#so don't be surprised if this THING is the last thing I post for a while sorry

[bruhstories]

Bet III

p.1 here & p.2 here

summary: the game is on, but in-ho can't focus on it. he's got you on his mind pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, mentions of domestic violence, veeeery slow burn, reader is an orphan, slight voyeurism, people dying ayy yo (but if you watched squid game, this is just normal) w/c: 2.2k

a/n: if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! also feel free to replace y/n's age, i just needed to put a number there lol

In-ho removed the intricately designed mask from his face and poured himself a glass of whisky, one leg crossed over the other as he sat on the leather sofa of the control room. The first game was about to begin soon — always Red Light, Green Light — and he waited for his favourite song to start — always Fly Me To The Moon. There was something so hauntingly beautiful about listening to a love song while people lost all hope, one by one falling to the ground.

It was a fantastic way to get rid of the weakest links, leaving only those resilient alive. Player 101, eliminated. Player 82, eliminated. Player 329, eliminated. Player 2, eliminated. They dropped like flies, frantically clawing at the gates in a futile attempt to escape while the soldiers shot them from above, painting the ground crimson.

Exhilarating was the only word that could describe what In-ho felt in that moment, and nothing compared to it. When happiness died along with his wife, control was the only thing that fulfilled him. He controlled who died and who lived, but he was also being fair — if participants played by the rules, they survived. It couldn’t get any simpler than that.

Obviously, they didn't have a choice, and In-ho knew that well enough. No, players only had the illusion of choice, but that mirage was what kept them in the game. Besides, they chose to come to the island. They chose to gamble their lives. They chose to be greedy. If anything, the games taught them, albeit for a short time, that actions had consequences, and In-ho was their judge, jury and executioner. It was truly thrilling. Exciting. Exhilarating.

His phone lit up with a notification from the security cameras concealed in his house. Irked by the sudden disturbance, he opened the app to check the footage. You weren't supposed to be there at that time, because you had already been at his house in the morning. In-ho watched you lock the door behind you, thinking today was the day you stole from him and proved him right.  He scoffed, hoping you would last longer than one day, but to his surprise, you sat on the kitchen floor, knees to your chest, crying. 

He couldn't send you a text — it would have made it obvious that he knew you were there, and his eyes lingered on his phone, forgetting about the game in front of him for a moment. In-ho watched you take out your phone and type, and not a minute later he received a text.

Good morning again! I had a bit of free time after my second job today and came to check on Eunjoo. I'll be leaving in an hour for my other job and I'm not charging for the extra visit.

In-ho stared at the big screen, completely dumbfounded and ignorant to the people dying right before his eyes. How were you working that many jobs? That was, if you were even telling the truth. But he would find out soon, because he left a stack of 2 million won on his nightstand, eagerly waiting for you to take it. You had to take it. You had to be the same as everyone else.

That's absolutely fine. If you don't mind me asking, how many jobs are you working?

He swapped back to the security cameras and watched you wipe the tears off your face with the back of your hand, smiling at his text. Did he say something funny? Why on Earth would you be smiling when a minute ago you had tears rolling down your cheeks?

Officially two, unofficially three. I teach Korean to a family of immigrants, but that's unpaid. I think of it as volunteering. They do feed me, though! My other job is a mascot at Lotte World.

In-ho shattered the empty glass in his hand while reading your text, and winced when he felt blood seeping from a fresh cut. Why, just why did you have to prove him wrong? He watched you go into his bedroom with a pile of freshly clean and dried shirts, ignoring the money. You saw the stack, he noticed you staring at it, hoping you grabbed it, but you found his ironing board and began to iron his shirts, not sparing the money another glance.

Why?

Through the camera, he saw you text back.

Why what?

"Tsk." In-ho scoffed at your question while wrapping a bandage around his palm.

Why are you working that many jobs?

Ah. My uncle has debts. Unfortunately, I had to drop out from uni to help him pay for them. It's fine though, I like what I'm doing. 

How old are you?

23.

Jesus Christ, you were so young, yet life had been unfair to you. You deserved an education, a better life, and it cemented his ideal that the world needed to rid itself of the trash. He didn't know the full details, but he was sure to find out. You were unlike anyone he's met before. At least for now, at least until you proved him right.

Ding!

In-ho opened a picture from you — Eunjoo curling up on the left side of his bed, paws under her, looking like a loaf of bread, and the question 'Is that your side of the bed?' under it.

Indeed it is. 

I knew it! Aww, she misses you :( 

How strange it was to read those words. How strange it was to think about someone, or something missing him. To In-ho that was a foreign feeling, and he loosened his tie, swallowing the lump in his throat. He'd seen Eunjoo sleep on his side of the bed before, when he was gone, but he assumed it was just comfortable for her. 

Animals truly were better than humans. If they betrayed their owners, they did it out of necessity. When humans betrayed, it was by choice. 

In-ho watched you neatly adjust his ironed shirt on a coat hanger that you hung in his wardrobe, disregarding the Red Light, Green Light game that had long finished, and it hit him like a train that you reminded him of his wife. God, you were so much like his wife it infuriated him, because no one was allowed to take that place in his heart. No one was allowed to make him feel anything other than hatred.

You had to make a mistake, to prove to him that you were just like everybody else, and if money didn't make you crack, something else would. In-ho made it his purpose to unravel your darkest secrets, whether through manipulation or sheer force, but the distance between the two of you proved a greater obstacle than he thought. 

He watched you finish ironing his clothes, watched you refill Eunjoo's water bowl, watched you comb your hair and put lip balm on while staring into his mirror, and it felt so wrong to study all your quirks and habits without you even knowing. It was the closest thing to having a normal life. But nothing about what he was doing was normal. Especially not watching you be so oblivious to his true self.

With a sigh, In-ho adjusted his mask left the control room to instruct his subordinates, the square-masked guards, to prepare  for the next game, Neolttwigi, the soldiers to take the remaining players back to their beds, and the workers to remove the corpses. 188 players survived and more than 50% were eliminated. In-ho, in his Front Man persona, should've focused on the games, but he couldn't, for some unknown reason, shake off the image of you crying on his kitchen floor. He didn’t dare ask what happened. How could he? It would destroy all the secrecy.

It wasn't that he cared about you — he didn't. You appeared to be a positive, cheerful and talkative person, so whatever hurt your feelings must have been important. Was it your uncle? Your boyfriend? He scoffed at that thought. The mere idea of some guy breaking your heart made him irrationally angry, and In-ho was lucky that his mask concealed his frustration. 

He decided to pay the remaining players a visit, accompanied by eight armed guards, and, just like last year, and the year before, and the year before that, there was always a woman who dropped to her knees, begging to be spared and allowed to go home. Another one followed, and even men asked for forgiveness, but they just couldn't get it through their thick skulls that they chose to be there. They chose to gamble their lives away, they chose to borrow money and end up with debts they could never afford to repay. No one forced them to play the games.

When the room was filled with echoing cries and hysterical sobs, In-ho fired a single shot in the air, shutting everyone up. They all looked at him with fear in their eyes like pigs in a slaughterhouse waiting to be gutted, and he lowered the gun, standing firm on his feet.

"You must be mistaken. You are not here to be punished, you are all here because of the choices you made." In-ho simply said, his voice distorted by the mask. 

He took notice of teams already being formed, of those who were willing to step on corpses just to get the big prize and those who would rather sacrifice themselves, because there were always people who wanted to play the hero. He studied them all before they got recruited, and knew 456 secrets, 456 names, 456 lives. Well, only 188 survived.

"We came here to win money, not to fucking die!" Player 072 shouted from the back of the room. "And if I'm correct, we can vote to go back home."

Ah, yet another one who thought they could outsmart In-ho. He's been there before. He walked that path before, and it taught him that people don't change. Ever. Even if they voted to leave, they always came back.

"Of course, clause three of the consent form. If the majority decides to go home, you are free to do so. We don't hold anyone against their will." In-ho nodded. "But before you make your choice, allow me to tell you the current accumulated prize."

He pressed a button on a small, black remote and a large glass piggy bank was lowered from the ceiling as the lights in the room dimmed down. Stacks upon stacks of money piled up in the piggy bank, and the screen counted the current prize — 26.8 billion won. In-ho watched how their faces lit up at the amount of money accumulated, but also how the penny dropped for most of them — the more people died, the more money the survivors got.

"If you choose to leave, the money will be distributed amongst the deceased players' families. It’s only fair." He said, and left the room so that the soldiers could prepare for the democratic vote.

"You're manipulating us!" In-ho heard a player shout, and maybe he did. Maybe he was chipping away at their humanity to bring out the worst in them, but it was for the best. At least by dying they served a purpose.

It was no surprise that the majority voted to stay, 95 to 93. Good — he didn't have to go through the trouble of sending them home. The soldiers and workers brought food for the players, and In-ho checked his phone in the safety of his room. There was no text from you, and it was almost time for you to check on Eunjoo, but when it hit 9 and you weren't in his house, he felt a knot in his stomach, an uneasy feeling. Was he worried? Of course he was, for his cat, not for you.

Ding!

The sound of his phone caught him off guard, almost startling him, almost making him feel relieved when he saw it was you, and In-ho read the text.

Evening! Traffic was baaad this evening but I'm nearly at the penthouse. Will Eunjoo ever forgive me? :( 

The stupid sad face you sent made the image of you pouting pop up in his head and he wondered why. There wasn't a good enough reason for you to be haunting him like a phantom. You were a nobody to him.

Eunjoo might, but I won't.

In-ho immediately regretted pressing send. It was unprofessional and stupid of him to text such a reply, because you weren't friends. He had no friends. 

I'm so sorry, but I promise I'll make it up to you, Mr. Hwang! I really need to get you a gift for letting me use your shower anyway.

A relieved sigh escaped his lips when you didn't take his message the wrong way, but part of him was hoping you would try to flirt with him, seduce him, do anything to prove him right. And yet again, you remained true to yourself.

He watched you on the cameras again, how you invaded his home, his life, how you fed Eunjoo and munched on prawn crackers again, disappointed that you, for the second day in a row, refused to use anything in his house for yourself except for the shower and the TV.

There was still time to win the bet, and he never lost.

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn @hobiesbrownsgf @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol @mariiestfu @ratsnestinmyhair @missroro @talia-the-gemini @fortluocha @true-queen-of-mischief @ssa-callahan @bibliophile-yomna @wwastro @heartsforseo @marymun @glads-stuff @starryeddie @kisses2kanao @gagaga167 @l4venderia @scryi @lelisae @twicelover2 @ashtrosstuff @cruel-affair @cdej6 @veragrhm

please keep in mind that if i didn't tag you it's because i either missed it, or i couldn't find your age on your blog. there will be smut.

[creatur3featur3]

Street Rat p2

word count: 3.6k (WOO ON A ROLL LOVES!!)

A/N: DEFINITELY out of my writers block! only took about, 3 hours? usually takes me like a full day when i'm unmotivated but here we are!

----Enjoy Loves----

Okay so maybe you were following Sevika around for weeks on end now, but it wasn't exactly your fault- it was hers.

All that being nice and giving you food, or just being human and providing for someone who obviously couldn't take care of herself properly. She had been dying to get you off her tail with you following her like a stray dog constantly, you were ruining her reputation with your weird attachment to her. 

The regulars she played cards with gave you weird glances but she always seemed to scare them off from bothering you when you were digging around in people's dumped junk with a stern gaze. You definitely seemed to live up to your name of a street rat with your constant wandering off to find someone that shined under the dim lights of the Undercity’s lamp posts, she had even gotten you a small bag as well which had honestly surprised you.

You scoffed when she threw it to you, “Are you serious? I don't need this shit.” you spat sharply, god she wished she could rip that  sharp tongue out of yours out of your mouth. She set down her cup, whatever liquid she was drinking sloushing out.

“You think I don't see you storing your little trinkets out in dumped boxes? You're pathetic, the amount of times I've seen people swipe from your little stashes is ridiculous.” Your brow furrows at her words, you're not pathetic, you're smart, hell- brilliant even! “WELL, Miss.im so smart, i'll have you know I have many stashes around the city,”

“and how many of them stay full?”

you pause.

“...like.. three maybe…” you admit with a pout, “Then take the bag” she says sternly.

You grumble as you snatch the bag off the table, examining it with cold eyes but muttering a quiet “thank you” under your breath- then you're gone.

You choose not to stick around her during the day, too many eyes, you stay on the outskirts of the city- just like today. 

you squirm up the broken fire escape, trying your best to host yourself up with- little success. You hate to admit that Sevika’s ‘gift’ was actually pretty helpful, much more storage for cogs and other useful stuff- only downside is that you put way too much stuff in it.

“come on!-" You hiss under your breath as you hang onto the railing, trying to throw the bag up onto the floor of the fire escape so you can get yourself up. Such you were fit, your worked out a good amount, but.. your weren't exactly sure what to really work out.

The bag thudded onto the rusty fire escape with a loud clang, the sound echoing down the alleyway below. You winced, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one had heard. The last thing you needed was some nosy thug poking around while you were mid-scramble.  

"Stupid bag," you muttered, wiping sweat off your brow. The thing had been helpful, sure, but damn if it wasn’t heavier than you thought it would be with all the “essentials” you’d crammed into it.  

With a deep breath, you grabbed the edge of the fire escape again, gritting your teeth as you hoisted yourself up. Your muscles strained against the weight of your own body, your arms trembling as you kicked your legs to get some momentum. “Okay... almost there...”  

Finally, with a groan, you managed to drag yourself up, collapsing onto the cold metal floor with a loud huff. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the dim, flickering lights of the Undercity’s skyline, panting like you’d just run a marathon.  

“Maybe I should’ve worked out more…” you mumbled, glaring at the bag now sitting innocently beside you.  

The memory of Sevika tossing it to you came to mind, her cold, stern gaze practically daring you to argue with her. She hadn’t been wrong about your stashes getting raided—half of them were basically public property at this point—but still, you’d never admit she had a point. That’d be giving her too much satisfaction.  

As much as you hated to admit it, the bag was starting to feel like a lifeline. Not just because it kept your things safe, but because... well, it was from her.  

You sighed, sitting up and brushing your hands off on your pants. “Whatever,” you muttered to yourself, swinging the bag over your shoulder again. “It’s just a stupid bag. Doesn’t mean anything.”  

As you climb further up the ladders you find yourself at what you call, home. The climb had left your muscles burning, but as you finally pulled yourself up to the top platform, a sense of relief washed over you. This was your little corner of the world, tucked high above the chaos of the Undercity, where few dared to tread.

"Home sweet home," you muttered, glancing at the haphazard setup before you.

The patchwork of old carpets and threadbare blankets was hardly luxurious, and the wooden crates stacked into a leaning structure could barely be called stable. Still, it had its charm—if only because it was yours. 

You ducked under the slanted “roof” of your makeshift tent, the faint smell of oil and dust filling your nose as you tossed the bag onto the ground with a loud thud. Sliding down onto the pile of blankets you called a bed, you let out a long, drawn-out exhale, the tension in your shoulders finally releasing.  

After a few moments, you sat up, rolling your sleeves as you reached for the bag. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got this time,” you murmured to yourself, the habit of talking aloud in your solitude one you never quite managed to break.  

One by one, you started pulling items from the bag: cogs, rusted bolts, wires tangled like a bird’s nest, a couple of scraps of metal that might be useful if you ever found a decent buyer. You laid them out in neat rows, sorting them with a critical eye.  

“Junk, maybe useful, definitely junk, hmm… potential,” you muttered, setting aside a few pieces you deemed worth keeping.  

Every so often, you paused to examine an item more closely, holding it up to the dim light filtering through the cracks of your tent. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you found a small, intact gear with its teeth still sharp. “Hah, not bad,” you said to no one, setting it aside with a sense of triumph.  

This was your ritual, your little piece of order in an otherwise chaotic world. Sorting through the refuse of the Undercity, finding bits and pieces that others had discarded without a second thought—it wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. 

Your contented sorting came to an abrupt halt as the distant noise filtered up through the layers of steel and grime below. First, it was the sharp crack of something breaking—glass, maybe, or a chair being hurled against a wall. Then came the muffled yelling, too distorted by the distance to make out the words.  

You froze, your fingers hovering over a twisted wire. It wasn’t unusual to hear fights in the Undercity; hell, it was practically the soundtrack of the place. But this time was different.  

This time, you recognized the low, gravelly tone of one of the voices. Sevika.  

Your stomach twisted as you strained to listen, hoping you’d misheard. But there it was again—her voice, cutting through the chaos with a sharp bark of anger.  

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, scrambling to your feet. For a moment, you hesitated, torn between staying put in the safety of your little hideout and the nagging pull of curiosity—and maybe worry—that pushed you toward the ladder.  

Another crash, louder this time, made the decision for you. You grabbed the strap of your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the edge of the platform. Your heart pounded as you carefully climbed down, your usual annoyance at the shaky fire escape forgotten in your rush.  

By the time you reached the lower levels, the noise had grown louder, more distinct. You crept closer, ducking behind a stack of crates as you peered around the corner.  

There she was, Sevika, in the middle of a small brawl. Three guys, maybe more, circled her like vultures, but she looked as unfazed as ever, her mechanical arm gleaming under the dim light as she sent one of them flying with a single swing.  

Your first instinct was to turn back, let her handle it. She was Sevika, after all; she didn’t need help. But as another thug lunged at her with a broken pipe, something in you snapped.  

“Damn it,” you hissed, gripping the edge of the crate as you tried to come up with a plan. Or maybe you’d just jump in and wing it. Either way, you weren’t about to leave her hanging.

Though your- stupidity gets the best of you as you reach for a broken glass of whatever and throw it at one of the men, hitting his head

The moment the glass shattered against the man’s head, you felt a rush of pride. Bullseye. But that fleeting sense of accomplishment was quickly replaced with a cold, sinking feeling as the three men turned toward you, their expressions darkening like storm clouds.  

He wiped a hand over his face, now dripping with blood from a jagged cut the glass had left, his glare locking onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’ve got a death wish, kid,” he growled, taking a menacing step forward.  

“Oh, crap,” you muttered, your bravado evaporating in an instant.  

Without another thought, you turned on your heel and bolted, your heart pounding in your ears as your boots slapped against the slick pavement. Behind you, the sound of shouts and heavy footsteps echoed as the men gave chase.  

“Stupid stupid stupid!!” you hissed to yourself, dodging around a stack of broken crates. This wasn’t exactly the first time your mouth—or in this case, your impulse to throw things—had gotten you into trouble, but this? This was a new level of stupid.  

You ducked into a narrow alley, squeezing through the gap between two rusted pipes as the men shouted behind you. Your pulse was racing, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you scanned the area for an escape route.  

Up ahead, you spotted a ladder leading to one of the upper platforms, the kind you’d climbed a hundred times before. “Come on, come on,” you whispered, practically leaping toward it.  

As you grabbed the rungs and started to climb, one of the men reached the base of the ladder, cursing loudly. He jumped, his fingers grazing your ankle, but you kicked out with a frantic yell, forcing him to let go.  

“Keep running, street rat!” one of them yelled.  

“Oh, I plan to!” you shouted back, your voice dripping with sarcasm despite the panic clawing at your chest.  

You scrambled onto the platform above, your legs burning and your breath coming in ragged gasps. From this vantage point, you could see Sevika below, taking advantage of your little distraction you created. For a split second, you thought about doubling back to help her, but another shout from below reminded you of your own predicament.  

"She better appreciate this," you muttered bitterly as you darted off into the shadows, praying you could lose your pursuers before they decided to make good on their threats. 

–

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Sevika snarled as you sat next to her at the little market you had come to know for your routine feeding, “those guys could've and would've killed you!” She hissed.

“I was helping!” you grumble, “Helping doesn't mean almost getting yourself killed!” Sevika shot right back.

“You should've been able to take those guys easily, they were so much smaller than you!”

“I had it.”

“Didn't seem like it Toolbox.”

“Stop calling me that,”

“Toolbox.”

“Street Rat.”

“Mines cooler anyways.” you hum, Sevika scoffs with a shake of her head, “You fucking wish.”

“Well,” you start, shoving the fruit you had stuffed in your bag into your mouth, biting into it sharply, the juices running down your chin- “I deserve a thank you.”

“You are not getting a thank you for making me worry,” Sevika spat, “awww, so you do care!” you hum sarcastically, “oh, my heart might just explode with joy!”

Sevika rolled her eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t pop out of her skull. “Don’t flatter yourself Rat. I care because you’re a liability. If you go and get yourself killed, that’s just one more mess I have to deal with.”  

You snorted, chewing noisily on your fruit. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Sevvy.”  

Her glare could have melted steel. “Call me that again and see what happens.”  

“Sevvy.” You said it sweetly, almost a purr, batting your lashes for extra effect.  

The mechanical fingers of her arm clenched with a faint hiss, and you couldn’t help but grin, even as she loomed closer, her presence casting a shadow over you. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” she growled, voice low and dangerous.  

“And brains,” you added smugly, leaning back as if her looming didn’t faze you. “I mean, I did save your ass, remember?”  

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “If by ‘save’ you mean ‘made my life infinitely harder,’ then yeah. Thanks for that.”  

You bit into your fruit again, savoring its sweetness as you shrugged. “Same difference. You’d miss me if I wasn’t around.”  

“I’d sleep better, that’s for sure.”  

“Awww, Sev, you’re so sweet,” you teased, wiping juice off your chin with your sleeve. “No wonder people love you so much.”  

Her lips twitched, like she was fighting back a smirk. “You’re lucky you’re useful sometimes, Street Rat. Otherwise, I’d have tossed you into the gutter by now.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, grinning despite her insult. “Admit it, Sevika. You like having me around.”  

She shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she turned her attention back to her drink. You took that as a win, leaning back against the table with a satisfied smirk.

“So,” You hum as you throw the finished fruit onto the street, “Where we going now?”

Sevika stood up, pushing in her chair and throwing her cloak over her mechanical arm “I'm, going home.”

You frowned, tilting your head like a confused pup. “Home? What about me?”  

Sevika glanced over her shoulder, her expression flat. “What about you?”  

You scoffed, standing up and brushing the crumbs off your clothes. “I thought we were a team now.”  

She barked a laugh, the kind that was more mocking than amused. “Team? Don’t flatter yourself, Toolbox. You’re just a stray I can’t seem to shake off.”  

You put your hands on your hips, leaning forward as you shot her a challenging glare. “Stray or not, you’d be bored without me, and you know it.”  

“Bored?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow as she adjusted her cloak. “More like finally at peace.”  

“Sure, Sev, keep telling yourself that,” you quipped, falling into step beside her despite her best efforts to stride ahead.  

She stopped abruptly, turning to face you with a sharp glare. “What do you want, huh? A place to crash? A warm meal? Or do you just like annoying me?”  

You grinned, not missing a beat. “Little bit of all three, honestly.”  

She exhaled sharply, clearly trying to rein in her irritation. “You’re impossible.”  

“And yet, here we are,” you said with a cheeky shrug.  

For a moment, Sevika just stared at you, her jaw tightening as if she were debating whether to knock you out or just walk away. Finally, she shook her head, muttering something about bad decisions as she turned back toward the street.  

“Fine,” she said gruffly, not bothering to look back at you. “Follow me. But don’t think for a second this means I like you.”  

Your grin widened as you fell into step behind her. “Of course not, Sevvy. This is purely professional.”  

“Call me that again, and you’re sleeping in the gutter.”  

“Love you too,” you teased, earning a sharp growl from her as the two of you disappeared into the crowded streets of the Undercity.

God she hated you.

As you follow her not too far behind she doesn't look back- until she hears a loud CLUNK.

She looked back to see you diving into a dumpster, your legs propelling yourself further into it.

Sevika stopped dead in her tracks, her mechanical arm twitching slightly as she turned to stare at you, her expression an unreadable mix of irritation and disbelief.  

“What the hell are you doing now?” she called out, her voice carrying that sharp edge of exasperation she reserved just for you.  

Your legs flailed for a moment, kicking at the air as you wormed your way further into the dumpster. “I saw something shiny!” you shouted back, your voice muffled by the metal container.  

Sevika pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “Shiny? Are you a crow now?”  

“Shut up, it might be important!” you countered, your voice ringing with mock indignation.  

The dumpster rattled as you rummaged around, the sound grating on Sevika’s nerves. She glanced around, noting the amused—or horrified—looks from a few passersby. She sighed deeply, her patience wearing thin.  

“You know,” she said, her tone flat as she leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed, “there’s a fine line between being resourceful and being a complete idiot. Guess which side you’re on.”  

You didn’t respond immediately, too engrossed in whatever treasure you were hunting. A moment later, you popped your head out of the dumpster, holding up a slightly dented but intact pocket watch. “See? Totally worth it!” you declared, grinning triumphantly.  

Sevika raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “A broken watch?”  

“It’s vintage!” you argued, shaking the watch for emphasis.  

“Yeah, sure. Vintage trash,” she shot back, turning on her heel. “Let’s go, before someone mistakes you for actual garbage.”  

You hopped out of the dumpster, brushing off your clothes as you jogged to catch up with her. “You’re just mad you didn’t see it first,” you teased, tucking the watch into your bag.  

She didn’t respond, but you swore you saw her roll her eyes as she picked up her pace, trying her best to ignore you.

But your voice was grating, the way you chatted away about god knows what, trying to take apart the watch as you walked, proving to Sevika by the brand name on the inside of the watch that it was definitely worth something.

“See? I told you, I know what's useless or, worthy!” You hum happily.

you were definitely a lot different from when Sevika first saw you, when you were a lot more sharp and,I guess hateful. Now here you are, talking her ear off about some history behind the watch.

Cute.

Sevika shook her head firmly, no, absolutely not, you were not cute or anything like that, you were a dingy kid from the streets, probably not even 26, you had your whole life ahead of you.

Sevika’s gaze flickered over to you as you babbled on about the intricate history behind the watch, your hands working quickly to twist and turn its parts, barely looking up as you walked beside her.  

“Mm-hmm, sure, sure,” she muttered, her focus on the path ahead, though her mind was starting to wander despite herself. You were relentless, a flurry of words and energy that kept bouncing from one topic to the next, your excitement practically buzzing through the air. It was almost impossible not to listen to you, even if she didn’t want to.  

But cute? No.  

You were just some kid, a street rat, sure, but not in a pathetic sense anymore. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Maybe it was how you had this endless drive to find the value in everything, even when it was so easy for someone like her to overlook. Or how your once sharp edges seemed to have softened over time, the constant biting sarcasm now replaced with, well, an actual willingness to communicate, to engage.  

God, what the hell was wrong with her?

She tried shaking it off, focusing on the weight of her boots as they hit the cracked pavement. She was not about to get all sentimental or soft. That would be a mistake.  

“I’m serious, Sevika,” you continued, eyes sparkling as you looked up at her, “I could sell this for a few cogs. It’s pretty rare, maybe even more than that if I find the right buyer!”  

She made a noncommittal sound in her throat, but inside, something shifted just a bit. You really are something else, she thought.  

Her mind screamed at her to pull away, to put some distance between herself and you before she made a mistake, but here she was, still walking beside you, letting you prattle on and on.  

“Yeah, whatever, just don’t go blowing it on something stupid,” she muttered, though there was a flicker of something in her voice that she quickly smothered.  

You gave her a sidelong glance, not missing the subtle change. “You really do care, huh?”  

She didn’t answer, instead pushing her shoulders back and picking up the pace, determined to ignore the way her heart seemed to tighten. She could still feel the eyes of the people around you—at least, that’s what she told herself.  

But maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just about saving you from getting yourself killed anymore. Maybe... she was just stuck with you, whether she liked it or not.  

“Keep dreaming, kid,” she said gruffly, her voice betraying none of the warmth creeping up her spine.  

“Aw, you're soft, Sev," you teased, and she felt her chest tighten even more.  

"Shut up, Streetie," she snapped, the words coming out far too fondly for her liking.  

“Streetie? that's a new one,” you giggle slightly, seeming to notice before you cleared your throat.

(turned it into a series :) p3 is out now!)

[ledesaid]

I saw this in a post from the Cap community and thought: okay, let's do it!

AU? Billy Batson Speedster.

Fawcett City has been destroyed by a villain unknown to the locals. "Two lightning bolts had struck everything!"

They don't know what's happening, but every survivor was displaced across the country. Among them is a child: Billy Batson. Small, barely eight years old, along with a large number of children who have lost their parents, waiting to find a new place in the world.

Bureaucracy does its thing and five children are sent to Central City.

Billy isn't very lucky and is the last child waiting at the police station. He knows he shouldn't go away, a social worker is going to come for him. But he doesn't want to go with her. Not again. The last time... The last time ended in a very cold place.

So with all the chaos, it is very easy for him to slide through the station with great care due to his size, and really, when you have everyone fussing around dealing with their own problems, they weren't going to interfere with yours.

He jumps out of a window and it doesn't end as he expects.

A blond man has caught him. Billy doesn't know what to do exactly, so he does what that little voice in his head tells him:

"Run, Billy, run!"

And he does. He runs and runs. He leaves behind the buildings, soon the city, and when he realizes it, he is about to reach a big forest.

But two arms prevent him from continuing to run. The smaller boy bites the stranger. There's a scream and it's not Billy's.

Billy unfortunately falls because of an exposed root as he resumes running.

And he sees it.

And he hears it.

"Kid... calm down. I'm... I'm a hero... see?"

Billy focuses on the colors. Red and yellow. A yellow lightning bolt.

"You're Flash."

A declaration.

And the guy doesn't look very heroic, he actually seems very sad and neglected.

Billy extends a hand.

Flash takes it.

"Billy Batson, thanks for saving me."

The man starts to cry.

"A woman on the bus wanted to tell you that she doesn't blame you for what happened. I don't know her name, but she really wanted to tell you that. Thanks for coming back."

And there he was. A small boy who had received a few divine gifts. A speedster who needs to heal. A need to put Billy in safe hands. Barry Allen becoming a foster father. A little hero "Red Mercury" in Central City and a future surprise for Flash when he sees that the little one can do more than run with the Speedforce.

-----

[drwhataretheodds]

toby posted last night on bluesky that chapter 4 is now being professionally bugtested!

in july 2024, he provided a list of things that still had to be finished before the game would release.

in the december newsletter, he said that the new game_change function had been for the most part successfully implemented, although doing so caused the emergence of both old and new bugs. as of this update, it sounds like this has been fixed well enough to allow for proper bug testing! he also stated in the same newsletter that the japanese translation has had a first pass finished.

i don't think we've gotten any updates on porting to console versions yet, but since things are apparently close enough for them to move to this penultimate bug testing step, id say the game may be finished even sooner than we think!

we WILL be getting a trailer before the game officially releases, so we know it won't be a complete surprise release! but all that being said i really would feel comfortable predicting a release in the next few months!!

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 28 & 29: Face-Fucking & Roleplaying/Religion Kink

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Face-Fucking & Roleplaying/Religion Kink (✨)

Summary: Sometimes, you and Matt roleplay one of his 'darker' fantasies. Or to fuel his Catholic guilt, at least.

Warnings: Smut (18+), religion kink, roleplay (priest!Matt), blasphemy, fetishizing Matt's cross necklace, mentions of hair pulling, oral m!receiving, face-fucking, PWP

Word Count: 1.1k

A/n: If using catholicism in a very not-Christian context is not your cup of tea, don't read this! I once again decided to put two prompts together because my original idea for the roleplaying prompt included face-fucking, too, and I didn't want to write two similar pieces. It was a creative decision.

Read Me On AO3! (coming soon, once all prompts are posted)

The sun has long set over New York City.

A disarray of neon lights from the billboard outside casts a dark red glow over the bedroom, dancing like fireflies over your skin. The tingle travels from your head to your weeping core, though you physically can’t clench your thighs for the kind of friction you have been craving all night. 

You kneel before his dark person, wrists bound with delicate knots before your bare chest, ankles crossed behind you. Seven words, you utter. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Not daring to lift your head, you can only imagine the stripe of white in his collar that makes him look so innocent; a priest taking your confession like a true servant of God. Like your penance won’t be his cock between your swollen lips while your pussy aches for his touch rather than a few Hail Marys. 

Confession with Father Murdock is the sweetest kind of torture known to you, and the only one you will tolerate. 

“It’s been…a while since my last confession,” you say. 

Without a word, Matthew tilts your chin up to meet his unfocused stare, wanting to taste every single word coming from your lips like honey. 

You lean into his touch. “I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

“Bad how?” he asks. 

“I’ve been fantasizing about a man of God.”

“Fantasizing?”

“Dreaming of him,” you confess, “but the dreams I’ve been having are so unbelievably naughty.”

He bites back a smirk. “And who’s this man of God?”

Without hesitation, you answer, “You, Father.”

The light flickers. He traces the outline of your lips with the pad of his thumb, coaxing you to open. You’re drooling already. His skin tastes of salt and the beer he spilled earlier, but to you, he tastes like the most exquisite meal—salvation. 

You suck the digit into your wet, hot mouth, circling your tongue around it. Matt exhales a gasp of surprise, though he quickly recovers as he pushes down on your tongue, gently but with a determination that leaves your cunt aching. With the other hand, he undoes his trousers.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of his hard cock standing tall against his clothed stomach. You want to reach out and touch the veins running along the underside of his shaft. You want him to fuck you until you can’t stand straight anymore. You want his cock to be branded into the tight walls of your pussy so you’ll forget every other man who has ever dared to touch you. You want to be so full of his cum that he’ll leave your thighs sticky for days to come.

“There’s only one thing you can do,” Matthew murmurs, gliding the leaking tip of his cock over your lips, a small taste for you to savor. 

You moan, involuntarily so, but one harsh thrust of his hips causes the air to bleed out of your lungs.

“Atone,” and he buries his cock deep in your throat. The feeling is as familiar as it is alien. 

Through hooded and teary eyes, you see the soul leave his wound-up body. A demon leaving the body of a priest. The sight of that stupid thin piece of white fabric constricting his otherwise black collar as he bares his long, pale neck to you, all the while still wearing that god-awful golden crucifix of sin has you clenching around nothing but thin air, and you wrap your lips around his cock in a vice-grip. 

Matt groans. “Forgive me,” you hear, his voice breathy as it breaks through the thick air.

You don’t tell him to stop. He fucks into your mouth with the force of a proper madman, but it only makes you moan louder around him.

You’re the one atoning for your sins, but he is the one praying not to the one God he believes in but to you. He asks for your forgiveness for doing something he deems so absolutely and selfishly wrong; fucking your mouth without giving you an ounce of appreciation back. Using you. 

His teeth grit with every harsh thrust as you gag and gush around him, but God, he can’t stop. So, he prays. He prays because that’s the only thing he knows how to do.

He doesn’t need to beg for forgiveness when you’re the sinner on your knees, but you can’t help that it makes your pussy flutter, still. You, his goddess, and the altar he prays at. You, the woman who let him dress up as a priest and use her to live out his most perverted religious fantasies whenever he pleases. Because in the end, Father Murdock is your favorite role of his, and you’d gladly confess to treason if it means he will take you apart like this over and over again until the day your body can’t take it anymore.

Matt Murdock’s utmost devotion is yours and yours alone, always has been and always will be.

Spit trickles down your chin. The only sounds coming from you are grunts and gurgles, but he’s loud enough for the both of you. You’re afraid if you hear any more of his sweet moans he might have to scrape you off the floor, liquified. 

Suddenly though, the salty weight of his cock disappears, leaving your mouth wet and empty. 

“Wh–” you stutter.

“You’re gonna be sore,” he chokes out.

You look sternly up at him. “But this is my penance, F–” You stop yourself before you can utter the honorific again. “I can take it. I have to.”

He utters your name, and for a moment, his mask slips.

“Forgive me, Father,” you repeat, “but I have been a bad, bad girl. By God’s rules, I have to atone for my sins.”

Matthew lets out a guttural growl and his expression changes. “God, yes,” he says, no longer hesitating to thrust back in. Seconds stretch into hours, it seems. “I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father,” thrust, “the Son,” thrust, “and the holy spirit.”

Your throat has well grown numb by now, his prayer resonating in your ringing ears, and with the eagerness of a new woman, you swallow every last drop of his cum as he finally bursts on your tongue with a strangled, “Amen,” to the ceiling above—to God.

For once you are glad that he can’t see you or he would surely shudder at the mess he made of you. “Thank you, Father,” you croak. 

The curtain falls. The play comes to a sudden yet inevitable end. You raise your head in his lap. He looks so blissed out, so…guilty? Maybe only a little.

“I’m okay,” he answers before you can ask.

A silly smile grows on your cum-stained lips. “I am, too.”

In one swift motion, he has untied your wrists, and he pulls you with him onto the edge of the bed, his arms offering a safe haven from the cold hardwood floors, and you once again come to appreciate the force of a man you had the honor of marrying. 

For even when he is reduced to a mindless, overstimulated puddle, he takes the last ounce of his strength to carry you, always.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[blueraspberrydreams]

rye ✩ he/them/it pronouns!! ✩ big age: 23 ✩ little age: ??? ✩ sfw only!!

!!! my main non-agere blog is @lord-janus-of-feral-plains but please do keep in mind that it might not be entirely sfw over there!! be careful!!!

current blog status: semi-active ✩ last updated: january 7th 2025

➤ this is my safe and cozy place where i can be me!! little me!! in other terms: this is my own personal agere side-blog!! ≽^•⩊•^≼ i'll be using this place to kinda reconnect with my younger self and just enjoy my interests in a more calming, positive format...if that makes any sense!!!

also!! feel free to go follow and interact with @dearestlittlefawn, who is my darling irl partner and fellow agere buddy!! love you, sweetie!!! 💙

i don't really know if i'll be making content or any stuff like that, but it is something i can think about! i've never done something like this before, so this community is somewhat very new to me. i'm excited to join however and hope to make new friends and have a good time!!

in all honesty, i don't really mind who interacts with me here, if you're another agere adult or an actual minor - as long as you are a good person and sfw, then you can chill here!! i am a bit shy tho, so do not be too surprised if i'm not the most talkative kiddo at first... (˶º⤙º˶)

⚠ i sometimes enjoy content that may be scary and/or unsettling to other people, like certain animals or games that i tend to find comfort in. please do block/mute the correct tags if you wish to engage with my blog safely!! i want you to feel safe and have a good time here!! ⚠

also!!! this blog is a secondary/side-blog alongside my main, so if you see me following you through my main, that is why!! if i could follow you all through here, i would!! but do not worry!! i want to be mutuals with all you lovely friends!!! let's all have an awesome time together!!!

🔹💙ALL OF MY PERSONAL TAGS 🔵 PLEASE READ!!! 💙🔹

🐋certified rye post🐋 ➜ original posts made by me!! (rye!!)

🐳totally ryecore🐳 ➜ posts that are much like me (#relateable)

🌊rye reblogs🌊 ➜ for all of the things that i reblog onto this blog!!

🎨rye the artiste🎨 ➜ my drawing tag!! i do draw sometimes! i do!!

📃writing with rye📃 ➜ i also like writing too!! this is for my writing!!

🦊scary rye moment🦊 ➜ for any scary/horror content (mostly fnaf)

❔ask little rye❔ ➜ a tag for any posts regarding ask box things!!

🎮ryes ask gaming🎮 ➜ another tag for specifically any ask games!

⚠ important!! ⚠ ➜ self-explanatory (for anything that's really serious)

🐟🐬✷ about me ✩ boundaries ✩ my interests ✷🐬🐟

🌌 credits for banners & dividers: sealife banner // blue star divider // double squiggle divider // blue ocean divider // blue seacore divider 🌌

[leosulfurous]

If Captain Underpants came out today then George and Harold would be Gen Alpha and I hate that

[add1ctedt0you]

Novel quotes: wei wuxian having feelings/thoughts about jiang cheng

Under the cut because it's long

However, Jiang Cheng was gone. Holding steamed buns, flatbreads, and fruits in his hands, Wei WuXian felt his heart skip a beat. He forced himself to calm down. Even after he searched through the neighboring streets, he still didn’t see Jiang Cheng. He finally began to panic. Grabbing a cobbler on the side, he asked, “Mister, there was a young master about the same age as me sitting here. Did you see where he went?” The cobbler licked the thick end of a thread, “The one that was with you?” Wei WuXian, “Yeah!”

The cobbler, “I was in the middle of doing something so I didn’t really see. But he kept on spacing out, staring at the people on the street. And then when I looked up at where he was again, he suddenly disappeared. Maybe he left.”

Wei WuXian murmured, “... He left... He left...”

He probably left for Lotus Pier to steal the bodies!

As though he had gone mad, Wei WuXian sprinted immediately toward the direction that they had come from.

[...]

He gave himself a harsh scolding in silence—he was stupid, useless, ridiculous, it was bizarre, unimaginable. Yet, he was alone, without a sword or any tools, and on the other side of the wall there were thousands of Wen Sect’s cultivators, perhaps Wen ZhuLie as well.

He wasn’t scared of death. He was only scared that after he died, he wouldn’t be able to save Jiang Cheng and betray the trust that Jiang FengMian and Madam Yu left him. In such circumstances, the only one he could place his hope on was a person of the Wen Sect whom he had met only three times in total!

[...]

Wei WuXian’s gaze turned from Wen Ning toward Jiang Cheng, whose body was covered in blood and eyes were tightly shut. His fingers couldn’t help but clenched into fists.

Chapter 59 Poisons—Part Four

Jiang Cheng’s expression was rather strange. It was calm, almost too calm. He stared at the ceiling, as though he wasn’t at all interested in the situation that he was in, as though he didn’t care about where he was either. Wei WuXian didn’t expect him to react in such a way. Sadness, happiness, anger, shock—he had none of these. His heart skipped a beat, “Jiang Cheng, can you see me? Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?” Jiang Cheng glanced at him. He didn’t say anything. Wei WuXian asked him a few more questions. Arm supporting himself, he finally sat upright. He looked down at the mark of the discipline whip on his chest before laughing bitterly. If the discipline whip struck, it’d be impossible to wipe away the mark of shame. Wei WuXian comforted him despite this, “Stop looking at it. There has to be a way to get it off.” Jiang Cheng slapped him. His strike was so weak, so powerless that Wei WuXian didn’t even flinch, “Hit me. As long as you’ll feel better.”

[...]

If Wei WuXian were the one injured or if somebody else had saved them, he’d immediately say farewell and leave at once, full of determination. However, right now, Jiang Cheng was the one who had been injured. Not only was he injured, he had lost his core as well. He wasn’t in his right mind. No matter what, Wei WuXian couldn’t find any determination.

Chapter 60 Poisons—Part five

Out of the blue, Jiang Cheng spoke up, “Not to do what?” Wei WuXian paused in surprise, turning to him along with Lan WangJi. Jiang Cheng covered his wound with one hand, his voice chilly, “Wei WuXian, you’re such a great, selfless person. You did the best things possible, and you swallowed all the suffering and didn’t let anyone know. What a touching story. I should kneel down and cry in gratitude, shouldn’t I?” Hearing the mocking tone that lacked any courtesy, Lan WangJi’s face grew cold. Jin Ling saw the displeased expression and immediately stood in front of Jiang Cheng, scared that Lan WangJi would kill him with one strike, “Uncle!” Wei WuXian’s expression worsened as well. He never expected Jiang Cheng to make up with him after he found out the truth, but he didn’t think his tone would be as unkind as ever, either. With a moment of silence, he replied, voice muffled, “I never asked you to thank me.”

[...]

In the beginning, it was precisely because he didn’t want to see such a Jiang Cheng that he decided not to tell him.

He remembered every single thing he promised Jiang FengMian and Madam Yu—to help and take care of Jiang Cheng. If someone as unhealthily competitive as him found out about this, he’d be dispirited his whole life, too tortured to face himself. There’d always be something he could never overcome, reminding him that he could only reach where he was because of another’s sacrifice. It wasn’t at all his cultivation and his achievement. No matter if he won or lost, he’d long since lost the right to compete.

Afterwards, it was because Jin ZiXuan and Jiang YanLi died for him that he had no face to let others know. To tell Jiang Cheng after what happened then would be like shirking responsibility, hurrying to demonstrate that he’d contributed as well. It’d be like telling Jiang Cheng, don’t hate me, look I’ve contributed to the YunmengJiang Sect too.

Chapter 102- Hatred - Part Five

At this point, somebody on the side suddenly called, “Wei WuXian!”

Wei WuXian answered immediately, “What?”

Only after he answered did he realize that the one who called him was Jiang Cheng. Wei WuXian felt somewhat surprised. Jiang Cheng didn’t respond directly. Instead, he took something out from his sleeve and tossed. Wei WuXian caught it by instinct and looked, only to find a black, gleaming flute along with a crimson tassel.

It was the ghoul flute, Chen Qing!

As he felt the flute that he was more than familiar with, Wei WuXian didn’t even have the spare time to feel surprised.

Chapter 108: Concealment - Part Two

After a pause, he asked again, “How have Sect Leader Jiang and Jin Ling been?”

Lan JingYi pouted, “They seem pretty fine. Sect Leader Jiang is the same as before, always lashing out at people with his whip. Young Mistress’s temper has been getting better. In the past he could talk back thrice to his uncle after he scolds him once. Now he can do ten times.”

[...]

Hearing Lan JingYi say so, Wei WuXian relaxed slightly. In truth, he knew that these weren’t what he really wanted to ask. But as it sounded like Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling had been doing quite well, there was nothing left to say.

Chapter 116: Extra—Banquet - Part Three

[fantasy-girl974]

Spoilers for Ace Attorney Investigations 2: Prosecutor's Gambit

So, I just completed part 1 of AAI2-5 (and good lord, it took me 3 hours, I didn't think it would take this long!). And during the Mind Chess with Eustace / Sebastian (protecc this poor boy omg 😭), I came across this conversation between Miles and him, and the little difference with how he calls Phoenix is interesting between french and english.

Little side notes : English name = French name Miles Edgeworth = Benjamin Hunter Eustace Winner / Sebastian Debeste = Eustache Victor

[French translation]

Hunter : Vous savez… parler de tout cela avec vous, cela m'aide aussi. Pendant un temps, je ne voulais pas faire face non plus à certaines vérités. Mais quelqu'un qui m'est cher m'a montré que je faisais erreur.

You know... Talking about all this with you, it helps me too. For a while, I didn't want to face certain truths either. But someone dear to me showed me I was mistaken.

Eustache : C'est… une belle histoire… *sniff* mais… je n'ai… personne pour m'aider… *sanglot*

It's... a beautiful story... *sniff* but... I have... no one to help me... *sob*

***** [Official English translation]

Edgeworth : Listen -- talking with you like this. It's helpful for me, too. There was a time where there were thruths I didn't want to face up to, either. But a good friend taught me the error of my ways.

Eustace : That's… nice… But I don't have… anybody like that… *sob*

*****

If (as I think) it's about Phoenix here, well this is not the first time in the french version where he talks about him so highly compare to the english version sometimes. There was another moment (during AAI2-2 iirc) where he calls him "a renowned / illustrious defense attorney" in french. HMMMM (≖_≖ )

[pardonmydelays]

i think my biggest problem is that i've always been this kind of friend who's like "i may not understand your favourite thing in the world but i'm here to listen, support it with all my heart and be excited about it with you", so i kinda expect my friends to do the same thing for me. if it matters to you, it's important.

[fantasticalleigh]

we talk a fair game about hating AI on here but there's that one extremely obvious AI made reylo fanart that keeps floating around from time to time and a lot of people have fallen for it and reblogged it and the person behind the account makes a ton of other AI art using disney characters and i try not to get annoyed about it because at first glance it's kind of convincing if you don't know what to look for but i think as a whole we need to get better about recognizing AI art if we're saying we're not going to support it. idk. t

[akai-anna]

you know. the fact that shinichi would have fckin died along with ran if it came to that. he would have stayed with her till the very end. bc without ran in his life, shinichi wouldn't have been able to live.

and that fucks me up.

[sporco-filth]

Good shit as always with slob city. Reverse manners always gets me going, the idea that belching and farting and other slobbish habits are polite and not doing them is rude is soooo good. Kinda wonder if they put up PSA posters around the city reminding folks about "good" behavior.

The lazy app is great as well, something tells me that Lee is going to be hitting alot of goals the longer he stays in slob city.

they wouldn't have posters or stuff purely because it's such an ingrained behaviour and it just comes naturally to let it out anyway, so if no one corrects you you're not gonna hold it in (sorry if that's disappointing but you can go ahead and imagine they do since nothing I write will contradict that).

I didn't explain this in the story becauseI forgot/thought it was self-evident, but the reason why not burping after a meal is especially rude is because they consider burping a sign you've enjoyed your meal. So if you purposefully choose to not burp, you are very explicitly saying you thought the food was bad. And it's like, a really really serious insult.

I'm not quite sure if not farting would be seen as equally rude, but farting in and of itself is often a sort of way to show affection and how comfortable and close you are, so by not doing it you're being kind of cold and distant to people. burping is viewed similarly, btw

and yes, the app. It might just be the thing that finally pushes him to give in completely. literally everything around him is encouraging him and now even his phone is telling him to be lazier

I have a feeling I might be getting to the end of the 'main story' of Slob City, if only because I expect it'll be a pretty swift descent to slobdom from here on. but as always, the end of a story doesn't mean I can't reuse the setting and characters. And if you're after more stories of people becoming slobs, then I've got plenty new stories on the cards

[gwydionae]

Anyone have that post about "you ask for better female characters but you couldn't even handle Katara" because after two episodes of the live action, I feel like I need to send it to the writers.

[falderaletcetera]

come to think of it another reason I'm biased towards nine might be because we never reach such beautiful casual queer vibes as the doctor + rose + jack situation again, at least not as far as I've watched. like I'm honestly not that much of a shipper but that kiss scene DOES things to me. and part of that is how loosely defined the relationship seems to be, at least maybe from jack's perspective. I can't rightly say it was wholly romantic in canon, but it sure was something - yes, rose flirted with jack way more than the doctor did when they first met, but the doctor even just being chill about jack kissing him feels significant - and I do love a quasi-romantic loosely-defined Something.

[todayisafridaynight]

I mean, I like Daigo and Y3 but it's undeniable that a lot of the reason of MineDai being small is cuz Mine, Daigo and Y3 are generally unliked? Not like hated but like just not liked down upon the bigger side of the fandom. Add to that that the yaoi girlies, like us, are just like a fraction of the fandom... well, not exactly big shit to have.

Personally... I'm kinda glad Mine is overlooked cuz... dear fucking god the radioactive waste he could create if he was popular. Mind you, I'm not exactly a Mine fan but I know he would be... not the best for larger audiences.

minedai really is just for us yaoi girlies you're so right .....