved his life,” he snapped, still shaking from head to toe. “She did the best she could. If you want to blame anyone for that cruelty, then blame the Archbishop that — that forced the two of them into such a horrible situation!”

“She may have helped him once, but that doesn’t matter right now!” Julius said, striding forward with the intent to remove her by any means necessary. “Subaru shouldn’t be anywhere near her and all of you know that. Rem, I must insist that you back away!”

More voices joined the fray, each louder than the last as each one — in their confusion and terror and anguish — tried to do what they thought was right. But before a fight could well and truly break out—

“Rem…?”

Everyone froze.

Subaru was uncurling slightly. His gaze was shaky, unfocused, as if nothing else in the world existed, but then it darted over to the source of that nickname that had called out to him again and again and seemed to bring exactly one thing into focus.

Just this once, Rem told herself.

The Oni girl pulled away from the others easily, slowly kneeling on the other side of the glass. “Subaru-kun,” she called out again, in that same light, warm, cheerful voice she had not invoked even once since she had awoken in that horrible theater. “Everything’s alright now, Subaru-kun. I’m right here.”

“Rem,” he said hoarsely, as if nothing else in the world made a lick of sense, crawling forward on his hands and knees like a dog. “Rem.”

Rem didn’t move. “Yes.”

Two hands, and then a forehead pressing against the glass. Subaru’s eyes widened again in distress, a keening noise escaping him as he realized once again that he could not get out — not even to reach his — his —

“R-Rem!” he cried.

“I’m here,” Rem murmured, resting her hands against the clear surface, palm-to-palm, as if she were reaching out to hold his hands. Her forehead followed, bumping gently against the spot where Subaru’s was pressing hard enough to bruise. Soft blue eyes met a set of brown on the verge of madness, and crinkled gently at the sight. “Your Rem is right here, alright?”

Subaru couldn’t reach her. Rem couldn’t hug him. But she was there, and she was smiling gently at him from the other side of the glass, and that was enough. Tears welled up in his eyes and he finally started to cry.

“…I can’t even make fun of him for this,” Ferris said quietly, watching the exchange. “This is just—” He cut himself off.

Rem, his murderer. Rem, his torturer. Rem, his savior. Rem, the girl who loves him more than anything in the world. Rem, who died in his arms with a smile on her face. Rem, the one he cries out for in his darkest moments. Rem, his very best friend.

“…Disgusting,” Wilhelm muttered.

[ditzyredrobin]

The Calling

Based on my Joker Jr. prompt here.

In which Tim was Joker Jr and is now Red Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, and Batman is lost in time (and Tim knows it).

This might turn into another series. Who knows. 😂

-

Tim had two and a half hours until his red eye to Heathrow when he heard the Batmobile’s deep purr. It was his last night in Gotham and he needed a chance to breathe.

He would be gone indefinitely, unsure when he was going to be back.

He heard it before he actually saw it. Batman pulled in beside his bike, headlights flooding the outlook. No, no, no, no, this was not what he needed right now.

“Damn it.” Tim hissed, holding a hand up to block out the light.

The engine turned off but the lights stayed on as Dick stepped out, closing the driver's door carefully behind him.

“Tim, we need to talk.”

“Why are you here, Dick? Are you and the demon brat supposed to be on patrol?”

“Damian,” Dick corrected gently and continued. “I wanted to see you. Cassie called me.”

Of course Cassie called.

“Please, Tim, you have to let him go. I know how much it hurts—I miss him too, more than you can understand but we have to keep moving forward. It’s what he would want.” Batman—Dick—was outlined by the headlights, casting long shadows across the overlook.

If it had been Bruce, he would have looked menacing. A monster made of darkness and shadows and fear absorbing the light. But this was the new Batman, who still looked awkward and uncomfortable in the cowl, who didn’t have his voice mastered yet. He sounded too much like Dick and not enough like the Dark Knight.

Bruce had told him once he didn’t struggle with Batman’s voice. He struggled to keep Bruce’s. (And, man, if that hadn’t thrown him through a loop).

He wasn’t sure Dick would ever suffer the same conundrum. If he rescued Bruce in time, he definitely wouldn’t have to.

“But he’s out there, Dick. You’ve seen it over and over again, anything and everything is possible. If you would just listen to what I’ve got-“ Tim started but was quickly cut off.

“No, Tim. You saw his body when Superman brought him back—we buried him. He’s gone.”

He had. The husk of a body that had once been Bruce. It haunted him in the same way Joker’s laugh did, plaguing his dreams, replaying over and over again until he woke up panting.

But that wasn’t always the end, was it? Not in their line of work, at least. Jason was brought back, Steph came back, it was only right Bruce came back too.

He could just feel it.

He wasn’t crazy—he knew what crazy felt like and this? He’d spent over a year in a state of insanity following his early years as Robin and this? This wasn’t it.

“But sometimes they come back.” Tim pushed.

“And most of the time they don’t.”

“But-“

“Please, listen to me, with every fiber of my being, I want you to be right but I—I just can’t, Tim. This time feels different.” Batman’s voice breaks and for a moment he’s all Dick. The mask comes down and sounds like a son who’s lost his father twice over.

“You’re not listening to me. He’s out there, I know it, I know he is.” Tim pressed.

“I’m trying but you’re not making sense! I understand the trauma you’re going through with how much has happened the past few months. I just want to help.”

“No.”

“Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Dick pleaded, wrapping a strong hand around his wrist. “I have someone I want you to talk to, a doctor who deals with issues like this.”

“Issues like what?” Tim snapped, trying to pull his hand away. Dick only tightened his grip. “What issues do you think I’m dealing with?”

Dick sighed, “You know what I mean. You’re slipping, Tim, there’s no use in denying it. I can see it and I know you can too. You’re sick but it’s going to be okay. We can get you back on track.”

“Let me go. Right. Now.”

“No.”

“Let go.” Tim said with more force, using Dick’s grip against him. He squared his hips, using the forward momentum to throw him over his shoulder. Dick landed on his back with a grunt but Tim knew this was just the beginning of their fight.

If Dick wasn’t going to let him go willingly, he was going to force him.

Tim sprung back and away from Dick, who wasn’t stunned for more than a few beats before he was up again. Tim threw a carefully aimed punch that Dick quickly blocked.

“Don’t you think I know how it sounds? I’ve lost everything—Kon, Bart, my dad, my—Bruce,” Tim yelled, kicking out at Dick. “You gave Damian Robin without even talking to me. I can’t trust Steph. My world has burned down once again and you’re only here because everyone thinks I’m crazy—that I finally lost it, finally snapped, but I’m going to prove it.”

“You can’t, Tim. I know how you feel but you can’t keep going like this. You’re starting to sound like him.”

And that was like a punch to the gut. “Like who, Dick?” He didn’t mean…he couldn’t mean…

“You know who, Tim.”

“No, I don’t think I do because if you’re going to say-“ he swallowed hard, bile creeping up the back of his throat. Even after all these years saying his name still made him feel sick. “If you’re going to say Joker I’m going to lose it. Do you really think I’m acting like the Joker?”

Dick didn’t respond, taking Tim’s surprise to roundhouse kick, attempting to swipe his legs out from under him. Tim jumped but it was a close thing. “You really do, don’t you?”

“I just want to help you, Tim, please. I already have care lined up for you. You just have to trust me.”

“Or what? You’re going to drag me back to Arkham?” Tim blocked another hit. Dick obviously didn’t see this as a serious fight which Tim used to his advantage.

“You need help, Tim.” He grunted, catching his fist.

Something about the way he said it made Tim’s heart sink. He didn’t mean it… did he? He couldn’t. But the longer he stared at Dick, the longer he knew he was right. “…you are, aren’t you? You’re taking me to Arkham?”

“It’s not forever. Just until the doctors think you’re stable and then you can come home. Please, Tim.” He sounded genuine, like this was hurting him more than it was Tim.

Funny being Tim was the one who was actually tortured.

“How can you even consider that an option, Dick? You know what he did to me there!” Tim pressed down on the release on his harness, and throwing disks pop into his hand. Dick is fast but he’s faster, throwing what looks like one, but split into four midair, narrowly missing Dick’s face.

“Things have changed since then. There's contingencies in place and the Joker is-“

“Dead, I know. I was the one who killed him.” Tim cut him off, pressing the end of his bo to Dick’s throat. While Dick was distracted dodging, Tim had already released his staff from his belt. “I’m leaving, Dick, and you need to let me go. You said we’re equals, right? If we really are equals, brothers, you need to let me go. Haven’t I earned that much?”

Dick doesn’t respond and Tim sighs, pressing the hidden button on the side of his staff, causing it to collapse and slide back in on itself.

“Take care of Gotham while I’m gone. I—just, try not to let Damian destroy everything we’ve built together as Robin. Batman has given so much for us—for Gotham. If there’s even a chance he’s out there, I have to do this. I have to try.

The keys for his bike were still in the ignition. He’s not sure what hurt worse, Dick not stopping him, or the fact that he thought that he thought he was following in Joker’s footsteps.

He wasn’t crazy.

Bruce was out there and he would prove it.

Tags List (as promised):

@primthegreat , @derp-a-la-sheep

[anxiousapplepie]

I!!!!!!!!!! LOVE YOUR SWAP AU TO BITS AND PIECES IM HONESTLY OBSESSED. I like your (re)design of the party if their roles were jumbled a bit >:3 and housemaiden!siffrin is like. THE goofiest little mf ever. Hes so lame ♥️ so bad at literally any job ever given ♥️♥️♥️

But anyway i was actually starting quite a bit at your researchfrin design and. You mentioned that loop-as-saap!siffrin is still kind of there when plot Plots so i kind of cant stop thinking wherever researchfrins heterochromia will be one of major giveaways to who loop is. In theory

Like ofc ofc to assume that one of your friends had undergo Weird Fucked Up Mitosis (unbeknownst to themselves???) is a WILD shot in the dark but. You can go very very insane in those two eternal days cant you

Have a nice day !!!!!! <3

ASHJAJHSKASD MY BUDDY MY PAL THANK YOU!!! glad you're enjoying this wild journey like I am!! <333 Housemaiden!Sif is THE worst and best person ever, who thought it was a good idea to swear him into the House?? XD IN THEORY you are absolutely correct that Researcher!Siffrin's beautiful heterochromia eyes will be a massive hint for Traveler!Isabeau to figure out who the mysterious star person used to be >:3 and you are also correct that it's such a shot in the dark, but time-loops make even the sanest person screwy and you find out strange and unusual things when you've got nothing better to do except escape your self-made hell and learn more about your friends! XD y'all have a nice day too!!

[poomphuripan]

the mingjoe hotel room scene has been running on loop in my head all day. uppoom are just insanely talented people Jesus Christ. i would love to hear your thoughts on it!!

and cheers to no phone throwing—just lots of pushing and biting(?), which is definitely a little bit more palatable. i really enjoy that like with the ep3 bathroom scene, ming’s extreme physical behavior is not being romanticized. like sure some (me) will still find it hot but it’s very.. ugly looking? like the way ming is overly rough with his arm around joe’s neck acting like an animal or in a sleazy outfit like ep3 (😭) that it just makes you cringe more than anything else.

hi nonnie (ToT)/~~~

sameeeeeeeeee. this scene was just incredible. so for anyone that doesn't know, this is the scene from chapter 73 'Underestimating Yan Ming Xiu’s Feelings for Zhou Xiang' of Professional Body Substitute. I will leave a small excerpt with edited names for easy reading experience down here.

Joe smiled sarcastically, “Khun Ming, I am just as baffled as you. I don’t know how I could have offended P'Tong. Your FAMILY is of one mind, if you could help me figure it out, perhaps I could correct my mistakes.” When Joe mentioned ‘family,’ he especially emphasized it with a heavier tone. Ming’s expression became unsightly. He grabbed his cell phone and threw it at Joe’s face, immediately hitting Joe in his cheekbones, making it instantly swollen. Ming responded coldly, “Joe, don’t you have a bit of shame. You keep repeatedly speaking to me with this mocking sarcasm. Even if I was to spend money to raise a dog, it’ll bark nicely upon seeing me. Who do you think you are? If it wasn’t because ….. do you think you’re even worth a few yuan?” Joe caressed his face, feeling the air leaking from his voided heart. But he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t feel humiliated, let alone sadness. He felt that what Ming said is extremely right. If it wasn’t because he looked a bit like Tong, whether it was from before or in the present, how could he have the opportunity to stand in front of Ming? After such a long time, he had finally accepted this fact and was able to fully be at peace. He smiled, “What Khun Ming said is right. I admit that I am wrong. No matter what P'Tong does, he must have his reasons.” Ming raised his eyebrows deeply. The smile on Joe’s face made him feel uncomfortable, not only is it uncomfortable, it was simply glaring to the extreme. He instinctively felt that he had seen this expression before from somewhere, this expression made his heart tremble. Ming didn’t know how he could teach this person called Joe a lesson because this person is too untamed. But at the same time, there are so many commonalities between this person and “that person,” so that he is always subconsciously tolerant of him. He has repeatedly tolerated his words and even gave him the condo he had prepared for his older brother. He knew that he is not “Joe” but because there were so many overlapping details between them, it made him lose his mind. He didn’t know what he is expecting from this fake ‘Joe.’ What exactly was he expecting!! He stared at Joe coldly and ordered, “Undress.” Joe is slightly startled and then nimbly removed his clothes piece by piece. Ming press him onto the bed, separating his thighs. Then, he proceeded to brutally and fervently fuck him. The lines on Joe’s back are painfully stretched, his muscles trembled violently with Ming’s frightening rigorous speeds; sweat dripped along the sides of his cheeks onto the bed sheet. Joe clenched his teeth trying with much difficulty to suppress himself from making any sounds. The moans lodged in this throat instead became smothering sounds. The phone next to the bed suddenly rang. Joe slowly looked up and blankly glanced at it. Ming immediately pressed his head into the blanket and hoarsely shouted, “Don’t let me see your face!” Joe’s face was forced into the blanket. He hated that he couldn’t directly bury himself beneath the bed. Ming picked up the handset; his thrusting movements became a bit stagnant but he was still slowly pummeling in and out of Joe. Back and forth, his hot weapon thrusted repeatedly into Joe’s body. This strange feeling made his entire body shook.

okay so i was crazy excited for how they were gonna adapt this onscreen because for this scene to truly delivered they had to be able to retain the shame joe had to bear to hear those hurtful words from ming while showing ming is lashing out as a result of him being driven up the walls due to the similarity between joe 2.0 and joe 1.0, especially when joe 2.0 associated him and tong as 'family'.

i totally agree with the series' refusal to romanticize any of these scenes. and i think the best adaptation change has been for joe to say all these things back to ming whereas he didn't in the novel.

oh god poom's eye work in this scene was just incredible. i think i prefer this to his resigned attitude in the same scene of the novel. the series has designed joe to be more emotional and vulnerable than his novel counterpart and i think it fits in line well with the comments in the first few episodes of novel readers noting that joe seems more "innocent" and "naive" than novel!zhou xiang.

all gifs courtesy of @jimmysea

and yes as you mentioned, it doesn't feel romantic at all. and i'm sure it's completely intentional on the producers to design this scene as such so we get a remorseful ming the following morning and heightened the tension between the two characters, while building up to the reveal scene at the end of the episode.

like just how can joe 2.0 trust ming saying this when ming is seemingly the same 'guy who lashes out' in that very fight scene they had earlier.

i also like the contrast between the design of that fight scene and the scene where ming ended up not following through with sex when joe 2.0 had reminded him of joe 1.0 (see, he can make good decisions on rare occasions). it's interesting because at that point you'd think ming has changed but then just one mention of joe/tong is such a sore subject for him, as if it's a sharp reminder (from joe himself) that he (and tong) are the reason for joe's disappearance, that it triggers all ming's buttons and he's right back to square one. it's a long journey for ming to prove his love to joe and i like that the series doesn't make it an easy ride for him even if they've 'toned down' to make the characters more palatable and human.

i don't know i'm just rambling incoherently at this point, but i hope that made sense nonnie ಥ_ಥ

edit: linking this weibo post from the msi supertopic which discusses the conversation. why do i hate miscommunication but love this so much wahhhhh. also more praises for this scene here.

[in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene]

The more I think about it, the more... not exactly sympathetic, but more understanding of the Narrator's frustrations because He is operating under an insane set of restrictions to convince us to slay the Princess without making her enough of a threat that she can fight back. He's not even trying to thread the incredibly tiny needle Himself, He has to guide you into doing it without you even realizing it.

Like, the core problem is that the Player Character's belief (and the Princess's) literally shape reality. To demonstrate how great a change even a small shift in perspective can cause by your own actions alone, taking the knife or not taking the knife results in the Princess having a different personality and skillset from the moment you enter the basement. Taking the knife implies she's a potential threat and even before she sees that you have the knife, she speaks far more threateningly. If you talk rather than killing her right away, which further reinforces all the ways she's a potential threat (she's aloof, somewhat cynical, intelligent, well-spoken, and outright threatens you at one point), there's no way to kill her and also survive. And if you let her kill you after freeing her and the Narrator hijacks your body, she shows herself to be skilled with the blade and unflinching in putting you down.

But if you go down without the knife (signalling you don't see her as a threat, not even a potential one) she's much sweeter when calling to you on the stairs. She sounds harmless, scared, but a little hopeful. And when she kills you after you free her, she doesn't know how to use the knife effectively at all. She kills you while crying and stabbing randomly. She both doesn't want to kill you and is incapable of being an actual threat. You have to hold still and let her kill you.

Unless, of course, you try to kill her anyway, which means she's now fully capable of beating you to death with her bare hands, likely because trying to kill her implies another shift in view (probably due to seeing her try to gnaw off her own arm). She is a potential threat now, and of course attacking someone comes with concerns about them trying to defend themselves--how capable are they of fighting back? And of course she'd fight back, who wouldn't? All the Princesses fight back when attacked except for the Damsel because by that Chapter the idea that she A. can't, and B. wouldn't, is locked in by her inability to put you down efficiently the last loop and the Smitten's unfailing faith in her.

So as early as Chapter 1, from the moment you enter the cabin and even during your interaction with her, your thoughts and beliefs are shaping reality and that ability is incredibly volatile.

And that's part of the Narrator's problem! The Princess needs to be helpless so she can't hurt you or defend herself but in that case, what justification do you have to kill her? So she has to be enough of a threat in the future to justify killing her, but not at the moment, and killing anyone comes with concerns about them fighting back. The Narrator has to walk a very fine line here because even thinking it's possible she might have the ability to fight back or kill you means she absolutely can, but you also have to believe that she could possibly be a big enough threat that you simply can't risk leaving her alive.

So the Narrator has to go "Okay. There is a Princess. She is harmless. She cannot hurt you or escape right now and you have to kill her. Why? Because she will be a great threat in the future. Not right now, she's perfectly harmless right now, but you have to kill her. No, no, you can't talk to her and ask questions because she'll trick you into not killing her. What kind of threat? The world-ending kind so even if you doubt me you can't risk it, there's too much on the line if there's even the smallest chance I'm correct and you must do it right now. How is she capable of ending the world? Don't think about it, please please don't think about it."

(I also think that's probably part of why the Narrator made her a princess of all things. The stereotype around a princess locked away is that they're fairly helpless in a fight, simply waiting for someone to come save them, but also you could justify killing her because she's an oppressive monarch, in title at least. And, indeed, that is a perspective the Narrator pushes and one you can agree with. Not to mention all the story tropes where royalty or a maiden of some kind is infused with a special connection to the world or god--a Princess who can end the world just by the nature of her being is not far removed from those tropes)

I mean, trying to get someone to kill another person without thinking them as an immediate threat or questioning anything too deeply is a monumental task. And everything from the ethical questions you might ask to risk assessment all have the potential to make the Princess quite a threat. No wonder it goes wrong so fast.

[8-rae-rae-8]

I'm sorry but this. Look at this.

It looks fucking ai generated. Nothing is correct 😭 the jaw on the left head. The eye on the right head. The inconsistent mask textures. The skin textures. Baseball caps don't bend like that when it's on a belt loop or a hook. The straps and equipment? Nonsense designs? The hands ??

Y'all are thirsting over THIS on Twitter? Insane.

Close ups under cut