#like it's FINE if you don't know that but. it is a minute point that is nonetheless important to me not to repeat. ANYWAY.

[madamechrissy]

Mobster Toji headcanons

Pairings- Mafia Toji x shot girl reader

mdni- explicit- oral (f recieving) drug use, dirty talk, choking, fingering, angsty and smutty- part of my Mafia AU- Toji is from Pour it Up (Mob Kuna) and Losing Control Now (Mob Toru) gonna be a fic soonnn, here is some of the vibes/points of ittt

comment to get tagged <3

Mobster Toji who runs the most elite club with Sukuna, and runs the Gojo mafia, has it all in spades, and he knows it's the good life, two strippers on his lap, kissing and giggling as he inhales his blunt. Deep in his lungs, smoking it and then turning to kiss each girl. How could he really complain about a life like this?

Mobster Toji had it rough before, he had a gambling addiction, he got into some debt, he lost his love... it wasn't an easy life, but he got here, and now, he runs this city with the men there, going against the Zenin mob just really made Toji's fucking day. He's got either side of his neck getting kissed on by pretty girls as they pass the blunt around, the club music reverberating off the walls, making everything so heady.

Mobster Toji pauses then, as he sees you, you're a nervous little wreck, nibbling on your lips as you talk to the girls there, you're in some slinky little dress that shows off all of those thighs, and hugs your body just so, glinting silver. He can't take his eyes off you, when they hand you the shot tray, explaining this and that to you, while you clearly look out of place. He leans forward to get a better look, earning the pouts of the girls on his lap. 'sorry, give me a minute hmm?' they giggle when he pinches their asses, running off while he gets a look at you.

Mobster Toji watches you bend forward, smile on your pretty face while you serve up shots, getting tips slipped in your pretty lace garter, running back to the bar for more before the song was up. Sukuna comes out then, looking at Toji who's so clearly enamored, and chuckles at him. 'Like the new shot girl?' Toji damn near blushes, Toji Fushiguro, he's probably blushed once in his life, but he does, only earning Sukuna's throaty laughter, and Toji's scowl. 'I actually was thinking of having her dance, our main girl is late'

Mobster Toji can't take the thought of your pretty body naked, he should make some perverted comment, but he just stands there, as Sukuna pats his shoulder, walking over to you. He watches you giggle a bit, shifting your hips, but he doesn't know your heart is racing, as the tall, handsome owner of this club asks you to dance. 'Oh, Mr. Sukuna... I don't know...' you murmur, observing the empty pole, and then he catches your eye, the other owner you've heard about, Toji Fushiguro. 'You don't have to get undressed, just give em a show, my girl doesn't get naked anymore either' you smile as you think of just how smitten he seems. You can't imagine feeling like that, not after the number your ex did on you.

Mobster Toji gets to watch as you do just that, clueless about a pole, he walks up to the stage then. 'Never seen Toji so quiet, he good?' Satoru asks, waltzing in now, wearing shades in the dark club for truly no reason Toji thinks, other than to be a little shit. 'I'm fine' Toji huffs, but then your eyes catch his, while a man is slipping a tip to you under the strap of your dress, and he pauses once more. 'He's got the hots for the shot girl' Sukuna says with a smirk. 'oh, that's it, shit go on up there, tip her' Toji scowls now 'tip her!?' the two men shrug, giving Toji a shove, and then he's there

Mobster Toji enamors you, with his huge shoulders, this broad handsome face, but he's different than anyone you've seen, he's intense, his forest green eyes glinting, plush lips in a terse line, like he's angry. You flush a bit under the obvious stare, coming over to him then, on your hands and knees, making Toji think of insane things, like your mouth wrapping around his cock, him choking your delicate throat, stretching it out with his thickness. 'can I tell you a secret?' you asks him then, when he sits down, spreading his thighs wide, elbows on the stage. 'go ahead, doll' you giggle a bit then, leaning forward, hand brushing up his suit jacket. 'I have no clue what I'm doing'

Mobster Toji can't stop the grin on his face, when he starts to take out stacks of bills that are wrapped with a rubber band, enjoying the little flush you get as you let your straps drop, baring your shoulders. 'Fuck...' he mutters under his breath, planting the smallest kiss on your collarbone, the action shooting desire hot straight through you, your eyes meet then, when his phone rings, and he sighs. 'my kid... sorry doll, I'll see you later?' you nod curiously, smiling up at him, you've heard of him - big, domineering, crime lord Toji- but he actually seems rather sweet, tipping you far too much, brushing a thumb over your lower lip before he leaves.

Mobster Toji doesn't see Megumi as often as he should, he wants him far away from the Zenin, and he needs him hidden from this dark world, the Zenin want Toji back and they want his kid, the heir to the family, but Toji won't let it happen. You're on his mind even as he drives home, Megumi's calmly blinking up at him as he pats his head, and the nanny apologizes 'so sorry, Mr. Fushiguro, but I do need to head home for an emergency' he shakes his head then. 'No worries, go on... hey kid'

Mobster Toji tries to balance it all, being a single dad, running this club, running the Gojo mob, drowning his sorrows in the finest whiskey, weed, cocaine and of course women. But even the next day when he sees you, his heart falters again, when you shoot him this little smile. He figures it's gotta be how beautiful you are, right? He's been around a while, but you're something else- until you run right into him, eyes wide as you slam into his chest, and he pauses, his hands on your waist. 'What's wrong, doll?' you sigh, looking around then. 'my ex is here, and he... well he was a dick, I was trying to hide' Toji hums then, pulling you even closer. 'where is he?'

Mobster Toji smirks, his scar stretching at the corner of his lip when he spots your ex. 'He's staring at us, wanna give him a show?' you giggle breathless then, nodding, your ex had left you after fucking your 'best friend' and you can't help but feel the pettiness rise. 'How do we do that, Mr. Fushiguro?' he grips your ass then, making you gasp, thigh between yours, pressing you on it, bending so low, you inhale his cologne, taste the liquor on his breath - 'like this' he whispers, before his lips are on yours. Your ex watches with fury, everyone else with curiosity, but it's just the two of you then, as everything starts fading aside from his lips on yours, his big hands on your body.

Mobster Toji can't get enough of your kisses, of your little teases, the next few days he keeps stealing them, like some dumb high school boy, he turns down this woman and that woman, because all he can think about is you. You don't go further, though you're aching for him, this cute little sweet game between the two of you, but you soon find yourself sitting on his lap, right in the VIP room. This was a 'special request' from Mr. Fushiguro himself. Powder is sprinkled against your neck, as he laps up residue from your collarbone, moaning softly in your ear, making your mind run wild in a room full of powerful mobsters and beautiful women, but all you can think of is him, how he's not like anyone you've known.

Mobster Toji slips rough fingers under your skirt, pressing your already damp fabric against your engorged clit as he holds an entire conversation, with Gojo, Sukuna, Choso and Suguru and plenty of women all in that room, effortless, like he's not finger your slick pussy, slipping under your panties and watching you bite that lower lip. He leans up, whispering in your ear 'keep quiet, hmm? slutty pussy is loud isn't she?' you can't formulate a thought as he fingers your slick walls, his cock aching to break your sweet pussy as he feels it pulsing around him, barely holding back his moans.

Mobster Toji has your back against the door of his office that night, in his knees in front of you, before you can think his tongue is lapping a stripe up your slit hungrily, and your hands are in his inky black locks, crying out softly while he drinks your sweet pussy up. 'Mr. Fushi-' he laughs against your cunt, making your thighs tremble 'nah, doll, it's just Toji, when your pussy is on my face, fuck it's so yummy too' he drags your ass to his face, devouring your cunt like a starved man then, your head slams the door, while he laps up all your juices, taste buds rolling on your walls, pushing you over the edge until you're blinded, drooling from your mouth and your cunt he's working.

Mobster Toji damn near cums when you squirt for him, he's drinking up as much as he can, staring at your slick cunt in wonder, so pretty as you squeak nervously, he chuckles at just how cute you are. 'fuck that's sexy, you squirt?' you're blushing, stammering then, as a mobster, a criminal, Toji himself is coated in your glistening cum. 'I've never done it... n-never came except on my own' Toji blinks in confusion, laughing then, but you'r'e serious he realizes, quickly too, and he sighs, pressing a kiss on the hood of your clit, an arm around your hips. 'That ex so shitty?' you nod then, weakly, unable to function or think as he stands, lifting you up on his desk. 'time to change all of that, gonna have you squirting all over this fucking desk huh?'

Mobster Toji is irritated as he's interrupted, of course it's a dire issue, when wasn't it? He leaves you with a nasty, filthy open mouthed kiss, wishing he didn't have all these duties as it was, and now it's just growing a longer list. In the limo with Sukuna he can taste you on his tongue, and when he finally sees you next, so much changed, you're excited but you say his dark expression, his face so tense. How could he bring a sweet girl into his world?

Mobster Toji ignores you, like it never fucking happened, and you see him, girls on his lap in that damn room, so you make sure to 'accidentally' spill shots all down his Armani slacks, earning him standing and scowling at you. when he finally corners you later, a hand on your throat, he's squeezing your windpipe, leaning low. 'what's with that show, huh brat?' you glare up at him, even as his hand squeezes. 'what's with ignoring me after... that!?' Toji's jaw clenches. 'I don't want ya in this fuckin' life, doll, that's what.' Your hand slips down his shirt, his hard muscled body, while he still squeezes, only serving to make you wetter. 'you don't even know me Toji' he scoffs. 'and you don't wanna know me'

Mobster Toji releases your throat, watching you walk away, what do you know about his life - nothing. He can't drag you down, you're different, even as he turns girls down, as he strokes his cock thinking of you, and you give him that pretty little scowl. He knows you're mad, he sees you flirting, he sees you watching him, he hopes you hate him, it's easier that way, a mobster with a fucking kid and a million issues. But suddenly you are just gone for a week, then another, Toji begins to ask, and Sukuna frowns, shaking his head. 'she just never came back, even to get her check, I'm not sure... I figured you two had problems and-"

Mobster Toji feels his stomach turn, panicking now, looking your name up on socials, seeing no updates since the last day he saw you, and his eyes dart to Sukuna's. 'what's wrong, mad she left your dumbass?' Toji shakes his head, gulping now. 'something is wrong... no I need to fucking find her. Now.' You're not at the apartment that was on your employment, you're nowhere, even your landlord says they haven't seen you, when Toji breaks into your abandoned apartment, even your phone is right there, he sees it's long dead, but next to it is a note, that simply reads 'find me'.

Mobster Toji will find you, if it's the last thing he fucking does.

THIS took an ANGSTY turn my goodness- it will be a fic if you wanna get tagged drop a comment <3

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[nyursi]

NASTY DOG. . .ᐟ

⫘⫘⫘ㅤmale reader, brat taming, size difference, age gap (around 20-40 ig), ass eating, yeahhhh,,, livestock guardian dog x recon cat reader!!!ㅤ♪ㅤ───ㅤwc: 3k

"Ow, ow, ow!" You yelped, the fingertips digging into your scalp causing whimpers. Face scrunched up— brows furrowed, lips pulled into a pout. Like a proper hurt brat. 

Dean meanwhile, had ignored your struggles and continued to drag you through the field, eyes narrowed. The sharp blades of grass (freshly cut) dug into your skin, leaving red lines to mark up your thighs. 

He had a firm grip on your hair, tugging harshly. Let it fall it out for all he cares. "Tsk. Stop complainin', it's hurting my ears." Dean huffed, pulling your head upwards for a sharp jolt. Relishing in the quick yelp that followed afterwards— echoing in the field. 

With no warning, he dropped you down onto the ground, leaving you to keel, curling up like a worm. Dean crossed his arms, large and meaty, waiting for you to get up. "I already told ya, quit whining' and get up." 

You huffed and rolled your eyes— getting up to stand. Dusting off any dirt and grime on your clothes, you crossed your own arms and gazed at him. Eyes narrowed. "What is your problem?" You hissed. "Why'd ya have to— to drag me back!" 

Dean rolled his eyes. "This is exactly why. Your attitude won't cut it in this line of work, for cryin' out loud." He pinched his temple, right between his thick brows, the lines on his face more prominent than ever. You did a really good job at making him age by the second— and he was already old as is! 

The old dog was the definition of loyal. Having been working for the ranchers since he was young. And now, with greying hair and decades of experience under his belt, Dean was the perfect mentor in their eyes. The hell were they thinking? The hell was he thinking? 

"Yeah, sure,'' Dean said. Not paying any mind to the farmer's request. Something about some cat arriving next week. He's trained a couple of their guardians before, whats a recon cat to him? He's the top dog 'round this place, second in command if you may. Any new faces got to deal with him first. 

Unfortunately, the pretty little cat they took in was far from easy. 

A hellspawn he'd called you. Not outright of course. Dean still had some decency left in him, no matter how much you tested him. But he did imply it, a more passive aggressive approach. Let you know he was really disappointed with such a brat to deal with. Huffing and puffing like some wolf 'bout to blow the hay. 

"Yeah well you didn't have to grab me by the hair!" He eyed the finger pointed at him, scoffing. Completely unthreatened. Dean was big, a tank that won't be moved so easily. That dainty little finger you waved around? Laughable. Course, he did stare at it a bit too long for his own comfort— unsure why thoughts of how easy it would be to just... handle and carry you around like a sack of feathers. 

"Boy, you're givin' me a damn headache. Recon cats are supposed to be— what? Agile? Quick? Behaved? Is chasing butterflies your job or what?" Dean raised his voice. You winced at the jab. He frowned, eyes softening the tiniest bit. 

"C'mon kid. The farm’s still away. We don't wanna get stuck out in the dark." Dean nodded his head to the distance, a faint silhouette of your new home. He trudged forward without waiting for you. 

You sighed, posture slumping. Yet you followed along anyway, dragging your feet on the ground. 

"Stupid fuckin' old dog," you murmured, plopping down on your bed. It was small and creaky, put together last minute. Much like your room. Pretty sure it was an old storage closet without the shelfs lining the walls to make room. 

It was dusty, and cramped. Reeaaal welcoming. Guess they thought a room small as this would be fine, considering you weren't that hunkering anyway. At least Dean gets a proper room. 

You sneer, feeling your blood boil at the thought of his name. "Who does he think he is? He's not the boss of me." Well... he kinda is. But whatever! It's not like you signed up for this anyway. Some boring countryside life looking out for barn animals and whatnot? Psh. Boooring! 

"Some big old hunk bossin' me around... hmph." You lay on your back, the mattress was thin and barely did anything to soften the rough wood of your bed frame. Pretty sure your back’s gonna ache quicker than Deans. 

A small snicker escapes you, lips curling into a smile. The image sends you a rush of amusement. Tiny giggles echo in your room— sounding like some maniac locked up in a padded cell with only his ideas to keep him company. 

Dean stops outside your door. Hand raised midway the air, curled into a fist. He was about to call you out for dinner, escort you to the kitchen so you wouldn't get into any more trouble. But your laughter made him stop dead in his tracks. 

He was dumbfounded, kinda. You sounded so innocent despite your... behaviour. Huh. It was almost cute. Endearing, even. Dean coughs, shaking his head. An annoyed frown tugged on his lips.

Ain't no way in hell. Never in my life would I... 

Ah. But he has already fallen for you? Slowly and surely, even if he was unaware. The day you arrived on the farm, all prickly like a cactus. He almost found it cute (he did). But he wasn't sure if the intense feelings that were harbored deep in his chest was a really intense anger or something else entirely. 

Something Dean had never thought to consider. 

Affection. 

Affection? For him? Dean blanched. He stepped back from the door like it burned him.The fucking cat? With his naughty attitude and god-forsaken defiance? Dean couldn't count how many times you stuck your tongue out at him, getting him all riled up. But fuck, maybe he did find it cute. So what? He's just a lonely old man, what's he supposed to do when the heavens throw a feline right into his arms? 

A feline that'd fit in them all nice and snug, with how small you were compared to him. That's the first thing that came to mind when he laid his eyes on your form. 

"Are ya tryin' ta kill me? That little thing's our recon?" Dean scoffed that night, complaining his heart out. "I don't know what you were thinkin'— what's he gonna do against coyotes? Wriggle and squirm?" 

And unfortunately, it had only plagued him more as time went on. When he was introducing himself to you— albeit begrudgingly. You were just standing there, leaning against the wall. Acting all smug as if Dean didn't dwarf you by a landslide. Like he couldn't just pick ya up if he wanted to, swing you over his shoulders. 

The thought made him a bit too excited. 

When he was tourin' you 'round the barn. Walking behind him like some shadow. Even his sharp ears couldn't hear your footsteps— feel your presence. Light as a feather, indeed. Maybe he doubted you too much. 

Earlier when he was dragging you on the field. Truth be told, he didn't mean to be so rough. Never in his life has Dean laid his hands on his juniors. But with you? It was an entirely different story. There was something about you that ignited feelings he didn't even know he could feel! It was a whole new area for him. 

But god. Temptation had been building up, and Dean was only a man who could hold on for so long. He'd lost control, when those sinful thoughts kept him up. Shame welling in his being for every lewd image his mind conjured up in the middle of the night, keeping him from sleeping and getting some shut eye like an old dog should, as you said. 

Gods, and how many times had you jabbed at his age? He ain't even that old! 

It only made him feel guiltier. You were a young thing— all pretty and shiny. Like a brand new chew toy for Dean to maul on. Sink his teeth into your pristine skin, leave red marks that'd prove his territory. (Territory. And this guy has the nerve to act like he doesn't have feelings for you!) What sounds would you make? If he bit deep and hard, licked up the marks afterwards. Dirty dog. 

"Fuck," Dean snarled, dragging a calloused palm down his face. He stood in the hallway, trying to cancel out your laughter. What was he here for again? Right. Dinner. 

Well shit, ain't Dean got dinner right here? Beyond that door, laying on the bed... 

He turned his head away swiftly, ragged breaths leaving his chapped lips. Chest heaving up and down. "No, no... calm down. You ain't feel like that—" Dean chuckled. But it sounded more like a pathetic strain. "Not for him." 

He didn't call you out for dinner, and he didn't eat either. But that hunger would get you both sooner or later. 

"Just... a little... bit... more...!" You groaned, hand outstretched. Curse these tall cabinets. It's not like giants live here! And what the fuck was up with Dean? He was supposed to call you for dinner! 

You actually fell asleep but that doesn't matter. 

What matters now, is the hunger in your stomach driving you crazy. The rumbles could echo in the barn if they got any louder. It was embarrassing enough as it is. 

Sneaking around, avoiding the creaky floorboards. Ears raised and alert for any and every sound made. What were you? A spy? You live here! 

"Goddammit, coulda saved me some leftovers. Even a grain would've been nice." You grumbled, sighing and rolling your eyes. Pouting at the thought of the meal you missed. Damn barn animals and their never ending greed. Not even a single scrap was put away for little ol' you. 

You were so caught up in your actions that you failed to notice a figure entering the kitchen, getting a nice front view of your behind. Huh. Why were you archin' your back like that anyway? 

Dean froze, mind blue screening temporarily as his eyes registered your ass all puckered out in the dark. 

He had given in to his hunger, forgetting about dinner after his... ahem, revelations. Curled up in bed, sulking in denial like he was about to be put down. Pathetic really. Since when did Dean get worked up over pretty kitties? 

Since you, apparently. 

He thought about it. Since you were their first recon cat, he didn't have much experience with felines. Only knew that they were playful, independent, and incredibly alluring. Dangerously so that when you've fallen for one, oh brother, there is no getting back up. 

Might as well dig yourself a hole in the ground to live in. 

Playful, when you gave jokes he wouldn't understand. Quick-witted, aren't you? With a smart little mouth that said all sorts of things. Curiosities and glimpses of your personality past the shallow image of a no-good cat. That twinkle in your eyes every time your soft lips curved into a smile, a triumphant "hmph!". You just loved being right, didn't you? 

Independent, always going off on your own. No matter how many times Dean reprimanded you, kept you from wandering too far. Curiosity kills the cat, after all. That's what he said, and that was the first time you rolled your eyes at him too. Wonder what it'd look like if he made them roll back for a different reason. Dean could only sigh and expect a headache to form whenever you weren't round the barn. Away from the fence and enjoying the scenery like some tourist. 

And finally: Alluring. 

As much as he didn't want to admit it. You had this charm that... well, charmed him. He beat himself up over it. But everytime he promised himself to stop— the obsession only got more intense. Every time you weren't looking he'd catch a quick glimpse. Admire your features, rake his eyes down your figure in silent appreciation. Whenever he entered a room, Dean found himself looking for you. And when you entered one? He'd feel your presence immediately. 

It was ridiculous, how downright bad he was. 

Maybe it was fate. Here, with you oblivious to his presence, arching your back and presenting yourself (unknowingly) to Dean. 

He stepped closer, silently. A shadow casted over his face. 

You could only widen your eyes and gasp in shock when two hands placed themselves onto your hips, keeping you in place. "Gah! Dean!?" You yelped, blinking at him curiously. Sweat built up on your temple, heart caught in your throat. 

"I wasn't doing anything! Just... looking for food, I swear!" You reasoned, still planted on your palms for balance. 

Dean only hummed, massaging invisible circles into your skin with his thumbs. "That so?" He said. You shivered. What the hell? What was that? Why did he sound so... intense? 

"What're you doin' up late at night?" He asked, brow raised. Eyes boring into yours. Had the nerve to sound suspicious, too. "You were supposed to call me for dinner, don't act surprised." You huffed, turning away. 

Dean only tugged you closer— hips meeting yours. Stupid kitty. Even now you have the nerve to act so high and mighty. Maybe Dean should teach you humbleness, take you from your throne for a little while. 

"Don't test me," Dean growled, satisfaction creeping in his blood as he watched you tremble. "Mh," he hummed. Yeah. You were tiny. 

"Test you? What the hell are you—" Riiip! In an instant, the cold air had latched itself onto your skin. Dean tore apart the seam in your shorts— right in the cleft of your ass. His tail has begun to wag, eyeing the cute rim staring at him. 

You were too shocked to make a sound, and even then, before you could react, Dean had dove right in, licking and nibbling at your pucker. "Huh- ah!" Your claws dug onto the wooden counter, leaving scratch marks. Dean slobbered up your hole like a man starved, saliva dripping down your chin. 

He licked and licked, made you dizzy til' your hole was nice and soft. His tongue was rough and textured, making your cock tingle and come to life. "W-wait, it's dirty down there!" 

Dean wrapped his hand around the base of your tail, tugging it upwards to bury his face deeper into your behind. Slowly, he breached your insides, licking up at your gummy walls. Your soft whimpers was like music to his ears. Oh, he felt fulfilled. 

But not quite. 

"O-oh..." you gasped softly, blush blooming on your cheeks. Dean was massaging your insides with his tongue, desperate and needy. His movements were quick yet deep and stimulating— as if he was looking for something. 

"Hnn!~" Your tongue lolled out, thighs tensing up. Unkowingly, you began to thrust your hips baclwards, meeting Deans licks. His tongue rolled onto a soft bud inside— a sensitive cluster of nerves that made you weak in the knees. "F-fuck..." 

Dean continued his assault on your prostate, never once breaking his pace. His eyes were closed shut, as if he was trying to savor the taste and feeling— keep this memory in his mind forever. His own cock jumped in his jeans, straining to be released. 

You were so warm... so tight. He couldn't wait to bury his cock to the hilt, make your belly bulge and fill you to the brim. Hump you like a dog in rut— fuck. "Uh... guh!" 

Dean parted himself from your ass, panting and heaving. Your rim was shiny with spit, legs trembling and cock leaking pre pathetically. 

It was silent for a moment. Until you heard a belt buckle, followed by a zipper and the sound of fabric falling to the floor. 

And then you felt it. 

Deans cock. Hard and hot— rubbing against your behind. Fuck. How big was that? It felt huge! You whined softly, fear striking you. But there was excitement as well, you had never done this before, and for someone like Dean to make you experience it... 

Naughty. 

You had been nothing but a brat your time here, but you couldn't deny that Dean was a good looking man when you first met. Tall and buff, yet soft. Hair on his arms and chest, a little grey in his hair. Lines around his eyes and lips... you shivered. God. What did his cock look like? 

What would it feel like, to take him nice and deep? 

You bit your lip. Dean continued to rub his length between your cheeks for a goodwhile, like he was easing you into the harsh fucking to come. "Fuck, can't wait anymore." Dean groaned, and pushed his tip against your tight vice. 

He held your hips firmly, keeping you in place as you wriggled. He was big! Your pathetic rim struggled to envelop his tip. 

Dean's mind raced as his hips rocked up, driving his thick cock deep into your tight hole. The boy was so small, so delicate compared to his large frame. Your slender body bounced with each thrust. 

"Fuck, boy..." Dean groaned, fingers digging into the cat's hips hard enough to leave marks. "You feel s' good around my cock. So hot 'n tight..." 

He knew this was wrong. You were his junior, and Dean was supposed to be disciplining you, teachin' you the ways 'round the barn. Not... fucking you senseless. But god, the way your velvety walls clenched around him, the sweet little noises spilling from those plush lips— it was too much to resist. 

Dean's balls slapped against your ass as he pistoned his hips faster, chasing his rapidly approaching climax. "Fuck, fuck," he snarled. "Take it." 

The lewd squelch of saliva and the slap of skin on skin filled the kitchen. He could feel you shaking apart on his cock, the boy's neglected dick bobbing between their bellies, flushed an angry red and leaking steadily. 

He reached around to palm your cock, jerking you in time with his erratic thrusts. Huh. For and old dog— he sure had stamina. 

Dean's thumb swiped over the sensitive head, smearing the copious precum. You let out a high, keening wail, back arching as his orgasm crashed over him. Pearly ropes of cum painted Dean's fist and splattered across the counter as your hole clamped down around his pistoning length. 

The pressure sent Dean hurtling over the edge. With a guttural groan, he slammed you back onto his cock, all the way down to the hilt. Bulging your belly. At the same time, he had bit onto your shoulder, breaking skin and leaking blood. 

Your body twitched, eyes rolled back and unfocused. You leaned forward, finding support on the wooden counter (now littered with scratch marks) as Dean massaged your hips. "Hah.. haahh.." 

Uncontrollable sighs escaped you, bones melting against Dean. Smaller spurts of semen shooting out of Dean's tip sent shocks down your spine, smaller cock red and spent. With your cum dribbling down onto your tiny balls. 

Sweat trickled down their skin, breaths heavy. Illuminated in the moons light. 

Finally, with a groan, Dean pulled out (albeit begrudgingly) of your warm hole. 

He watched, transfixed, as a string of his cum connected his softening cock to your puffy, well-used hole. The sight made his spent dick twitch with interest. Fuck, he could do this all night. 

Ah... but you seemed tired. He chuckled, eyeing your spent form. All sweaty and twitchy. Particularly focused on the bite mark that stuck out on your shoulder. 

"Congratulations, boy. Now yer a true, fully-fledged recon cat.”

this was supposed to be lamb reader but idk,,, let me see how this does first then ill think abt it :3 ALSO WHAT IS IT WITH ME AND CAT READER??? ffuckin cat burglar n heavenly,,, urg. So sorry guys idk. I just love pussy!!

[ddejavvu]

hii i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write something with bassist!remus where hes like suuper flirty with reader in the backstage and the rest of the boys sort of tease him😭😭 tysm💗💗💗

Remus is typically the strong, silent type on stage, much preferring a stony expression to the goo-goo eyes James makes at whoever takes their top off in the pit. After all, he's taken, and his detachment from their band's rather forward fanbase has led to conclusions that he's not exactly Mr. Romance.

But five minutes before he'd been bathed in stage lighting he'd been slouched forwards in his chair, your lithe hands trailing feather-light lines across his back. He's wearing a t-shirt, not a lazy outfit choice but a simple one, and the points of your nails feel heavenly through the thin fabric.

"Lower." He commands, gently, kindly, but still a command, and he arches forwards in his seat to let your nails scrape lower towards his waistband.

He groans as you scratch lightly near the base of his spine, and you're surprised that his right leg doesn't shoot out from under the chair like a particularly happy dog's.

"That's it." He mumbles, letting you scratch the rest of his itch before he straightens in his seat, "Y'know my back's always itchy when you're not here before a show? Three hours on stage with an itchy back, 's murder."

"Sirius could itch it. He's got nice nails."

"No. He'd try to lift my shirt up and flash the audience. Can't have the masses seeing my abs, y'know."

"'Cause they're mine." You conclude, nodding thoughtfully, "Will you lift your shirt up and flash me?"

"Here? In front of all the lighting and sound guys?" He gestures to the gaggle of technicians all proceeding with last-minute prep for the show, "That's pretty racy. Sort of defeats the whole point of keeping them to yourself."

"Later, at home." You bargain, "Please?"

Fans' voices kick up from beyond the stage, meaning the lights have gone off and Sirius, James, and Remus needs to get out there before a riot breaks out. You grab hold of Remus's hand, though, waiting until he gives in with an amused smirk, "Fine. I'll take off my shirt for you later."

"Good luck." You release him, squeezing his hand once before doing so, "I'll be watching."

You are watching, and Sirius knows that, which is surely why he calls attention to your boyfriend mere minutes into their set, "We all heard you cheer extra loud for Remus, you traitors. I'll have you know he's not as dark and brooding as he seems. Jus' promised his lady backstage that he'd be stripping for her later."

"Yeah, she's got him wrapped around her finger," James laughs, a deep chuckle that's barely heard over the instant rise in volume from the crowd, "Mr. Mystery over here was begging for a back scratch not ten minutes ago."

You don't need to be up close and personal to Remus to notice the rouge suddenly flaring over his cheekbones, but to his credit his face is still set in a confident smirk. He takes it like a champ, even though you're sure he's dying inside as fans tease him.

"Say whatever you want." Remus finally speaks, eliciting a round of cheers from the crowd, "But you boys don't get your backs scratched before a show, so I know you're just jealous."

[kilesplaysthings]

how the boys would react when you have a migraine

ngl i'm a little apprehensive about this one lol and it got LONG o.o Sylus is the fandom's darling, it seems, so i hope i wrote him well ^^;

Part IV: Sylus (you/MC x Sylus)

It had been an entire week since you started having one of the worst migraines you'd had in a long time. You did get them every so often, but it had been a while since one had lasted this long. You'd done your best to combat it with medication and sleeping in a cool, dark room, but none of your usual methods worked. It just seemed to be a migraine you had to suffer through. By the end of the week, you'd decided to call off of work for a day to rest. Your migraine was beginning to wear off, but you were utterly exhausted. You felt like you'd run a marathon; either that or gotten hit by a truck.

You were so thankful it was finally the weekend coming up. Since you took the day off of work, you had three days to hide away and sleep for hours on end. Hopefully, you'd be up to going back to work next week.

The lights were off, the AC was down in the low 60s, and you were ready to burrow yourself into the blankets and cut off all contact with the outside world until Monday. Before you were able to surrender yourself to slumber, your phone went off. A glance at the screen indicated it was none other than your boyfriend trying to call you.

"Yes, Sylus?" You answered. It was only mid-afternoon. You were surprised he was awake at this hour.

"I just received a notification from Mephisto," he remarked. "He said you didn't go into work today."

You shook your head, smiling wryly. "Keepin' tabs on me, huh?"

"You know I'm always watching over you, sweetie," he replied with a low laugh. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Sylus always seemed to be in tune with you when something was amiss, and he always checked to make sure everything was all right. The two of you valued honesty in your relationship, so you told him right away about your awful migraine.

"It's been going on for the whole week and nothing's helping. I'm wiped out." You heaved a deep sigh.

"What are you doing right now?" He asked.

"Not a thing," you answered. "Just lying in bed."

"Are you up for a drive?"

You thought about it for a moment. Your migraine was wearing off by now; it was just a mild, dull ache at this point. More than anything else, you were just fatigued.

"It's all right if you're not," he said when you hesitated.

"No, I think I'll be fine as long as we're just driving in a car, but I don't think I'd be much use for anything else," you told him.

"Don't worry. I promise it will be very relaxing, what I have planned."

Your eyebrows rose up in surprise. "You're planning something? What is it?"

"You'll find out soon enough. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

"Do I have to dress up?" You asked, worried. You really hoped whatever he had prepared wasn't anything too fancy.

"Wear whatever you want, kitten."

The call ended shortly after that. You sat up in bed and looked down at yourself. At the moment, you were in your pajamas. Sylus said you could wear whatever you wanted, so you were going to do just that. At this point, you couldn't care less if he saw you looking like a slob.

You threw on a tshirt, sweats and a hoodie. A pair of slip-on sneakers completed the look. You didn't want to bother with your hair, so you just pulled it back into a bun, and of course, makeup was totally out of the question. However, you did wash your face to freshen up.

You felt your phone vibrate in your hoodie pocket and saw that he texted you:

"I'm here."

When you opened the door, sure enough, there he was in all his 6'2 glory. He gave you a warm smile.

"Hey there, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," you found yourself saying, unable to help the little feeling of glee that ran through you at the sight of him. You'd been together for a while by now, but he still gave you butterflies. Being so tired and achy was probably also a part of your reaction to seeing him. You'd missed him.

He chuckled. "Good to see you too. How are you feeling? Tired?"

You worked up a small smile. "Yeah, but I'll live. This is the best I could do right now," you said, nodding to your outfit. "'S that okay?"

"Of course." His deep voice was gentle, and he reached for your hand. "Come."

You were more than happy to place your hand in his larger one. He kept you close as you both left the apartment, went down the elevator and out of the building. His sleek, black car was parked out front by the entrance. Sylus opened the passenger door for you before he got in on the driver's side. Once you were seated, you noticed the car windows were tinted, most likely to shield you from any aggravating light.

"How's the air?" Sylus asked as he started the car. "Too cold? Too hot?"

You shook your head. "It's fine. I'm comfortable."

"Good." He placed his hand on the back of your neck, massaging it gently with his thumb. "Close your eyes and lay your head back if you want to rest some more."

He pressed a button, and your seat began to recline. You were happy to do as he suggested, feeling quite relaxed, especially when the car began to move. You felt like a restless, sick child, lulled into a peaceful sleepiness from the motion of the vehicle.

The ride lasted for probably twenty minutes or so. When you felt the car come to a stop, you opened your eyes. Sylus was parking in front of an elegant looking building surrounded by flowery hedges and some trees. A sign near the front door indicated that Sylus had taken you to a Spa with a sauna. Your eyes widened.

"A spa?" You exclaimed.

He smirked. "I thought this weary kitten could use some pampering."

He got out of the car and went over to open the door for you.

"You made an appointment for me?" To say you were stunned would be an understatement.

"For us," he corrected. "I though a massage would do me some good."

You giggled. "Oh, I see. You just wanted an excuse to get pampered yourself, I bet."

He huffed a little and smiled, amused. "Think whatever you like. All that matters is that I get to see you smiling like that again."

His sweet words made you blush a little. You grabbed his hand and pulled him along to go inside the building. The secretary at the front desk greeted you with a smile and pulled up the reservation that was under Sylus's name. She checked you both in and led you to a smaller room where you could relax on a couch while you waited for your masseuse. This room was quiet with soft music playing in the background. It was lit with warm lamp light and the soothing smell of essential oils wafted from a nearby diffuser. You were feeling relaxed already.

When it was your turn for the couple's massages, the lady who would treat you called your names. Sylus had ordered a full body couple's massage, complete with facials and aromatherapy. It was the full package, and you decided not to even try to contemplate how much it cost.

Once you were both disrobed, you were asked to lie down on your stomachs on two comfortable beds. You were given towels to cover your more private areas. The lady massaging you focused on your upper back, neck, head and forehead. You had a feeling Sylus had recommended those areas for you specifically.

"How is it?" He asked as you both had your backs massaged. You barely registered his question, nearly asleep.

"Feels amazing," you muttered. You didn't notice the soft smile that came over his face.

"Good."

Once the massage was over, he suggested you both relax in the sauna. As the steam filled up the small room, you leaned against Sylus, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I feel much better," you murmured. You felt his hand rub your upper back around your shoulder blades.

"Then my plan worked perfectly."

"Sylus," you said, looking up at him, "thanks so much. This really helped."

"Of course, sweetie." He leaned in to kiss your cheek.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" You asked after a minute of peaceful silence.

He laughed a little. "You don't need to ask. I was going to suggest it anyway."

You both showered and prepared to leave the spa, with plans to spend the night at one of his houses nearby. By now it was early evening and Sylus assured you dinner would be taken care of by a chef he employed. As the two of you waited for the meal to be prepared, you relaxed on the couch together in front of a lit fireplace.

You were resting on top of him, your head on his broad chest. The sound of his beating heart against your ear was soothing, so much so that you were fighting the urge to fall asleep again.

"Sy, I just want to say, thank you again. You don't know how much these last couple of hours meant to me," you told him quietly, while absently stroking his side.

"You really don't need to thank me, kitten. After all, it was enjoyable for me, too."

You knew he was joking and poked his cheek, peering up at him. "Regardless, I'm so grateful to have such a caring boyfriend like you. What do you say to making this a regular thing? I think spa dates with you would be fun!"

A pleased smile spread over his face, and he stroked your hair. Gazing into your eyes, he said, "I'll look forward to the next time, then."

[arandomao3user]

. . . Yeah, this is just me wanting to spread the canon "Tim falls asleep everywhere", " Tim has hallucinations", and Timbern propaganda. You cannot stop me.

—

Tim, staring intensely across the table at Bernard:

Bernard, talking about his latest conspiracy involving how the Titanic never sank BECAUSE IT DIDN'T DUDE IT WAS THE SISTER SHIP OF THE TITANIC BECAUSE ALL THE RICH PEOPLE WHO WERE SUPPOSED TO GO ON JUST BACKED OUT AND THE INSURANCE MONEY DUDE AND THE SIDE THINGS DIDN'T MATCH YOU DON'T GET IT THE RICH ARE OUT FOR MONEY AND WILL HAVE OUR BLOOD IN ORDER TO GET MORE—:

Tim, abruptly falls asleep, face falling into his pasta:

Bernard, horrified screaming:

—

Tim: It's not a health issue, just sometimes my head gets really light and I pass out and or hallucinate dead people.

Dick: You hallucinate dead people to? Twinning!

Jason: What the f#-% is wrong with this family?

Tim: Shut up, you attacked me at Titan's Tower when I was especially sleep deprived and painted the walls in my blood!

Jason:

Dick:

Jason: I NEVER F#-#%#-# DID THAT! MY WHOLE THING IS NOT HURTING KIDS, SURE I BEAT YOUR A#- ON OCCASION BUT I'D NEVER BRUTALLY ATTACK YOU IN TITAN'S TOWER, OF ALL PLACES!

Tim, pointing to his neck: Explain this scar then!

Dick: Tim, that's a paper cut you got from falling asleep on a calendar.

Tim: A likely story.

—

Bernard and Alfred in the kitchen, preparing dinner:

Cass and Duke, talking at the table:

Damian, setting the table:

Dick: I'm glad you made it for family dinner, Tim! It's been a while.

Jason: And Bernard?

Dick:

Dick, who is happy his brother is happy in a relationship, but also he doesn't trust Bernard for a damn minute because he's a freak in a culty and kinky way: I'm glad you made it for family dinner, Tim!

Jason, snickering:

Tim, who did not get any sleep last night:

Tim, passes out:

Bernard, hearing the thump from the kitchen: My bad.

Damian, snapping a picture:

—

Tired Tiny! Tim: I can do patrol tonight! No worries!

Bruce, exhausted himself, has been crying all day, is only 20% sober: According to the monitor I had installed into your wrist to track your vitals, pulse, track you, and predict how many hours you sleep each night—

Tim: What?

Bruce: You only got two hours of sleep last night, and woke up four times in between those two hours. No patrol.

Tim: I can so patrol! D:<

Bruce: I said no.

Tim: I said yes.

Bruce: Who's in charge here?

Tim: Alfred, but he isn't here right now, and he made ME in charge when he isn't around, and I say I can go.

Bruce: I'm the adult.

Tim: Nuh uh!

Bruce: Fine. Fine! See how much I care! None of these kids ever listen to me!

Tim: Yay! :D

Tim, immediately after goes falling down and passing out:

Bruce: ALFRED!!! IT HAPPENED AGAIN!!!!!

—

Tim, glaring at a cup of coffee: It speaks sinful thoughts to me...

Bernard: Babe, you don't like coffee.

Tim: Maybe I'm a masochist.

Bernard: I think I discovered that already when we took that weekend vacation to Italy and spent every hour of it in that hotel room, but that's not important right now.

Tim: We should go back there, they had good room service...

Bernard: They did, but that's still not the point. Put the coffee down.

Tim: We're out of zesti.

Bernard: I will get more, just don't drink that c#&%, you don't like it!

Tim, makes direct eye contact and sips it:

Bernard:

Tim:

Bernard:

Tim, choking immediately: THAT'S SO BAD!

Bernard: Stephanie warned me about this.

Tim, gagging into the sink:

Bernard: Haven't heard that sound in a while.

Tim: I'll never know peace again.

Bernard, lifting his finger to show his engagement ring: You signed up for it.

Tim, groaning: I meant the coffee, that was terrible.

Bernard: I told you.

Tim: You told me.

—

Tim and Bernard making out in Wayne Manors library

Jason, slamming open the door:

Jason, pointing a finger to Bernard: STOP DEFILING MY BROTHER!

Jason, pointing a finger to Tim: STOP MAKING OUT NEXT TO FRANKENSTEIN OR I WILL MAKE TITAN'S TOWER A REAL EVENT THAT HAPPENED!

Tim, still holding onto Bernard's hair: IT DID HAPPEN! YOU BROKE MY BONES AND SLIT MY THROAT!

Jason: Then where's the EVIDENCE!?

Tim, pointing to his neck: RIGHT HERE!

Bernard, still holding onto Tim's hips: That's a hickey, babe.

Tim:

Tim: IT'S UNDER THE HICKEY—

—

Bruce: New rule that's being enforced by Alfred.

*Groans from all the Batkids*

Duke: Nah, this doesn't apply to me since I got my Mom back.

Bruce: You don't even know what it is yet.

Jason: Your Mom's back?

Duke: Yup, helped her out and she's pretty good now.

Dick: Nice.

Duke: Thanks, man.

Bruce: ANYWAYS the rule is that in order to patrol we all need a minimum of six hours of sleep.

Stephanie: I'm in college and a vigilante, I should be excluded from this for college alone!

Dick, sweating: I don't even get six hours of sleep a month...

Jason: Ha, losers, I sleep amazing at night!

Cass: Lies, you cry yourself to sleep and beg for it to take you and write poetry at two in the morning about how sleep won't take you and not even death wants to keep you.

Jason:

Dick:

Bruce:

Steph:

Duke: You okay?

Jason: WHY IS THIS RULE BEING ENFORCED?!

Tim, wandering in, tripping over his own feet like a newborn giraffe:

Tim, stumbling to the bat computer to stare at the screen for exactly twelve and a half seconds:

Tim: Capitalism is at it's end stages and we're all doomed because of the American experiment.

Tim, promptly passing out, papers falling alongside him:

Bruce: That's why.

Damian, snapping a picture:

—

[lynnie-s3all]

forsaken cast x reader w spilt personalities :3

like one is every expressive and emotional and the other is just. monotone.

if u dont wanna do the whole cast then, 2time,chance,shedletsky (and maybe mafioso :333 ((ik hes from dream game ijdc c: ))

(if u want to) reader is a bottom 😈

im kind of a 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴

-🌀🍀 anon

Did you know that i happen to have this in real life too anon? I mean, sure. I'm making it short cause I'm brain dead.

As for usual, I'm splitting these into parts.

Forsaken Casts x split personality reader

Tumblr stop making me have fame.

Elliot overall noticed that you have 2 moods, happy excited and very energetic and at when night time struck in, tired.

He doesn't mind actually. He can listen to you all day rambling about stupid stuff, and when the other mood comes in, he just feel like he needed the urge to hug and cuddle with you on the bed

Elliot thinks you look adorable when you're monotone mood kicks in. It's like peace and quiet for him. Bt still a bit annoying that you didn't really talk much during those hours.

Like you would just reply with like: "oh, okay." , "mhm.." Really dry. Even when he's complaining about work.

He still loves you anyway <3

This chicken dude.

He likes hearing you talk about anything, and he will also talk about his whole day too.

Sometimes in several minutes you just zoned out for a minute or two and he was puzzled for a bit. So he tried to hit you by the back amd ask if you we're okay

Well you told him you were fine, you just tell him that sometimes you randomly have no thoughts in your head and just tried to think about what topic to talk.

Okay now this doesn't feel right because isn't reader supposed to be monotone in 2 seperate personalities?

Definitely. Alright I don't want to continue talking about him.

UNHINGED MF. Okay definitely reminded them of AZURE-

I'm joking, who says I'm letting them remind you as Azure.

Okay energetic reader, I'm pretty sure they're chilling listening to you about our day and then your mood went so dry to the point that they look at you like you're dead from the inside.

They thought you're planning to kill with that dead expression, guess not.

Maybe you are. They're just not sure about it and they gave you their dagger and that mood went into confusion on your face.

Well okay spawn believer, if you really want reader to go kill someone then sure.

ALRIGHT THIS DOESN'T LOOK LIKE THE ACTUAL PLOT OF THE WHOLE HEADCANON ANYMORE PLS FORGIVE ME-

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Skele's reaction to S/O not talking to them after an argument? For the main skeletons please?

Undertale Sans - He's annoyed. Sans doesn't like arguments to end like that, as he's a guy who prefers to talk it out immediately and be done with it. Sans tries again, if you don't answer, he's leaving the house to calm down at Grillby's. Call him when you're done, he's not paying for your mood swings.

Undertale Papyrus - He hates he feels guilty because you keep silent. He's not the only one responsible. Papyrus returns to his room and locks himself in his closet to cry from frustration. He's upset, but he doesn't know how to tell you he's upset. So as usual, he keeps everything for himself and grits his teeth.

Underswap Sans - Blue always argues, and he always have to win. That's one of his flaws. He knows he went too far, and that he's not that right either, but he's way too proud to recognize it. He gives you some space, and comes back later when you're in a better mood and acts like nothing happened, hoping it's going to work. Confronting him about his behavior won't do much better unfortunately. He's stubborn and will get immediately defensive.

Underswap Papyrus - Honey apologizes silentlly when he sees you're not talking anymore, then does it again and again, more and more distressed as you keep ignoring him. He teleports away, and goes to hide at Asgore's place to have his panic attack. Honey is extremely empathetic, so feeling you're mad at him is a big thing and he can't deal with it. He prefers to isolate himself until you come to fetch him. He hates arguments.

Underfell Sans - You're pouting? Fine. Fuck you. Red is far from impressed and simply ignores you. He switches on his PlayStation and plays video games next to you, not looking even once your way. Two can play this game.

Underfell Papyrus - He huffs, annoyed, then storms out to not explode. Fine, ignore him, he doesn't care. Edge goes to sit outside and will refuse to go back in, even when you come to fetch him. You wanted this to be more difficult than what it needed, deal with it. He's not going to pretend nothing happened, he's done hiding his feelings to please people.

Horrortale Sans - Uh oh. Oh well. He gives you some air, and comes back ten minutes later with a miraculous amnesia, look at that, it's like nothing happened. The funny part is that he's talking very slowly, judging your reaction to see if his bullshit is working or not. If it works, it just flops on your lap. If it doesn't you hear him whisper a "damn it" and then he leaves and tries again ten minutes later, but this time because he really forgot he already tried that plan.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow gives you some space and goes to do something else to calm down. It's no use getting angry. He then proceeds to overthink the entire think and stress-cooks for three hours because he can't stop beating himself up about the argument, spiralling in his own anxiety. He tried not to care about it at least for three minutes, that's improvement!

Swapfell Sans - Well, he's doing the same thing, arms crossed, staring through your soul. Are you done yet? It's boring and unnecessary. Just because you pout doesn't mean you're right though, and if you stay silent, he's so going to start arguing again at some point, just out of spite.

Swapfell Papyrus - He gives you the sad puppy eyes. Come on, he knows you can't stay mad at him forever. He's adorable. You try to ignore him, but the more you ignore him, the closer he gets. He knows you and he knows your weaknesses. You can't stay mad at him forever and he can see your smile right now, even though you're trying really hard to hide it.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Wine prefers to leave to not get more upset. He'll apologize later, but not now. He needs some fresh air and to do something else, because he feels like he's going to explode any second now. He ends up attacking a poor tree with bones, attacks until he feels better and comes home, cold and collected again, to apologize and try to talk it out.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee looks quite miserable right now, trying to cuddle to you to apologize, but you keep pushing him away. So, uh, he teleports in his closet and cuddles with one big plushie there, looking sad and heartbroken. Only to change mood completely the second you come back and say you're not mad at him anymore. You swear he was manipulating you into reaching that result.

[yanmler]

How about the arranged marriage Yuu who DIDN'T want to be married but ultimately doesn't care because there's nothing they can do about it now? (Bonus if the partner is nice and likes Yuu but respects they didn't want to marry them?)

Since there were no clarifications, I think this is an addendum to the post "wait, are you married?", we can consider this as the second alternative part. I don't really like repeat requests with the same characters, so this part is much shorter than the previous one.

Characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt (70 words max I think)

Warning: male yuu!reader, ooc(maybe), platonically, hcs, yuu remembers his past, but does not love his partner

(English is not my native language sorry for any mistakes)

Ace Trappola

Finds out by accident and is SO confused. I'm sure it was like, "Huh? Didn't I tell you? Yeah, I'm married."

The way you don't care and how calmly you talk about it makes him laugh. I repeat, now this is your personal joke with him.

Not everyone would know about this, but half of your friends/acquaintances could have heard about this news. He would like to know more, but he can understand that you don't go into details.

After all, it wasn't a significant moment for you, was it?

BUT if other students start pestering you, he'll still joke about how they're trying to take a married man away from his family *gasp*

The way such words slip between the two of you so calmly leaves other people stunned. Half of you understand, and the other half may condemn such behavior, but believe me, your best friend is ready to talk to anyone who even slightly looks at you askance.

Deuce Spade

FIRST, WHAT? SECOND, HOW? Even if you don't care at all about this arc of your life (lol), he will happily listen to how it all happened, because he still doesn't fully believe that this could happen.

What surprises him most is the casualness with which you even mention it. Something like, "Oh, yeah, right."

If you want, he will keep it a secret, but if you don't care, he just won't advertise it. If someone is interested in you, he will think or do something only after you tell him how you feel about it.

Is everything okay? Fine. You are not interested? No problem, he will try to help you.

I think for the most part this topic will rarely be raised (due to your attitude towards it), because, in your opinion, even if you don’t love your partner, they are a very good person, and there is no reason to discuss them.

Jack Howl

It's a pity that this happened without your consent, but after your assurances that everything is fine, I will take this topic more calmly.

You're not interested in talking about it? Okay, then no one will mention it. Because you're very good friends with him, you can tell him something casually, but most likely it will be a dry story.

A secret? No problem, he's keeping quiet. Not a secret? Cool. AND THAT'S LITERALLY EVERYTHING, regardless of your attitude to this topic, absolutely no one will find out from him. "It's not customary to talk about other people's personal things" - that's how you can describe absolutely everything related to this topic.

Does your partner love and respect you? This is the main thing. If a person does not force you to be indebted to them even in such a situation - this is true love.

Did one of the students like you? Do absolutely whatever you want. I don't think he'll get involved unless you ask him to, that's all.

Epel Felmier

He's honestly in shock. Your reaction just finished him off. "Oh, yeah, I'm married" - AND THAT'S IT?

He will definitely ask something else, but I think overall it will take a few minutes. More questions will be about your point of view, how you reacted to it then and now. What do you think about it and what feelings does it evoke in you.

I'm sure he'll forget about it for a moment, and then accidentally remembering it he'll stand there with a face like "🙉🙊". Sorry, but this is really hard to believe.

But he also won't tell anyone, because if you want - tell anyone, but he just doesn't need it, no matter if it's a secret or not. He just doesn't care about telling other people anything about you without your permission.

I think the reaction to someone trying to show you attention will also depend on how you react to it. But in any case, he treats this person a little more suspiciously, just in case, you know?

Sebek Zigvolt

STOP JOKING ABOUT THIS THING ✋️ IN WHAT SENSE IS THIS NOT A JOKE? Now you have to tell him everything, because otherwise he simply won't believe you.

He realizes that you don’t care about your partner, but he may feel sorry for them (a little). He may not fully understand his attitude to this and can ask his Diasomnia group THEIR point of view (given that you will be aware of this, he is not going to discuss you behind your back, you are still his friend)

Is someone interested in you? Well done, let them continue to stay at a distance. I think he would be the least pleased if someone were to court you simply out of respect for your status, but he would hardly say so until you showed that you were truly not interested in that person.

Honestly, I think he's still curious about it, but how you feel about it might dampen his desire to figure it out a little. If you're okay with it, then so be it.

Please do not edit, translate, repost my works on other platforms, also without my permission and @ or take my art without art credit

[green-fifteen]

Boomerang

tags: stobin, stobin child, OC, teenager problems idk, not!fic

word count: 795

@stobinmonth prompt: school

I'm thinking about Steve as a middle school teacher only because it's my favorite level to teach. How innocent they are! How evil they can be! And what a nightmare when his own kid shows up in class.

And, okay, Jules would want me to tell you that Steve is NOT her father, he just raised her with her mom and has been there every single day since she was born. It's an IMPORTANT distinction when the man in question is contractually obligated to teach her peers about condoms.

Right after the D.A.R.E. convocation the first week of school (a totally sexless function!), Kelly Nesbit made a button in Home Ec. that read, "JUST SAY YES TO MR. HARRINGTON" with wobbly little hearts in the O's. So you can imagine the kind of thing she is dealing with, here.

She sat her parents down the weekend before 6th grade to let them know the situation.

"Dad, you're not my father."

"I'm not?"

"You're very important to me, but we both agree that I am not related to you."

Robin cut in. "Okay so who am I? By your logic."

"You can be my mother, it's fine. It's on all the paperwork, you enrolled me."

"You do know my signature is on your birth certificate, right?" Steve reminds her.

"Unimportant. I won't be bringing my birth certificate to school and showing it off to my friends. If we're careful, we should be able to pull this off."

Robin and Steve shared a wary glance.

"And what are we pulling off, exactly?"

"Convincing the school that I am not related to a teacher." She gestured at Steve with a offensive amount of dismay. Robin made a mental note to have that 'terrible role model' talk with Erica that she'd been putting off.

Steve was eventually manipulated into agreeing when Jules said something like, "Aunt Nancy was right. She said you'd never agree because you're overly attached to me."

(Which I'm sure you can guess Nancy did not say. Her actual words were like, "If you ask him to pretend he doesn't love you at school, he might actually start crying in the hallways.")

So they don't speak to each other at school outside of 4th period, when Steve is careful to only call on her as much as he would any other student. No one suspects a thing for just over a month, at which point Jules manages to step all over her own careful plan.

It's something like this: it's 4th period. The bell is about to ring and Steve is handing back module one tests from the week before. Jules gets hers and just stares at it for a solid minute. He took off two points for that? FOUR points for THAT? And you see, Julia Buckley is something of a whiz and a perfectionist. A sense of indignation begins to build as she looks over the rest of the marks Steve left on her paper. And sure, she did get some things wrong. But what's the point of your dad being your teacher if he doesn't even let the small stuff slide? It's outrageous.

When she sees the little note at the bottom of the paper, a scribbled nonsensical little Good work, Bluejay! her frustration boils over.

"Dad!"

She yells into the quiet classroom. Everyone turns to look at her and then at Mr. Harrington, who is frozen with his handmade "BEST DAD" mug an inch from his lips. He looks like a raccoon caught in a floodlight.

"Do you think I don't know what peer pressure is? I wrote you a very clear definition. Do you even have a rubric? I want to see it."

Someone laughs or she notices the looks on their faces and realizes she's really done it now. She only has two choices. She can either insist she called the teacher Dad by mistake in the most humiliating way possible and endure the shame of hearing her classmates giggle and spread it all over the school for the rest of the week. Or, she can own up and buy herself a much longer, slower mortification. One that doesn't let up until graduation.

Steve eventually clears his throat. "No rubric-- just the answer sheet, Miss Buckley. If you have a problem with your grade, please see me after class."

And she decides right there, 'Bluejay' in his messy scrawl and 'Miss Buckley' in that strained tone of voice.

"Why bother?" She rolls her eyes and tries to sound casual. "I'll just see you at home."

She doesn't stay to appreciate the wide, surprised look he gives her or the astonished little whispers of her peers. The bell rings like a sign from God and she high-tails it right out of there.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Hi, in regards to a post you made in Feb about building community as an activist and not burning out, I have some questions. Mostly in the form of plaintive cries for help... which, if that is something that annoys you or just something you don't want to deal with... That's fine, I don't expect an answer, in all honesty. I'd appreciate any advice you can give me, though, and I thank you for your time.

To start off..I want to be sociable, kind, giving. Maybe not as you are, but..in some way that I can do.

Mostly (I think) for altruistic reasons. Though its at least partly also out of guilt or because I can not stand to be a bystander or just..apathetic, I feel I have gone way too far down that road already, and there's nothing good at the end of it.

I..at the risk of oversharing, your post really resonated with me, but..looking back on my experiences and life, I think I might just...not work as a social human.

I have...a lot of challenges socializing with people, especially people without similar difficulties or innate sympathy to my situation or feelings.

Which makes it hard to be a social butterfly or any sort of insect, near impossible maybe.

And I know its not the only way to organize or to help build community, but it is a prerequisite for a lot of it in my experience. I struggle to hold a five-minute conversation or ask a simple request, even of people I broadly not to be hurt by me or hurt me. Both because of past trauma and failings in the actions mentioned.

I suppose I am asking for advice. If one has...near-zero socialization ability, and an untrustworthy sort of mien and general vibe. Is there any place or action I can do in my community (the only place I feel at all confident in helping or knowing how to help) that doesn't involve those things? Like... it's an uphill battle everywhere, but here it feels, it feels insurmountable or not much is being done. At least in my city and not Vancouver. A lot of the local activists are either burning out, quitting, or just... not doing much directly. Hearts and minds.

I can't cook, I'm...middling at bullshitting at being "normal" or "approachable" or even "sane", I can't draw, I don't have a network, and I have no resources that are useful. Besides time and a failing back. What can I *do* better. To be of help. I'm genuinely grasping at straws and coming up empty. And I don't want to make things worse anymore.

This isn't a 'gotcha', I genuinely want an answer that might put things into focus or just...inform me what I could be doing.

Please give yourself (and me) the space to read this answer as one that comes from love, understanding, and a genuinely difficult negotiation/tension between the role of self-as-individual vs self-as-community. My response is probably going to ramble and wind a bit, and I can't promise it'll feel actionable, but I promise I'm taking this as seriously as I can.

When I was fresh out of my undergrad degree, I finally bit the bullet and hired a social coach. I'd spent my entire life up until this point absolutely devastatingly incapable of making friends, communicating effectively in my personal and work life, and was pretty sure that I would never ever feel connected to another human being again. I could get technical about the mechanisms of that if we wanted to get lost in the weeds about what kind of people can or can't ever learn how to be in community with others but let's go ahead and assume for a minute that whatever a person reading this is about to assert means they are incapable of socializing even WITH explicit and direct training on what "socialization" even is, my life involved some degree of it whether yall want to believe me or not.

So I hired a social coach. I did this because I was tired of feeling overwhelmed, angry, isolated, exhausted, and cornered because I was constantly under fire for my poor social skills and also simultaneously pervasively invisble to others. It was kind of a nightmare way to live and I needed it to stop. So the social coach takes me out to coffee and starts explaining her approach, and do you know what I do? I argue with her. I tell her "but that's not how it works for me, why SHOULDN'T it be okay for me to be the version of me that's more comfortable rather than the one everyone else is expecting?"

And her answer was one that genuinely had me go home and refuse to schedule another appt for like 3wks because I was so frustrated by it.

She said: of course it's okay for you to be that. But you didn't ask me to help you be the most comfortable version of you. You asked me to help you learn to be more effective at navigating social interactions. Learning how to be intentional and effective with your approach doesn't mean you HAVE to use it all the time. And we'll even have specific conversations about how you want to decide when and how to use this stuff. But you need to learn about the different available tools before you can make an informed decision about which one is right for each interaction.

Reader, I hated that fuckin answer.

But she was right. And 3wks later I was back in the coffee shop with her learning about the different styles of communication and their use cases, about relationship theories and how they view the form and function of different social etiquettes, about the difference between a boundary and a demand, about all these things that no one had ever said out loud to me before but which had clear and present impacts on my entire life in retrospect.

Something else my social coach said: It's new for us to expect people to just learn social skills from their parents and general osmosis. Used to be that churches, finishing schools, extended family members, etc were all commonly present and involved in the process of explicitly teaching social skills, and books on etiquette were made available to those who were trying to teach/learn independently.

This had basically never occurred to me, but Reader, I went home and immediately started looking into etiquette books. I have some older ones that are obviously not immediately relevant anymore, but many of them discuss some really interesting lessons on the philosophies behind cultures of hospitality that I found DEEPLY useful. I also have newer ones that talk about more modern-applicable social expectations! Personally, I've always found direct advice (e.g. saying this means that) less long-term valuable to me than more generalized theories about how and why people might respond to things in the ways they do. You obviously can't just like. Find one of these that explains everything all the time, but the more familiar these ideas are, the easier I find it to move between them as needed.

And like. Doing this stuff, learning about theories of relationality and connection, taking social skill building courses, they were helpful. But you know what they taught me more than anything else?

Almost every person who has ever given you shit for being bad at communicating is ALSO really FUCKING BAD at communicating. We all are. Because we stopped fucking teaching it as a skill and started treating it like an innate concept ("social butterfly" isn't a personality type, but that doesn't stop people from declaring themselves "naturally social" or whatever). The difference between you and the person/people who told you that you suck at it is ownership of self.

See, having more tools didn't ACTUALLY make me better at socializing. But it gave me so many different ways to tackle a thing that I learned to pivot whenever one just didn't work. And I started noticing that usually when I pivoted, people responded in kind but SOMETIMES there was literally NO pivot from me that a person would accept. Because I wasn't the problem. The problem was that they were not accepting my communication for one reason or another. And friend, learning that I could just like. Call that shit out? Point and go "I need you to repeat back to me what you think I'm saying right now because I don't think you're hearing me." Man that was game changing.

Learning what I could and could not be responsible for and in control of. Being honest with myself about when I could and couldn't tolerate certain outcomes and not setting myself up for pain around that. Setting reasonable boundaries with people and asking them to do the same for me. More tools made that stuff easier, but ultimately all the good communication in the world wasn't a replacement for doing the very real, very FUCKING HARD work of learning how to coexist with people who are not me. People talk to us like this kind of coexistence means being subsumed and consumed by the collective such that you no longer exist. But this is a lie. There is no human on this earth able to exist entirely alone. We all depend on someone, somewhere, for something related to our basic survival. If you walk through the world unable to feel safe acting on this, you will walk through the world artificially starving yourself to death of everything you need to thrive and barely scraping up enough survival needs to keep going.

And that's true for all of us. So like. The threat that other people pose to us is LITERALLY the result of how much we all depend on each other. We are afraid of that interdependence because we are so alienated from ourselves and each other (for reasons that are culturally contextualized even when they are individual issues specific to us) that we no longer see each other as part of the broader "us". We are all just tiny clusters of individual "me's" occasionally vibrating along as an agitated and menaced "us" until we rattle off each other into our "me" bubbles again. But none of us can live like that. We're all WATCHING that truth in real time as it devastates, slaughters, facilitates fascism, isolates and erodes our safety nets, abandons those most in need.

When I first started in social work I learned about "strengths-based perspectives" and I actually found some of these ideas really helpful in changing how fixated I was on "can't do's". Things I saw as closed doors, blocked paths, constricted and restricted ways of moving forward. Turns out, that this type of thinking is the same one that tends to power eating disorders, driving the brain slowly fucking insane with how much "can't" there is and how excruciating the process of "can" often becomes. The human body-mind has a complex relationship with constriction, and if you live your life in that tension consistently enough for lomg enough, it fucks you up pretty badly. But like. Look around you. There's a LOT of can't in the world right now.

Can't get a job. Can't feed your family. Can't relax. Can't feel heard. Can't feel safe. Can't make friends. Can't go anywhere. Can't stop genocides. Can't survive them either. Can't talk about what's wrong. Can't be quiet any longer or you'll tear your own hair out. Can't pay rent. Can't go to the doctor when you're sick. Can't afford a family. Can't decide not to have a family you can't afford. Can't get help. Can't catch a fucking break.

Folks, I don't think that we can afford to think like this all the way to a shallow grave, do you?

There's a LOT that I can't do. And there is and has always been far more that I can. But learning how to see the latter was something no one ever taught me until I sought out the lessons myself as an adult. I *deserved* to be taught that, we ALL did, but probably that didn't work out for most of us. So learn. Learn because otherwise the helplessness and hopelessness will kill us all.

The goal isn't to force yourself to do things you can't. The goal is to learn how to be effective in the things you CAN do. And you have to be willing and able to learn about the tools that can help you do that. I don't know what that will look like for you, friend. But I know you'll find it.

[faecaribou]

yippee another piece written It takes several minutes of shouting before Medic is able to speak over the other mercenaries.

"I don't have a medical license! Vhy are you all so outraged?!" He protests, even as he knows that anyone would expect their doctor to know what to do when they're sick.

"Doktor said he lost license," Heavy points out with an accusing tone, and Medic grimaces.

"I cheated to get that."

This sets off another round of yelling.

"What?!" Scout shouts in alarm.

"Mmph Mhhprr?!"

"Mon Dieu," Spy rubs his face with a gloved hand, pinching his nose.

"You can't say I'm not helpful," Medic argues. "I can heal any injury, and I can give you fever reducer when you are ill!"

"It's just not the same, Doc," Engineer groans.

"Yeah!" Demo agrees, before bursting into another round of coughs. The other mercs cringe away from the demolitions expert with significantly more alarm than before, suddenly aware of the lack of medical expertise in the room.

"Mmph mmph!" Pyro grabs at Engineer's arm, pulling him toward the door.

"It seems it is every man for himself," Spy declares, stubbing out his cigarette against the dining room table with a dramatic flourish of the wrist. He glances at the remaining mercs and promptly cloaks in a cloud of smoke.

"Dramatic bastard," Scout grumbles, then catches Medic's eye. "But he's not wrong! What happens if more of us get sick! Like Demo, he's taking care of Solly, but who's gonna take care of him?!"

"I take care of Demo and Soldier," Heavy decides, moving to pull the soup off the stove. "Have sisters. Very cold in Russia. Sisters sick often when little. Heavy can help." He spoons the soup into a bowl for Soldier.

"Thanks, lad," Demo wipes his nose against his sleeve. "Am no' too bad yet, though. I can-"

"Demo will get others sick," Heavy rebukes gently. "Demo should stay in room. Can help Heavy take care of Soldier."

Demo's shoulders slump. "...Alright."

Heavy places a big hand on Demo's shoulder, half-comforting, half-leading the Scotsman back to his room with Soldier.

Medic reaches out a gloved hand as Heavy walks past him. "Heavy, I-"

Heavy moves past him. "Not now, Doktor."

Medic pulls his hand back.

"...Okay."

Scout and Medic watch Heavy and Demo leave.

"Dibs on not telling Sniper," Scout says in the silence, before scampering off.

"Ach," Medic grumbles to himself.

After informing the bushman, who's face didn't so much as twitch when the doctor informed him of the flu that was starting to spread around the base, Medic then retreated back to his office to check his medicine cabinet for anything more.

"Inflammation, pain reliever, muscle relaxant," Medic mumbles aloud as he reads from each bottle. It seems that truly, all he could offer were fever reducers. Unless the subject in question received body aches. But Engineer's dispenser would be more efficient in that regard.

Medic sighs heavily. One of his doves flutters down to land on his shoulder at the sound, tilting its head inquisitively.

"Archimedes," Medic resolutely does not complain to his bird. "I have but one glaring veakness in the medical field, and they have found it." He runs a finger along Archimedes' feathers. "I am... not sure vhat to do."

"Coo," Archimedes presses against Medic's finger, and he smiles.

"It vill be fine. My kamerads will not die."

"Coo."

Medic grabs another bottle of fever reducer and stands up.

The trek down the hallway feels almost like a dream. It's unusually quiet, like the calm before a storm. Except, Medic muses, the storm has already hit.

The loudest sounds Medic can hear are his own footsteps, the sound of the dispenser humming mechanically, and the gentle murmur of voices behind the door of Soldier's and Demo's room.

Heavy is all but tucking Demo into bed when Medic opens the door, a half-finished bowl of soup on the tabletop next to Soldier's bed. Soldier seems to be completely out of it, smears of soup and sweat on his face and his eyes shut.

It's disgusting. Another reason Medic hates germs.

When Medic glances away from Soldier, he sees that Demo and Heavy are looking at him.

He shakes the medicine bottle at them. "More fever reducer."

"Thanks," Demo croaks, and Heavy finishes pulling the blanket over him. "We already have a bottle."

"I have surprising amounts of fever reducer in my office," Medic waves off Demo's concerns. "Plenty enough for everyone. No point risking anyone spreading the infection by sharing bottles."

"That's no how it works," Demo complains, muffled. Medic ignores him.

"Rest now," Heavy interrupts the two of them, pushing a bottle of water toward Demo. "Shout if you need Heavy."

"'Aight," Demo agrees, eyes already fluttering shut. Medic's eyebrows shoot upward. It's only morning, how can he be tired already?

Heavy drags Medic out of the room. The pair exit the room quietly, shutting the door behind them, before looking at each other.

Medic licks his lips nervously. "I am still the Medic," He says. "I can assist you in taking care of them."

"Is not Doktor's expertise," Heavy replies. "Want Doktor to stay healthy, in case real injury."

"Oh." Medic tries to keep his face from falling. He must not succeed, because Heavy pats Medic on the shoulder lightly.

"Doktor can still outsmart bullet. Doktor still incredible," He assures, before turning and leaving.

Medic's lips tug upward into a smile.

Demo must have a better immune system than Soldier, Medic decides later. Whether its from his genes, or that fact that Soldier drinks the lead water, Medic isn't sure, but Demo gets the cough and gets a fever, but it's not as bad as Soldier's steadily climbing temperature and incoherentness. The American thrashes and yells nonsense when awake, and Medic stabs him with a tranquilizer while Heavy holds the man down. Soldier coughs directly in Heavy's face, but the Russian does not flinch.

Compared to Soldier, Demo is much more manageable. He doesn't fight back, he drinks his soup (Soldier throws his against the wall), and Demo only attempts to leave the room once every few hours, whether to try and help Heavy make more soup, or to fetch more bottled water, or even to get his hands on his scrumpy. The third trip ends with Spy dragging the Scotsman back to the room, visibly agitated and face mask tied rather sloppily around his balaclava.

Medic decides to try and make himself useful, and asks Sniper for a ride into town for more supplies. Driving is another weakness of his, but he pretends that it's because he needs another set of hands to carry all the bags of stuff back to the base. He buys more bottled water, more fever reducers (just in case!) and more grocery supplies for soups and other healthy meals.

While at the store, Sniper does actually lend some assistance.

"Buy some teas."

"Vhat?" Medic looks up from the onions he's examining. He's pretty sure onions and citrus are helpful against illnesses, right? Vitamins help against sickness, right? Or do they just help prevent them?

"Tea," Sniper repeats. "Helps for sore throats. All'r that coughin' they're doing."

"Oh! Excellent idea!" Medic grabs several types of teas. He's partial to a mint flavor himself, but he sees a few that are specifically meant to help people sleep, or to soothe throats, so he grabs several boxes of those.

Delighted by this new way to help, Medic hums cheerfully all the way to the check-out line and back to the van.

He presents Heavy with the tea when they return to base, Sniper following him inside to help put groceries away.

"Thank you, Doktor." Heavy grabs the tea, before turning to Sniper. "Can Sniper start boiling water?"

"Sure, mate." Sniper pulls out a kettle from a bottom cabinet and starts filling it with water.

Heavy peruses the selection of tea bags, sniffing some and putting others away. He eventually drops two tea bags of his choice into two cups, before drowning the cups with honey.

"Tea's s'posed ta be bitter," Sniper complains at the sight.

"Soldier will not drink if bitter," Heavy disagrees. "Honey also helps for sore throat."

Huh, Medic thinks. Maybe he should make a list of these things. Everyone else seems to at least know the basics for how to deal with a cough and a fever except him.

TF2 Sickfic Prompt

So we all know that Medic isn't actually a doctor: he never went to medical school, doesn't have doctorates for anything that we know of actually, and yet somehow was able to gain a medical license that ended up being revoked.

Majority of things we see the Medic due involve experimental surgery and healing physical injuries. People tend to assume that he would also know things about illnesses and whatnot but like...what if he didn't?

What if Medic knew jackshit about how to treat a disease? What if Medic happened to be the only "doctor-type" person around when a flu bug hits the base at full force? What would he do?

[bogkeep]

first week back at school and ahhhhhh everything is a little overwhelming currently

- my living space is full of boxes i have simply not had the energy to unpack at all.... hopefully this weekend (but i have also been invited to a Social Event so WE SHALL SEE)

- this school year is going to have So Much Important Stuff happening inbetween the many weeks of practice placement

- such as The Academic Text

- AND i need to finish the big project i was supposed to have finished ages ago

- our teacher this year speaks swedish with a very thick french accent and i speak norwegian with a dialect, we really struggle to understand one another but maybe hopefully that will change over time.... please...........

- i'm stressed about Stupid Bureaucracy Stuff

- and im so so sleepytired :(((

- and it's too humid and warm for comfort :(((((

AT LEAST I HAVE CUTE SOCKS

purchased in a distraught jetlag haze and subsidized by my travel insurance. they're my favourites now

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Full Tech Day One pic today from kiko laureano (denizen of skid row / ensemble) & video (that's four seconds of "ya never know" playing over the static image) from & ft. marcia milgrom dodge (director / choreographer) double captioning "there might be puppets in this musical ;)" & "Well Shake my hand! Come see LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS @guthrietheater featuring @actually_will_roland's hand!"

[darksonofsparda]

Vergil isn't really expecting her to accept his offer, still, he would honor it if she did. Given what had just happened, he would understand if she declined, he didn't know how her love life had been in the past, but she probably didn't have the best of luck--then again, neither did the half-devil. There had been someone once in his life, but that was a long time ago now, it was still a bit hard to believe he had a son, if only he had known sooner, but there was no point in regretting the past, he would just focus on the present.

In the first half of her sentence, it seemed like she was going to decline, and he was okay with that, until she finished it, and it didn't sound like a decline, perhaps she would accept?

[{ 🗡️ }] - "Understandable, given the kind of night it's been."

There's a short pause after his words, she seemed to be in thought, not long after he gets his answer, and much to his surprise, she had accepted it. He just gave a slow shake of his head.

[{ 🗡️ }] - "You don't need to worry about that. I'm not really a fan of human flesh."

A soft little joke, mixing in a bit of humor wasn't a bad idea, some way to make light of the previous situation. It would be just fine if nothing cam from this, he just wanted to give her a proper Friday night date night, especially after being caught in that demon's web of lies.

[{ 🗡️ }] - "Wait right here, I won't be long."

With that, he's gone, a blur of midnight blue is all she's able to see as he made his way to the nearby store he had mentioned earlier. He's only gone for exactly three minutes, in a flash, he's back, wearing a dark blue formal best with black ginseng designs all along it, complete with a black formal coat and dark blue dress pants that matched his vest, and a black and blue ascot for the final piece.

[{ 🗡️ }] - "Apologies for the wait. I'm ready when you are." A pause, he realized he had forgotten one thing.

[{ 🗡️ }] - "Oh and by the way, the name of your new date, is Vergil. A pleasure to officially meet you Roxanne."

And Vergil would be right. It'd likely take some to mend the wound to her trust as well as her heart. Another five year dry spell likely would come from all of this. Roxanne often took long periods of time to grieve what could've been.

Mind clears from the fog of simmering emotions for a moment. Realizing that he's addressing her. A part of her had almost expected Vergil to leave forever once the hunt was done.

{{🏅}}- "I don't know if I'll be very good company currently. But with enough wine, I can probably brighten up."

It would be a shame to waste the reservation and the dress. This would likely be the only time she got to wear it before returning it. Not wanting to keep the memories that now tainted the fabric. If he was going to be kind enough to make the offer, she should at least give him a chance. Even if she does think he's just doing this out of pity.

{{🏅}} "I'll take you up on the offer. But you have to promise me you're not trying to eat me too. I'd like to not be on the menu for tonight."

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Hey CJ 👋 I hope you’re doing well in life.

I’m on the same page as you, when it comes to taking a step back from TWDG & the fandom. And, coming back to the games after sometime & seeing it in a different light. Some things that didn’t click with you back then, makes a bit more sense now.

Also, I’m curious.. what are thoughts on true colors? Steph & Ryan? 👀

Hello, my friend! 👋 Been a while! But yeah, I'm doing fine; a lot of the usual work with writing fic and blog posts in between.

Yeah it's funny to step away from a fandom you're so engrossed in for so long, like twdg was such a huge part of my life back in 2018-2020 with me running this blog, writing fic, and streaming. Now I'm just in a completely different headspace in general, and looking at the games now, they're still amazing but my reasonings are different. Also I talk about the comics a lot, which isn't something I would've guessed I'd be doing. If you go back to when they were announced, I made posts being like "yeeeeeah I dunno if I'm gonna read them :/" jokes on me. I read them multiple times, I need to make that useful haha.

As for LiS True Colors, I actually super loved it?? way more than I ever did the first LiS game?? though I think I might've loved it for the wrong reasons. I don't know, I haven't actually looked into what LiS fans thought of it compared to the other games, but for me it was a "perfect time, perfect place" game in the moment. To me the whole thing was nearly a perfect escapism game; the music is an A+, the entire town is gorgeous and covered in flowers and woods, Alex gets to live in a nice apartment for free [the true fantasy], there's a whole LARP campaign to play through, a flower festival where I've never been so conflicted on who to give a rose to, and overall just the coziest vibes. I swear, I spent most of the game just wandering around the town looking at all the flowers, it was great.

Like if Gabe didn't die and True Colors was just about Alex moving to this fantasy-like small town and working through her issues with the help of her powers, I would've been 100% on board. I didn't mind the mystery, though I totally guessed Jed would be the twist villain given the first episode immediately presents him as a hero who saved a bunch of people in the mines, I was like "Oh did he now... mmhmmm mmhmmm and he's Ryan's dad, oohhh he's gonna be this game's Jefferson-" except he was done better than Jefferson imo. He didn't turn into a cartoon character and his motivations behind the cover up were interesting. He didn't do it for the aesthetic like Jefferson did. And in the end I got everyone to side with me, except Charlotte because I told her to take the money so she wanted to speak out but couldn't, which was honestly fine with me like take their money, send Ethan to college, we'll stab Typhon just fine without your vocal support.

I liked most of the characters, except for Diane and Mac, though I reluctantly disliked Mac less by the end... Diane can suck an egg, though. I don't think I've ever wanted to throw a character out a window more than when Alex came back all bloodied with a bullet wound on her head as she exposed the truth and when she asks why no one's saying anything, Diane just goes, "We don't want to embarrass you" kjlkajdslkjalkjdl LADY DON'T PISS ME OFF

As for Ryan and Steph, I liked them both, trying to choose between them was absurdly difficult. It was like True Colors saw how easily I picked between Louis and Violet and took it as a challenge to create Ryan and Steph specifically to stump me. I mean, soft boy who loves nature, goes out of his way to be kind and helpful to those around him, has a slow build up to being emotionally available with someone he trusts, and has some daddy issues? A girl with pretty brown eyes who loves DnD and LARP, has a passion for music and will deflect with humor, who knows who she is and is eager to help those around her, and who isn't just another rehash of Chloe? They knew what they were doing; they dressed Steph up in as a witch after having Ryan act like a goof acting like enemy creatures, they were made for me.

Having done both routes, I do prefer Steph. I adore her and Alex together, but Alex and Ryan are super cute, too.

It's not a perfect game and there are issues in the writing but honestly, I don't care. I had a good time. I was engaged. I looked at every single flower and kissed a pretty girl so good that the world exploded. What a great game.

[headslikekites]

what if you: wanted to work on artfight prep

but god said: car break down be stressed forever