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echantedtoon · 5 months ago

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Let's Summon An Oni! Part 2 Mine

(Hey everyone. I just wanted to thank everyone who read this far and liked my story enough to read it to it's end. I had a lot of fun writing it and it makes me happy knowing some people loved it enough to read it fully. If you liked this consider checking out my other works. Thanks to everyone for reading this, faving it, or leaving a nice comment. And thank you to Koyoharu Gotouge for creating such wonderful characters and giving me the opportunity to make this wonderful story.

Warnings for yandere themes, someone gets wounded real bad by slashes. )

Taglist: @lavenderdrxp

The next morning arrived but you could find no ring.

Your friends had helped you clean up the mess off your floor come morning and you all practically tore apart your room trying to find your great grandfather's engagement ring while your great grandmother's was ...around your ring finger? You could've sworn that you had left it in the jewelry box last night but woke up the next morning with it on your right hand...You must've put it on your finger last night and remembered wrong during your worry and sleep deprivation. However despite moving the bed and shuffling around everything enough to rearrange your entire house five times- There was no signs of any stupid rings.

"Don't worry about it, Y/n," one of your friends had assured you with a pat on the back. "It'll turn up when you least expect it. Things always do."

Maybe she had a point. Things did seem to turn up when you least expect them but that didn't mean you weren't upset with it! And your room still smelt like a hundred bath bombs went off in it. It annoyed you to know end but there was little you could do about it. After all there was the fact that you had to go work and attend the nearby college classes so you pushed your troubles to the back of your mind and tried to focus on the project in front of you at the moment. Papers shuffled in your hands and a nervous smile on your face.

"Ok. So I'll write the essay part, you make the 3D model, and then we'll both present it Friday?"

The man next to you nodded and hummed in approval. "Seems good to me. "

"R-Right..*ahem*." You nervously pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "Ah anyways..Are you busy tomorrow?"

He rose a brow at you from the sofa. "Yeah actually. Why?"

"I was thinking maybe w-we could see a movie? Or maybe coffee-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" His hands were held up all of a sudden. "Look. You're very nice but I don't roll like that."

You blinked. "Huh? Like what?"

"I'm not a cheater!"

"Oh! Y-You have a girlfriend?"

"Uh- No. But I'm going to be putting up with any drama from your boyfriend."

His hand pointed right at your neck or more specifically your necklace and when you looked- You froze. Your great grandfather's ring was out again but this time it was slung around the necklace you wore every day along with the cute little charm your necklace usually had. Your mouth dropped open looking at it then at him..a hand reached out to rub over your necklace, more specifically the ring again.

"I-..I D-don't know where this ca-came from?!"

"Yeah right!" He abruptly stood up making the sofa move with his movements. "Do I look stupid to you? I'm not about to become a chick's side piece because you think I'm cute, and if your boyfriend has any sense he'd dump you too. Don't talk to me again unless it's about the project!"

He turned and started stomping towards the door. Papers fluttered to the floor as you stood up and held out your hands towards him.

"W-Wait! I really don't know how this got there!'

He didn't listen. You winced as the door slammed behind his retreating form shaking the foundation of your home ... Before you looked back to the ring on your necklace again. It was your great grandfather's ring alright. Complete with a diamond in the middle. But how did it end up on your necklace? You threw it back into the jewelry box three days ago and you didn't put it on your necklace. The only logical answer you could think of is that you must've put it there but forgotten about it (even though you KNEW that you didn't) or it must've gotten entangled on the necklace inside the jewelry box and you didn't notice when you put it on the necklace. You never noticed the reflection of a man in the mirror watching your lab partner leave or how he also left the reflection after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quietness of the study was unbroken as the man silently studied along the table. The silence was only filled by the ticking of the clock behind him and the crackling of the fire in the fireplace that filled the study with warmth. The light danced across the shadows and lit up the place in the dark. It was a rather cozy room with many shelves of books, comfy chairs, and the table with a giant map sprawled upon it. Yes. His father would be pleased with the surveillance work he made of the new farmland he purchased. They should be able to divide it enough for the blueprints for the many houses. Renting the houses out to people would certainly bring plenty of money he could use to help pay off his student loans. A yawn escaped from his throat as hands reached up to remove the glasses before a hand ran over his face. It was getting late. A hard day's work deserved a good rest. The man stood leaving the comfort of his warm study before walking away to exit into a hallway. It wasn't too hard to find his bed inside his bedroom. With a small action of placing his glasses on a nearby table, his body curled up inside the bed cozy and warm.

But not safe.

Shadows moved. Elongated alongside the wall. Red eyes narrowed. An arm extended itself out.

" Looking so peaceful in slumber. Not a care in the world...I wonder what hellish escapades you'll have within a world of nightmares."

The elongated form of claws reached out from the hand extending out towards the slumbering form.

"A fitting vengeance for an intruding obstacle. Let's make you fear ever speaking with a certain person ever again. You'll learn not to disrespect my once even in your thoughts nce I'm done with you."

A fingertip pressed against the soft skin of the man's forehead. Manic rising as the brows furrowed more and more. And soon his mouth opened up as eyes shrunk at a shadowed figure. And a scream shrieked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Did you hear about Sabo?"

The clanking and clacking of lockers shut around you before you looked up at your friend who looked concerned at you.

"Huh? What was that?"

Her brow rose annoyed and a hand placed itself on her hip. "Didn't you hear a word I said?"

"S-Sorry. I've been... distracted by work lately."

That was an understatement. You kept waking up with the ring on your body in one way or another. Two days ago you decided that you were overacting about the ring after your lab partner left you stranded and to ensure that you didn't lose another ring, you put a combination lock on the jewelry box after you chucked the ring back in. Now you couldn't misplace it again. However you were exhausted when you went to work and accidentally fell asleep at the cash register only to be startled awake by a customer shaking your shoulders. You rang him up as usual feeling a bit out of it, however you nearly had a mental break down when you once again found a golden band on your finger.

You practically tore the lock off fiddling with the numbers and dumping the entire thing out, and finding no ring inside. You KNOW you put it back! You KNOW that you locked it up right! You KNOW that only YOU know the combination! And you KNOW that it was still locked when you came back!! So how the hell did it get out of the box and on your ring at work?!

There was only one explanation.

You were being haunted! Your great grandparents must be angry at you for losing the other ring! You didn't believe in anything supernatural at all but this was the only thing you could think of that made even remotely sense. You knew you weren't crazy so what else could it be? However you hadn't told anyone yet. Then they'd think you were REALLY crazy! The stress was getting you to space out in front of your gym locker and made your friend groan.

"I can see that. Did you hear about Sabo at all?"

You shook your head. "Not sense three days ago. He didn't answer any of my texts and the project was due TODAY and only the essay was ready! I had to stay up all last night and finish it!"

You had to quickly slap together a 3D model online as accurately as you could and just present the entire thing yourself because he didn't even bother showing up to class! You just hoped it was just good enough for a C or B.

"I don't know what he thinks he's doing ghosting me like!"

"Probably because he walked himself into the hospital."

You paused before looking at her. "What?!"

"Some kind of wild animal broke into his house a couple nights ago and really tore into him. They had to take him to the hospital and they haven't found what did it get. At least that's what I heard. "

"Oh my God. Is he ok?"

"Dunno. I'm only telling you what I heard and from what I did, he was barely alive when they found him the next morning."

That was terrible! But also why you never slept with the windows open. You felt bad about Sabo but hopefully you can get the both of you a decent grade for the project.

However you didn't know the bigger problem awaiting at home just for you.

You were so worried about the ring and tired from not getting any sleep last night that you didn't even consider anything else was wrong. You stopped by the grocery store on the way home and just barely was able to balance three paper bags in your arms and unlock the door. Pushing it in and then closing it behind you. Tired eyes just passing by the living room and crossing into the kitchen.

You passed by a man sitting on your comfortable fluffy rug and reading a book from your shelf. Clink- A small teacup clinked as he gently took a sip before he gently placed it back down and started reading the next page as if the woman didn't walk past him.

"Good evening, Dear."

"Hi." Your tired brain automatically responded without a thought as you placed the bags on the table.

"What are you cooking for dinner?"

"Tonkatsu and rice." Again you responded automatically just tiredly reaching into bags and setting things up on the table.

"Ah. A simple but delicious dish. I haven't had that since a man left it on my shrine fifty years ago for an offering."

"Uh huh."

You passed by the doorway towards the stove with a package of uncooked rice. Step. Step. Ste-....Tired eyes suddenly blinked open wide nearly bugging out of her skull...Feet slowly turned around and walked back towards the doorway. Step. Step. Step. Half her body leaned back out of the doorway...Thud. A bag of rice fell from her hands and fell to the floor with a loud thud seeing the figure of a VERY tall man sitting on the floor of her living room in a meditative state, one hand holding a murder mystery novel as the other gently lifted the teacup back to his face which was mostly obscured by long burgundy bangs.

You stared staring like one of those comically large eyed cartoon characters.

A long sip was calmly given before he spoke again. "You dropped the rice."

"W-WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" You were wide awake now. Panic setting in from the sudden realization that there was a STRANGER IN YOUR HOUSE!! "H-HOW DID YOU GET INTO M-MY HOUSE?! DID YOU BREAK IN!?"

"Spouses share an abode. Cease your loud voice. It's unbecoming."

"Wha- L-LOOK! I-I don't know w-w-who you think you are-" Your hand fumbled badly for the phone in your pocket. "-b-b-b-but you better leave O-Or I'm calling the police!!" You made a threatening gesture by holding up your phone in a badly shaking hand.

"Even if you do, they will not see me unless I want them to. Now put down that ridiculous object."

"I'm warning you! I-I will!"

"Really? With what?"

"With my-"

You froze. Eyes going small as ashes fell from your hand that was holding a phone just two seconds ago, and instead a new shiny ring was again snugly sat on your finger. You jaw fell open.

"That's better. You'd better stop taking it off. It's tiring to keep putting it back."

You started breathing heavier head turning back to him. Fear slammed into your vertebrate like a railroad spike being hammered into the ground. "W-Who..are you?"

"Every human asks me that but I don't see why you shouldn't know who I am, considering that you were the one that summoned me and proposed."

"P-P-Proposed?!" The book closed with a sound and his hand tilted towards you. It was then that you saw the dazzling gleam of a shiny golden band on his finger. You knew what it was instantly. "My great grandfather's ring." Your eyes then narrowed again as you pointed. "THAT'S MINE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH IT, THIEF!?"

"Thief? Hardly. It was presented to me when you proposed fourteen days ago." He slowly stood from where he sat and you suddenly realized how small you were compared to him. "You asked me to become your husband and I accepted your offer. Was that not your intention when you summoned me that night?"

"Summoned? What do you-..."

You fell silent as his head turned. Burgundy hair framed a face as six pairs of eyes stared down at you. Lungs heave. Panic swam. Senses heightened as you rushed to turn around only to scream out as the face was now standing in the kitchen inches away from your trembling form. A clawed fist clamping itself around your forearm like a hot iron ensnaring you frozen to the spot. The silence carried on as you both still stared as your face horrified, and then a clawed hand held up a shiny golden band around his ring finger.

"I accepted and now we are bound in matrimony, My Little Wife."

"W-Who are you?!"

"I go by many names. Your people still revere me as Moon God, while others of the past called me Demon. You may call me by my true name. Michikatsu." Those beautiful eyes widened even more, especially when a hand reached out to tilt her chin back up to him, the feeling of his claws making her shiver under his careful grasp. "Or as Husband. I have decided that I accept this coupling."

Your hyperventilating lungs breathed- GASPED for air. Lips. Trembled. Body shook. Tears welding up. "I-I.. Can't accept."

"I'm afraid you have no choice but to honor those vows because now-" The Ring burnt again your flesh like a clamp, death sentence for your new fate. "..Not even death will do us part."

#Let's Summon An Oni!#kokushibo demon slayer #kny kokushibo #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo #kokushibou #kokushibo x y/n #kokushibo x you #demon slayer michikatsu #michikatsu x reader #michikatsu #tsugikuni michikatsu #kny michikatsu #michikatsu tsugikuni #michikatsu x y/n

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wttcsms · 8 months ago

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excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction.

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.”

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary.

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably.

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride.

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in.

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word.

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling.

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.)

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him.

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks.

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—”

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.”

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment.

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.”

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there?

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word.

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full.

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders.

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone.

“Thanks, ‘Samu.”

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.”

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves.

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves.

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him.

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity.

You frown when he approaches you.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend.

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling.

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself.

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even.

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation.

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride.

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.)

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this.

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance.

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019 BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin.

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in.

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists.

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka.

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty.

“He told me he loves me.”

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.”

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her.

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first.

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night.

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home.

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do.

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud.

And rhythmic.

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too.

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then.

There’s someone knocking at your door.

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm?

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear.

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop.

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief?

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun.

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window.

This stranger must be a soldier.

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall.

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his.

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long.

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water.

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours.

It’s been a rough day.

A rough week.

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know?

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize.

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily.

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan.

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople.

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom.

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own.

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying.

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target.

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body.

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him.

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard.

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this.

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next.

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin.

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that.

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help.

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then.

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope.

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent.

Naoya Zenin is out for blood.

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you.

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches.

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal.

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one?

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in.

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too.

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three.

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom.

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her.

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again.

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.”

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals?

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer.

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back.

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him.

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all.

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words.

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.”

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl.

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run.

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment?

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself.

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up.

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister.

“...helped out Sakura.”

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl.

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura.

“Yeah.” You nod.

“So why are you here?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment.

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement.

“She a ring girl?”

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?”

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him.

“You finally did it.”

“Did what?”

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

#atsumu miya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #satoru gojo x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #UGH i hate going thru my drafts #bc im like damn why didn't i finish writing these #anyway lmk ur thoughts. i have to work on comms so no plans to release these this month but perhaps june

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fluxweeed · 8 months ago

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Hii, I just discovered your fics and am reading my way through them. Love, love, love the ones I’ve read so far.😊 I was just wondering what your favourite Draco is you’ve written, and what your fave Draco is in fics written by others? ☺️

ACK thank you!! what a question!! i've considered this v carefully and it turns out i have………a lot of thoughts. i will keep them under a cut so nobody is accosted with a full 700 words of my Draco Opinions 😂 so my quick answer is:

my fave draco i've written: the taste of țuică my fave draco ever: rookie moves by peu_a_peu

draco is an interesting one for me bc i don't really LIKE him? but i have sooo many feelings about him. really not sure i could summon the same fervour for harry, for example, who is my number one boy forever and always.

(i saw a thing once that said a pairing becomes ur otp when u relate to one of the characters and want to fuck the other one, and 🙈 i mean, i think you're supposed to relate to the gryffindor, aren't you. whoops.)

OKAY SO HERE'S THE UNHINGED DRACO MALFOY ESSAY BY FLUX W. EED.

listen. i love and respect people who are Refined Draco enjoyers. connoisseurs of redemption arcs. appreciators of majestic malfoy bone structure and ethereal grey eyes and soft windswept hair. fans of dracos who insult harry (with hidden affection) and who are a bit snobbish (in a rich, sexy way) but ultimately have realised the error of their teenage years and have become a better person. perhaps this draco has built a potions business and helps the aurors. perhaps he IS an auror. either way, he has a biting sense of humour, maybe, but he's a good guy.

unfortunately, the draco of my heart is a horrid mean little rat man.

i've never actually managed to write him the way i love him. i tried to aim for immoral bastardy in what's mine is yours but i got so caught up in trying to nail the feelsforbreakfast-style humour in the narrative that i ended up focusing much more on that and much less on writing genuine bastardhood.

i've written him as reserved and clever (in the four doors – this draco was written entirely for @jovialobservationanchor, who had a weak spot for closed-off academics with soft centres) and as a traumatised self-loathing mess (in two to lie and to some extent for lack of wanting and say no to this) and hopelessly sexually/emotionally horny for one harry james potter (in, um, most things) but i've never managed to capture the genuine cruel streak and flawed personality that is sooo so important to me.

WHICH IS WHY i picked țuică!draco for my favourite of the ones i've written. he's still a bit too emotionally intelligent to be Just Right, imo, but i think he's maybe the closest? he's unrepentantly rude to people. he's not attractive. and he has a streak of self-destructive fucked-upedness that is some form of wartime guilt, but certainly not a pretty one.

HOWEVER. rookie moves?? NAILED it. i adooored how genuinely fuckin MEAN he is, even tho he's an auror. i love love LOVED that he's kind of bad at his job in a way that's in complete opposition to how drarry!draco is often written these days:

The look on Malfoy’s face was not only troubling, Harry realized, but familiar. At once activated and dead behind the eyes, like an invasive species in an ecosystem that could not check it. It was the look of the meanest fucking teenager Harry had ever known, giving in to his urge to bully.

What Malfoy wasn’t good with was people. Despite his repeated insistences that his upbringing had equipped him with impeccable manners and a facility with society intrigue, the truth was that he rubbed almost everyone the wrong way. He was, undeniably, annoying. Witnesses were put off by his snide, dismissive tone, and he didn’t know how to coax out information with curiosity, warmth, or strategic silence.

that's not to say unrepentant cunt draco is the only one for me!! i DO enjoy the classic redeemed drarry draco!! i love a quirky draco, à la wwpwcs or maya's drop dead gorgeous. gallaplacidia's draco is sooo painful for me to read (complimentary) that even though i adore her fics, i still haven't read them all bc i have to space them out, for my health. and i'm sure there are dozens more dracos that i'm forgetting how much i like – basically, as long as he isn't super suave, absolutely gorgeous and/or obviously tom felton, i'm on board.

#also ohsodraco i'm lowkey starstruck that ur in my inbox + ao3 comments #i've been following u from my main acc for approx a thousand years #i'm all aflutter #also speaking of being starstruck #v glad that peu doesn't seem to have tumblr so she might not see me being weird about her fic AGAIN #nobody send this to her god #i've embarrassed myself enough as it is #ALSO. i have a poll saved in my tumblr drafts abt that 'otp = want to fuck/relate to' theory but i am too scared to post it #bc i'd be so embarrassed if it got like 2 votes lmao #someone with a Following pls promise to reblog it so i can gather data bc i'm sooo interested to know whether it's true

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seventeenlovesthree · 5 days ago

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Been reading the latest argument that you posted and I was wondering, what is your genuine opinion on Yamato outside of ships? You rarely talk about him (and you rarely talk about Mimi I noticed) not gonna lie those two are my faves (mostly because I love Gabumon and lilymon so I like their kids too) so what's your genuine opinion? Do You like them because you have to like them or do you dislike them because they get in the way of your ships(mostly Mimi x Koushiro but also Taito always gets better moments than Taikou in my opinion) so I was wondering what you actually think of them as individual characters?

Okay, first off, I am sensing a bit of hostility and passive aggressiveness in this ask - and I understand where this is coming from, I am actually not surprised at this and assume it was just a matter of time until it would come after the recent exchanges. Some friends of mine had their issues with certain fans of certain ships going after fans of other ships. Which, in my opinion, is not how fandom discourse should go, but I will just try my best to answer this diplomatically.

So I'll put up a disclaimer first: Just because I personally don't share the same favourite characters (and ships) doesn't mean that you're not allowed to like them! My order, from most to least favourite, goes like this and if it's not the same for you - that is fine!

Koushirou - 2. Taichi - 3. Sora - 4. Jyou / Hikari - 5. Takeru / Mimi - 6. Yamato

In regards to Yamato: A few weeks ago, I was already asked how I felt about him and I did answer. It's true that, among the original 8 Chosen Children, he is my least favourite and he - or rather his portrayal - does grind my gears at times, but that doesn't mean that I'd write him out of the story or anything like that - he has his purpose, he is an important part of the group, I adore the Yamataikou friendship trio (and, in theory, the Yamataikoura friend group we should have gotten more thoroughly) and Jyoumato is actually one of my favourite Digimon Adventure relationships (platonic and romantic) overall due to their dynamics, impact and how they play off of each other. Since my reasonings may sound emotionally loaded, I can understand if you don't agree with the post I linked above - and like I said, that's perfectly fine if you view him differently than I do.

In terms of shipping, it's a very personal topic that may cause us to react more emotionally than we need to at times and, just like with the characters themselves, we all have our biases and preferences too. For example, I am not the biggest fan of Mimato (and Koumi, as you have mentioned as well), because I personally do not consider them to be romantically compatible - but please don't let that stop you from liking them! Like I pointed out in my analysis, I can understand where people see the potential after all.

It's also not true that I never talk about either Yamato or Mimi - I have just recently conducted a fully fleshed-out fashion analysis about Yamato and Mimi's is still in the works as well (also, all my analysis posts can be found here). Mimi may also be lower on my favourites list overall, but I still would never want to miss her, because, again, she is one of eight puzzle pieces you simply cannot think away - especially if you consider her impact on Sora and Jyou and their respective character arcs and development in both Adventure and Tri! That also goes for a purely platonic angle once again (even if I like them as ships as well). In general, I have my very own ideas on who has the most impact on whom.

I just found it sad that you felt the need to underline that "Taito always gets better moments than Taikou in my opinion" - considering you came to a person who loves Taikou/Taishirou as their OTP. It felt condescending to me. But if that's your opinion, me listing all their, in MY opinion, wonderful and meaningful moments together may not convince you otherwise. Still, if you're interested in my analysis posts about Taishirou, I would like to recommend those to you: [General] [02] [Kizuna first impression] [Kizuna complete] [OG vs Reboot Comparison] [Fights and Forgiveness] [Family Angle I, II, III] [Male/Female characters shipping ratio] [Koushirou’s Dark Cave] [Stageplay I, II, III, IV] [Why I love them so much] [Connected through worlds] [Ship Analysis] [Taikouvember - Loyalty] [Visual Parallels] [Pecking Order] [Why I love them - once more] [Literal and Figurative 02 Dads] [Friendship]

In the end, it also doesn't matter who likes what and whom as long as we don't spread hate.

#personal #answered #dgmn #anon

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scraplette · 5 months ago

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This is random but I noticed you mention you were a big Rung/Skids shipper and I'm curious about something. I wasn't active in the fandom where MTMTE/LL were coming out and I feel like I missed huge discourse or something, because I'm really confused about why I have always seen Rung/Fort Max and Rung/Whirl and MegaRung everywhere but nobody seems to ship Rung with the guy he was super close with from the beginning and committed suicide thinking about and coughed up crystals over? I know it's not because it's wrong for therapists and patients to date because all of those people were Rung's patients. Do you know why this is?

Hello there! Sorry for the late response, I wanted to do this on desktop and just hadn't found the time.

You've sent a really interesting question but, I'm sorry, I'm not sure I have an answer for you. Heck, even at the time the comics were coming out I was always surprised by the lack of content for the ship. There was some discourse about Rung dating paitents but, funnily enough, Skids was never really a part of it. He wasn't really considered by the fandom as one of Rung's paitents so it wasn't an issue. The storyarc we the readers found out that Rung was treating Skids, was also the same arc where Rung quit. You did have some folks producing some excellent content for it(@littlestowl is still hands down my fave writer for this pair and @herzspalter did some hecking good fanart!) but never to the same extent as other ships. Not gonna blame people for that, we all have our preferences! Live and let ship and all that! So, since I had no anwers of my own I decided to counsult THE COUNCI(my friends who like Transformers) for their opinions and they came up with the excellent points. We even gathered DATA(we looked at Ao3 XD) Nothing definitive, of course, because obviously we're just a group of robot fans and can't speak for every TF fan on the net. These are just our thoughts and general vibes. 1) Rung is just so darn shippable. He potentially works well with a lot of characters and was pulled in lots of diff directions. Speaking as the main Rung/Skids shipper of the group I sort of get this(stupid sexy Rung) but even with all the diff ships sailing Rung/Skids still seemed oddly small in comparsion. 2)Another friend brought up a good point, Rung/Skids are a lovely ship but they're very wholesome and nice. Now, there is nothing wrong with that but you can't deny that spicy ships oozing with, as they put it, DRAMA just get folks excited. Lots of the other ships had this in spades. 3) Another friend had a lovely thought to add to this and I agree with it 100%. I'm just going to quote them directly "Which is kinda a shame because they have other kinds of cool drama - Rung basically compromised his position for Skids! Skids revived Rung's memory! The non-goodbye! But not conflict -drama." 4)Perhaps the venn diagram of Skids fan and Rungs fans didn't neccisarily crossover. Looking at the DATA, we can see that the most popular ships for Skids(in order) were SkidsSwerve, SkidsGetaway, and SkidsRung. I'm not sure if the Getaway fics were written pre or post betrayl.

5) Not really important but something I thought was a cool detail. Rung/Skids was really popular in the Japanese side of the fandom. I even own a physical doujin anthology for the pair! I can't remember any names of the top of my head, it's been years, but there were lots of lovely pieces of Rung/Skids fanart on the JP art sites.

I'm always a little sad about Rung/Skids. I always thought here were always lots of hooks throughtout the story that could lead the pair to more. Lots of little quiet personal moments just for the two of them. Like, Skids defending Rung against Getaway's snide comments. Ratchet sending Skids to Rung because he things the little chap is lonely. That final weirdly tense exchange between them will always sit a bit oddly with me. I know at the time there was a theory that Skids might've been into Nuatica at the time but nothing seemed to come of it, so I geuss we'll never know. I think I remember reading that Alex Milne didn't realise that would be their last interaction together, otherise he would've done the panel differently* Thank you for your ask! It was lovely to look back on old fandom memories ^_^ I hope I gave you some insights. As for myself, I'm hoping to get back into fic writing so no doubt I'll be adding to my collection of Rung/Skids drabbles.

*IMPORTANT UPDATE EDIT THING! I couldn't drop the final goodbye between them and the Alex Milne thing(it was nearly a decade ago so I was worried I'd misremembered) so I hunted down the original tweet and I've misremembered!

Sigh, what a shame that the final on-page interaction of my fave ship is forever off key and weird because of Writer/Artist miscomunucation :<

#Rung #Skids #MTMTE #Rung/Skids #Skids/Rung

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

Text

First Comes Love (a Last of Us fanfic)

Title: First Comes Love Fandom: The Last of Us (no-pocalypse AU) Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x plus size!Reader Word Count: ~1,600 Summary: A rare night alone with Joel. Beta-read by the incomparable @bs-fangirl. Additional content notes below the cut.

Part 2 posted 9/1

A/N: At last I have returned to my roots: all your faves want to fuck fat girls. It is, sadly, the early 2000s (no shroompocalypse) so the reader character having history of experiencing anti-fatness seemed unavoidable, so TW for a brief mention. Other than some light breeding kink we have mostly fluffy cuteness. Enjoy!

Austin, TX. 2004

Joel wanted to go out for dinner, but you convinced him to stay in. It was rare for you to have a night alone--Sarah was at a sleepover--and you didn't want to waste a minute. Some folks might have considered Sarah a complication. Dating a single father of a teenaged, mixed-race daughter wasn’t without its challenges (not the least of which was bending over backwards to arrange date night) but the truth was, Sarah was the only reason you had given him a chance.

Joel was a good looking guy–a real man’s man–so much so that at first you hadn’t trusted his interest in you. You thought, perhaps, he learned to set his sights a little lower as a single dad. That the caliber of women he was used to–women like Sarah’s mother, no doubt–wouldn’t give him a second look once they found out he was raising his little girl alone. You had spent a lifetime being told that you were undesirable because of your size, but Joel never made you feel undesired.

Joel picked you up after work. You grabbed burgers and shakes at the Creamery and ate in the truck on the way back to Joel’s. He kissed you playfully as you came through the front door, blowing raspberries on your throat and behind your ear until you screamed with laughter as you fell into bed together.

Joel unbuttoned your blouse slowly, one loop at a time, kissing his way down your breasts. Working his way down your body, he lingered longer to adore the rolls and folds of your stomach with his mouth and fingertips. It used to make you self-conscious, but you had since come to enjoy the loving attention he gave the largest part of your body. He opened your jeans and slipped one hand into your panties. Two fingers slid through your folds, stroking up and down against your clit.

“So good.” His breath felt warm against your skin. “So wet for me.”

You leaned back, pressing your head into his pillow with a content sigh. It smelled like Tide and Irish Spring and the clean sweat that was unmistakably Joel.

You whined a little as he paused his ministrations and rested his head on the soft pouch below your navel, his beard tickling the delicate skin.

“Watcha doing?” You grinned, running your fingers through his curls.

“Thinking,” Joel sighed as his fingers traced spirals on the lowest part of your belly.

“About what?”

“Putting a baby in here,” Joel’s chocolate-brown eyes glanced up at you. “Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

The answer spilled out of you before you even had time to think. You had assumed Joel didn’t want any more kids, he was so devoted to Sarah. It was one of the things you loved most about him. You never felt like you needed a child of your own to be a family. But the idea of Joel wanting another baby was so delightfully surprising; you relished the idea of raising little chunky-thighed peanuts with huge brown eyes and dark curls.

“Really?” Joel grinned.

You nodded.

“Good,” Joel said, snaking his way back up your body to kiss your throat. “Because I can’t wait to fuck my babies into you.”

You pulled the back of Joel’s t-shirt up over his head and he shucked it off in a hurry to slide his hand back down your pants, fingers stroking through your increasingly damp folds. He kissed you like he was swimming through your mouth, coming up for sips of air between long, confident strokes. You reached down to grope him through his pants.

“Gonna love watching your belly grow,” he whispered, low and husky with desire. “Knowing it’s my baby in there, warm and safe, enjoying that nice squishy water bed.”

You felt giddy at his sudden confession. Joel was far from an inattentive lover, but he wasn’t usually this talkative. You could tell he was enjoying the fantasy and frankly, so were you, spreading your legs a little wider as he stroked you lazily.

“Keep going.”

“I’ll read to the baby and sing to them, so they get to know daddy’s voice. Gonna take such good care of you, too.” Joel dipped two fingers inside you, curling them up around the curve of your pelvis. “Rub your feet when you’re tired and get you ice cream in the middle of the night.”

You ran your hands over Joel’s chest and back, feeling the hard muscles under a thin layer of padding. Not vanity muscles, Joel had the body of a man who worked with his hands–strong, useful.

“What else?”

“Your tits are gonna be fucking huge.” Joel drew both hands up to knead your breasts. “Getting ready to feed our baby. I’d suck them for you…If you wanted.”

You almost laughed out loud, but you would hate to embarrass him after he had opened up to you.

“You can,” you assured him.

Joel shifted his weight back, bowing his head to your breasts, sealing his mouth over one nipple, pressing down with the flat of his tongue.

You knew you had a good one, but hearing Joel’s secret fantasies spilling was so endearing, that what he wanted most were all the things he hadn’t gotten to experience with Sarah. You had never been desperate for children of your own, but now anything else was unthinkable.

“I want to have your babies, Joel.”

“Yeah?” Joel looked up at you, bright eyed and flushed.

“A whole gaggle of them,” you said, taking his face in your hands.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Joel chuckled, dipping his head to work the beginnings of a hickey into the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking sexy right now.”

“Careful,” you warned. “We’re not teenagers anymore.”

You suspected Sarah was well-aware her father was no celebate monk, but there was no need to publicly embarrass the poor girl. You wanted desperately to stay on her good side–she and Joel had a special relationship.

“If we had met when we were teenagers, we’d have a whole damn baseball team by now,” Joel said.

You rolled your eyes at his attempt at flattery. You knew damn well the high school version of Joel would never have given your bespectacled and brace-faced younger self a second glance.

“Thank God for small mercies,” you teased.

“You ready for me?” Joel asked, sitting up to retrieve a condom and lube from the bedside table. You had barely touched him, and he was rock-hard, straining through his blue jeans.

You nodded, shimmying your pants down and kicking them off from around your ankles.

Joel rolled on the condom and moved over you, lining the tip of his cock up at your entrance before pressing in slow and careful, stretching you open a little at a time.

“How’s that?” he asked, bottoming out inside you.

“Feels good.” You hitched your knees up around his waist, letting him press in deeper as you traced the triangles of muscle in his shoulders.

Joel kept most of his weight in his hips as he rocked into you. A few short, quick thrusts followed by long, slow strokes. He reached one hand between your bodies to massage your clit, sending sparkles of pleasure through your belly.

“Shit, that’s good.” Your toes curled, muscles clenching and releasing as Joel fucked you through the climax. You tugged his hair and pressed your mouth over the exposed vein pulsing in his throat to keep from crying out.

“Don’t stop.” You grabbed his ass with your other hand, your nails leaving crescent-moon indents in the plump flesh.

“I’m fucking close,” Joel laughed, brushing one hand over your sweat-damp hair.

“Want you to come for me,” you panted between strokes. “Come inside me.”

“Fuck!” Joel shuddered, collapsing onto you.

You chuckled, still enjoying the ripples of your orgasm.

“Shit,” Joel rallied. “You need anything?”

“I’m golden,” you said with a smile as he kissed you.

Joel held the base of the condom as he withdrew from you. He rose from the bed and went to the bathroom to dispose of it. You almost felt sorry for the unlucky little swimmers—they must have been so confused. No egg today, but hopefully one day soon…

“You know,” you called to him, adjusting your pillows. “If you really want a baby, there’s only one thing you have to do.”

As Joel emerged from the bathroom, you held your left hand out to him, wiggling your fingers.

Joel chuckled, crossing the room. He opened his dresser drawer and returned to the bed with a small velvet box. You gasped, hand flying to your mouth.

You had suspected Joel was thinking about proposing for some time now, when Sarah had not so subtly asked to “borrow” one of your rings for her Spring Fling dance. You had dropped your fair share of hints as well, browsing bridal magazines in the grocery checkout line and remarking which of Country Radio’s Top 10 would make a good first dance.

Evidently Joel had reached the limit of his endurance.

"Sarah found it while she was snooping," he explained. "I was going to take you out for a nice dinner, get down on one knee–”

You opened the box, to find a perfect, tiny diamond on a simple gold band.

Joel cleared his throat as he sat down beside you in bed. “I know it’s small–”

“Shut up,” you snapped, slipping the ring on your finger. “It’s beautiful!”

You laid back in bed, holding out your hand to admire the ring, glittering in the sunset light. Joel draped his arm around you and you curled into his side.

“I’m assuming because you put it on, that’s a yes,” he joked.

“It’s a yes,” you agreed, kissing him.

“We can tell Sarah tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll pick her up before breakfast.”

“I’ll make pancakes,” you agreed.

“I don’t like pancakes,” Joel said.

You rubbed your nose against his playfully. “Sarah does.”

#the last of us fanfiction #last of us au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x plus size reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal #troy baker adjacent #tlou smut #joel miller smut

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changingplumbob · 9 months ago

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📩 Simblr question of the day: Choose a sim of your own that you consider your/a fave, then choose one sim from three (or more!) different simblrs, now imagine what those sims would be like in a room together? Who's walking out first? Who's staying the longest? Who would get along? Who wouldn't get along at all? Elaborate as much or as little as you'd like :) (p.s please feel free to share this to others, anon or not, and feel free to use the hashtag " SQOTD "! I love seeing everyone's answers and reading them makes my day ~ 💛 ) (p.p.s I saw you ask for the best friend ask, be on the lookout for that sometime soon :))

Oh my gosh I have so many ideas I'll have to put them under a cut!

Brunch Date

First up we're going BIG! I'm talking time to ship up every single member of the York family to go and meet the Alegria family by @matchalovertrait! Wouldn't be too massive of a trip though since we're mostly all in Tartosa.

I suspect Devin and Dulce would get along. I think Aaron would probably be a bit too pompous for Erick to maintain a conversation with. I'm guessing Noemi would probably not mind talking to Calista since they're both family and career women. Angel would probably be the one helping Joey make sure Alfred and Rilian are having fun.

Supernatural Hang out

Sending my werewolf Samir, his boyfriend Reece, and the Knightstone's to try and make friends...

They would be meeting up with Caleb and Morgan by @marcishaun, as well as Lou and Lux by @ethicaltreatmentofcowplants.

As well as Priscilla, Tony and Moumou by @eljeebee and the Bohan family by @aliengirl.

First up Moumou (who's a cat if you didn't know) would be surrounded by all the younger sims. The youngest would probably just all be sitting there making imitation cat noises. I like to think Silas would be interested to meet Carina and Orion and have a million questions about how they manage to look both human and alien at the same time.

Blue would tell Adam how he carried a pregnancy and Adam would storm off in horror for several reasons. First off Adam doesn't want more kids. Plus he's hot headed. Then of course Adam hates UFO aliens getting humans pregnant and would probably feel like the tale hits to close to home, even though Rhea and Blue made their kids with love. Suzanna however would be fascinated to learn about the process.

Priscilla would likely try to cheer up Caleb about being a vampire while Tony would probably try to impart some wisdom about being a human in love with an immortal to Morgan.

Let's be real Samir would probably sit there brooding the entire time but Reece would undoubtedly be chatting at a million miles an hour with Lou and Lex to try and learn all he could about real werewolves.

EDIT: I forgot my main point which is I think most of them would enjoy talking about plants and gardening and nature.

Animal Get Together

Cluckton would be hanging out in a park with Matilda from @sharona-sims...

Le Chat by @akitasimblr, Nougat by @kissalopa and Daisy by @lauralovelysims

They would get up to mysterious animal things

Universes Collide

Amiyah and her siblings by @deardiaryts4 are invited to the Chopra Homestead!

I would invite the other Rahul but I think things could get awkward if Amiyah's parents show up considering her Cassandra is best friends with the woman who married and then divorced Rahul...

I think Amiyah would spend the time trying to teach Savannah and Mercedes how to dance and would probably give them several make overs. Cassandra would find it fascinating to meet these alternate universe Rahul offspring where as Rahul would probably be a bit creeped out.

Casual Drinks!

Sending Joey to meet the infamous Ben Ben by @slightly-ludic for a night on the town! You know Ben needs a drink after that Jungle Adventure!

Of course we're also inviting Astrid by @simmerbeans and Stan and Milena by @stargazer-sims.

A lot of the talk would revolve around travel and what different countries are like. I think Astrid would love talking to Ben and Stan, Joey would do his best to comment on the conversation but secretly be eyeing up whatever single ladies are in the bar. Of course Joey and Ben would say some dopey stuff earning them eyerolls from the other three. I think the younger ones would benefit from time with Stan and Milena though, get some life lessons.

#SQOTD #sims 4 #simblr #the sims #Hope you like my mini essay

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magerywrites · 5 months ago

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magery hello,,!! i hope this isnt too forward but i discovered you via _maiqo on twitter a long while ago and have been absolutely enamored by your works ever since — your writing is an enormous inspiration to me and i sincerely hope that my works can one day match the same level of excellence.

you absolutely dont have to indulge me at all, but is there any advice you can give in terms of writing character studies? :’D if not its totally ok !! and anything works !! i just figured it’s worth a shot haha

Thank you very much! It's always lovely to learn that what I've written has meant something to someone. I appreciate it.

In an attempt to answer your question, I'll talk about how I think about and approach character studies. It may be that much of what I say fails to be useful to you, but I hope to be of some small aid regardless!

To begin, I think the most fundamental element of writing a character study—as a piece of fanfiction, though much of this can be applied without significant difficulty to orginal works—is to have a firm vision of who the character is to you.

This is separate from having a firm vision of who the character "really" is. Nobody can have that—every way we engage with media is coloured by our own values and perspectives, and that bleeds into the way we think about and write characters. This is sometimes a difficult dichotomy to balance against the principle of "they would not fucking say that", but to borrow some old and too-simplified physics, I think it can be useful to consider that a character is in many ways like an electron in an electron cloud. Their precise and perfect characterisation is not something that we can ever truly locate, but we can identify the area of narrative space it is most likely to be in.

The task of the character study, I feel, is to hammer down on the part of that narrative space that you find most compelling. To take the meat of their character and cook it the way you would want it served to you. A character study is not to please anyone else. A character study—or, at least, the kind of character study I write—exists for you to get your feelings out about the character you have been rotating in your brain onto the page. It also exists, of course, so that you can try to show those feelings to other people and hope they feel them too, but you will never succeed in actually capturing those feelings in the first place if you don't allow yourself to write your authentic vision of the character.

They don't have to be your blorbo, or your problematic fave, or your three corners of the OC design triangle, or whatever, but when you write them, for that space and time they do have to be yours. Otherwise, what's the point?

Once you have that vision, you can put them in practically any situation you like and as long as there's something in it for them to bounce off, you're going to be able to tell a story that reveals something about the character. If you look at the "plots" of a selection of my character studies, we have "one guy folds sheets, another guy asks him questions" as a plot, we have "a pair of exes talk across a tabletop after a party", we have "oh LAWD they FAWKING" like four and a half times, we have "retelling the plot of something else" twice, and we even have "two people on a helicopter flight for an hour". It's not really complicated stuff. It doesn't need to be. The character, or characters, just need to be in a situation where they're going to have some reason to think about, and maybe even talk about, whatever conflict or idea or relationship you find most compelling about them.

With that said, it should be noted that it's... well, for me, with the way I do things, it's very very difficult to conceive of writing a character study in any situation without a clear and central conflict the character or characters are grappling with. All of my character studies revolve around a problem a character has and how they react to it. And yes, "having a conflict" is, like, the quiddity of a story, the most basic plot diagram there is. But what I'm trying to say here is that even in the story I mentioned where two people sit in a helicopter and talk to each other, the story is intensely focused on the internal struggle one of those characters is having with the choices that led to her sitting in that helicopter and how much they do, or don't, make her like the person she's sitting opposite (both more and less than she knows). And that's the sort of thing that I think is key. The conflict, in my eyes, needs to be philosophically central to the way you view the character and what you want to say about them. It needs to be tightly intertwined into what you find most compelling about them—the thing that you just want to sink your hands into and squeeze, for good or ill. That's how you get to really show the world who they are and why you care about that.

After that, I really think that in a lot of ways it just comes down to the prose. How deeply can you write into your character's head? Are you colouring even your description of the world around them with the way they would see it—or are you taking the opposite path and presenting the character entirely through someone else's eyes, so that you can characterise them through the distance between what the other person thinks about them and how they present themselves? You don't need frame-perfect metaphors or the Inanna-Ishtar LGBTQIA+ sharingan-coloured prose to do that, but you do need to focus on writing in a way that expresses the character.

This does take focus. How much focus depends on how specialised you are into that style of prose, but it is focus nonetheless: you need to think of your sentences, each and every one, as tools to communicate something about your understanding of the character that you want the audience to know. Some of them will inevitably instead become vehicles to reach a point where you can communicate that understanding, but something as simple as what a character notices first when they walk into a room tells you something about them. Lean on that. Lean into that. After all, if you're writing a character study, the writing should study your character.

(Colour this advice with the fact that I am, as you've probably realised from reading my writing, very much a prose-focused writer. I have spent near on fifteen years, since before I even graduated high school, honing my prose for poetry of language and interiority so that I can write in the way I most enjoy reading. That affects what I value in writing, and it affects my opinion on the way people should write. I believe what I am saying is true and good and useful, because I have faith in the way I engage with my art, but my advice does not chart the sole and singular course to the ever-distant utopia.)

To tl;dr myself, my advice for writing character studies fundamentally boils down to to the idea that I think a character study is most potent when it presents a vision of a character that the writer has clearly obsessed over. That they have layered with their thoughts, their perspective, and their heart to the degree that it drips even from their prose. A character study with the confidence to say this is what I think is compelling about this character, and I want you to see it too.

I may not agree with it, I may think "They Would Not Have Fucking Said That", I may even think the writer has just invented an unsustainable interpretation of the character that demonstrates startling reading incomprehension and I can't believe I have to share the same fandom as these people.

But at the same time, I know people have thought and said that about my own works—and I'm still happy that I wrote them.

I have far more respect for someone who's written an entirely committed and deranged interpretation of a character that I think is Flatly Fucking Wrong than I do someone who presents me with the most milquetoast interpretation I can't disagree with. If I choose to read a character study, it's because I want to see you study the character. That's, as the meme goes, why I'm here.

So, really: focus on determining who you think the character is, write them the way you want to see them written, keep your prose tight to who you think the character is (not just "would they say that?" or "would they think that?" but "how would they describe that?" and "what would they see in that?"), and commit to the bit.

(If you've managed to read to the bottom—thank you for entertaining my rambling, and I hope it helped!)

#answered asks #creative writing #character study #writing advice

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thegreatpapaya666 · 7 months ago

Text

i don't know what to put here

hi. i'm on tumblr now. thought i'd share some stuff about me here.

i'm lesbian angled aroace, but more specifically i'm cupioromantic and sex-neutral asexual. using microlabels scares me tho, so i just say im aroace. im in a qpr with my beautiful gf @cheeseindeed! i use she/her pronouns. i have clinically diagnosed anxiety. i have clinically diagnosed depression. i have clinically diagnosed adjustment disorder. i am self-diagnosed with autism, so take that as you will. I'm an intp and 4w3.

i like hazbin hotel. i like helluva boss. i like undertale. i like harry potter. i like theater. i like poetry. i like music. i like indie rock. i like show tunes. i like fanfiction. i like pink.

i'm pretty neutral on the whole proship stuff. i personally don't really consume that kind of content, but i'm not gonna diss somebody who does.

i am a shipper of alastor x vox, valentino x vox, and sometimes lucifer x alastor in the hazbin fandom. as for undertale au's, i ship ink x error, blue x outer, dream x killer, dust x horror, sci x fell, dance x lust, reaper x geno, nightmare x fresh (or aroace nightmare and fresh, i like that too), classic x grillby, and stretch x edge. and in the hp universe, I ship harry x draco, dean x seamus, neville x luna, hermione x ron, and prolly a bunch of other people im forgetting.

i'm falling out of my undertale hyperfixation, but the hazbin hotel one is still going strong. especially the fem vox obsession my friends know and *don't* love. at least i can still accurately recite the backstories of every popular au sans like that's some sort of achievement and not a symptom of a mental disorder.

edit: yippee no longer a minor enjoy my adultness besties

tags:

#papaya rambles - Posts where I talk #papaya draws - Drawings I've made #papaya sings - Songs I've written or clips of something I've recorded #papaya reads - Fanfiction I'm posting about or recommending #papaya writes - Poetry, fanfiction, or songs I've written #papaya answers - My asks #papaya polls - Polls made by me or another blog #papaya plays piano - Audio recordings of my playing piano #papaya's reblogs - Stuff I've reblogged #papaya's faves - Stuff I've liked #papaya's saves - Stuff I like to look back on sometimes #papaya likes vox - Any post featuring only Vox #consider yourself tagged - Tag game #hazbin hotel #undertale #radiostatic #staticmoth

more about me if you're interested: link

have a great day!!

#intro post #first post

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katnissdoesnotfollowback · 8 months ago

Note

spicy ask 🌶️

Not sure if you’ve answered this but, what do you think are Everlark’s specifically favorite sex positions are? What what does Peeta consider his favorite, what does Katniss? And what do they mutually both just love? 💚🧡

Dear Spicy Anon,

I gave this question way too much thought. And also held onto it for way too ling because I wanted to gather my thoughts on all five of the asks you sent me. But here you go. My thoughts on the matter.

I do think that eventually, Everlark is comfortable enough to try out a lot of different positions. While I don’t think they’d get into hard core kink the way we think of hard core kinks, I do think they eventually grow comfortable enough with each other and with their desire for each other that they’re fairly experimental in the bedroom. And I think that manifests as trying out almost every position conceivable.

Katniss actually starts that trend, once she discovers that there’s more than just missionary and doggy style. Peeta of course has already daydreamed almost everything she comes up with, but he lets her set the pace of experimentation at first. Until he discovers that she actually really gets off on him being demanding and bossy in bed. Then all bets are off and horny Peeta pretty much shocks her with his ideas on the regular… but also she so wants to try that now. And then she makes it a goal of hers to request something that surprises Peeta. Anyways!

Favorite Overall Position: Katniss on top (aka Cowgirl).

Reasons: Having Katniss on top is the easiest, most comfortable position for Peeta with his amputation. It wouldn’t be the first position they try, mainly because I think Katniss would be self-conscious about Peeta being able to see so much of her, and also because this position puts her in control and she wouldn’t have a clue what she’s doing at first. This would bother her, not knowing what she’s doing. But it’s the second position they try after missionary, and that experiment comes rather quick after their first few times having sex.

Once they do “discover” it, they both freaking love it. Katniss discovers that she gets to see all of Peeta too, if she positions herself at certain angles in relation to his body. Also, the fact that she has complete control means they’re both super focused on her orgasm first, his second, and they’re really freaking good orgasms -- exactly what she likes. Peeta is super into watching her pleasure unfold in her body movements and her expressions, and being able to touch her, help get her there, all while comfortably laying back. Yes, ma’am. He’ll have another helping of what she’s having. Also… eye contact is insane, and when she’s done, Katniss can just flop on top of him, instantly in her favorite cuddle position with the added erotic benefit of him still being inside her.

A Variation They Enjoy (but might not be their Go To): Edge of Heaven. Where he’s seated, either on a chair or more often at the edge of the bed and she’s facing him on top. Hits all the right spots for her and pretty much demands the intimacy of close cuddling. Guaranteed kissing, holding, caressing each other’s face and shoulders and hair during sex? Heck yes! Sign them both up. From here, Katniss can be on her knees straddling him, have her legs wrapped around his hips, dangle them to the side or brace them on the floor for more leverage. All kinds of naughty fun to be had!

Of course, it’s difficult for them to pick one favorite because they’re so insanely thirsty for each other and both of them get off on pleasing the other. So they have several favorites. Here’s a few more I think they really like.

Katniss’s Faves:

Missionary. She just really likes having Peeta’s weight on top of her, grounding her, feeling him moving inside her so intently. The eye contact! The kissing! The ability to wrap her legs and arms around him and hold him together while he falls apart? Even if she doesn’t always come when they’re here, she loves just existing with him in this state. Bonus tho if they manage to get it just right so they’re in CAT.

Reverse Scoop/Spoon, where they’re on their sides, facing one another. For this one, Katniss actually prefers their thighs to be scissored rather than both of his tucked between hers. It’s more comfortable for her and she can really get him deep inside her that way. Again, the opportunities for eye contact and kissing are rife with this position (noticing a theme here?).

Butterfly, in which Katniss would be on her back, either on the bed or the kitchen table, with her butt right at the edge and Peeta standing, with her legs draped over his chest, his shoulders. While she can’t touch him as much in this one, he can still reach her and she’s willing to occasionally give up the ability to have her hands all over him if it feels this fucking good. And, if he spreads her legs and lowers them, he can bend over on top of her for kisses and other naughty variations.

And finally, one of her unexpected faves. On her stomach with Peeta on top of her. Again, she likes having his weight on her.

Peeta’s Faves:

Katniss on her stomach with him on top. See, there’s a reason I didn’t go into detail on Katniss’s unexpected favorite.

And honestly, I think he’s especially fond of almost every version of him behind Katniss during sex, be it standing, standing with one of her leaning on the table or the kitchen counter, or the bathroom counter where he can watch her face in the mirror, standing with one of her legs up on the table, her draped over the back of the couch, in the shower, up against a tree, her bent over a warm boulder out in the woods, laid out on a picnic blanket, in bed with her flat on the sheets, on all fours, on her knees while she’s gripping the headboard, in the bathtub, on her knees with her face in the mattress so her body is bent in a triangle. The man has so many salacious variations on this position I don’t even know all the urban dictionary or kama sutra names for them and I don’t have time to look them up. And honestly neither would he. He’d just be like “what happens if I lift her leg like… this?” “Bend her like this?”

Why does he like it so much? Partly because it turns out that she likes it a lot. Now, of course they especially love being able to look each other in the eyes during sex, which is why I think that eventually, once Katniss gets over her self-conscious nonsense in the bedroom, they have sex in front of mirrors quite a bit. There’s a full length one on the back of their bedroom door just so he can position her in a way that they can see each other on the bed when he’s behind her.

Plus, he can get some deep penetration from this angle, as long as his legs are up for it, and also it feels so freaking good that he often winds up fucking his wife like a mad man in these positions… which she freaking loves. A lot.

Also… I have two words for you… hair pulling. Not like super hard, yanking it out by the roots, or anything like that, but man does our sweet baker boy get off HARD when he’s got a fist full of Katniss’s hair or her braid wrapped around his hand and she’s arching and moaning and writhing underneath him. Teenage Peeta would explode knowing what adult Peeta gets to do to Katniss Everdeen.

Two more words for you… reach around. Whether you take that as Peeta reaching around to touch her breasts, her clitoris, or both… or you take it as Peeta wrapping his arms around her to hold her even if she can’t hold him, then you’re correct. He loves being able to do those things.

Spooning. Okay, yeah it’s kind of a variation on the ones listed above, except the tenderness is off the charts with this one. He can’t move as much or as fast because he risks hurting Katniss or slipping out constantly from this angle, but the slow and steady is just *chef’s kiss*. And speaking of kisses, this is another one that with a little contortion allows them to share kisses on the mouth, and he can certainly bathe her neck and shoulders in kisses in this position.

Reverse cowgirl, in all its glorious versions. His favorite variation though is when she places one of her knees between his legs and the other one on the outside of his leg, so she’s basically straddling his one thigh and grinding her clit up against it while he’s inside her. However, reverse cowgirl in general is one they don’t find themselves using all that often because they have a habit of going at it so hard that he keeps slipping out, maybe hitting her at an angle that doesn’t feel so great, or she accidentally bends his dick at an uncomfortable angle… So for them it’s like “we tried it and nailed it a few times, and when we did nail it... oh buddy yes! but the other times we tried were just… no. Not working."

Final Notes: It should also be noted that the positions I listed for one, the other definitely enjoys. They just might not go stupid and glassy eyed when they think about it later. I do think that if they try a position that does nothing for one of them, even if the other really likes it, they don’t really try it again.

I didn’t cover any oral sex positions here because that would’ve just been a whole other dissertation, but basically… yes. To all of it.

And thank you for sitting through my thesis, Spicy Anon.

<3 kdnfb

#spicy anon 🌶️#well aren't you a spicy anon #anonymous #look at that ask #let's talk about sex #spicy ask 1 of 5 #from this anon in particular

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