#see this is what i mean with the paranoia

[jebunkle]

is this the real life?...

806 wc, gn!reader, all of them are having a mental breakdown

i saw some awesome sahsrau (self-aware hsr au) from @aventurineswife and they seemed a bit tired of making it...so i thought i'd give it a shot :p maybe ooc on some parts, sorry

the astral express who, while visiting a planet, begin to sense something amiss. it feels as if something, someone, has eyes on them occasionally.

while you're just logging in to play the game and pulling for new characters, everyone starts to freak out. what is watching over them? it can't be the aeons, something much more divine. hell, maybe even the aeons sense something is different.

himeko brews coffee while chatting quietly with welt, "you've felt it too, yes?" she asked him nervously, as if someone would hear if they were too loud. she sips her drink while glancing around every moment or so, displaying her franticness.

the express notices her off putting attitude, but before they can dwell on it, they begin to feel the same as her. it's almost like an illness, if this plague's symptoms were paranoia and impending doom.

the stellaron hunters are hardly different. kafka's smooth demeanor falters as she gazes off into the deep null of space. "who are you, divine being?" she asks into the nothingness, her sultry voice filling the otherwise empty air. as blade is sat on a couch, arms crossed over his chest, his posture seemed to be more tense than usual. of course, he was always uptight, but his behavior was extra rigid as of lately. silver wolf on the other hand, can't help but chuckle at kafka's philosophical rants and blade's silent pondering. she can tell that they're all puppets on a larger stage, meaning close to nothing in the vast universe — both her universe and yours.

aventurine, ever relaxed, has been carrying himself with a bit more of a troubled expression. his typical flamboyance has faltered and few around him have noticed. as aventurine sits on a red leather chair in an empty casino, he does not feel alone; tossing a golden coin between his fingers, aventurine begins thinking aloud. "i see you've chosen to reveal yourself, huh?" the blonde's voice is low and almost soft, as if he's trying not to offend whoever he may be speaking to.

dr. ratio's hair is a slightly unkempt, his eyebrows are pinched together much more frequently, and his papers and studies are left askew on his desk. a few members of the intellegentsia guild slowly catch onto how he's acting, and it's truly unbecoming of the infamous strict professor. his employees can be seen wearing a concerned expression when glancing over at him, yet are too afraid to inquire on his troubled state. "i will uncover whoever is ensuing this chaos amongst us all." ratio promises himself.

the xianzhou luofu is eerily quiet. the arbiter general himself has gone silent as well, as if the ship has been submerged into an ocean of solitude. jing yuan sits in his chair with his fingers intertwined atop his lap. internally, he wonders about this rumored 'creator'; are they real? is it an aeon? what does this mean for him? his companions? is something terrible on the horizon? his endless inquiries are certainly unlike him, causing the master diviner fu xuan to worry about him.

she feels that the world has been tilted also, however she's more concerned about jing yuan's scrambled state. "please, go home and rest, general." she pleads annoyedly, "mm. give me a moment, diviner fu." jing yuan replies quietly, his words melancholic. "you know as much as i do that something has changed." he states to the shorter woman.

boothill's shoes tap eagerly against the pavement that lined the roof of the building, echoing an ambience of anticipation. "what in the world are you?" the man questions the air rhetorically. he cannot, for the life of him, figure out what's causing such a stir in the mood of everyone, himself included. the silver cowboy's hand is rested on his hip, the other lifted to his neck with a finger pressed to his chin. "i dunno, but yer rackin' all our brains here.." boothill remarks, hoping that whoever is watching over him will hear it.

the enigmatic memokeeper is seen with a more defined smirk recently. black swan has taken interest is this unknown deity that has spiked fear and franticness all over the universe. she rests her palm against her chin, staring up into the stars that decorate the black outside of the express's windows. "i hope you'd be willing to speak with me, demiurge." she exclaims in a calm yet excited tone.

the head of the oak family stands in his obnoxiously large office, hands pressed against the polished table as he stares down at it. there's a few scattered documents thrown astray, but they're not important right now. all sunday can think of is you. he knows you exist, he's sure of it, and he won't rest until the day comes that you visit him and grace the world with your presence.

im so happy the eagles won the super bowl and kendricks performance was goated

dividers by @/hyuneskkami

[sematarygirls]

 📖 ─── a cluttered scrapbook: send in any thoughts on any of the characters below for a blurb .ᐟ

omg hello congratulations??? literally love your blog sm. you’re writing is peak and so perf. i was thinking, we all know rafe is a “proactive” type of person (or so he says). so how would he react to reader giving him the silent treatment after she found out something? (maybe he was doing cocaine again after she explicitly asked him not to anymore???) and what antics would he use to get reader talking to him??

once again, congratulations to you. you deserve so much!!! so proud of you <3333

thank you so much !! i'm so sorry it took so long to get to this </3

cw: dark rafe, manipulation, controlling behavior, threats of self harm

Rafe hates the silent treatment. It feels like a slap in the face. After everything he's done for you, you can't even give him the basic respect of talking things out?

He had done a great job of hiding his ongoing cocaine addiction after you'd threatened to break up with him if he didn't stop. He absolutely couldn't stand ultimatums, being backed into a corner, but he also couldn't lose you, so he promised he would quit and get clean, even pretending to go off to a rehab facility for a month—during which he was actually going on a month-long bender in a fancy hotel up in California.

And his lies had worked. For months, he hid his addiction, leading you to believe that he was finally clean and that he had done it for you.

But then, you dropped your phone one night at his house, and it had found its way under his bed. Leaning down to retrieve it, you pushed up the bottom of his comforter and found yourself greeted by the sight of a wooden box you'd seen before—the very one you had watched Rafe throw away before he went off to "rehab".

With shaky hands, you opened the box and found yourself staring at a baggie of white powder, a substance you knew all too well.

"What are you doing?" Rafe's voice came from the doorway, sharp and defensive. He knew he had been caught, but his mind was already swirling with blame for you rather than accepting the consequences of his own actions. Why were you snooping around his room? Did you not trust him?

You looked up at him, your mind running a million miles a minute as a plethora of emotions overwhelmed you at once. You didn't want to talk to him. You could barely even stomach looking at him right now, so without a word, you grabbed your phone from where it had fallen and stood up abruptly.

He caught your arm as you tried to leave. "Oh, we're doing this now? Real mature," he scoffed at your behavior. You were being dramatic, childish even, by subjecting him to the silent treatment instead of trying to talk this out like adults.

You simply pulled your arm back from him roughly, not meeting his gaze as you pushed past him and hurried down the stairs. He should've followed you, but his pride and ego stopped him. You would come crawling back, apologizing for how you acted. He was sure of it.

But, you didn't. Days went by without a word, and he started to get antsy, started to spiral as paranoia overtook him. You were his. How dare you ignore him? Were you off with another guy? Were you with your awful Pogue friends? He couldn't stand not knowing where you were and having you with him every minute.

At first, he tried to manipulate his way out of it by feigning an apology and ending it with a guilt trip, texting you things like "Okay, I messed up, but you just shutting me out? That's fucked up. Just talk to me, baby," and "It's not like I was doing it all the time. I mean, cmon, are you really gonna throw everything away over this? It's nothing."

When you refused to be won over so easily, seeing right through his tactics, he would start showing up wherever you were—home, work, the beach, anywhere you were, he was there too, desperately trying to intimidate you into talking to him with his piercing gaze and menacing stance.

He would corner you, trying to force a reaction out of you. "So what, you're just going to act like I don't exist?" He'd ask harshly before softening, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his knuckle lightly grazing your cheek as he did. "C'mon, baby, I know you miss me, miss us." He could see the resolve in your eyes crumbling and it made him feel powerful and triumphant, but before you opened your mouth to speak, Kiara swept in, grabbing your arm and tugging you away from Rafe as she shot a glare in his direction.

This infuriated Rafe. Typical Pogue, always sticking their nose where it doesn't belong and fucking up his life.

From there, he attempted sending you expensive gifts with notes like "Just talk to me, baby. Let me fix this," and when that didn't work, he turned to threats, saying he would hurt himself or you if you didn't hear him out.

Finally, he showed up to your house in the middle of the night, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, pupils dilated. You hesitated but decided to open the door, and when you did, you felt guilty for ignoring him for so long. He looked absolutely wrecked like he hadn't eaten or slept in days. He was clenching and unclenching his jaw, leaning against the doorframe and peering down at you. His presence was heavy, the air thick with tension as neither of you spoke.

"Let me in," he demanded. His fingers twitched at his sides before he rubbed them over his jaw. "I just—fuck, I don’t even know what to do anymore, baby." His large frame blocked the doorway, making you feel small as his eyes darted wildly. You felt a mix of guilt and fear stir in your stomach. "You’re just gonna keep pretending I don’t exist? Really?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "’Cause if you don’t talk to me now, I swear to God, I’ll—" He stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he stared at you with hardened eyes, the threat clear. You knew he meant it.

"Rafe..." You said quietly, your voice trembling slightly as you looked up at him with wide eyes, feeling like you were looking at someone you didn't recognize.

His lips quirked up in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s all I needed, baby. Just needed to hear your voice," he whispered, stepping forward to invade your space and force you backward so he could come inside. "Y'know, I'd do anything for you, right?" He asked, the question rhetorical as he reached out to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "I’ve been losing my fucking mind without you. I won't lose you. I can't lose you, alright? I-I need you. You're mine, you got that? You can't just walk away. You can't just ignore me. I won't let you."

[acynicalsweetheart]

Could you please write high school reader with daddy issues and meeting Jimmy. She lies to her mother to drop her off at a friend's house just to see Jimmy. He grooms her and thinks he has power over her when one day she drugs him ties him up and rapes him when he wakes up. +using a dildo on him for funsies :3

pairing: jimmy x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

dead dove do not eat: 18+, non-con/rape, dub-con, grooming sort of, age gap, daddy issues, daddy kink, drugs, smoking, virginity loss

author's note: hai no dildo on jimmy unfortunately LMFAO did try to follow everything else tho.. umm this took forever and ending is very rushed and very ass.. it’s this long cause i felt i had to make it a fic for the grooming aspect so . yah. interaction/feedback appreciated!!

You’re on your way home when this strange, shady type you’ve seen lurking outside of your school walks up to you. Is this it? The last moment of your life, the end, kaput? Okay, paranoia’s getting the better of you, might just be a new janitor or something—

“You got a lighter?” He asks ever-so-casually. 

He’s… old. Real old. Like, fourty-something kind of old. 

“What?” 

“A lighter?” He makes a gesture with his hand, pretending to draw a lighter flame with his thumb. 

“Umm… no,” why the hell would you have a lighter? “No I—I don’t, sorry.”

You didn’t think you looked that old. Or like you smoke, for that matter. It’s kind of hard to take offense to his words though, when he’s that cute. Cute in a hobo sort of way. 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, hand gliding down his rough face like you not having a lighter is the worst thing since Elvis. 

Is this what they call withdrawal? 

“But I think they have some at the store.” You point your finger down the street, giving him a once-over and - for safety - deciding to add, “they’re cheap.”

“Forget it.” He tells you sternly, dismissing you with a wave of his hand like you’re cigarette smoke before walking away—opposite direction to the store. 

You’re left there standing awkwardly, shifting your weight across your feet. Body moving before you have time to think, you trail after him. 

“I can buy them for you, if you want,” ‘cause you’re a pushover and a people pleaser and an idiot all at once. 

He scoffs, glances at you over his shoulder. “You think they’re gonna let a little girl like you buy lighters?” 

“Well, I…” You can’t tell if he’s angry with you or if his face just naturally looks like that, pulled into a perpetual scowl. 

“Just take ‘em,” he shrugs. 

“Can’t you take them?” He might look broke, but surely—

“I would, if I was still allowed in the stores.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip, looking down at your shoes. That’s unbelievably hot. Is he a felon or something? 

“Yeah. Oh.”

And so maybe you do end up taking a lighter, casually shoving it into your pocket and walking out of the store, egged on by a man you were convinced was the school janitor. You actually still aren’t sure if he is or not. 

He leads you to some lightly secluded street. The sun’s setting and you should really get back home. 

“Umm, here…” your hands shake when you hand it over, fingers brushing against his callused ones. “Mister—”

“Jimmy.” He grabs the lighter like it was his all along, like you didn’t just feel your heart falling out of your ass when you committed an actual crime for him. 

“Jimmy,” you try out his name carefully, syllables rolling off your tongue in a way that tells you you’re meant to be. 

“You know, since you were such a good girl for me,” Jimmy pulls out a cigarette from a package you didn’t know he had and holds it out for you to see. “Why don’t we share one of these?”

It takes a minute for you to get back on earth. 

“Oh, I don’t… do that,” you scratch the back of your head, knowing all too well that you’d get a third degree ass beating if your mom knew. “Smoke, I mean.”

“Had my first cig at nine, you’ll be fine,” Jimmy says nonchalantly with the cancer-stick hanging from his lips, his gaze pressing you subtly as he glares up at you. “First time for everything.”

He’s too irresistible and you don’t want to seem like a pussy in front of the only cool, older guy to ever pay you attention. 

So you give in. Lord help you.

“O—okay, umm,” you awkwardly take a seat on the pavement next to him, too scared to look him in the eye. “I don’t really know how to.”

“You know how to use a lighter, don’t you?” You wonder how many cigarettes he’s smoked to get his voice this rough. If it gets rougher for every cigarette. 

“Yes…” Your experience goes as far as having only ever used matches to light candles. 

Hands still shaking like crazy, you struggle to light his cigarette. Jimmy scoffs and you shrink.

“There.” 

Once you finally muster up the courage to look at him, it’s clear how unimpressed he is. 

“Saw what I did there? You gotta inhale like this,” Jimmy takes another drag and you feel a cough building up in your chest just by watching. “Try it,” he blows out, hands over the smoke.

“Okay…” Jimmy helps you hold the cigarette like he’s your father and you’re his baby and the dart is a spoon. Well, you weren’t wrong about the coughing. 

“No, no,” for the first time since you met, his upside-down mouth goes upwards and your heart skips a beat. “Gotta do it twice, so you feel it here,” Jimmy presses his palm to your chest, accidentally brushing his fingertips against your breasts in the process. 

“Oh.” You almost moan, thankfully covered up by your coughs.

Jimmy helps you till you get it right, till there’s no cigarette left to be smoked. He doesn’t even put it out, just drops it onto the ground. 

“Better keep this a secret from mommy, huh?” 

Heat of embarrassment spreads across your face like a wildfire of some sort, and you freeze up. It’s like Jimmy can see right through you. 

“Yeah…” you reply quietly, playing with your fingers. 

But maybe you end up having your first kiss that evening, exchanging cigarette-flavoured spit with a stranger whom you met only a couple of hours ago. Maybe you let his hand trail further up your thigh than what was appropriate. 

And maybe you keep coming back for more. 

Hanging out with Jimmy becomes a regular part of your schedule. The secrecy of it is even more of a thrill—feels just like those colourful pills he shows you that make you feel as if you’re on another planet.  

Mommy dearest doesn’t know a thing, and daddy dearest… Well, Jimmy’s pretty much the closest thing you have to a daddy dearest. 

He’s so different and so cool and you feel so ashamed that you let him touch you and kiss you. 

Jimmy’s your new world—he shows you these grassy things that you can roll and smoke like cigarettes and make you all dopey. He shows you this trashy, thrashy music that makes your ears hurt, not just ‘cause it’s that loud but ‘cause it’s that bad. He shows you that fingers can go in holes and places you never knew, that mouths can go where nobody is allowed. 

He shows you fun. You think you’re in love. 

You think you should die.

Jimmy finishes up rolling his joint, exhaling the smoke right in your face once he’s lit it. “You know, you should call me Daddy while we try it.” 

It. The new thing. For you, obviously. The fuck, the sex, the cherry-popping. Jimmy can practically smell your virginity on you. 

“You can—you can… do that?” You question meekly, gaze zeroing in on his blunt, too scared to look him in the eye. Too scared to say a sentence properly around him, really. “I mean, it’s not wrong? It… feels kind of wrong, it’s what you call your dad.”

“Knew a guy who called his girlfriend mom in bed.” And that guy is Jimmy, a couple of months ago actually. Not his proudest moment. But what’s done is done. 

“Eww,” you snort like he’s told a joke. 

After a moment of awkward silence and two guitar solos from the background music, Jimmy puts the dart down, letting the fugly thing sit and burn on a makeshift ashtray in the form of a plate. After 30 years of smoking you’d think he’d be better at getting them to look fucking decent at the very least. 

“So? You’re gonna let me fuck you?” Jimmy asks into your neck, kissing it lazily so there’s less of a chance of you turning him down. 

“I… don’t know, Jimmy.” You say so quietly he has to physically exert himself to hear you. Shouldn’t have. “I mean, we don’t really know each other that well and I—“ 

Way to ruin the mood.

He pulls away from your neck, groaning out of pure annoyance. “Come on, don’t be such a fucking milksop.”

“…What’s a milksop?” You ask, wide-eyed and newborn. 

God, you’re making Jimmy feel old. He has to deliberately simplify words when talking to you, speak in fucking baby phrases ‘cause you’re a baby and the only language you understand is goo-goo goddamn ga-ga. 

“Forget it,” he pinches his nose bridge and tries to not combust, “just let me do it. You didn’t come all the way here just so we could sit and listen to Pantera, did you?”

You look at Jimmy like he is speaking an ancient foreign language. 

Right. He forgot you’re not only incompetent but uncultured as well.

“You don’t even know how old I am, Jimmy, I could be—“ Off you go again with your incessant babbling. Just when are you going to realize that he doesn’t give a fuck? 

“You’re legal, aren’t you?” 

“Well yeah,” your head hangs lowly, the skin on your arms suddenly looking a lot more interesting so you start picking on it. “I am but, Jimmy, it’s like you don’t even care.”

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, in every fucking sentence. You want him so bad—you’re just too pussy to say it out loud, which is literally what he was trying to tell you. He’ll just simply have to show you.

Jimmy is overdue for some good ‘ol cherry-popping after all. 

Resuming his biting on your neck, he says things the way they are to hear you gasp. “That’s ‘cause I don’t.”

“That sounds naughty…” 

He almost bursts out laughing, keep talking like that and you’ll end up in a porno in no time. 

“You’ll let me do it,” Jimmy bares your tits, pulling your dress down, “won’t you, baby?” ‘Cause a pet name or two is all it takes to get you to melt. 

You’re pushed down onto the bed before you can even reply. Left in only your underwear before you can even blink. 

“Okay, Jimmy…” you say timidly. 

“Remember what I told you?” His fingers trail down your tummy till he finds your panties, the print and ribbon something you’re much too old to be wearing. 

“Daddy,” your voice gets stuck in your throat when he palms your clothed mound. “Yes, daddy,” you correct shakily.

And Jimmy’s fingers slide underneath the fabric, struggling to fit two in your pussy. You’re squeezing him so tight he thinks they might fall off and get stuck inside you. 

He doesn’t let you cum.

That’s an activity that takes place on Jimmy’s dick and nowhere else. 

Once your panties are off and you’re naked like the day you were born in front of him—dripping onto the sheets, Jimmy lazily pulls his cock out and you stare like it’s your first time ever seeing one.

“Like what you see?” It’s a rhetorical question, there’s a 95% chance that you’re judging him. Shit looks more like a wild animal than a dick if Jimmy’s being entirely honest. 

“Is it going to fit?” You’re blinking up at him with those awfully glossy eyes of yours. “Daddy,” you add a minute too late. 

“Don’t know,” Jimmy tells you honestly. 

He prods at your entrance, trying to find the right angle that will slide him right in after a nice little struggle. Your expression contorts every way, resembling a crumpled napkin more than your actual face. 

“Ouch, Jim—I mean, daddy,” your eyes and mouth are wide open, looking like Jimmy’s impaling you with a knife and not his dick. “It hurts.”

Dramatic much?

“It’s supposed to hurt,” he keeps pushing in, managing to get a quarter of his tip inside. “Nobody ever tell you that?”

“No…” you heave out, gripping onto his arms for dear life as he very choppily forces himself into your hole. 

Jimmy coos at you unenthusiastically, “poor little girl.”

(You are, probably never heard of sex till Jimmy mentioned it.)

He doesn’t let you get adjusted—immediately starting to fuck you harder, faster, rougher than one should a virgin. Jimmy’s popping your cherry, alright. Can even spot a thin red layer coating his dick already. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” you whimper under your breath with every thrust into your cunt. Kind of hilarious. 

“You like it.” It’s a statement, not a question. 

“I… like it,” you repeat with the most pained look on your face, tears pricking at your lash lines. 

Jimmy makes sure you feel all of his cock, drilling deep enough to feel your fleshy cervix ‘cause he’d like to hear you scream. 

“Daddy,” you kick your legs, pussy struggling to keep Jimmy’s dick inside you. “Oh, daddy.” Not quite a scream. 

“Yeah,” his eyes are glued to your stretched entrance, growing impossibly harder at the sight of your ruined pussy—ruined innocence. “Gonna make daddy cum already.”

“Not inside…”

Oh and now you’ve suddenly taken sex-ed classes? 

Jimmy keeps slamming his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the room, he can hear you loud and clear over it. Purposely letting his groans loose so you really get the hint. 

“Not inside, Jimmy, pleasepleaseplease not inside!” You claw anywhere and everywhere you can reach, trying to get him off. Didn’t he explicitly tell you to call him daddy?

“Huh?” His hips stutter against yours, movements turning sloppy as his balls tighten—readier than ever. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart.” 

Just a moment later, Jimmy cums inside, shoots like a fucking pistol—bullets in the form of sperm straight into your womb.

You start sobbing.

Jimmy’s never been good at comforting so he rubs your clit in consolation. 

“Better cum on daddy’s cock soon,” it’s like he’s speaking to a fucking brick wall. A crying, teenage-girl-shaped brick wall. “Getting pretty sensitive over here.” 

Can’t exactly tell with your hands over your face but Jimmy thinks you cum, ‘cause you squeal and push his dick out. 

Well, could’ve gone worse. 

“I don’t wanna get pregnant,” you whisper between sniffles after receiving the thickest creampie Jimmy has ever given anybody. Uh huh. 

He pulls out with a sloppy pop! and watches his cum mixed with your blood drip out of your gaping cunt, soaking through he’s sheets that he’s most definitely not going to clean. 

Jimmy’s been smoking and drinking since before he fucking grew balls, do you seriously believe that his sperm’s going to knock you up? If Jimmy became a sperm donor, the only thing he’d be giving out is strains of herpes—not babies. To put things into perspective. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He tucks his softening dick back into his pants, “a plan-B should do the trick.”

“Okay…” you’re crawled up like a frightened mouse—a naked frightened mouse, all sorts of questionable fluids leaking out of all your holes. “Okay, Jimmy.”

At least you seem to know what a plan-B is. Jimmy half-expected you to go but Jimmy I didn’t have a plan-B! I didn’t even want to sleep with you in the first place! in that whiny voice you do that makes him want to light himself on fire. 

And for safety’s sake—partly out of spite, “I heard they sell some at the store. Could get it for cheap.”

“You’re not gonna buy it for me?” You’re shaking like you have fucking hypothermia. 

He shrugs. Only time not being allowed in stores has ever been of a convenience to Jimmy. 

Once you’re dressed he ushers you out of his apartment that he hasn’t paid rent for in a couple of months. 

“Bye.” Jimmy says slackly, pushing you out of the threshold to his place. 

“But—“ you start frantically, confusion written all over your features.

He shuts the door in your face. Locks it, twice. 

Through the peephole of his door, Jimmy can see how you’re limping like a lamb born yesterday on the way out. He bets your mommy ain’t gonna be too happy about that. 

You’re so sick and tired of Jimmy treating you like shit. How is he allowed to do that and get away with it? Every single time. 

He’s a sad sack of pure sleaze and you can’t believe you let him take your virginity all those months ago. 

You sneak into his place unnoticed because he’s such a sad sack of pure sleaze that he hasn’t even locked his door. He’s asking for it. 

From the hallway you can see that his glass is empty. Jimmy’s rolling one of those grassy things again, watching the TV and listening to his shitty music. You haven’t even seen Jimmy’s face yet but you know that he looks thirty years older every time you do. 

Disgusting.

You’ll sleep with him one last time. 

You trail into the kitchen with the stealth of an elephant, knocking over a lone empty beer can on the floor in the process, yet Jimmy doesn’t seem to notice. 

Rummaging through his cabinets, you’re reminded of this conversation between Jimmy and his really cute friend with a very unusual name that you can’t remember. Jimmy was telling him about the roofies he keeps in the fourth cabinet while his friend just laughed awkwardly. 

They should do the trick. 

Rohypnol reads the package, half of the pills are missing. Foul. But then again—this is Jimmy you’re talking about. 

You put a singular green oval pill in his drink, watching it dissolve and colour the alcohol a shade weirder. 

Jimmy groans from the living room and you scramble to hide underneath his table like a scared little kid. Your freak of a not-boyfriend - ‘cause he never did ask you out - actually drinks the shit in one gulp. 

After a moment he stumbles into his bedroom and you think he passes out ‘cause you hear obnoxiously loud snores echoing throughout the entire apartment. 

Guess this is your time to shine. And… fuck. 

Fuck, that word is so unnatural—so vulgar. And Jimmy uses it so casually. 

To embarrass him the way he’s embarrassed you countless times, you undress the entirety of Jimmy’s body apart from his feet—never his feet. 

You decide that restraining Jimmy might be for the better ‘cause he’s like a wild fucking rabid animal when he’s drunk. Actually, you don’t know if he is drunk but all for safety’s sake, right? 

You’re trying to make this as un-personal as it can be but Jesus he is hot. You just have to feel him up one last time. How there’s not one area that’s not covered in at least some hair, cute brown and puffy nipples, and his dick. 

The one that sits there sadly and all alone, giving you puppy eyes. 

Maybe it’s a miracle that Jimmy is soft so you can play with it for just a little. Maybe it’s a shame that Jimmy’s not awake to grab your hair and force you down all the way till you’re gagging and choking around him. 

Once he’s hard you slide off your panties and bare one of your tits ‘cause you’re feeling kind of bad for Jimmy against your will. How he’s the only one naked. 

Sliding down on his cock, it feels just like the first time—stings like hell. But this is your revenge after all so you suck it up. Bounce up and down until your slickness can’t keep quiet and is coating his length. 

It actually feels good when you’re the one in control for once. When you have time to adjust, to feel it inside you in a way that feels more like sex than getting stabbed repeatedly. 

Jimmy’s eyes do that weird back and forth thing that looks a little demonic—his body twitches like you’re an exorcist and not a technical rapist. He’s fighting against literal sedatives, it’s kind of funny. 

You keep riding him. 

All Jimmy remembers is thinking that he’s gonna get another drink and get back to his nice fucking joint before he very oddly lost consciousness. Shit was a real scare, thought he died and went straight to hell for a second. 

No—the real scare is that he’s awoken by a weight in his lap, a death grip around his dick like somebody’s trying to rip it off, and most importantly, you. 

You’re the weight in his lap, the death grip around his dick because of course you fucking are. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Jimmy asks very rightfully angry. Let a man smoke for fuck’s sake. 

Moving your hips back and forth like it’s your first time horseback riding, you counter with a half-aborted,  “shut—shut up, Jimmy…” 

Yeah, that’s real convincing. You can’t even get the words out without stuttering. Probably the first time you’ve ever told somebody to shut up in your life.

“No.” Jimmy is a man and men do not take orders from women let alone little girls. 

You slow your pace and Jimmy is about to push you off when he notices that he fucking can’t because he’s tied up like he’s in a torture chamber. 

Creativity must not be your strong suit seeing as you’ve used three of his belts and a pink sparkly jumping rope for his left foot. 

“Fuck,” he thrashes in your makeshift bondage fantasy come to life, “get off me, bitch.”

“No.” You tell him and force your polka-dot fucking panties in his mouth. 

They taste good so who’s really losing here? 

“I’ll kill you,” Jimmy tries to say with your underwear down his throat. It comes out inaudible and muffled and you fucking laugh. 

“Mmm, yes, kill me, Jimmy.” You run a cold finger down his chest, put on this sexy voice. “That’s so hot.”

He can’t tell if you’re joking or if you’re just being fucked up like always. 

“I’m serious,” it’s like he’s fucking chewing the fabric. 

“You’re sexist? That sounds right.”

Jimmy fucking gives up, flopping down all boneless onto the mattress and glaring at the ceiling ‘cause he can’t stand your face. “Oh my God.”

Contrary to what Jimmy’s saying and doing, he actually quite enjoys it. Well, he would have, were you a fraction of a better rider. This is exactly why you don’t let virgins stick around. Either way, he wants you to stop because you’re fucking embarrassing him—he’s stuck underneath you like a damn sissy. And you can’t even get him let alone yourself off. Should just fucking give up and let Jimmy take care of the raping. 

He’s been there, done that. 

He endures your clear first attempt at roofying for about five minutes until you force yourself to cum. You’re obviously faking it for whatever reason, squeezing out ooh’s and ah-ah-ah’s like a pornstar. 

“Fucking ugly slutbag,” Jimmy decides to add as his dick kicks inside you, a couple of more bounces away from filling you up the way he knows you like it. 

“Whatever you say, Jimmy.”

And your bitch-ass just gets up and leaves. Jimmy is stuck in your makeshift restraints, panties in his mouth and butt fucking naked. Ruined orgasm at that. Fucking cunt. 

He’s going to burn your goddamn house down. 

[lonelierthanu]

Penmanship

Satoru Gojo x Gender-neutral Reader

series: incomplete

words: 4.9k

warnings: cursing; funny; meet-ugly; no mentioned female or male anatomy; no spoilers; no curses; slow build; slow to update; college au

summary: your new boyfriend has a fiancé? But now you’re the fiancé. Of course you don’t know what the fuck to do.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 …+

Before departing the questionable safety of your apartment, you were nervous to venture out of it. It was the realization that you and Satoru spending so much time together that had given the wrong impression that caused the sudden anxiety. You weren’t being treated terribly, per say, but it was the whispers and snickers, maybe even a light shove at your shoulder that had you convinced the torment would only get worse once the break was over. It was like you were waiting for the bomb to drop.

You went through your entire school career since you were eight avoiding any sort of drama. Seeing the things your older sister went through was evidence enough. From being bullied to being cheated on, you saw the misery drama brought upon her and others, and you made it your life’s mission to avoid it.

Your head was on a three-sixty swivel the entire walk to the bakery you were meant to meet your project partner at. Though, it wasn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. With the encounters you’ve had with Kaiya and her entourage you thought it’d be much worse. You thank the stars it wasn’t.

When you concluded last night that the amount of time you and Satoru have been spending together is a problem, you decided you want to broach the idea of keeping your interactions to a minimum. You really want that, honestly ridiculous, rumor to die off so the paranoia of getting pelted with tomatoes or something can also go away.

If he shows up.

It’s been twenty minutes since you’ve arrived and still no sign of him. You tried to order something to pass the time, but the prices here are out of this world. Makes sense as it was Satoru’s recommendation. Getting increasingly impatient, you’re about to shoot your project partner a text letting him know you won’t wait much longer. Then you notice the man is already walking towards you.

“Hey babe, I’ve got a surprise for you” he says with a saccharine tone that makes you cringe.

“I told you not to call me that,” You go to put your phone in your pocket while your other hand swipes a finger across the mousepad to wake your sleeping laptop.

“You said not to call you baby,” He plops himself and all of his crap onto the booth across from you, “Nothing about babe,”

“Well don’t call me that either,” You go to reach for your bag.

“M’kay sweetie~” he teases. You pause to glare at him.

“Gojo.” You warn, tone stern.

“Last name?” he places a hand against his chest in faux hurt, “It’s Satoru to you pumpkin,”

“ugh, stop.” You reach into your bag again to grab your notes and resume typing, “The nicknames are getting worse.” Satoru laughs.

“About that surprise, cupcake,”

“Please—“ you begin to plead, not looking away from your screen.

“I think you’ll really love it,” he interrupts.

“I don’t really care for any surprise,” from you, you wanted to tack on, but felt that might be too mean.

“But I know you’ll love it~” he sang.

“I don’t care~” you sang back, mocking him.

“C’mon love muffin,” he pouts.

“If I indulge this will you stop calling me stupid nicknames?”

“Yes,” You know he’s lying.

“What's the surprise?” You stop typing to cross your arms and level with him.

“Before I tell you that, I need you to come somewhere with me tonight,”

“Hell no,”

“You didn’t even let me finish,” he whines.

“I don't need to. No surprise you have up your sleeve is worth it,” it’s silent between the two of you and, for a moment, you think you might’ve hurt his feelings, then you see his fat ugly (not really) smirk begin to form on his face.

“You don’t like me,” he states; it wasn’t a question. Your brows furrow as you look away. You feel a little embarrassed that you don’t like him for seemingly no good reason to anyone but yourself, but you don’t deny this claim either, “which is perfect,” he adds after a beat. The furrow in your brows deepens when you look back at him.

“Huh?”

“I just need some harmless company for a thing I have to go to tonight.”

“And what does not liking you have to do with that?”

“That’s how I know you won’t try to sleep with me,” your expression goes blank as you blink at him. “If I ask anyone else they’ll assume that I am, and cling to me for the rest of the year. I already have enough desperate people trying to win my favor, I don’t need another one.” What? He’s so fucking popular that he knows any other rando he asks will immediately bend over backwards for him? As if anyone can fall for this egotistical prick. Your expression must have conveyed your disgust because suddenly the prick in question was laughing. “See? You’re perfect,” he says in between giggles.

“I’m glad you find this funny,” You continue to type on your laptop. “My answer is still no.”

“Pleeeeeease? I promise I'll make it worthwhile,” he attempts to give you puppy dog eyes over his sunglasses. You roll your eyes.

“What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you out of my own free will,”

He shrugs, “I’ll pay you,” And again, he has pissed you off. Because this spoiled brat seems to think he can do whatever he wants and buy whomever he wants just because he has the money to do so. You know he has money, but you don’t give a single fuck.

“I don’t care,” you almost groan, your patience running thin at his insistence and, frankly, ignorant behavior.

“I can make those girls leave you alone,” he tries. You keep your eyes on your laptop screen, your brows furrowing once again out of annoyance. As much as the thought of hanging out with this pampered highlighter outside of obligation gives you a headache, the thought of being able to walk through the halls peacefully again does make you want to consider it. And even though you were initially pissed off at his offer of money you know damn well you aren’t walking out of this heavily compensated. With those factors in mind, and the added bonus of a “ surprise “, you're growing more annoyed with yourself for actually contemplating this.

Though, how bad could it really be? As much as his confidence and ignorant comments piss you off, that’s really all it is. As painful as it is to admit, Satoru actually has this…charm about him. A vibe that could make anyone feel like they’re his friend. Even though you don’t think of yourself as such, you don’t think he’s terrible. Everyone is frothing at the mouth to sleep with him or at least to be within his inner circle so that must count for something. So, you reason, whatever he’s asking couldn’t be worse than what you’ve gone through with him already.

“What would I have to do,” he flashes you an excited smile before he schools his expression into that damn smirk.

“Just dress up fancy and be ready by 8,” You scoff and shake your head.

“I swear to god if this is another frat party trap-“

“It’s not I promise,” he extends a hand towards you, as to solidify this odd deal. You look at it, then at him, and you completely ignore it, going back to typing on your laptop.

“Thirty minutes. Three hundred dollars.” you state, without looking away from your screen.

“I thought you didn’t care,”

“Clearly you don’t need my company that bad—,”

“Okay, hour and a half, one hundred dollars,” he bargains. You glare at him, pissed that he genuinely thinks so much of your time is worth so little.

“I can still say no,”

He laughs, “An hour it is. Will two hundred be alright?” you roll your eyes, starting to type. He takes that as a form of agreement and starts taking out his laptop and notes. Finally beginning to get some work done.

It didn’t take you long to get ready. You only owned one fancy-ish thing and it was your prom outfit. You only wore it that one time and you brought it with you to college just in case. You had asked Gojo later on what thing he was asking your company for and he told you it was a small gathering at a hotel. Something his grandparents threw together. At first you were worried he was having you meet them or his parents, which you were terrible at, your nerves making you act awkward leading to parents thinking you were rude. He reassured you that you weren’t, but didn’t mention much else as to who was also attending or if you were going to meet other individuals.

You threw on the thickest cardigan you could find over your outfit in an attempt to appear fancy. You had other coats and plenty of sweatshirts but nothing that would fit the occasion. Then put on a scarf that sort of matched. It was crocheted so it kind of looked a little juvenile in comparison to what you were wearing, but it was all you had. You’re still kind of annoyed at yourself for agreeing to this. Especially with how vague Satoru was being when you were trying to ask him more questions about the impending night. You’d kill him and then yourself if this is anything nearly as uncomfortable as the frat party disaster.

Your phone dings, alerting you of a message. You take it out of the pocket of the cardigan to confirm it was Satoru letting you know he’s here. You brace yourself to feel the cold night air as you open your front door. You don’t immediately see any cars as you descend the stairs from your shabby little apartment. A gust of a strong wind cuts through you, your coat not thick enough to block it. A violent shiver and a wave of irritation washes over you at the same time. You’re about to freeze your ass off and this idiot texted while he’s around the corner, making you wait in the shivering cold.

You finally see his Lexus pull up after what felt like five minutes, though it was probably only forty-five seconds. When seeing Satoru emerge from the driver’s side of the car, your eyebrows raise for two reasons.

One, he was dressed in a really nice suit and a thick long windbreaker that you were envious of. He, unfortunately, looked really good. On a regular basis it’s easy to ignore how attractive he is, considering the moment he opens his mouth it kills any sort of attraction you might have had. But in this moment you had to actively tell your brain not to think about it. Which lowkey surprised you.

Two, that he stepped out of the driver’s side. You had assumed he was going to pick you up in the same impersonal way he had done when you first went to his (real) house. You didn’t know he knew how to drive. The thought that he has a chauffeur just because he doesn't feel like driving bothers you, but you know you’d do the same. It just seems so typical of him that it’s annoying .

“Well,” he sings, “Don’t you dress up nice,” He looks at you over his sunglasses.

“I’d say the same, but your ego is big enough for the both of us,” you cross your arms in an attempt to fight off the cold.

“So you’re saying you think I look good too,” he smirks. Your lips press into a thin line, deciding to hold your tongue. Then you step forward to try to get in the car. Tired of him and the cold. He stops you before you take a second step. “Nuh uh, I’m a gentleman tonight,”

“You pick and choose when to be a gentleman?”

“Yes,” he feigns remorse, placing a pale hand on his chest, “but that’s only because very few people deserve my kindness,” he opens the passenger door for you, “You’re one of the few people that do,” he smiles, definitely teasing you.

“I feel honored,” you reply dryly.

“You should,” you scoff before plopping down in the passenger seat and yanking the door from his grasp, slamming it closed. You see him laugh more than you hear it, as you watch him walk to the drivers side. You look out your window and angle your knees to the door before he gets in, trying to convey through body language that this arrangement is purely out of obligation. You aren’t receptive to his charms and refuse to let any of your actions be confused for friendship. You’re acquaintances at best.

The ride is surprisingly smooth. You had half a mind to peek over and see what he looked like driving but decided against it, in fear you would look interested. You were, but you didn’t want him to know that.

After, what you know was five minutes, you start to grow a little antsy. The silence stretches unbearably with no site to an end soon. You cough into your fist to hide your unease, still stubbornly refusing to look at Satoru. Then, from the corner of your eye you see his long fingers toggle with the buttons on his radio. He switches through a few stations before finally landing on something. You’ve never heard the song; it sounded like it was some sort of japanese pop song for kids.

At first you think, surely, the man who judged you for your choice of pen two weeks ago can not be into this upbeat funko pop tune. But when you chance a peek at him, not only is his finger tapping to the beat against the steering wheel, he’s also mouthing the words.

You’re more surprised at yourself for not being upset at his hypocritical nature. Instead, you find amusement in the thought of him working out at the gym while this is blasting through his headphones.

Once the song ends you see that the car was beginning to come close to a grandiose white building with incredible gold detailing. The building was skyscraper height and had a glow that lit up at least a five foot radius of its surroundings. The architecture had you believing it was something straight from heaven.

He pulled closer to the plaza of the hotel, decorated with an abundance of white roses, marble columns with string lights circling around them. A giant water fountain in the middle spraying water in intricate patterns. It was intimidatingly gorgeous. As was the black marble valet you seemed to be pulling into. You see Satoru park in front of a black podium and a man in a black and gold uniform fancier than your own attire. Your jaw is properly on the floor.

Satoru gets out of the driver seat and makes quick work of getting to your side to open the door for you. You blink away all forms of shock as he does. Once the door opens he extends an open hand for you to take. You do so reluctantly and remove your scarf to leave it in the car. Now having seen the place you feel too embarrassed to take the scruffy thing with you. You’d take your cardigan off too if it wasn’t so cold. He adjusts his sunglasses before he tosses the keys to the Valet man without a glance in his direction, who bows and thanks Satoru for coming, as he begins to guide you inside.

You, on the other hand, are completely lost. And beginning to regret agreeing to go with Satoru anywhere. You were right the first time: No surprise is worth this.

You didn’t think much of the invite when you first agreed to it, just assumed that maybe he needed company for a small gathering at some semi-fancy restaurant. You were wrong. A large part of you suspects the reason Satoru was being so vague was because he knew that if you knew where he was taking you, you would have said no in a heartbeat. You grab Satoru’s (hard) bicep roughly. The only sign he acknowledged the action was the slight head tilt in your direction.

“I thought you said you needed harmless company for something your grandparents threw together? This doesn’t look thrown together at all,” you whisper aggressively, “I asked you if it was something fancy and you dodged the question. Why didn’t you tell me?” He just smiles at you softly as he guides your hand to his forearm and places his atop yours to keep it there.

“You’d’ve said no,” he hums sweetly at you. You feel a vein in your forehead pulse.

The inside of the building was even more grand than the outside. The ceilings are high enough to dangle a diamond chandelier three times the size of your apartment. Illuminating the foyer in a soft golden light. You see people wearing thick fabricked coats, garish leather boots, smooth manicures, trimmed mustaches and fancy up-dos. You feel entirely puny in this luxurious place, walking among lavish people, on the arm of an opulent idiot. You frown at the situation you’ve found yourself in and hope that whatever the fuck Satoru just dragged you to is quick and you can hide in a corner somewhere.

Satoru drags you to a set of glass doors further down the large foyer, off to the side across the bathrooms. The doors are wide open and a doorman, in a cream and gold uniform, holds a list but doesn’t even check it as he happily moves to the side and thanks Satoru for coming. The action makes you wonder who in the world this guy carrying you around like a purse is. But before you could think further on that question, you’re being swarmed by people of all ages.

Well, you’re not being swarmed. The idiot is. And, actually, they all completely ignore you. You somehow get detached from Satoru’s arm. When that happens, a sea of people come between you, then suddenly you can’t see him anymore.

Instead of trying to push your way through you decide to wait by a nearby wall. You don’t want to stray too far from the only person you know here. On your way to the wall you’ve marked as good enough, someone, a young woman that seems close to your age, meets you halfway. She grabs hold of your arm like the two of you are familiar. You bristle against the contact.

“Hello,” she begins, curtly, “I see you came here with Satoru, why is that?” She cuts straight to the chase. You are unsettled by this. Her aura gives off mean girl vibes already. You want to ignore her but the grip she has on your arm is vice-like. You wouldn't be able to shake her off without drawing attention. You try to crane your neck over the large headdress the woman is wearing to try to find the man you came here with, but she expertly spins the two of you around so your back is towards Satoru’s direction. She starts to guide you to the bar and leans in close. To anyone looking on, the two of you look like good friends. “He can’t help you,” she giggles. You frown, “He’s busy fending off his suitors and their parents,” Your confusion is evident on your face. So he wasn’t just being cocky about having desperate suitors.

“Who are you?” she now asks. Before, she didn’t seem the least bit concerned about who you were, just more upset at the fact she saw you walking arm in arm with Satoru. You tell her your name, but this answer is apparently unsatisfactory. She just hums, and doesn't offer her name back. The two of you finally make it to the bar but she still has an almost painful grip on your arm. “Who are you to Satoru?”

Your first instinct is to tell her to mind her business, but then you remember that you’ve been invited here by Satoru. He knows way more people here than you so this girl might be someone important. Though, you’re most likely never going to see this girl again so who cares. But also, if she is important she can probably get you thrown out of here with the snap of your fingers. You don’t want to have to shiver in the cold waiting for Satoru to pry himself from his entourage to try to find you. However, if you keep taking too long to answer her she might have you escorted out anyway. You wouldn’t even know how to answer the question though.

Luckily, the stars decided to smile upon you and cease your anxious thoughts, cause you hear his voice come up behind you.

“What are doing Yumi?” He questions the woman as he physically pries her away from you. She lets go easily and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“I was just getting to know your friend,” she says innocently. Your face scrunches in mild disbelief at her sudden change in demeanor. Satoru catches it, slowly becoming accustomed to reading your facial expressions well.

“I doubt that,” he says before grabbing hold of your hand and walking away. The woman, Yumi, quickly catches up with the two of you though.

“Are you going to introduce us? I want to get to know your friend,” She spits out. Clearly not interested in actually getting to know you.

“No.” he grits through clenched teeth.

“C’mon Satoru~” she whines. It makes the both of you cringe. “You have to be nice to me now ‘Toru,” Satoru stills, turning on Yumi, your hand still clutched in his.

“Firstly, don’t ever call me that.” He bites. “Secondly, nothing is ever going to happen between us so leave me alone.” he spins back around to continue walking. He starts to pick up his pace in order to shake Yumi off, and if he wasn’t holding your hand he’d shake you off too. It was hard to match the stride of his long legs with your shorter ones. It’s when you almost fall a second time, barely catching yourself before face planting on this nice marble, that you say something.

“S-Satoru, my ankles are about to snap,” you huff. Suddenly he stops. He looks at you through his thick sunglasses —seriously, does he ever take them off?— and watches as you try to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” he sighs. Still holding your hand, he guides the two of you to an empty table, secluded next to the stage that’s in the front of the room. Curtains frame the stage, so once you get to the table, you’re perfectly hidden from everyone else.

“What the fuck?” You immediately ask as soon as you’re out of view.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again, “I didn’t know she was going to be here,”

“What did you bring me here for? What even is here?”

“Satoru?” Both of your heads snap to the person speaking. You don’t know this woman, but you would bet your first born child that it’s someone related to the white haired idiot as she also has blindingly white hair that cascaded well past her waist.

“Mom-“

“Who is this?” The woman, his mom, asks. Not even sparring you a glance. Satoru opens his mouth to say something but his mom cuts him off before he gets the chance to, stepping closer to where the two of you are standing to jab a finger at his shoulder, “How dare you bring a date to the meeting your grandfather arranged for you,”

“I didn’t ask him to do that,” Satoru grits his teeth, getting pretty worked up from what you can tell.

“Still, this is extremely disrespectful.”

“No, what was disrespectful was putting this meeting together behind my back and springing it on me the day before. And on top of that you didn’t tell me she would be here.” he juts his chin out to gesture to the rest of the large room. You think he’s talking about the unsettling woman he saved you from.

“You need to take your guest out of here and apologize to your grandfather,”

He scoffs. “You’re not even fucking listening to me,”

“What do you want me to say Satoru? You made a mess of the whole night and he won’t even speak to anyone until you apologize,” Satoru places his sunglasses on his head to scowl at her.

“That’s not my problem,” he gets closer now, standing right over his, pretty tall, mother. She looks up at him with a twin scowl on her face.

“This is too much Satoru. What are you even doing all of this for? Hm? You’re not dating anyone so-“

“Yeah I am,” His mother raises her thin brow.

“Oh really? Who?” she scoffs out.

“Who else?” Then her brows furrowed together, confused. Satoru then intertwines his fingers into the hand he was still holding. You have half a mind to rip your hand out of his grip, just now realizing he was still holding it, and ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. This is not what you signed up for! You look from your hand to Satoru’s mother and you see the confusion melt from her face as she looks at your hands and she crosses her arms. Her thin brow raised again.

“I don’t believe it,” Satoru rolls his eyes at her.

“Either way, tell that woman, her parents, and grandfather that I'm not doing this shit. And if they still don’t get it, tell them to kiss my ass,” You and Satoru’s mother’s jaws drop simultaneously, maybe hers a second later because it took her brain a second to really register what her son had just said to her. Either way, you’re both equally dumbfounded. And it seems the reaction pleases Satoru. His infamous smirk returns as he brings your hand to his lips and places a chaste kiss to the back of it. He begins to stride away, your hands still interlocked.

Then you hear a banshee scream.

“Satoru! Wait!” The man in question doesn’t even look back and picks up his pace, your legs moving before your brain can catch up as Satoru pulls you along. You look back to see a fuming Yumi trying her best to catch you two in her tall heels. Satoru rushes through the door, the door man barely even bending at his waist to bid him goodbye. Your palm is sweating against his, and you’re hyper-aware of every set of eyes burning into your back.

“What the fuck.” you hiss under your breath, but Satoru doesn’t stop until you’re both back in the lobby, away from the thick air of scrutiny and rich propriety. Only then does he slow his pace, turning to you with that infuriated grin. Your confusion grows into anger at the sight of it.

“That went well, don’t you think?” You snatch your hand from his grasp and resist the urge to smack him upside the head.

“What the hell was that? You wanna explain why I got roped into pretending we’re dating?” Satoru rubs the back of his neck, but there’s no shame in his expression. If anything, he looks amused.

“Well, I needed an excuse to get out of a forced engagement setup,”

You gape at him “Engagement?” He shrugs like it’s nothing, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Yeah. My grandad’s been trying to marry me off to some rich family’s daughter for ages. Thought I’d make my thoughts on the matter more clear,”

“So dragging me into your family drama was the best idea you could come up with?” Satoru grins wider, leaning in slightly.

“If i'd told you the truth would you have gone along with it?”

“No!” you snap. “Absolutely not! And now I’ve probably got a bounty on my head because these weird rich people think I’m your fiance or something!” He pats your shoulder, like he’s congratulating you for completing a marathon.

“Relax. You’ll probably never see them again. And if you do, just tell them I broke your heart or something. Should be easy to believe.” You close your eyes, inhaling deeply in an effort to stop yourself from committing murder.

“I swear to god, one of these days—“

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off playfully. “You’ll smother me with a pillow, push me down a flight of stairs, shank me in an alleyway. I’ve heard it all before.” He strides ahead of you, out to the valet. You glare at his back, but your anger slowly turns into exhaustion. You begin to follow him.

“So what now?” He checks his watch.

“Well, since we’re already dressed up and out, wanna grab a bite to eat?” You blink at him, incredulous.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know.” he sing-songs, placing his sunglasses back on.

You hate that that makes you laugh.

With a resigned sigh, you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself, trying to firm the cold. “Fine. But you’re paying. And I’m getting the most expensive thing on the menu.” Satoru beams, placing a hand over his heart.

“My dear, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You roll your eyes, already regretting your life choices, but as you watch his car pull up to the valet stand, there’s a tiny—very tiny—part of you that doesn’t mind the chaos as much as you should.

And you hate it.

(･ω<)☆

i’m always thinking, “why don’t i ever write series?” This. This is why. I run out of creativity to write anything for like three months then randomly get an idea. but then when i go to write the idea i suddenly dont know how to write anymore and have no idea where to start 😭

also i’m thinking of starting a taglist? should i?

★prev next☆

[moonyflesh]

PETER STRAHM character analysis/fanon + canon comparing - (as someone who’s rewatching the SAW films again).

- [timestamps included!) • SPOILERS!

- warning: i go full autistic here. there’s a lot of yapping.

Peter Strahm, introduced in Saw IV and continuing through Saw V and Saw VI, is an obsessive and determined FBI special agent with a relentless need for answers. His arc is one of the most intense in the franchise, characterized by his razor-sharp intuition and a growing descent into paranoia as he uncovers Jigsaw’s legacy. Played by Scott Patterson, Strahm quickly became a fan-favorite character due to his intelligence and defiance, but fanon interpretations of his character often add layers that aren’t entirely supported by canon.

—

Peter Strahm’s introduction in Saw IV establishes him as an efficient, no-nonsense FBI agent, deeply invested in solving the Jigsaw case. Unlike other law enforcement characters, he refuses to let anything stand in his way, even when it means breaking protocol or putting himself at personal risk. He’s sharp, aggressive, and uncompromising.

• Saw IV (00:35:12): “I’m not leaving here until I know what’s behind that door.” – This line perfectly illustrates Strahm’s refusal to back down, even in dangerous situations. It foreshadows his downfall, as his inability to relinquish control leads to his undoing.

In Saw V, Strahm’s arc deepens as he becomes increasingly isolated. He begins piecing together the connections between Jigsaw, Detective Mark Hoffman*, and the series of traps. What makes his character compelling is his growing paranoia—yet, at the same time, his deductions are mostly correct. His downfall isn’t that he’s wrong but that he’s playing a game he doesn’t fully understand.

• Saw V (00:49:23): “If you’re good at anticipating the human mind, it leaves nothing to chance.” – Strahm directly quotes Jigsaw here, signaling his complete immersion in the case. He begins to think like the killer, which ironically seals his fate.

—

Strahm’s biggest strength—his refusal to stop—also becomes his biggest weakness. In Saw V, he becomes so consumed by his need to expose Hoffman that he falls into a trap of his own making. The iconic glass box trap is the ultimate representation of Strahm’s failure to trust anyone but himself. While Hoffman locks himself safely inside the box, Strahm refuses to consider that stepping into it could be his only means of survival.

• Saw V (1:14:56): ��You think you’re smarter than me?” – This final exchange with Hoffman is drenched in irony. Strahm’s belief that he has outmaneuvered Hoffman is shattered in moments when the walls close in on him, literally crushing his stubbornness and ego.

Fanon often portrays Strahm as a tragic antihero or, in some cases, an alternate version of Jigsaw himself—a man who could have followed in John Kramer’s footsteps had things played out differently. While there’s little concrete evidence to support this, the idea has gained traction due to Strahm’s obsession and his tendency to operate outside the law.

—

Fanon Theory 1: Strahm as a “Reverse Jigsaw”

• Evidence For: His deep understanding of Jigsaw’s philosophy, his sharp mind, and his instinctive ability to predict people’s actions could align him with the moral complexity of Jigsaw.

• Evidence Against: Strahm’s morality remains intact, despite his obsessive tendencies. He never justifies the traps or sees them as a form of justice, unlike John Kramer.

Fanon Theory 2: Strahm Survived (Post-Saw V)

• Evidence For: Some fans speculate that Strahm could have survived the crushing walls trap, considering we never get a completely clear view of his death.

• Evidence Against: Interviews with the writers and directors confirm that Strahm’s death was definitive. The Saw VI opening scene depicts his corpse being disposed of by Hoffman, cementing his fate.

—

One of the most fascinating aspects of Strahm’s character is his descent into isolation. As he gets closer to the truth, everyone around him becomes a potential threat. He trusts no one, not even his partner, Agent Perez.

• Saw V (00:32:45): “They’re all in on it.” – This line shows how deeply paranoid Strahm has become. He’s correct about Hoffman, but his belief that the conspiracy is larger than it is ultimately works against him.

The fanon interpretation of Strahm as a man driven to the brink by his obsession is consistent with his portrayal in the films. However, some fan theories take this further, suggesting that Strahm may have orchestrated certain traps himself or had a deeper connection to Jigsaw. These ideas are fun to explore but fall apart when closely examined against canon material.

—

Strahm’s character stands out in the Saw franchise because of his complexity. He isn’t just another cop trying to stop Jigsaw; he’s a man caught in a web of his own making. His sharp instincts, paranoia, and refusal to back down make him one of the most compelling characters in the series.

While fanon expands his story in fascinating ways, canon firmly positions him as a tragic figure—a man who got too close to the truth and paid the ultimate price for it. His final moments in Saw V are a haunting reminder that, in Jigsaw’s world, survival often requires more than intelligence; it requires the ability to trust, adapt, and let go.

[ * = other post can be found on my SAW MASTERLIST]

[kiddolane]

Okay, I'm about to have a serious fandom hot take here. This may get controversial, but I really need to get this off my chest because I will go absolutely fucking insane if I hold it in any longer:

If there's one thing I've come to really hate in my short time in the IASIP fandom, it's the moralizers in the Macden community.

The entire appeal of Macden is that they're both toxic to each other, and paradoxically, it works, because while they're both so fucked in the head, that fucked-upness is in complete compatibility with one another. Even in their lowest moments in s13 and s14, doing and saying horrible shit to each other, they manage to make it through all of that and come out of it stronger (as evidenced by their improving relationship in s15 and ESPECIALLY s16).

[Okay, here's where I really start to get ranty, and potentially even controversial, so I'll put a cut right here.]

That's why I absolutely CANNOT stand it when the moralizers try to make one of them the sole villain of the two. As if everything wrong with the entire relationship is that person's fault only and the other one is a total saint. It's annoying enough when I see it from Mac moralizers, but Dennis moralizers just drive me up the fucking wall.

Trying to make it seem like Dennis is Mac's poor little victim, minimizing his role in the tumultuous spiral their relationship went through in s13 and s14, and just forcing and shoving that interpretation down people's throats as though it was the Holy Gospel. Anyone who disagrees with them is treated like an illiterate moron who is too stupid to see Mac's flaws and not someone who thinks the interpretation is making things too lopsided in Dennis' favor. The sanctimonious, condescending vibe it all gives off is so fucking suffocating.

But that's not the worst part...

The worst part is when they use actual social justice rhetoric in their interpretation (especially once it turns to sexual assault). By doing this, it automatically shuts down all the discussion right then and there. They have full control of the conversation because people are now scared into silence, scared to give a different interpretation. They're forced to agree, or else they'll be perceived as awful people who support rape culture or some other problematic position. That kind of mentality and paranoia can really eat away at a person's psyche over time if they're not careful.

This should NEVER happen in a fandom. Ever. No one should ever have to feel scared and paranoid about sharing their ideas.

This tactic is not only underhanded, but it's also dangerous, and the moralizers really need to realize that, even if they have the best of intentions.

The point of fandom is that fictional character and shipping preferences do NOT define someone's actual, real-life morality (especially not when said preferences involve putrid assholes like the Gang lol). Trying to blur that line is annoying at best and potentially dangerous at worst, and it needs to stop.

[katyspersonal]

Perhaps Marika's situation is less about 'perpetuating the cycle' and more about reactionary paranoia?

I was thinking a bit more about the reveal what the Hornsent once did with Marika's folks and why (this ( x ) post by drenched-in-sunlight for context) some more!

Like, think about what kind of folks she has been oppressing in her reign past the point of simply taking revenge on the Hornsent! Misbegotten, for one, were also considered sacred due to odds of their contact with Crucible, so were the Crucible Knights fashioning themselves after it. With Fire Giants it was more plainly stated that there was a fear that they might burn the Erdtree once. And who knows if they would? Their fire had it's worshippers and was a godly thing too, and perhaps Fell God was called Fell for a reason? Albinaurics were creation by Nox, people who once angered the Greater Will itself, in their pursuit to have the 'Lord of the Night' and pretty much counter Marika's rule..

The thing I am seeing is not "becoming the very thing she sworn to destroy", but "if some folks believe their kind is blessed in any way this is an instant 🚩"! Because that's the shared link between the species she put under oppression - considering themselves and/or being considered divine. She didn't just take revenge or continued the cycle, she "learned" from her traumatic experience but she learned a bad thing, and now crippling some species believed to be "blessed" before they went "far" is her whole MO. She destroys them before they can even THINK of being purer and better than her! Because really, who is to tell they won't come after her and her family? After all.. the Hornsent did once believe they were divine, didn't they?

I know I compare her with Gwyn often, but whereas he was very cunning and smart in his fear, Marika was more outright oppressive. Marika is like if Gwyn personally obliterated Manus and all Pygmy but one and made humans live in constant humiliation and mistreatment 🤔 Because nothing and no one should be considered sacred besides those she personally blessed, or else it is 🚩🚩🚩. She didn't perpetuate the cycle but attempted to stop it, by solidifying herself and her vision as the one and only thing that can be "divine" or will EVER be divine. Better oppression by one power forever than the cycles of thriving and then being killed by multiple powers! It is the dilemma of being "preventive". You can't be nice about it, but how CAN you take any chances, after having seen what funny thoughts can lead to?

(On the brighter note this makes her/Radagon's alliance with Rennala much nicer because glintstone and moon sorceries were in the contrary with the Golden Order once but merged after marriage (according to Rogier's research, I trust that man lol). She didn't put Carians and other sorcerers under oppression at the end of the war. It means that love was the only thing stronger than paranoia, once ;-;)

[imjustaf444keriguess]

lack of sources?? I WAS ASKING A QUESTION 😭😭😭

what question were you asking, exactly? just talking about how you don't think endogenic systems exist?

also yes Ik there’s other forms of dissociation and Ik it’s a spectrum. yes in simplified words, I’m not gonna go into painfully extreme detail when I’m sure most people viewing this already know.

i mean, simplifying the idea of dissociation and how humans and their brains perceive themselves and others is kinda silly when the whole concept of systemhood involves a complicated version of the idea.

"gods/spirits" and hallucinations are still products of the brain. at least, assuming there's no evidence of actual supernatural intervention. the brain is capable of creating the idea of another "self", and oftentimes (appearing to be) sentient selves.

and why would the brain need to make others [...] without trauma or something?

i am not exactly sure, why would the brain need to do anything? why do you require the brain to have a "need" for alters? why exclude the idea that they can just exist?

I don’t see the brain doing something like that for no reason, and with something more extreme as making a whole other personality, I can only see the brain doing that with a more extreme reason

and why do you believe it can only have other selves as an "extreme" thing? what makes it more extreme than just... doing something it already does with a singular self? it can create a whole entire singular personality and identity, but to create another is SOOO extreme somehow?

( also- I consider isolation a more extreme reason because of the horrific side affects isolation can bring )

this part confuses me, cause... yeah, isolation and neglect can be traumatizing and can affect you mentally, and worsens many disorders and can cause some too. i don't remember saying it doesn't, though? and that has nothing to do with endogenic systems?? not directly, at least.

also asking what need is there isn’t a silly question, the brain does do things for a reason/cause.

i find it to be silly because the brain does still do things it doesn't "need", and while i do think there might be reasons/causes to endogenic plurality... i think it's more like how the brain is more likely to be fantasy prone and imaginative in some, and more logical and literal in others. how you're raised and how your brain is wired will change stuff like your potential to develop a system, whether due to trauma or not.

i don't know the exacts, but that is because there's not a whole lot of research on endogenic systems specifically (and the few studies are either just accepting that it's a phenomenon that exists and needs to be studied, or are studying it directly in the cases of tulpamancy studies.)

though with the general public experiencing symptoms of disorders part, doesn’t that mean they still experience symptoms that affect them? ( not to the amount it’d affect someone with the disorder ofc ) it may not be severe, or a lot but don’t they still experience negative symptoms?

yeah? everyone has bad days? i don't know what you mean by this. endogenic systems can still experience plurality as a negative, too. they might not experience the severe disordered experience or have trauma, but they... could have negative experiences with plurality? like...

my point was disorders are normal human things taken to the extreme and affecting daily life. everyone can get fantasy prone and overthink, but if your brain is too "fantasy prone" and those ideas get mixed with anxiety and paranoia, that can cause delusions. your brain can often conceptualize other peoples perspectives and have different states of "self", but if those states of self become sentient and talk back and develop their own identities and experiences, that's what we call a system. everyone can have bad dreams, but if you have many bad dreams, especially after a traumatic event... that's a symptom of ptsd. people can find themselves doing repetitive behavior to self soothe or express feelings, but if you do it a LOT, that's considered a symptom of autism.

saying that people with DID are so different that no one else can experience plurality/systemhood means that there's something distinctly different about the experience of systemhood that no other human can experience that without having to go through trauma. and i think you'd need to prove that you absolutely need trauma to experience systemhood, because otherwise... it's a human experience, just cranked up to 10 with distress and amnesia and lack of internal communication with DID.

there's a reason DID has more than just systemhood/alternate states of self as a criteria. there's a reason why the disconnect and memory issues and distress are part of the criteria. because if you're a system, but otherwise are existing just fine, it's not a disorder. the trauma is what causes the amnesia and disconnect between alters/headmates. it's why for recovery for DID, you need to have communication between alters, and why final fusion and functional multiplicity require communication!

also, not exactly a source, but sysmedsaresexist, someone who didn't believe in endogenic systems for a while, emailed doctor colin ross, who shared his opinion on the topic.

i'm a tad cold and need to do irl stuff in a bit, not argue with people about others existence and personal experience, but here's some more yapping. and unless you can prove to me that it's impossible, im going to believe endogenic systems and their word on their own experiences. random tumblr users saying "ur not valid" doesn't do anything to change whether or not they're honest about their own experiences, nor does it change if they're actually systems. if they are, they are, and if they aren't, they aren't.

here's my post with some sources talking about plurality n stuff. talk to me about stuff said in those links instead of trying to ask me why a brain would do a thing it doesnt "need" to do.

hey, reminder for all endogenic systems.

YOU ARENT FUCKING VALID AND YOU NEVER WILL BE VALID!

YA HEAR ME BITCHES OR DO I NEED TO SAY IT LOUDER?

YOU WILL NEVER BE VALID.

thank you.

-Gradient

[cannibal-nightmares]

let's make trouble in the dream world, we'll hijack heaven with another memory now; i make the most of the turning tide, it just split what's left of the burning silence

[twistedlovelines]

you show the boys ur vibrator that looks like a lipstick and they're all varying levels of gagged

[roman-roy-apologist]

gang i need to write a young brad fic from zack’s perspective as an older sibling in an abusive household

[bacchuschucklefuck]

i love your bard! riz au so much. he is so tragic as a character for all the reasons of what living in constant danger fear does to your mind. can i ask about his relationship with the other bad kids and the major differences vs canon?

hey I'm glad ur enjoying what's goin on here! I don't have a Lot of it clear in my mind yet bc it is a full class swap of the entire party so some stuff will just. not play out until they do yknow? it is how it is. but I think from the beginning riz's motivation is decently different so he'll just get into it on an entirely different path - he did Not start out a very kind kid. he would be extremely conflict avoidant, he's got the Actor feat, he's stocked up on Disguise Self, he's ready to disappear mid-conversation, anyone who looks like troubles he's steering Clear of. he goes to aguefort not because he wants to be an adventurer but because sklonda was like "this works for you?" and he was like "yeah 's all good :]" (he is about to throw up bc that's where penny went missing)

I'd say he runs into fabian (rogue) first very briefly and they'd mutually be like oh. a guy. and immediately forget each other once they get out of the same like locked classroom they accidentally both hid in. and then during the corn cutie fight fabian would see the way riz react and Not Like It (haha whoa. like looking in a mirror amirite) and go actually I'd rather be a hero (derogatory) than whatever that is that guy's got going on. great surprise for him when they got out and registration's closed and the mirror is now one of his partners in the career-long group project :]

kristen (sorcerer) would be an Insane encounter at first for riz like this is someone who is extremely powerful, not very controlled, and so fucking starved for people to be nice at. riz is cordial to her on the way and she is like Fuck Yeah Friend! please go do paperwork with me I don't know shit from fuck I haven't had proper paperwork since I was like twelve and gay. do you like candies? she then throws ragh through a window for trying to bully gorgug and netting her and gorgug the detention (riz is of course immediately someone else while this is happening) (he shows up again right after like haha sorry that was scary! resolutely not looking at how kristen's face falls at the idea of someone being scared of her again)

riz and gorgug (cleric) get on like house on fire at first in the sense that they're at that point both fake bitches and they know this about each other and acknowledge this with each other implicitly and they're like I'm not poking at what's going on with you if you don't poke at what's going on with me. and then gorgug dies and sees that the god he's been feeding his anger to isn't real (yet) and has his realization that he's been indoctrinated into a cult through the support group he's been to and starts on deprogramming and in that process he starts poking at riz's deal just by proxy of dealing with his own. riz gets vicious about this a bit into it but after the arcade he kinda comes around again. it helps that at the end of sophomore year gorgug becomes the saint of the Inbetween and riz is very much in need of that stop on his way right then

fig (barbarian) on the other hand does Not like riz off the bat (her whole thing is leaning into rage to live her truth without fear) but then being as perceptive as she is soon she's like ohhhh you're just scared. like Really scared and it's ruining your life. and after that she's like I'll just protect you then :] (this is her solution to most things her friends go through) this does not help at first bc riz has picked up the pattern that is if you're protective of him bad things will happen to you. he will have a breakdown about this in sophomore year but it'll get better from there

adaine (artificer) on the Other other hand just straight up doesn't like riz until after the arcade lol. he's on the prep side, he's not socially awkward and he doesn't use that power for anything but being a coward, he lets biz talk at him in the AV club and that means biz never stops fucking talking, and every time adaine raises a complaint all he does is being like "sorry :[" and changing nothing. it's fucked up between them riz tries to appease her by doing nice things but he doesn't address the things she actually complains about so she doesn't take it. she's the person who outright calls him out for not having the backbone to stand up for himself or his party. despite this she never thinks of throwing him out of the party and he does pick up on this. they get better after the arcade and riz apologizing and by junior year adaine's the one handling the tech end of riz's freelance publication

all of this is subjected to change of course I'm mostly keeping things mobile that's where all the fun is hehe. the world is constantly in motion etc but this is kinda how I'm coming into my art atm we'll simply see!

[spaciebabie]

shoutout 2 this person in my class who i can tell wants 2 talk 2 me really bad but instead of doing that whenever she has the chance she'll talk 2 whoever else is around and ignore me entirely unless im mentioned by name

[qoldenskies]

Also you 🤝me

Doing Bad Things Happen Bingo looking at Rise and cackling wickedly…..now to make them their own separate thing or write more CC brainrot

always the option to mix it up a little !!! i'll probably be writing a little cc if i get an idea for something really good with my bthb but im probably going to focus mooostly on original prompts so mess around. do what your heart desires!!!

[tenwhiteandalusians]

is episode 8 the domitian arc ? more on this and EVEN MORE narratives i’ve been ignoring that the show said “actually,,,” about in 5

[grossillygirl]

:(