#that’s the only reason I’m looking anyway

[fio-of-the-fae-realm]

You don’t owe anyone suffering, and I’m sorry that life doesn’t feel worth living. If you don’t want to live, that is your decision and your decision alone. Neither me nor anyone else gets to decide that. But I don’t think that the people who want you to stay alive have much say over how good or bad your life is. The reason I say that we should try to live through this is because this is an incredibly turbulent, messy, uncertain time. Now more than ever, impulsive decisions are what we want to avoid. When the hopelessness and grief of our own is combined with all the emotions of others, it can alter your perspective and judgement. Kind of like the “2 week rule” of breakups— wait at least 2 weeks after a breakup before you make any decisions like ��Maybe I WOULD look good with bangs” or “I’ve always wanted a tattoo of Colin Jost’s face on my shoulder”. Right now, I’d say we’re going to need significantly more than 2 weeks before we do something permanent. I know that it feels hopeless right now, and I can’t promise that it’ll be better soon. I know we’re going to face a lot of challenges and heartbreaks and evils in the next four years. But I truly, sincerely believe that there is a reason to keep going. You’re completely right- you are owed a better life. And I think that, in this time, the only way we’re going to get that better life is by surviving. Connecting. Trying. So, yes, you don’t owe me anything. But I hope that you keep fighting alongside me anyway.

[heyheydidjaknow]

After a very long week of diving headfirst into this fandom I think it’s only right that the champagne bottle we smash into this here ship is a four thousand word Chuuya x reader. Here’s to what I’m sure will be another few years of this, everyone; hope everyone is down.

Candies

He was glaring at you.

You had no idea when he got on the train. You did not care enough to wonder. What you knew was that he— the man in the hat on the opposite side of the train car— had been looking at you for the past three stops, and while you were fairly certain that you had no idea who he was, you were almost as certain that whoever he thought you were had another thing coming from how intensely he was watching you. Sure, he had the decency to look embarrassed by his staring, but that in no way stopped him from looking at you like you had something to apologize for. It was disconcerting. It was borderline creepy. But neither of you moved, because it was a train, and the two of you would not see each other again anyway.

The train slowed to a stop. Most people filed off. You did not. Neither did the man. You checked your watch, head falling back as you considered the pros and cons of waiting for the next train. You would have to eat dinner late, but you would not have to wonder why exactly he seemed to hate you this much for nothing.

You heard the rustling of clothing next to you. “Excuse me.”

You opened your eyes to the man. You took him in, identified any features that might be helpful for a police report: cold eyes, reddish hair, too many layers. Pretty, but not reassuring. You pulled your headphones off, fearing the worst. “May I help you?”

A pause.

You smiled tentatively. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ll give you five hundred thousand yen if you’ll go out with me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Reality seemed to catch up with him. “Shit. Uh.” He pulled his hat off, fiddling with the brim as he lowered his eyes. “Is that too little? I can go higher.”

“Do you think I’m a hooker?”

“Huh?”

You leaned away from him a bit. “What kind of thing is that to ask someone? ‘What’s your price?’ Seriously?”

The realization seemed to strike him like a baseball bat to the head. He immediately backpedaled. “That’s not— shit, I mean, that’s not what I meant to—“ he stammered. “I— no, I didn’t mean anything like that!”

“Yeah?” You raised your eyebrows. “That work for most people, asking them what they charge for a night? For fuck’s sake, man.”

“Hey!” He sat up, defensive. “I never said I wanted to take you home!”

You crossed your arms. “Then what exactly are you trying to do?”

“Ask you on a date!”

“You sure have a funny way of doing it.”

He huffed, face red. “Look,” he grumbled, “I don’t ask many people on dates; I’m trying my best here.”

“You could just ask me,” you pointed out. “You could ask me in a way that doesn’t involve offering me money.”

He rolled his eyes, seemingly— and audaciously— annoyed. “I can’t just walk up to a stranger and ask them on a date. Why would you go? You don’t know me; what if I’m a creep? How do you know if I’m worth the time?”

An incredulous smile crept onto your lips. “And you thought that offering me money would make you seem less creepy?”

“At least then you have a reason to show up! At least then I have a financial interest in showing you a good time!” He buried his face in his hands. “It took me a while to get this far and my stop is next and I do not have the time nor ability to actually woo you.”

The absurdity of this whole situation— the sight of an extravagantly dressed pretty boy bemoaning his romantic failings— was starting to get to you. “This all seems like a lot for someone you just met.”

He sat up quickly, steam practically pouring from his ears. “Well,” he explained seemingly in an attempt to regain some composure, “I may not know you yet, but I know that I’ve never seen anyone who looks as good as you do, and we’re on a train; I may never get the chance to see you again if I don’t do something right this second.”

You grinned. “Really?”

“Really. I am fucking this up.”

“A bit,” you agreed. “But you’re bringing it back around, calling me hot.”

He brightened. “I am?”

You shrugged. “More or less, yeah.”

His hands were shaking. You wondered how long they had been doing that. “Well,” he mumbled, “does that mean your answer isn’t a hard no?”

You leaned back in your seat. “I can be convinced,” you said. “Try again.”

He cleared his throat. “Hello.” He made eye contact with you again, the sharpness you had assumed was being weaponized against you seemingly inherent in his gaze. You tried, for a moment, to make out what color his eyes were, but the answer seemed to elude you. “My name is Nakahara Chuuya.”

“Hello, Nakahara Chuuya.” You crossed your legs. “See, this is better. Keep going.”

He gave you a confused look. You liked him, you decided. “Well,” he continued, disgruntled, “I couldn’t help but notice you. You’re easy to see.”

“Interesting word choice, but alright.”

He shot you a look. “You’re nice to look at. Is that better?”

Your smile softened. “Much. Keep going.”

He looked down at his hat. “I was wondering,” he continued, “if you were already spoken for.”

You snorted. “Spoken for?”

“Single,” he amended, irritated. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You stretched out your legs in front of you, thoroughly enjoying this. “I am both single and without boyfriend,” you assured him.

He nodded sternly. “Then, can I take you out? On a date?”

You considered it for a moment. “Yeah, sure.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Really.” You leaned back in your seat. “You’re cute, and I don’t think you’ll murder me, and those are my two big requirements, so.”

He chuckled. “High bars. No wonder you’re single.”

“What can I say? I’m hard to please.” You dug around in your coat for a pen, holding your palm up towards you. “What’s your number?”

The redhead paused. “I don’t have a number right now,” he said. “I’m having trouble with my provider. I can give you a time and place, though.” He held out a gloved hand. “May I?”

You gave him the pen and your bare hand. Quickly, he scribbled down an address (someplace in Yokohama), a date (the next Saturday) and a time (six o’clock). As he finished, the train came to a halt at the platform, doors opening with a quiet hiss.

Nakahara Chuuya stood up, fixing his pork pie hat securely atop his head before straightening out his clothes and giving you a stiff nod. “I will see you then,” he promised. “If you’re late by more than fifteen minutes, I’ll assume you stood me up.”

You gave the strange man a smile. “I’ll come early, then.”

He averted his eyes. “Thank you.” And with that, he left you on the train with a date, a time, and a great deal of confusion.

Foolishly, you showed up. You lived neither in nor near Yokohama. Getting to the address the man had given you— which he wrote with poor penmanship— took you some time too. You went through the trouble of dressing as well as he had been the day you met him— which was more formal than you would typically be for a first date with a stranger you met on a train— and went so far as to plan to be there fifteen minutes early. You had no idea why you were so interested in the man. You had no inclination as to what possessed you to show up to meet a stranger in the first place; after all, his assumption that you might think of him as some sort of predator would have been a reasonable one to make. But you had an inarticulable feeling that told you that this meeting would be worth your time.

Or you just thought he was pretty. You weren’t sure which it was.

The address he had given you brought you to a small restaurant close to the Tsurumi river which, if its sign was to be believed, primarily dealt in soba. Despite your planning, you arrived a mere five minutes early instead of fifteen which, in your defense, was still early, but apparently not so early that your date did not beat you there. As you approached him, a look of bewilderment briefly crossed his face.

“Damn,” you joked. “I thought I’d get here first.”

He looked over your shoulder. “You came,” he said, sounding surprised.

“I did,” you confirmed.

“Alone.”

“I was unaware I was meant to bring a plus one on a date.”

“No, I just mean—“ He stopped himself. “Whatever. I’m glad you came.”

You held your hands behind your back. “So am I, though I’m feeling a bit self conscious now.” You looked down at your clothes, then back to his. He had dressed much more casually than you in a loose, short sleeve button up, loose pants and a large dark jacket. He had kept the hat and the choker— which you had not until that moment realized you remembered— but you looked too formal next to him. “I thought you would dress the way you did on the train.”

He gave you a once over. “You look fine,” he said. “You look great, actually. Don’t worry about it.”

A smile spread across your face. “You've gotten more confident since then, too. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t look totally plain next to you is all; you look so stylish.”

He paused, eyes cast down towards his feet. “Thank you. I drank before I came.” He opened the door to the restaurant for you.

You walked past him. “Thank you. Did you drive?”

“Nah.” He shut the door behind the two of you. “This place is out of the way enough to make it not worth the trouble to park. I walked.” He nodded to the hostess, who sat the two of you in a corner away from the door.

The restaurant was a hole-in-the-wall: exposed crossbeams, warmly lit, nearly empty despite it being a Saturday. You took your seat across from him as the woman set a cup of water in front of each of you, leaving you to your conversation. She made no eye contact with either of you before she left. You picked up your cup, taking a sip as he draped his coat over the back of the seat and set his hat beneath his chair. The gloves, however, stayed on. “How long was the walk?” you asked.

“Not far. A couple minutes.” His elbows came to rest on the table. “I can walk you back to your car if you drove, or to the train station if you need. Just let me know.”

“Thank you.” You took a menu from the center of the table, scanning it absently. “To be honest, I’m glad you asked me to do something earlier in the evening; I’m not super interested in being on my own in the dark.”

He hummed in agreement. “Nobody does. I have work to take care of later, but I can’t imagine wanting to stay out past twelve alone otherwise.”

You groaned sympathetically. “Terrible. What do you do?”

He paused. “I… it’s complicated.” He laced his fingers together. “I operate a shipping company under a parent organization operating out of Yokohama. I technically and practically own the shipping company, but I can’t legally operate it unless it’s under the parent organization, so I have all the stress of a business owner with none of the freedom.”

Your lips twitched nervously. “Are you on a list or something? Why can’t you operate a business?”

“What do you– oh.” The brief look of confusion left his face. “I’m a skill user.”

“A what?”

“You know,” he repeated, “a skill user?”

You stared at him blankly.

“I have a gift?”

“Isn’t that a dog whistle?”

“What? No!” He crossed his arms. “I have supernatural abilities.”

You considered it. “You know,” you mused, “I’ve never been on a date with a guy who came out as being possessed to me.”

He opened his mouth to protest, blinked. “Well,” he conceded, “I guess that’s what I’m saying, but that would be a bad assumption most of the time; most gifted users aren’t possessed.”

“Wait, seriously?” Skepticism and deep curiosity battled for supremacy in your mind. “By what?”

He shrugged. “A god, I guess?”

“You guess?”

“It’s complicated.” To your– and his– surprise, he laughed. “It’s funny; I can’t think of the last time I had to actually explain what my deal was.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Do most people just know?”

“More or less.” He shrugged again, looking towards the door. “It’s practical. I use it a lot.”

“I see.” You sat up, taking your cup and turning it over in your hands. “What does it do?”

He did not say anything for a second, brow furrowing. He looked back in your direction, holding out his hand. “Give me your cup.”

You did.

He set the cup down on the table. Slowly, as though it had been set in a pool of water, the cup began to float upwards. “My ability,” he explained simply, clearly taking pride in the way your eyes lit up in excitement and awe, “allows me to manipulate gravity for any object I touch.”

You reached out towards the cup, moving your hand above and below it. If there was a trick to what he was doing, you had no idea what it was. “That is so freakin’ cool,” you gushed softly. “How can you keep it from flying away?”

He was practically glowing. “Basically, I’m counteracting the force of Earth’s gravity for just this object by creating a second center of gravity that only affects the cup.” He pointed to a spot near the center of cup. “It’s around here. So long as the force of the gravitational field I'm creating is greater than Earth’s, the cup will naturally try and be as close to the center as possible. If the gravitational pull were too strong, the cup would go through that point–” he pointed towards the ceiling, “-- and through the roof before coming back down. But if the force is weak, it’ll stay right around the center.”

You took the cup, moving it towards you before letting go. As if attached to a string, the cup moved back to its place, the water inside is sloshing.

The pure, childlike joy on your face was enough for the man across from you to forget, for a moment, the price of his gift.

The date continued on. The two of you went back and forth on a variety of simple, surface level topics. You learned that Chuuya was a dog person and that he enjoyed fashion. He said he had been in Yokohama practically all his life. He told you about his coworkers– no details, but enough to get a sense for the type of Motley Crew they were– and how that day was an anniversary for something, though he never got around to telling you what it was an anniversary of. At one point, before your food had gotten to the table, you asked about his gloves, which he had apparently not realized he was still wearing. He explained that he wore them all the time– he said it made work easier– but that he did have the good sense to take them off.

“I’m not a monster,” he had insisted. “I don’t want to get food on them.”

The conversation was surprisingly easy. He was nervous at first and clearly inexperienced– an observation that you chose to keep to yourself– but funny and over dramatic in a way that made the discussions flow jovially between the two of you. He was a sailor-mouthed, irreverent, sensitive man, you found, and he seemed to take great pleasure in your company and a surprising interest in the more tedious parts of your life: your occupation, your friends, your earlier life, all of which he found strangely fascinating. Though you knew little of substance about him by the end of the meal you shared, you could not shake the feeling that the sort of things you learned– the simple, stupid things most people gave out as icebreakers– held more weight than you could understand.

But you were grateful, nonetheless. You enjoyed talking to him.

Despite your protests, he paid for the both of you, and the two of you left the restaurant cracking up over some embarrassing story about school.

“Three days straight?”

You waved him off, laughter still bubbling from your throat. “I know; it was stupid!” you cried. “I swear I was possessed; by the end of it I thought there was a chance– assuming I didn’t have heart attack first– that I was immortal.” You sighed, trying to regain composure; you were gigglier than normal. “But I passed the class, so fuck that guy.”

He set his hat back on his head, pushing it down to rest snugly. “Fuck that guy,” he agreed, having about as much success as you did in wiping the stupid smile off his face. “God– being a teenager fucking sucked.”

“Dude, amen to that.” You looked in his direction, tears from the cold and from excessive laughter in your eyes. “Chuuya,” you sighed happily, “I am having an excellent time.”

“What a coincidence,” he grinned. “So am I.”

You looked up at the sky, which was significantly darker than you thought it would be; you supposed that you had spent more time in the restaurant than you thought. “I shouldn’t walk back to the station any later on my own, though.” You slipped your hands into your own pockets. “So–”

“Can you stand to be out later if I can get you back to the train?” He cleared his throat, apparently hearing the eagerness in his voice as clearly as you did. It was the same eagerness he had when he first asked you here. “What time is it?”

You took your phone from your coat, flipping it open. “Nine-ish.”

“Nine?” He pursed his lips. “Shit, I— no, I can make that work.” He leaned his weight onto one side. “I have to get somewhere at eleven, but it’s not a formal thing.” He looked away, swallowing. “If you want to, I mean.”

You held out your hand to him. “Nothing in this moment would make me happier than spending more of my time with you, Chuuya.” You wiggled your fingers in invitation. “Where should we go?”

He was staring at you, at your body bathed in the warm light streaming from the restaurant’s windows, at your face which betrayed nothing but pure intentions, to your hand which you offered him freely. He wondered if you knew how easy it would be to kill you if he touched you. He wondered if that was something someone like you considered at all.

“Chuuya?”

He blinked, clearing his throat. It did not matter. He took your hand. “Sorry.” He was breathless. “Lost in thought.”

You let him pull you closer, nudging him playfully with your side. “You’ll end up swallowing a fly if you keep your mouth open like that,” you teased. “Do you really like looking at me that much?”

He straightened up, heat flushing his cheeks. “So what if I do?”

“Well, I don’t imagine it’d taste very good.”

He snorted. “Shut up.” He nudged you back, looking forward. “We can sit by the river for a while if you’d like; the streets will be sketchy here pretty soon but nobody goes by the part of the river we’re by.”

“Really? How come?”

He shrugged. “It’s impractical. Nobody important goes to the river, anyway.”

“Nobody important?”

“Huh? Oh, right; you’re not from around here.” He looked back in the direction of the river, starting to lead the two of you there. “The Port Mafia doesn’t dump bodies into the rivers; they throw them out by the dock.”

“The mafia?” You started. “What, like La Cosa Nostra?”

“What you do and don’t know is really confusing.” He rolled his eyes. “The Port Mafia is a smuggling ring operating primarily out of the city; it has nothing to do with the Italian mob.”

“Oh.” You squeezed his hand, following close behind. “That’s terrifying.”

“It is?”

“To know that people are just chucking bodies frequently enough that you know about it? And that there’s more than one group doing it?” You tittered nervously. “I mean, I’d heard a little about Yokohama, but I didn’t know it was that bad.”

He squeezed your hand back, looking over his shoulder in your direction. A wry smile crossed his face. “Huh. That’s funny.”

You walked a bit faster to stay beside him. “What’s funny?”

“That you think it’s weird. I guess it never occurred to me that it was strange.” He tugged you to his side. “You don’t need to be scared, though; I’ll protect you.”

“Oh, will you?”

He shot you a look. “What,” he challenged, “you don’t think I can?”

“I never said that,” you protested. “It was just a very old-fashioned thing to say.” You lowered your voice to a growl. “‘Don’t worry, dollface; I’ll protect you.’ It sounds like something you’d hear in a noir.”

He opened his mouth to argue, considered it. “I guess if you found that weird, that would be an odd thing to say, wouldn’t it?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Because what would you need protecting from?”

“Exactly.”

A funny look came onto his face. “That’s funny,” he repeated. “That’s…” He trailed off, slowing to a stop on the road.

You looked back at him. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “Just that…” Startling eyes– they seemed to shine under the streetlamps– met yours. “You said you stayed up for three days straight,” he said. “Do you sleep well now?”

You looked away. “I don’t know if I sleep well, exactly; I don’t sleep as much as I should, at least.”

“But it feels normal, doesn’t it? To not sleep much?”

“I suppose.” You turned to face him properly.

His gaze shifted from you to the sky. “You know, I just remembered something.” He started to walk again, pulling you behind. “When I was little, none of us– none of the people I hung out with– had much pocket money, so we made a game out of stealing from the convenience stores in town. The competition was to see who could pay for as little as possible without getting banned from the store. I was never really good at it because I was an easy to read kid, but I remember always going for those… what do you call them? Bonbons?” He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. “The little wrapped chocolates. I’d always shove one into my pocket because they were always left out and who’s going to give a kid shit for taking a piece of candy?”

You followed beside him quietly, watching him.

He continued. “The other day,” he said, “I went into a convenience store for the ATM, and I must have withdrawn twenty thousand yen or something like that– a good amount. I bought a pack of gum before I left because I didn’t want to be the asshole that just uses an ATM and leaves, and I realized– I think I’d walked a block away when I did– that I had one of those candies in my pocket.” He led you off the path. “I guess I must’ve picked it up while I was paying for the gum. They weren’t even the good chocolates; they were the hundred yen ones, and I knew why I’d grabbed that piece– because nobody’s going to lose their mind over a hundred whatever yen– but I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I’d grabbed it.”

The two of you came to a stop by the riverbed. It was quiet for a Saturday. The water shone under the moonlight, and the man beside you– whose gaze was now transfixed by the reflection– stood next to you, seemingly lost in thought.

You never let go of his hand. “Being a kid kinda sucks,” you said, running your thumb over his clothed knuckles. “You usually don’t have many responsibilities, but you don’t know enough to know what you should and shouldn’t get involved with.”

He looked to you.

“And you get so jealous of the Huck Finn kids– you know the type: no responsibilities, nobody to tell them no– until you get older and realize– too late– that the habits you picked up when you were left to your own devices probably weren’t the healthiest, but by the time you put that together they’re so deeply encoded in your being that they’re a part of who you are and part of how you got this far, so even if they’re unhealthy it’s not like you can give them up now.” You shivered. “It’s frustrating, looking back and thinking about what you could’ve been.”

The two of you stood there, staring at the water. Chuuya wrapped an arm around your shoulders, trying, in vain, to keep you from the cold.

Finally, he spoke. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of conversation with anyone before.”

You closed your eyes, leaning against him. “It’s funny,” you said. “I don’t think I have either.”

His voice was soft. “I want to see you again.”

“So do I.”

“Then we should.”

“We should.”

You did.

[tkomptgoedluv]

icantbelieveiletyougetaway.

joost klein x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, they’re so in love with each other it hurts but can’t admit it, joost just wants to be her everything, angst, hurt, comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 4,156.

warnings: very brief allusion to drugging, heavy and frequent references to SA, violence, vague mentions of non-specific mental illness, rpf.

notes: in my head this takes place in 2021-2022 when joost had that really short, almost buzzcut like hair? like the wachtmuziek era. also, very sorry this is late!! it’s still only been half-proofread and i’m not even sure i like how i wrote the ending but here she is anyway. i love her and i hope you do too 💋.

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

with shaking hands, you fumbled around the bathroom floor to find your phone. your chest was heaving, the cries that you struggled to keep quiet were getting all caught up in your throat as you fought meekly through the nausea. you wiped at your face again, desperate to clear your vision and leaving behind a mixture of tears, snot, and smeared mascara on the back of your hand.

the room itself was dark, barely lit up by a singular dim, yellow light, though despite the shadows you could still see how everything was spinning. you couldn’t remember how many drinks you’d had — it hadn’t felt like a lot, you weren’t a lightweight by any means but you didn’t know how else to explain the state you were in. you couldn’t stand up even if you wanted to, your legs strangely numb to the touch and the pounding in your head made staying on the floor all the more appealing anyway.

face down on the grimey, tiled floor you found your phone laying just underneath the sink. you ignored the low battery warning as you swiped through your contacts, squinting through your tears at the screen as if it would actually help you see any better. you were only looking out for one name; the third out of the four that were listed under the letter ‘J’, and the only name to have an emoji next to it.

over the sound of the heavy, techno bass that seemed to shake the walls and the buzz of a hundred different people all talking amongst each other, you heard the line start to dial. it didn’t make sense to call him out of everyone else that could possibly help you; he was infamously known for never picking up the phone. it was ironic for someone so notoriously attached to their screens, his face typically glued to either his phone or his ipad.

but still, you hadn’t so much as thought twice about it as you clicked on his contact and then the call button. With your head tilted back against the wall and your knees curled up tightly against your chest, you prayed to any god listening that by some miracle, he wouldn’t be busy.

“hallo?”

you let out a whimper at the mere sound of his voice, a small, pathetic noise that quickly turned into a cry that you didn’t bother to stifle. he called out your name for a second time, though now in a tone that was much softer than the one before it.

“i’m sorry, i know it’s late.” you paused to take a breath, your voice having cracked like glass as you spoke. “but i need your help. i don’t…joost, i don’t know what to do.”

“it’s okay, just take a big breath for me.” for just a moment you heard shuffling around on the other end of the line. with each of his footsteps the background noise grew quieter until it disappeared completely, following the sound of a door being shut. “where are you?”

“i’m at…i’m at this house but i uh, i really don’t wanna be here anymore. do you think you could…can you just come get me, please? i’m sorry.”

over the sound of a drum and bass beat that played so obnoxiously loud, you struggled to catch all the whispers from joost’s side of the phone call. there was another voice there, that much you could hear, and you struggled to place it despite how familiar it sounded. you tried to concentrate on the faint muttering, straining your ears to hear it over the song that blared just below you.

but then you jumped when the banging started. a sudden flurry of fists pounding against the wood and making the bathroom door rattle within its hinges. from the deep laughs that followed, chances were it was just a group of guys trying to be funny, probably thinking it was one of their friends getting lucky on the other side. and yet still, you found yourself gasping for breath as you choked back fresh tears, all the blood that ran through your veins turning cold.

“schatje? did you hear me?”

you could only hum back in response.

“i said i need you to send me your location, okay? and then i’ll come get you, i promise.”

it was the moment you figured out how to do so that your phone finally gave up on you. after hitting send, the little map displaying your whereabouts popping up in yours and joost’s text chain, your screen began to freeze. in a moment of panic you managed to choke out that you were locked away in a bathroom before it all went black, leaving you to stare at the taunting dead battery symbol.

you weren’t oblivious to the irony of it all. in a house crammed full of people, perhaps even a few too many than it was built to hold, you felt alone. just a few minutes ago that was all you wanted, to be by yourself, but now it left you with a ringing in your ears. the absence of joost’s voice was enough to throw you inside what felt like a black hole, where time seemed to slow the longer you waited for him.

you found a brief comfort in watching the time pass on the old, analog clock that hung high on the wall opposite you; you figured it was a better thing to focus on besides the sharp ache between your legs. it helped keep you distracted from the way everything just hurt now, whatever it was that was in your system already starting to wear off. without it numbing you to the pain of it all, you could feel the headache brewing behind your eyes and the sting of your split lip.

with each minute that dragged by, the slow, high-pitched tick of the clock echoing inside your ears, your mind began to slip further and further away. every time that you closed your eyes you could see it happening all over again; you could feel his hands back on you, ripping at your clothes and bruising your skin.

all the tears that you had only just managed to blink away came rushing back, continuing to decorate your face with more long, dark streaks of black. surely, this was going to be the thing to finally break you. there would never be any redemption or recovery for you — he’d get to live the rest of his life without burden whilst this was bound to be the death of you.

the more you unravelled, the more erratic your cries grew with hiccups racking your body and a deep burning in your eyes. for once you found yourself grateful for the music’s mind-numbing volume, though somehow it still wasn’t enough to mask the sound of a soft tapping against the bathroom door. like a coward you froze, failing to answer back before you heard your own name being yelled out to you, followed by a harsher knock.

“hey it’s me, it’s joost. can you open the door please?”

as you steadily climbed to your feet, using the edge of the sink to help push you up, your knees began to shake. they threatened to buckle out from under you with every step that you took, each limp towards the door sending a short stabbing pain up to your abdomen. the sensation made you wince, your jaw clenched and a grip on the door handle so strong that it turned your knuckles white.

it was almost sardonic how despite being in a house so loud, everything went quiet as soon as that door swung open. the music never stopped nor did anyone dare to change its volume, but all joost could hear was his own heartbeat thumping in his ears as his eyes met yours. all he could do was swallow, pushing down the bile that was quickly rising up his throat.

even in the low, warm light of the bathroom, he could see the streaked mascara that painted your face and the bloodied lip that was still trickling down your chin. your favourite shirt, the one that he himself had bought you, was torn and just about hanging off your shoulders. it exposed a trail of black and blue spots that started along your shoulder and went all the way down your arms, a couple even dotted down your legs.

joost uttered your name, his voice barely audible over the music downstairs. the corners of your frown twitched, your bottom lip quivering as you shook your head, already answering the question he hadn’t even asked yet. from where you stood he could see you shaking, your knees weak and barely holding you up right. he didn’t hesitate to pull you into him, an arm locking around your waist as his hand found the back of your head, keeping you hidden in his chest.

“jesus christ, what happened to you?”

you couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the right words to even try and explain what it was you had gone through. you could only weep into the fabric of joost’s jacket, so exhausted and overwhelmed that you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself together in front of him. but it was more than enough of an answer for joost who just held you tighter the harder you cried, fighting back tears of his own.

pulling away as gently as he could, joost still kept you in his grasp. his hands cupped either side of your jaw, calloused thumbs wiping away stray-fallen tears as his eyes danced over your face. with a gaze so intense, you could see his eyes growing sadder the longer he looked you over in the dull light of the bathroom.

“i left stunts outside — he’s still in the car. we could…we should go to the hospital.”

“no!” your own dramatic change in tone caught even you off guard. you couldn’t help it, you were panicking now, pulling joost back by his sleeve as he tried to guide you out of the bathroom. the action made you wobble and almost trip over your own feet, flinching at the sudden cramp you felt deep in your stomach. joost’s grip on you hardened, not nearly enough to hurt but enough to keep you from falling back and hitting your head on the sink. “not tonight. please, i just wanna go home. i’ll be fine.”

“you can barely fucking stand, schatje. you need help.”

“then i promise i’ll go in the morning! but right now i just really need you to take me home, okay? i’m begging you.”

perhaps if joost had a little bit more of a backbone and wasn’t so hopelessly head over fucking heels for you, he would’ve had the courage to say no. he would have been able to look you in the eye and still say that he was going to get you to a doctor, whether you wanted to go or not. but no matter how much he wanted to, how much he hated what you were asking of him, he couldn’t. feeling you trembling in his hands and hearing the fear that shook your voice meant there was longer a single thing that joost wouldn’t do for you.

you were his best friend just as much as he was yours, regardless of all the very non-platonic things the two of you had done together over the years. as far as you were concerned it was just something that you’d do sometimes, only ever as friends. there were never any conversations about it the next morning, never any acknowledgment for what it was you had done the night before; it was almost like it never happened until it would undoubtedly happen again. you always liked it like that though — as long as it meant that you never had to think about how you really felt.

joost, on the other hand, was painfully aware of what he felt about your situation, about you. it was never just sex for him, not even once, and he wanted to talk about it. and he tried to, a couple of times, spending the first few mornings after trying to coax you back into bed just so he could hold you skin-to-skin for a little while longer. but you never wanted to stay and you never wanted to talk about it, either, so joost stopped. he let it become another pain he had to live with and spent each day telling himself that he was okay with that.

it was with only a slight hesitation that he nodded before standing back up straight, slipping his big black jacket off his arms and draping the material gently over your shoulders.

you let joost take on most of your weight as you leaned into his side, letting him guide you back through the house as you focused on just trying to make it down the stairs without tripping. to say that the place was packed was an understatement. people were crammed into every room like sardines, dancing and grinding against each other with stiff, swinging jaws. you hadn’t even heard what it was that had been said over the music, its volume still just as loud and disorienting as it had been when you first arrived.

but joost had heard every word, somehow, despite the sound of his own song polluting the room. it made him freeze on the spot, pulling you to a stop right along with him as he slowly turned to face the group of guys that were standing just in front of the front door. you felt your throat start to close at the sight of him amongst them, standing front and centre with a sick grin plastered across his face, his eyes darting between you and joost.

“what did you just say?”

it might have been the gruff, nauseating voice that you recognised, or maybe it was those ring-heavy hands of his that you could still feel pressed into your skin. you didn’t know, and it didn’t matter, because you knew it was him.

“i said good luck with that one, dude. she doesn’t go down easy; kept trying to fight me the whole time.” his stare then fell from joost onto you, his tongue gliding over his bottom lip as he looked you up and down. “but we still had our fun though, didn’t we schat?”

the crack of joost’s knuckles colliding with his jaw was something you heard before you saw it; the thud of him hitting the ground following soon after. a chorus of screams and cheers rang painfully in your ears as you watched a small circle quickly form around you. anyone that could still see straight had either ran from the fight or pushed forward to get a better view of it, their phones held high and already recording.

“bet that made you feel like a man, huh? forcing yourself on a girl half your size. you piece of fucking shit, i should fucking kill you!”

in all the years you’d known him, you had never seen joost like that before; his voice low and angry as his shouts drowned out the music. he hadn’t waited for him to get back up before throwing another punch, the sharp crunch of his noise breaking making you wince and your eyes water.

you went to step forward, your hands already reaching out to grab joost’s arm when one of his friends pounced. a shriek was ripped out from you when a fist struck joost right across the cheek, knocking him into you hard enough to almost send you both tumbling to the floor. any chance for you to try and intervene again vanished when you were pushed back before you could get close enough, joost quickly shoving you behind him as he swung for the other guy.

a strong pair of arms wrapped your middle and pulled you further back as you cried for them all to stop, keeping you locked against their chest no matter how hard you thrashed. distance was put between you and the fight when you were picked up and half-dragged out the door, joost’s blond hair disappearing from sight amongst the growing crowd around him.

the bitter air of the early morning stole your breath, your chest tight and aching as the cold consumed you. small flakes of snow drifted down from the paleing sky, dusting each rooftop and the old, cracked pavements in a thin layer of white. still, there were a handful of people gathered on the house’s front stairs, clad in various leather and latex, that only stood and watched as you were hauled away from the party.

“get the fuck off me! we’ve gotta go back, we can’t just leave him! stuntje, please!”

your feet only met the floor again once you were next to stunt’s car, safely across the street. even from there, you could hear the childish chanting of ‘fight! fight! fight!’ and the occasional glass break from inside.

“martijn -”

“- stay here; i’m gonna go get him.”

you weren’t allowed to argue, so you just did what you were told. for four minutes you sat waiting in the back of the car with the heaters on full blast and still shivering as you nestled yourself deeper into joost’s jacket. after another minute you saw them heading back your way, their pace fast as they slipped past the last few people that loitered on the steps. in the glow of the streetlights you could just about make out the soft shade of purple that was joost’s eye, and the deep scowl that contorted stuntje’s face.

neither of them spoke as they joined you in the car but for joost, you never really gave him the chance to. his seatbelt hadn’t even clicked into place yet before you were turning away from him, desperate to pretend that he wasn’t there burning holes into the side of your head. if joost knew that you could see him staring from the corner of your eye, he didn’t care. if anything, he probably would’ve hoped that it might have made you look back at him, because then that at least would’ve been something.

but seeing joost storm out of that house with a violet eye and raw knuckles, having just risked everything for you without a second thought, it scared you more than you wanted to admit. he was only supposed to come find you, and bring you back home. you never wanted a fight, never wanted joost to wind up with a black eye over you. so no, you couldn’t look at him — couldn’t even talk to him, either.

except your silent treatment didn't last very long, did it? it couldn’t, because joost wasn’t going to let you get away with it this time. for as long as he had known you, you always had this habit of internalising what you felt and shutting down. it never mattered what it was you were going through, you just wouldn’t talk about it.

this time though, he wasn’t going to let you disappear in on yourself again, and he wasn’t going to let you shut him out, either.

as soon as the car came to a stop, joost was up and already outside your car door. with a sweet smile, gentle hands were pulling you up and slowly helping you onto your feet before you had the chance to protest. there was a part of you that wanted to, now too proud to admit that you still needed his help. already, he had done more than enough, even too much, for you.

still, you didn’t dare to fight it — or him, rather. besides a small goodbye to stuntje, no words were spoken as he slipped an arm under your knees and pulled you up to his chest. it was like that, that he carried you up the three flights of stairs of your building, glancing down at you every so often with soft, worried eyes. it was miraculous how he managed to open your front door with you still in his arms, his very own key to your home dangling from the clip on his jeans.

it wasn’t long before the soft leather of your sofa was dipping underneath your weight, its cushion beneath you feeling cold against the bruised flesh of your thigh. joost left you for only a second, just to switch on a couple of the lamps you had dotted around and to dig out your old first aid kit from the bathroom.

you still weren’t really looking at him, not even as he perched on the edge of your coffee table and carefully took your jaw in his hold. the brush of the alcohol wipes along the small cuts that marked your face stung and made you wince, your nose scrunching up at the pain. a string of quiet apologies followed as joost concentrated on cleaning you up, wiping away each and every smear of blood and smudged makeup.

the longer that you sat there whilst joost devoted all of his time and energy to you, the more teary-eyed you felt yourself becoming again. it felt almost…foreign to feel so loved after everything, like you were still somehow worth saving. there was no way that you could possibly deserve it — nothing you could’ve done to deserve having someone adore you so unconditionally without earning it.

and yet here he was, your joost, doing anything and everything to try and help, and you couldn’t even fucking look at him.

the only thing you could do was cry. the way you clutched your mouth did little to muffle the sounds of your distress and it drew back his attention after he turned away only to throw out all of the dirty, used wipes. it was the guilt that was doing this to you, the guilt of knowing that you were the reason why joost now had a black eye. that joost had risked his whole career by starting that fight, and you had been the one to punish him for it.

a warm hand squeezed your knee as another tucked fallen strands of hair behind your ear. it took a few tries of quietly calling out your name to finally get you to meet his eyes, but eventually you got there. nothing could have prepared you for just how sick he looked, the bags under his eyes seeming considerably darker than before and a deep frown tugging at the corners of his lips.

“i’m sorry i did this. i never should’ve gone with him, i know i shouldn’t have because i know that i know better but i still went and i should’ve done something more, i could’ve hit him harder or yelled, and i’m sorry i called you because your eye, that was me, that was my fault and i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i -”

with your face pressed flat against his chest, his sudden embrace almost swallowing you whole, you couldn’t find the rest of your slurred, blubbering words. somehow, at some point, joost manoeuvred you both onto the sofa and with his arms around you, kept you curled up against his side. a few fingers moved up the back of your neck to scratch your scalp as others held onto your hip.

it was the only thing he could think to do to shut you up, to calm you down enough to take big, slow breaths, in and out.

he didn’t have it in him to let you finish that sentence.

delicate reassurances were mumbled into your hair, quiet ‘you’re okay’’s and faint ‘it wasn’t your fault’’s becoming mantras that helped soothe the pain in your chest. you wanted to believe him and knew that you didn’t. you knew that as the deep baritone of his whispers slowly lulled you to sleep, you’d wake up with that pain still very much there.

but joost wasn’t going to stop trying anytime soon, noor was he going anywhere. it was one of the few things you’d actually let him do for you, making himself a home on your sofa whenever you would have one of your episodes. he’d sleep there, eat there, work there. sometimes joost would spend entire weeks of his life in your living room just so that he could know for sure you were still alive and breathing.

he was the only thing offering you the slightest bit of comfort. you could feel his fingers running through your hair as you curled up even further into his side, his voice still low in your ear. it was becoming to struggle just to keep your eyes open, but you knew that he wouldn’t mind.

you could fall asleep just to wake up with that same ache in your heart still there, but joost would still be there too. for now, that was all you needed.

[vigilskeep]

there are so many things in veilguard that have made me go "wait what??? okay i guess i have to totally rethink the character i'm roleplaying now" that it's literally impossible to guess what thing you're referring to as The Thing That Happened. obviously extremely curious to hear what it is once you've detangled it

it’s kind of like that but it’s also less that and more... okay i should probably just say it, i’m being weird and unhelpful and i need to write it out anyway so i can think

MASSIVE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT for a companion quest, do NOT say i didn’t warn you. also please don’t respond to this if you know more than me i am in distress but i still don’t want spoilers

so i just finished lucanis’ “a murder of crows” quest. and lucanis. first talon. for some reason. (this is the writing choice i’m ??? on. also i’m ??? on lucanis’ whole storyline, frankly. the writing was. well. like i said, we’re not unpicking that right now, i don’t want to get into it at this point, not the conversation i’m having.)

lifelong trauma of being in the crows and fighting to get someone in a talon’s position and keep them there -> the thing that gave sol all their diseases and made them, to be frank, fairly suicidal

viago: ultimately can handle it without them, especially with teia’s backing.

lucanis: CANNOT handle it without them. holy fuck. for like twelve hundred different reasons, unthinkable, completely laughable, that he can handle this. who is going to protect him. the only reason this could be better at keeping sol mentally stable than watching viago’s back is that they will never feel purposeless or need to go looking for an adrenaline rush, because forget crows, an ambitious blackbird could eat that man alive. he can’t scheme. he can’t even SCHEME and the very fact that he trusts sol DE RIVA demonstrates this. sol is a crow! from another house! does he have no memory at all of the fact that his own parents died in crow infighting? sol could have been playing him this whole time, it wouldn’t have even been hard, and if they were that kind of person, then right now the first talon’s house would have just fallen directly in their hands like a gift from the maker, and they can’t even say a part of themself they can’t shut off isn’t thinking about it that way! how is sol supposed to keep someone like that alive?

you see what it’s like trying to sleep while sol is having this discussion in my mind.

ahem. anyway. pathways for sol’s life assuming they indeed make it through the game:

becoming lucanis’ guard dog the way they were for viago, which (even if they could mentally handle that, which they can’t. or can they??) means switching house loyalties which would surely destroy them eventually -> bad

somehow trying to persuade lucanis to give this up, as if that wouldn’t be throwing house dellamorte completely to the dogs, which at least sol can’t imagine any crow is capable of, let alone someone so dedicated to clinging to what remains of his family that he couldn’t even kill a traitor -> bad

going ahead and leaving the crows, but sol now has to leave BOTH viago and lucanis behind and also lucanis is going to die in there because they left him to do this alone -> bad

solution: sol is back on their original “if a blighted dragon eats me by the end of this, i don’t have to experience consequences” train

and maybe they’re right and i should not worry about this because i’m painfully aware it’s VERY bold to start deciding what happens after the game at this point, when they might still get trapped in the fade or turned into paste or something. and admittedly they did know and dread the possibilities from the first moment they felt something for lucanis, which was why they so wanted it to be anyone else, because anyone else in that lighthouse could have given them a different world, and he is the one who regardless of his best or worst intentions can only tie them tighter to a burning building. and SURE, i see the solas/mythal breakup parallels of sol still leaving, i’m looking at them, that doesn’t mean i have to LIKE them

he hasn’t even kissed them. they’re doing all of this unkissed. lucanis dellamorte when i get you

again please absolutely do not respond to any of this with even the vaguest of hints if you know more about the rest of the game than me 🙏 it’s probably best if no-one responds to this at all lmao i am just thinking out loud. you can reply with a “that’s rough buddy”. for sol

[frehyun]

In Sickness

hyunjin x gn!reader x changbin

warnings: none!

genre: sick fic, fluff

word count: 956

author's note: i'm sick as hell with the flu so this is pretty self-indulgent. i hope it's coherent because my brain is just as foggy, but i really wanted to write something while i can't work on other things that require a bit more brain power🥹 hope you enjoy, feel free to let me know what you think! 💗

masterlist

divider by @firefly-graphics

Being sick was the worst.

Your nose was clogged up, your throat felt weird, raw and scratchy, your voice came out weird every time you tried to talk and your head was pounding from all the sniffing, your brain a foggy mess, making it difficult to focus on the most mundane tasks.

Seeing as you couldn’t even finish one of the tasks you had set out to do for the day, you grew frustrated and groaned loudly, attracting one of your boyfriends who trudged through the apartment to your room to see what was wrong.

“What’s got you so worked up, baby?” – came Changbin’s voice from your doorframe as he leaned against it, a concerned frown gracing his face.

“I can’t even finish this thing that I wanted to finish writing. This sucks” – you pouted and made grabby hands at him.

Changbin sighed and took a few steps towards you before enveloping you into a tight hug, his big and strong arms feeling like a safe haven around you. Luckily, both of your boyfriends had already given in to physical contact with you, reasoning that if they were going to get sick, it was probably already too late anyways, so might as well not deprive you of cuddles in these trying times.

“How about you stop for today, I’ll make you a tea and tell Hyunjin to bring some snacks on his way home and we’ll just relax tonight and binge a series? Hm?”

You noticeably perked up at the suggestion, making Changbin slightly chuckle above you as he rubbed your back soothingly.

“Can I choose?”

“Hey, I’m in the minority anyways, you and Hyunjin always immediately agree when it comes to choosing what to watch” – he shrugged and scooped you out of your chair and up into his arms, easily carrying you to the living room where he placed you softly into the corner of your couch. He tucked you in before leaving to the kitchen, phone in hand to order Hyunjin around.

As he disappeared into the other room of your apartment, you sighed and sank further into the blankets and cushions surrounding you. You felt truly blessed to have not only one but two very attentive and sweet boyfriends. It quite honestly made you a little emotional, your already exhausted body wanting to tear up at the thought of two people you loved taking such sweet care of you.

You rubbed at your eyes before the tears threatening to spill over were able to escape down your cheeks and instead focused on browsing through the available shows for later.

Changbin came back in with two steaming mugs that he set on the coffee table in front of you, retreating quickly to get a third one that finds its home beside the other two. You giggled at his choice of mugs, each one being a specialised one that was specifically made with one of you in mind.

Changbin’s had a big Dwaekki on it doing deadlifts, surrounded by many, many hearts drawn by you and Hyunjin respectively.

Hyunjin’s had Jiniret drawing a beautiful bouquet of flowers, also surrounded by many hearts from you and Changbin

And yours had a cat on it, similar to Jiniret and Dwaekki, holding up a pen and paper and looking real smug about it. Of course, you also had your fair share of hearts drawn by both of your boyfriends surrounding the kitty.

The sight made you smile, seeing the mugs together like this. This time, however, you couldn’t catch your tears before they fell, alarming Changbin who was immediately at your sight.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

His hands hovered over your bundled up form, not wanting to accidentally cause any further pain. You felt kind of embarassed for bursting out into tears like this randomly, hastily shaking your head.

“No… Just overwhelmingly happy and touched, I guess?”

The visible confusion crossing over Changbin’s face wasn’t lost on you and you chuckled at the sight.

“I’m sick and you’re dropping everything to take care of me… Makes me feel so many things.”

At that, his gaze softened and he allowed himself to sit down next to you, caressing your thigh.

“Of course we would, you’ve done it countless times for us as well, angel.”

A short while later Hyunjin arrived at home with several bags hanging off his body.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got a bunch of stuff!”

“That’s way too much.”

“You know I snack, they won’t go bad under my watch” – he grinned and plopped down on your other side, so he had one entire half of you for himself.

Not too long into the first episode of the drama you chose, Hyunjin clung to you like a koala as you leaned against Changbin’s shoulder, pressing his plush lips into your shoulder every now and then to reaffirm his presence beside you.

For the third time that day, you were close to crying. The warmth that spread throughout your body from being squished between your two boyfriends, one offering his strong and steady shoulder for you to rest your head on while the other acted like your personal weighted and heated blanket, made you want to cry.

Truly, what did you do to deserve the two of them?

Sniffing, you nuzzled further into Changbin’s shoulder and moved your body around, so Hyunjin could lie directly on top of you. You put your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer into your embrace, breathing his calming scent in as you grew tired.

If this is what being sick looked like with Changbin and Hyunjin by your side, you think you could survive the foggy brain for a few more days.

[therealcocoshady]

Kinktober - Day 23 - Cockwarming

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : so, my first attempt at doing Kinktober taught me that one of the pros of using someone else’s prompts is that you don’t have to come up with them by yourself. Sadly, it has also taught me that one the con of using someone else’s prompts is that… well, you end up having to write things you’ve never tried before 🤣. Anyway, this is my attempt at writing something « cockwarming ». Shoutout to people on Reddit who shared their experience on various posts. Really couldn’t have done it without them 😅. Oh, and this is Dom!Marshall x Sub!Reader !

CW : Smut? - Cockwarming - Anxiety

It had been a couple of months since Marshall had agreed to show you more of what being a submissive entailed. He was a great teacher, willing to answer any question, offering detailed explanations, putting the emphasis on consent and safety. Obviously, this brought a shift to your friendship dynamic. You weren’t just buddies anymore. There was something deeper there, something based on trust and intimacy. Both of you had access to parts that each other kept hidden. In the past few weeks, Marshall had gotten to know your body like the back of his hand, as well as your mind. He was able to anticipate your needs, knew exactly when he could push you further or when it was time to hold back. And, in spite of the rigid structure inherent to the weekends you spent at his place, that the untrained eye would identity as some distance between the two of you, he had become some sort of safe place for you. Not only as a close friend but also as your Sir.

You’d had a really rough week at work. Not only was your boss even more of an asshole that usual, but you had been assigned to some big project that had you stressed out. The anxiety was paralyzing and the tension followed you home, too. Even out of the office, that thing remained on your mind. And for the first time, you weren’t sure you’d be able to last a whole weekend with Marshall. You had texted him a few days earlier, letting him know how you were doing (as part of your agreement). You had been pretty straightforward and expected him to cancel, but he seemed pretty adamant on having you come over as usual. And when you showed up, as soon as he opened the door, he took notice of how disheveled you look. Big dark circles, eyes glistening with exhaustion and a drawn out stance. It didn’t take a genius to tell you were a mess. You looked down, bowing your head as he had taught you, waiting for him to invite you in.

Contrary to what was usual, he pulled you into a warm embrace, one that reminded you of the ones you’d shared as friends who showed up for each other during hard times. You leaned into it, closing your eyes, though you had a hard time letting go of all the tension. He seemed to notice it and gave you a reassuring smile before kissing your forehead. « I know you had a rough week, » he said in a tone that with both firm and gentle at the same time. « You don’t have to worry about anything now. You’re here with me and I’m in charge ».

His tone did not leave room for argument or doubt. You nodded, anxiously hoping that he wouldn’t go too hard on you. He had never given you any reason to doubt the fact that he’d make your comfort and wellbeing a priority, but you were the one you didn’t trust. You weren’t even sure what your own limits were. Everything in your mind was blurry, noisy and messy. You took a deep breath and entered the house. And as was now usual, you put down your bags and knelt in the foyer, waiting for him to properly greet you and give you your instructions. He stood before you, his hand gently patting the top of your head. « Good girl. Welcome home. » he praised in that low voice of his. « You may go to your room and get ready. Your checklist is on the bed », he instructed.

You nodded and did as you were told. It was the same start every weekend : you’d kneel, he’d greet you and you’d go to make yourself at home in the guest bedroom next to his. Then, you’d take a shower, put on the clothes he instructed you to wear and read the checklist he had prepared in advance. Most of the time, it was the same thing : you were in charge of making dinner for the both of you, as well as doing some reading on submission. Some other tasks included helping him sort out his cassette collection or library. On occasion, if he had a specific event coming up, he tasked you with outfit recommendations. This time, however, the checklist was pretty brief : «Put on comfy clothes - No chores - Rest - Obey».

When you walked back downstairs, you found him on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He glanced and your direction and gave you a nod, signaling he was happy with your outfit choice. He gestured for you to have a sit and you noticed that a cozy blanket and a cup of herbal tea were waiting for you. « Figured you’d need this. Take a moment and have some tea. I’ll be right there. » he instructed. You settled onto the couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and cradled the mug into your hands, the warmth seeping onto your skin. You took a sip, the comforting taste calming your nerves, and let out a small sigh. Normally, simply being in the house would be enough for your mind to go quiet but not this time. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on your surroundings, the comfy couch, the familiar smell… but you kept on replaying moments of the past week. Your boss yelling at you. Your colleague pressuring you about the deadline. Instinctively, your hands clenched around the mug. You felt Marshall’s hand in your back, rubbing comforting circles. None of you spoke for a while, before Marshall cleared his throat, signaling for you to look at him.

« This weekend, I want you to let go and rest, understood? », he said, his gaze meeting yours with quiet intensity. « You’ve been pushing yourself and now, I’m going to take care of you », he added. Your eyes softened at his words and, though you found yourself nodding, you were met with a surge of anxiety. You didn’t want to be a burden. And you didn’t want him to think you’d given up on your progression as a sub either. « Thank you, Sir. But you don’t need to-», you began. He silently raised an eyebrow, making you shut up instantly.

« Who am I to you right now ? » he calmly asked. « You’re my dom, Sir », you replied softly, looking down. « Which means you are…? » he asked again. « Your sub, Sir », you replied. « That’s right. You’re my sub. Mine. And I take care of what’s mine. » he said firmly, in a tone that didn’t leave room for you to second-think. You nodded and he cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your skin. You finished your tea and he led you to the movie room where he put on a movie, in an attempt to distract you. He was sitting on the couch while you were at his feet, sinking into the soft carpet, your head resting gently against his leg. One of his hands was in your hair and his presence grounded you.

You enjoyed the movie, but it still wasn’t enough to put your mind to rest. Contrary to your habits, you were fidgeting, nervously biting your lip, the skin around your nails. Marshall kept on swatting your hand but you couldn’t stop, much to his exasperation. « Stop doing that », he scolded. « Sorry, Sir. Can’t really help it. », you apologetically replied, to which he rolled his eyes. « It’s stressing me out. And you’re going to hurt yourself.» he continued. « Sorry », you mumbled, without really stopping. He firmly grabbed your wrist and watched you intently. « Y/N » he said sternly. « It’s an oral fix- » you began, though he cut you off with a loud sigh. « Do you need me to help you with that ? »

You looked at him, trying to scan his face to make sure what he was implying. Your eyes traveled to his crotch, then back to his eyes. You were about to make a comment about him just needing to tell you to get on your knees if he wanted you to satisfy him when he clarified it. « Not asking for a blowjob » he said. You looked at him, slightly confused. « So, uh, what is it, Sir? » you asked with a raised eyebrow. « Just you, keeping it in your mouth. Ever heard of cockwarming? ». You nodded. You’d vaguely heard of it but you had never found it too appealing. In your opinion, it kind of lacked the fun of an actual blowjob and you didn’t quite see the point. « Some people like it. They say it’s soothing,» he continued. « We can give it a try if you want. It’ll be less disgusting than… you biting your nails or whatever ». You nodded after a couple seconds of consideration. Worst comes to worst, you’d find it disgusting and wouldn’t try it again. Plus, if there was anyone you trusted with this, it was him. And in the best case, it might actually work. « Words, doll » he ordered. « When it comes to anything like that, I’d rather have you verbally consent », he added. « I consent to trying it, sir », you said with a slight smile, finding it quite endearing, the way he always made it feel safe. He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. « So, uh… I just… put it in my mouth and not move? » you asked. He chuckled and shrugged a bit. «That’s the idea. You can gently suck and lick if you feel like it, too» he nodded. « But is that going to be… enjoyable? » you asked again with a raised eyebrow. « For me? Yeah. It’s agreeable. Pretty intimate, too. Might be enjoyable for you too. Apparently, it does a great job satisfying oral fixations. You’ll tell me. If you don’t like it, we stop. And you know the safe words and moves anyway, don’t you ? » he said with a smile and you nodded.

He moved a bit on the couch, before lowering his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. It was in a semi-soft state in which, not to toot your own horn, you weren’t use to seeing it often. You almost found it unsettling, not seeing it fully erect. He gestured for you to come and you settled between his legs, comfortably curling up and wrapping your mouth around his dick. You looked at him for a few seconds, as if to make sure you were doing it right. He gave you a small nod and a reassuring smile, before running a hand in your hair. « Good girl », he praised softly. « Now, try and relax, ok? ».

Much to your surprise, you didn’t find it as weird as you thought you would. Sure enough, you’d never had a cock that wasn’t fully hard in your mouth, nor were you used to not doing anything to it once it was in. But it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as you expected. And it wasn’t disgusting either. In fact, he was right : it did do a good job at satisfying the oral fixation. As someone who had always been sort of « orally centered », there was something relaxing to holding him in your mouth. Soon enough, you let your mind wander, shifting your focus from work to your dom, who gently stroked your hair and neck. You instinctively suckled, not exactly on purpose, but you could hear Marshall humming lightly. You stayed like that for a while, enjoying the contact and intimacy of it, while the TV show played in the background. «All good, doll? », Marshall asked after a while. You let out a soft hum, your mind kind of elsewhere. He let out a soft chuckle and a « Good girl » escaped his lips. His fingers found the back of your head, stroking in soothing motions. You found yourself in some kind of meditative space, halfway between relaxation and submission. Finally. What you enjoyed the most. The point where the noise in your head went quiet and nothing outside really mattered.

You’d had enough conversations with Marshall to know what sub space was but you had never experienced it. In the back of your mind, you wondered if, perhaps, that was it. You were feeling both vulnerable and connected to your dom, your body feeling as if it were « floaty ». You were not exactly sure where you were, or how long you stayed like this and, frankly, you didn’t care. You felt serene, as if you were exactly where you belonged. Marshall’s fingers traced your scalp, your forehead, your cheek, grounding you, reminding you of his presence and him being in charge.

You could feel him twitch slightly in your mouth, hardening and softening at times. You went with the flow, instinctively shifting your position. At some point, however, it became too challenging for you to hold him in your mouth, to even breathe. It kind of took you out of your zone and you took it out of your mouth as you came to your senses. You looked at Marshall, who was seemingly zoned out. He gazed at you with a smile, his eyes full of silent praises. «All good, sweetheart ? » he asked in a low voice. You nodded, smiling at the sweet pet name. « All good. Thank you, Sir » you replied quietly. He cupped your face and let his thumb stroke your cheek. «There it is. That smile. Missed it. » he teasingly commented, making you blush. « So? I take it that you didn’t hate it? » he asked with a grin. « I didn’t » you agreed. « It was nice ».

« I’m glad » he hummed. « Wanna keep going? ». You lowered your gaze, noticing he was still fully hard. « Don’t think I’ll be able to hold it, Sir. Not like… this » you softly commented. He looked down and let out a chuckle. «Ah. Sorry. Side effect. » he replied with an unapologetic smirk before putting his boxers and pants back in place. « Means you’re a good girl », he added with a wink. You felt a familiar warmth through your body and for a second you wondered if he was aware of the effect his praises had on you. You let out an involuntary giggle before blushing and looking down apologetically. « Didn’t think you’d find me so funny » he said with a raised eyebrow. You shook your head, indicating it wasn’t that. He crossed his arms and stared at you. « Why don’t you share, then ? » he suggested with a smirk. « Before I punish you for laughing in my face », he added in a low voice. You looked at him and blushed slightly before tentatively explaining. « I, uh… I was wondering if it was an acronym, sir », you awkwardly replied, failing to hide a goofy smile. « An acronym? » he repeated, clearly not getting the pun. « Because it stands for me », you mumbled, trying not to let out the goofiest snort. He stared at you intently, sternly for a few seconds, before breaking character and face palming himself, letting out a loud chortle. « Oh Jesus Christ, Y/N » he sighed with a laugh. « Sorry » you giggled before looking down. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You exchanged goofy smiles, both of you enjoying the moments when your friendship bled into the dynamic. «If the bad jokes and lyric references are back, I think it means you’re feeling better » he chuckled. You nodded and gave him a sincere smile. « I do. Thank you Sir. You’re a good dom. And a great friend. » you said with a heartfelt gratitude. He chortled and nodded. « I mean, it’s nothing special. Friendly cockwarming. It’s a thing. » he deadpanned. You couldn’t resist playing into it. «Makes sense. I might remember that next time work brings me down and ask my office buddy for a friendly favor » you playfully replied. The humor in your voice was unmistakable but it didn’t prevent him from squinting and his eyes from going darker. « oh yeah? Anything you want to share, doll ? » he asked sternly.

You gave him a smile and shook your head. You were well aware of the rules : the whole dynamic was basically a friends with benefit arrangement and, if you wanted to date or be involved with someone else, you were free to, but it would mean his domination would become strictly platonic. « There’s no one else, Sir. » you hummed. «I’m all yours », you added in a whisper, though you knew he could clearly hear it. « Good. I like the sound of that. You’re my good girl » he praised in a low voice, his face inching closer to yours. « I like being yours, sir » you added under your breath. You saw a smirk form on his face and, without adding anything, he pulled you to him and his lips crashed into yours, sending jolts of electricity through your whole body. You thoroughly enjoyed him having such a primal reaction. And it was quite rare, too. Most of the time, your dynamic didn’t involved a lot of flirting and teasing. Kissing, too, was quite rare. That being said, you found it quite exhilarating.

His kiss was possessive, not leaving room for doubt. His hands moved to your waist, his hold on you feeling fierce and raw. Though you were used to letting him be in control, this time, you couldn’t resist responding eagerly. Your body melted into his, your lips soft and insistent against his. Marshall’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, a quiet growl escaping his throat as he claimed you fully. It was empowering and intoxicating, noticing the way he reacted to your submission. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy him being territorial. As your mouths parted, in order to allow for some much-needed breathing, you slightly pulled back, realizing that, regardless of how enjoyable it was, you might be overstepping. « Sorry, sir », you whispered before lowering your gaze. He shook his head and cupped your cheek before capturing your lips in another kiss, this one slower and deeper that had you surrendering, melting against him. The kiss deepened, your bodies pressed close as you lost yourselves in each other. You already knew he was rock hard, obviously, and you could feel it through the fabric of his clothes. You were slowly grinding against each other, as you let him take the lead and instinctively followed his movements. « What can I do for you, Sir ? » you asked as you bit your lip. Your desire had you feeling as if you were burning from the inside, and you were dying to have him telling you to get on your knees and get to work. He smiled and placed a tender kiss on your lips before shaking his head. « You’re not doing anything for me, this weekend. I’m taking care of you, remember ? » he reminded you. « What do you have in mind, Sir ? » you asked. « At least a couple of orgasms, and maybe some more friendly cockwarming. There’s more holes for us to try », he replied with a promising smile.

[bleue-flora]

[post]

@wildissylupus I hope it's okay if I respond to you in a post, I was going to comment back but it was getting too long (to no one's surprise) lol. :) <3

I mean yes and no, I’m pretty sure in canon there are far more references to the actual date and time than ccs saying otherwise, whether that’s Techno talking about spending three months in prison, Sam in Daedalus taking note of the days, Dream talking about being in prison for almost a year, or even Tommy and Tubbo talking about how it’d been a wild couple years in the finale. There are also the dates preset for the festivals and wars and such that are referenced in lore. Additionally, I am of the opinion that unless it is agreed upon by the majority of the ccs involved that the timeline is different, then it is not. So, it doesn't matter if cc!Tommy said Exile lasted longer, it's not recognized across the board. This is important because every character is affected from these things. It looks far different if your character doesn't make it to visit Tommy in his 11 day Exile than letting him stay exiled for weeks and not checking in. The same goes for age, as again I'd imagine you'd act different around a 13 year old or 40 year old rather than a 20 year old. Age changes dynamics in the same way that time does. George not visiting Dream in 11 months versus years of Dream being imprisoned is very different.

And you may be saying - well didn't you bring up age recently? - Yes, I did, [here] and the reason for this was two things, the first being limbo time dilation (that I was researching for my fic, Musical Chairs) which is confirmed canon by multiple events, and a poster I noticed recently in the Las Nevadas lore [seen here & here], for Quacktiy's 28th birthday, suggesting he is 7 years older than he is in real life. This is interesting because I believe it is the first time that in lore we have information about age vs ccs just saying things on the side. Begging the question whether we are to think everyone is 7 years older, only some characters are, or whether Quackity is just advertising to be older than he is. None of which are particularly satisfying conclusions to be honest.

Anyways, there really is no great reason to think that time was different, especially as it becomes problematic to other people's lore and events, and I don't remember an in canon reference to it being different, unlike Quackity's bday poster within his actual lore. However even if things like Exile were longer, than I think it's most reasonable to say everything is longer so the ratios and percentages I determined comparing the time frames would stay the same regardless. So for example: if Exile was a month long instead of 11 days, then Dream was in prison for 28.5 months or 856 days, or 2 years and 4.5 months, meaning Exile is still only 3.5% of Dream's incarceration.

(And yea, 11 days does seem pretty short but it really was just from December 5th to December 16th when he leaves. One of the reasons I think it might feel longer than it is, is perhaps because he streams everyday, so the influx of hours of content makes it seem longer.)

[megumislovedoll]

super shy? no, super lucky

⠀ ⠀— chapter 2 of the cool with you series

yn pov 3rd person

She sighed, finally finishing her test. Now, it was time to see what she got on it. She'd been lucky enough to remember her test was today just in time, but now let’s see if she was lucky enough to get a good grade despite her last minute studying, constantly leaving online classes early, and turning in assignments late. 

Which the only reason why these things would happen is because of newjeans. 

“ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh,” she whispered, her hand shaking as she reached for the refresh button—or maybe she was just being dramatic. She pressed it, and then—“YES! OH MY GOD!” she cheered, seeing her grade: a B. 

Just as she was about to scream some more, a text popped up, it was utahime reminding the group about an afternoon dance rehearsal for their new song, Supernatural.

“Right, rehearsal,” she murmured, calming down a little but still feeling the excitement. She grabbed her dance bag and was just about to leave when she caught a look at her reflection in the mirror by the door. Maybe she should actually get ready for the day—considering she’d just ran out of bed in panic earlier today and hadn’t even showered yet.

Megumi’s pov 3rd person

morning classes are done, and now he has about an hour and thirty minutes until his afternoon classes. Everyone else is out of the dorm doing something, except Toge, who’s napping on the couch. Megumi opens the fridge—nothing, besides four eggs left. "Of course," but he pulls the eggs out of the fridge and starts cooking them, which makes Toge’s big back ass wake up.

"Can I get some?" Toge asks.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because there’s only four, and you guys are always eating everything anyway."

Toge groans. Maybe a few minutes later, Megumi gets a text from Yuuta: "megumi it’s your turn to get the groceries and share some eggs with toge"

"No way you just snitched on me," Megumi says. "Shareeee, Megumi."

"You know what," he says, "since you wanna be so big..." He puts the cooked eggs onto a plate. "Have the rest. I don’t fucking care."

He moves toward the door and grabs his keys. 

"Wait, where are you going?" Toge asks.

"To get some groceries, since you wanted to tell on me," he replies, leaving the dorm.

Yn pov 3rd person 

It’s been about 15 minutes, and Uber won’t fucking work. She tried reopening the app, restarting her phone, deleting and downloading the app EVERYTHING but it won’t work. She also tried asking the other members to pick her up; half of them are already there, and the other half hasn’t seen her message.

“guess I’m just gonna have to walk.”

The walk isn’t exactly long, just a few minutes, but it’s still risky considering she could get noticed. So, she’s gonna have to wear a mask and some glasses. She went down the stairs, then out the door, walking down the street with her head down as well so she could definitely not be noticed. Amazing idea, right?

Yeah, until you bump int—

masterlist!

TAGLIST @cinnamxnangel @sorenflyinn @beepbopzlorp @angelcakkess @ibeatmywifeandkidss @h-aecat @megumisluciouslashes @gumims @starrysho @tlissablr @kiss-my-asscheeks @good-mourning0 @mikikoo @1l-ynn @stillnotherapy @kzoyu @brideads @mikko-mikko  @shokosbunny @fushiguruuzzzz @hanniemylovelyquokka @adoremae    @ocyeanicc @sentifua @sirenla @depressinglyobsessed @m1ndfulsorrows

©megumislovedoll all rights reserved. do not translate, repost on other platforms, modify, or copy.

[yagiichan]

cod x fem!reader EDC Week

cod x fem!reader

cod members reaction to you when they first see you out of your tactical gear, and you’re actually dressed up for EDC.

Warning: mentions of smut, 18+ Minors DNI, language. Mentions of breeding.

A/N: EDC literally just happened in my city, and I’ve been into the COD x reader stories recently. It’s not going to be anything impressive, but I hope ya’ll like it. Again, this is my HC for whatever reason. IDK, I don’t really make sense to myself neither, so don’t @ me. :3 This is also my first time posting on tumblr, so please be nice.

FYI I do not know a whole lot of lore, I’m just here for the fun of it, so please do not flame me for any inaccurate/unplausible storytelling I am about to convey.

P.S. I drew the design of the dress, but I referenced an image on pinterest. I apologize as I do not know the original artist for the figure.

----------------------------

Chatter amongst the operatives broke out, as everyone began filing out of the room, from another long debriefing. You were new to the squad, and just barely began speaking to anyone. Layered in heavy combat armor, and face covered with a balaclava and dark round shades every time you’re on base. You don’t like it when people gawk at you, especially when conducting professional business.

You find it easier when you’re covered up. People treated you like a normal soldier, rather than a piece of meat. Though, doesn’t really stop the flirtatious comments coming from your companions.

Soap would linger sometimes, making fun little passes, “What’ve you got hidin’ under there, bird?” You’d laugh him off and just tell him nothing he’d be interested in. He’d quip back “Bet there’s loads I can find interesting, dove…” You continue to laugh, making your way down the dim hallway. The other members, following behind. Gaz would chime in with a “knock-it-off” comment every now and then, but he was just as curious how you’d look too.

Pretty much, everyone has seen one another, considering how long they’ve been enlisted together, so it’s no surprise that fresh meat would immediately attract the attention of wolves.

Ghost, Konig, and Horangi followed from behind, watching you laugh.

“What’s the fresh meat good at anyways?” Ghost asked nonchalantly. Horangi shrugged his shoulders, with a soft “mm-mm”. Konig shook his head at the both of them “Hand-to-hand combat and reconnaissance. Apparently, she’s managed to close the distance on the Captain and threw him straight into the wall.” Ghost scoffed, attempting to burn a hole in the back of your skull. “She is? Look at her” he pointed with his chin, “A literal fuckin’ gnome is what she is.” Horangi chortled a little bit, Konig staying silent.

Price picking up on their conversation, cleared his throat, “You’ll see in due time lads. Someone like that can be the least expected.”

“So, since it’s the start of the weekend why don’t we start with a bang and head down to the pub for a fill?”

 Soap suggested eagerly. The week prior had been incredibly taxing, so everyone was privy to the idea, besides you.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I’ve actually got plans this weekend,” you sheepishly laughed. Soap whined, prodding you on what your plans are. You didn’t budge, only that it was already planned some time ago and you can’t miss you. Despite the constant badgering, Soap deflated in defeat, as Gaz patted his back. Despite the initial rejection, Soap bounced back almost immediately.

Chatting away with you, talking about coming out with them another time. You laughed along, apologizing that you couldn’t attend now, but promised to meet in the future.

Making your way towards your apartment complex on base, you noticed everyone else also shuttling into the freight elevator with you. You tilted your head in confusion, queueing Price,

“Well, we all share the same apartment complex. Compliment of the base we currently reside on. Wants to make sure we’re on the ready for when things go down.”

 You slowly nodded in understanding. You clicked your floor number, 10 and noticed that nobody else clicked a floor number besides 14. You looked at Price again, who sheepishly explained that squads are assigned to their own floors. That, since you’re now part of their operation, you’ll probably need to get the changes made soon.

“S’pparently supposed to bring us ‘closer’, build a bond with one another?”

You hummed in acknowledgement, thinking it was cute, “Yeah, I suppose it makes sense.” Chatter continued, until you reached your floor. Getting off, you said your goodnights to everyone. Soap continued to moan, hoping to get a glimpse of you at some point. Gaz agreeing, and Price chuckling at them.

The brooding bunch discussed themselves the best bar to pick from for the night. As the elevator finally reached their floor Soap clapped his hands together “Welp! How’s bout we all meet up again in an hour aye? Freshen up a lil bit. Maybe catch us a pretty bird tonight,” wiggling his eyebrows with the suggestion.

Sighing at Soap’s obvious desperation everyone agreed to meet in the hallway before heading down to the pub.

“Right! Now, let’s get this party started!” Soap howled, looking like he pregame’d before meeting up with the crew.

Everyone had transferred themselves into fresher clothing, finally peeling away the grime of the week. Excitement slowly brews in the group as they can finally wind down for the weekend. Although everyone had changed into more comfortable attire, the three brooding bunch kept their visages concealed.  All members shuffling into the freight elevator, chattering happily amongst themselves.

As the freight elevator begins its slow descent towards the ground floor, it suddenly stops at floor 10. Voices begin to hush as the door slowly slides open, revealing a woman with a high slit dress, stopping at the waist. Four thin black bands wrapped around strong thighs.

Her upper torso covered with black cloth besides the diamond cut pattern, exposing her breasts with dangerous allure. Her lower face covered by a black cloth that looked infused with the rest of the dress, leaving only her eyes visible, and hair to flow freely.

The unknown woman continued to adjust herself, before looking up into the elevator, capturing the eyes of every man on board.

----

Your eyes gleamed with happiness, pulling your mask down, smiling brightly at the lot.

“Hey team!” You chirped.

Silence.

“Heading out to the pub now?”

More silence. Eyes continued to stare you down. Not sure what to make of who you are. You started to feel awkward. Not realizing that this is their first time seeing you, especially like this.

“Erm… well then, off we go…? Heh…” you laughed nervously, with the door sliding closed once more, and the lift beginning its descent once more.

The ride down was silent and awkward, at least for the men. You just continued to tap away at your phone, not a care in the world, making plans to meet your friend at the festival entrance.

“(Y/N)?? Is that you?” Gaz piped up, still inspecting you from head to toe. You turned towards Gaz, nodding your head and smiling.

“Suppose this is the first time you guys have seen me outside of my Michelin Man outfit huh?”

You laughed at your own joke, not ever noticing the way their eyes grew hungrier by the second.

You never noticed the way Price stood just a little bit closer, in hopes of accidentally bumping into you. He’d blame it on how crowded the elevator was.

You never noticed the way Soap suddenly started spilling all over his words. His face slowly heating up with every time you laughed at his silly antics.

You never noticed the way Gaz was literally, so star struck, only nodding and laughing at whatever you were saying.

You never noticed the way Ghost suddenly stood up a little straighter, rather than leaning towards the rail of the elevator, trying to make himself look taller. More attractive for you.

Or the way Horangi adjusted his glasses every now and then to make sure you don’t catch him staring at you.

Or the way Konig began to fidget anxiously, staring intently at your being, hands held together to hide something that slowly began to rage in his pants. He was sweating profusely.

“Konig?” you questioned, staring up at the hulking 6’10” man.

Shit.

“Are you alright? You’re sweating up a storm.” Everyone began to turn towards him, suddenly finding himself embarrassed. With a few ‘legit’ coughs Konig spoke.

“Just need some air s’all.” He played it off way too cool. The others glared at him with jealousy when you showed concern for him. Konig, though his face not visible to others, smiled a triumphant smile under his facemask.

You smiled brightly at him, breathing a sigh of relief, tugging at his heartstrings even more. Glances were stolen every now and then by your team members. Assessing your body, and trying to determine if it’s the trick of the light, or your thighs are just that delicious. Toned, large, and ready to crush heads.

Oh, how they wished to have their heads between your legs. To have that pretty black dress lifted over their heads, and to hear your sweet voice calling out their names in ecstasy. Your hair sticking to your skin, drenched in the sweat and tears of your pheromones.

To watch the rise and fall of your heaving chest, as your honey coats their face and tongues. Once you’ve had your high, the dress comes off and you smile that bright smile at them, hands cupping their faces whisper-begging.

“Come here, darling… Come to me. I need you, so badly.” You’d pant out, with tears in your eyes, and a wobbly smile on your face, just begging to be ravaged by them. To be pumped with their loads.

Oh, they all wanted you, and you didn’t even know it.

The ride down felt like forever, until the soft ding of elevator is heard throughout, indicating your destination of the ground floor.

----

“So, where are you heading, dressed up like this?” Price inquired.

“EDC. It’s going on for 3 days, but I’ll only be going for two.” You stated excitedly.

“EDC? Wassall that then hen?” Now Soap asking the questions.

“It’s just a music festival. Electric Dance Carnival. Been dying to go, and since we’re out here I wanted to take the chance.” You informed the bunch. They all walked along side you, the rest in silence as Soap continued his barrage of questions.

“Oh, but I won’t be getting insanely lit or anything like that! It’s just an opportunity is all! I’m meeting some friends.” You corrected yourself, not wanting to have your team think you’re some sort of degenerate (hehe).

As you continued to happily chat away, your taxi pulled up. Bounding towards the door you turn back towards your fellow soldiers, not missing a beat.

“Ay, be safe, okay? If you need anything, don’t hesitate to phone me.” You chirped once more.

“Anyways, I’m off then! Be seeing you around!” You waved as you got into your taxi, driving away into the city.

----

Sitting around a table, with a dimly lit light hanging above them, Ghost groaned at the thought of phoning you to let you know that he isn’t feeling well. That he might need some of that ‘comfort’ you were giving to Konig earlier. Felt kind of sweaty. Might need you to take care of him, if you get what I’m laying down.

Price, Konig, and Horangi sat around the table, watching Gaz and Soap playing rounds of pool, but not really committing to it. Something on their mind, pretty sure knowing what, or who, it could be.

“If I died tomorrow, I’d want it to be those thighs wrapped around my head.” Soap dreamt, leaning on his pole.

“Yeah, no shit. Wasn’t expecting any of that. Reckon I’d begin howling at the moon just to have a bite.” Gaz chuckled.

Eyes snapped up at the duo, and then at each other.

Price laid a hefty pat on Ghosts shoulder, reminding him of his comment earlier.

“Still not what you were expecting, weren’t you lad?”  laughing heartily. Ghost grunted at his comment, as did Horangi and Konig.

“I… must admit… I too, was not expecting such a treat tonight.” Horangi shuttered with each word. Konig nodded vigorously.

Still fantasizing about your worry over him. Fretting over his comfort. He was already fantasizing about your wedding. The life you’ll lead together. Breeding you up with his young, having you cry under his weight, with your legs wrapped tightly around him as he drilled his throbbing member deep into your core. Konig shuttered at the thought.

“I’m going to make her mind” Konig stated out of the blue. Suddenly, all eyes snapped at him. Flashes of competitiveness and want evident on everyone’s face. Now, everyone was vying for your affection. And you didn’t even have an inkling of an idea that any of this was going down.

----

I hope ya’ll liked my story. It’s probably all over the place, and that’s okay. It was something I’ve been needing to get out of my system. Something I can go back to when I’m feeling that little itch.  I may build on this for our individual heroes. IDK.

[frodopotter7]

The memories of Edwin Payne

(Or an interactive fanfiction)

Note: I had the headcanon that Edwin‘s notebook contains all his personal writing including the writings from his life as an Edwardian boy. So I wrote those entries in his notebook. Now this book is obviously all of Edwin‘s personal thoughts and I thought it would be fun to do a collaboration. So if you are a writer yourself or creative in any other way, feel free to use this entries as a starting point for another fanfiction. For example Charles finding the notebook and reading it or Crystal reading it or anything else. The only rule that I set is that you clearly mark my text and tag me, because first of all it was a lot of effort to write it and secondly I want to see what cool things you came up with. And if you don’t want to creatively interact with this fanfiction, then you can obviously just enjoy it by reading it.

Summary: Edwin Payne‘s most treasured item is his notebook, because it contains so much private information that no one else knows about him. Not even Charles. Including the struggles of a posh, gay, autistic Edwardian boy and his times before hell, in hell and shortly after hell.

Triggers: bullying, implied suicide, dolls

Shipping: Payneland, but you could also include other shipping in your part

The song that I thought of while writing:

One of Edwin’s most treasured objects was definitely his notebook. He had it all the time and he used it for every case they had. It meant a lot to him, since it was with him when he died. It was with him in hell and it was with him in his detective career. The reason why he never gave it to anyone, not even Charles, was that it had been with him even as a child. Well, back then he had several notebooks, but as he died every personal writing of his got transferred into it. The notebook always had enough pages and was still not getting thicker and his pen was always full of ink. And still even though it contained so many different notes, Edwin navigated through it without any problems. It was his own writing after all. His family sigil was carved into the black front cover and the word ‘Payne’ was written underneath it.

If anyone would open it and tried to start from the beginning, he would be greeted with Edwin’s signature under the printed words. ‘Family member:’ After that the handwriting would be harder to read. Scribbly, crossed out spelling mistakes and spilled ink from a little boy, who was writing for the first time. If you manage to identify the words it would read:

1905

Greetings,

my name is Edwin Payne. I am the only child of the family Payne. My father says, that mother wanted more children, but just failed every other time. You probably have heard about my family’s name. The family with the best lawyers of England. When I’m grown up, I will be a lawyer too. Lawyers are like detectives says my father. I like that. I like detectives.

My nanny told me to interact more with others. Why would I need to talk if there is no one to talk to anyways? My parents are often absent and my nanny is just not understanding me. My father says that I am too slow for my age. My motion skills too clumsy. My spoken words only contain information from detective books and I cannot properly respond to people yet. I know a lot of novels by heart though. Others just don’t seem to like talking about crimes as much as I do. Father sometimes lets me have a look in his older cases. They are interesting.

We visited a doctor again today, because of my slow development. We visit him quite often. Actually since I can remember. I don’t feel sick. He says there is nothing wrong with me. Still I know that something is wrong. I overreacted at loud noises. A lot of things stress me out.

1906

I haven’t writing about Cordelia Primrose Surname-von-Hovercraft. She is annoying, loud and a restless soul. She runs around the house and breaks rules just to get the attention. She is a bit younger than me, but that doesn’t justify her actions. I don’t like her. Although sometimes she be helpful. Like the time she stole the biscuit jar and gave me one of the special biscuits. They had to expel one of her nannies for this. But Cordelia had plenty nannies anyways. No one stays long with her. I had my nanny since I was born. I don’t like changes. Cordelia sometimes scares me with ghost stories. She says she would see them and that my fortune says that I will die a painful and early death. I don’t believe in this unscientific nonsense.

I take piano lessons now. It’s is fun. My mother seems to enjoy it. It is somehow the only way to get her attention for me.

Additionally to my regular private lessons I go to school now. Simon obviously needs to be in my class as well. I don’t like him. He bores me and he is too clingy. And sometimes he says mean things to me.

I had an outburst in class. Everything was just so loud and I was frustrated. The teacher hit my finger with the ruler and send me in the naughty corner. I don’t see why I get punished, when the other boys are clearly the distraction. Overall I am a good student. So it will probably not affect my grades.

My favorite subject is Latin and literature. I love books and translating old languages. It is like solving a code or a riddle. I don’t like maths, since it is all just numbers and no words.

1907

I had another outburst in class after Simon tried to touch me. He kept tapping my arm and I don’t like that. The teacher called a nurse, but I was too overwhelmed to respond to any of her questions to my health. I wanted to go home and I told her that again and again, but she didn’t understand. They called a priest. He said something in Latin. I think, it must have been biblical words. I tried to focus on translating them, but there was so much panic around me that I barely focused on anything. But I managed to calm myself after what felt like hours due to exhaustion.

My parents had a talk with the priest. He says that I am possessed by a demon. So now he straps me to a table and mumbled something in Latin again and again once a month or whatever I have an outburst. The robes around my wrist hurt. I am afraid. It is scary to know that there is something inside of me.

1908

I hate being possessed. Although I start to doubt that I have been in the first place. I did some research in the library and the real demonology books aren’t describing my symptoms. Even Cordelia, who usually always tells spooky stories, agrees with me. She said, if I was possessed she would have been the first one to know. She is a mystery to me.

1909

Today I saw a nice looking man across the street. I told my nanny that he looks like a basket full of oranges. My father uses that term a lot when he talks about young women, so I thought it is just a term to use if you think someone looks nice. She gasped and hit me lightly with the newspaper. It didn’t hurt but I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. She told me that a man cannot say that to another man. I guess the saying is reserved for women then.

1910

I started to mask my uncomfortable feelings in public. It is difficult, but it helps. My parents and the priest both think that I am healed.

1911

I got called a Mary Ann for the first time. I asked my nanny and she started to mumble to herself how she must have failed. I told her that she did a really great job, since I would consider myself very well behaved and educated. She ignored me and told me to not tell my parents. How should I tell them if they are never there in the first place?

I did some research again, which mainly was asking Simon. I know, getting down on his level is a hard sacrifice. He told me that a Mary Ann is a boy who behaves like a girl and isn’t manly enough so they love other men. I thought about that for a long time. What is it about me that makes me a Mary Ann?

The writing in the book started to get better and appeared way more elegant. You could find little drawings here and there. Edwin was quite a good and realistic artist. Drawings of flowers, buildings, his nanny, his mother or Sherlock Holmes.

1912

Mother is constantly coughing loudly. It is irritating. Not even cocaine will help. They don’t let me in her room. They fear I would catch it too. Not that I was ever close to her before.

Mother is in a special hospital now. She took the train far away in a hospital in the mountains. No one ever returns from there. I know it. Everyone does. I will not see her again.

Mother died of tuberculosis. I miss her, I guess. I don’t know what I miss. It is a change. I hate changes.

1913

Father is sending me to a boarding school for boys. He says it’s for my education. I know, he just wants to get ride of me.

I hate the new school. Simon is here and people are still calling me a Mary Ann. Simon started to join them. I guess he sees it as a new opportunity to mock me.

I take fencing lessons now. It is nice, since it is not required any sort of touch with other boys. Nothing that I can be blamed for.

1914

I found a hideout in the school attic. It is a great place to read in peace.

The world has started a war. It worries me. They tell us that we are save in the school. But in the end all you can do is pray.

I came back home on Christmas. My nanny was gone. Father said they would be no need for her any longer, since I am in school now anyway. He looked like he knew something, but wasn’t going to tell me.

1915

The next page had some blood drops on its pages.

I want to go home. I want to be back in my room with my detective books. I want to be healed from this darkness inside of me. My nose is bleeding from another attack by the other boys. They started to get more violent now. Simon isn’t joining them, but he watches.

I came home on Christmas, but it wasn’t my home anymore. Just a house. My father didn’t speak a word. I asked him, if it was about the war and he looked up towards me. I could feel his cold gaze from across the table. He took out a letter and slammed it on the table. It was from my headteacher. I was confused. I am class best and the best behaved student in class? The only reason why I get to stand in the naughty corner is if I got caught reading in my comics or books. In my defense I am usually already finished with the exercises if I read in class. What could possibly be a problem with me? The letter was about the other boys calling me Mary Ann. And that they didn’t wanted a boy like that in their school. That I should stop whatever was wrong with me. My father told me in his absent voice, that he was not having a son like that either. He had exchanged letters with the headmaster for quite some time now and I didn’t seem to get better. I asked him that I had no idea. He interrupted me as always. Told me that the only way to make me a man would be to send me to war. I started to cry and he continued holding a speech about heroism and that his generation had understood this so much better than mine. I am too young for war, he knows that too. He told me that the only thing rescuing my life is my good grades. He sees potential in me as a lawyer. He has talked to the Surnames-von-Hovercrafts they agreed that I should marry their daughter as soon as possible. I mean I knew that I would be married to Cordelia one day, but not already when I turn 16. That’s only some months away.

As the train brought me back to the boarding school and as I saw my father standing in the doorway of the house with his usual expressionless face, I knew that this was the last time I would see him and that he wished to rather have no son than me. I just knew it.

1916

Simon stole my hat. I wouldn’t mention this minor form of his bullying, if it hadn’t been a special hat. My mother and I bought it, when her disease hadn’t been noticeable. It was too large back then, but it suits me now. Or rather suited. I don’t think I will see it again as Simon comes up with the best ways to either destroy or hide it. I cried about it. Childhood is over, but honestly I don’t think it ever started in the first place at least not for me.

The numbness is spreading inside my body. I think about the military and the forced marriage daily. I am too young for this. I cannot even properly cope in a classroom. How am I supposed to cope in the war? My hands are to soft. My brain is too precious. Please, spear me. They won’t. It is just a question of time.

I went to the lake today. It is spring and still fairly cold, but I went inside non the less. It was cold. Ice cold. I went under water and yelled out some poetic nonsense. I thought about staying under water. Turning into Ophelia. But I reminded myself, that this is something a coward would do. A Mary Ann. I would proof everyone’s suspicions as correct. Scared to live. Scared to die. I got out of the water. My gaze landed on my clothes and the letter. My father had written me that the marriage would be held in some days, since I am 16 now. I ripped the paper in half and tossed it into the ocean. Letting the water destroy the writing on the paper. Of course this would make nothing undone. I would still need to marry. I would still need to go into the military. I would still need to die. I am frightened. The other boys seem unbothered. They laugh and play like the world isn’t ending around us. Well, their world is probably not ending anyways. They will live. Their parents are rich after all. They have the privilege. I would have had this privilege as well, but they took it from me by putting this name on me. I took it from myself with my impure thoughts.

Cordelia sent me a telegram that just read that I would need to be careful as death was approaching me in the worst way. I hate her for that. As if I wouldn’t know that. As if I wouldn’t know that I needed to go into the army soon. Not a single word about our forced wedding. I thought we had always agreed to both be against it. But then again she isn’t even trying to love me. Not that I would try. Not anymore. I tried when I was younger, because I was told to. But Cordelia has just no idea how to react appropriately to a gentleman. Her behavior makes it hard to believe that she is from such a high rank.

I saw Simon with a weird book today. He told me it is from his brother and that it is about demons. I told him that this was total nonsense and that he should get a grip on reality. He didn’t spoke to me again after that. Weird for someone who is as annoying as him. I am going to put my notebook in the pocket of my sleeping clothes tonight just to make sure Simon cannot steal it. I have a bad feeling in my stomach. My heart is aching for absolutely no reasons. I am afraid as I try to sleep tonight and the worst thing is that it is irrational. I am going to die alone, this is all my head produces right now.

?

Now every page was covered with blood at the side of the pages and sometimes even on the writing itself. There were no drawings to be found anymore. Just drawings for the escape plan and hierarchy of hell.

I don’t know if my dates are correct. I don’t know how time works in here. I don’t even know how long I am able to write without this thing waking up. This thing with the many doll heads. This spider like creature that kills me every time I move or make a sound. I sometimes wonder what happened to the other boys.

I try to change my perspective. It is hard when you are in so much pain. My brain learned to be sharper now. I can think and act quicker. I need to see this as one of my old detective games or as the times that I had to run away from my bullies. Everything is achievable with logic. Although I would say after being in hell for such a long time that might be a delusional optimism.

1988

I think I made it out fairly well. I am still uncontrollably shaky when I hear any noises. I fear that this demon might comeback to get me. I am back in the old school attic where they strapped me down on the table and sacrificed me. I learned a lot from hell and from the books in the attic. Like the basic ghost rules or that my death and the death of my bullies were labeled an act of god. I compared hell to the war a lot. After all I would say that hell was definitely the worse death. Much longer torture than war would have been. In the war you die just one death after all. But maybe a Mary Ann like me would have ended up there anyway.

I finally was brave enough to get out of the attic. I figured out that the year is 1988 from a newspaper that one of the teachers was reading. 72 years of torture. I wonder how often I was torn apart in this time. But I shouldn’t think about that. That reminds me of the pain and of the times when I tried to count my own corpses. The school hasn’t changed a lot. The teachers are less violent, but still rather strict. They have more lower class people here now. I can see it by the ways they behave and by the clothes they wear. That is especially confusing for me. So rude, so explicit, so freely. It is not a boarding school anymore. Luckily that gives me the freedom to have my peace after dark.

I started to watch a specific boy. I am not a stalker. At least I wouldn’t use this therm for a ghost. He is just interesting for my scientific research about this time. The boy has a darker skin. Some children in this school have this skin and get picked on, but somehow he isn’t the one who gets pick on. He wears very interesting clothes. Especially the golden earring. Something I would just see a woman wear, but it fits him so much better than it could ever fit a woman. His clothing is mostly black, though I would say that the red shirt he once worn fits him best. His lips have always a smile on them and he cracks loud jokes. But I see the sadness in his eyes. I recognize my own sadness in his eyes. His name is Charles Rowland. I heard the teacher yell it at him. A little trouble maker in class. He seems to never be able to focus. Maybe he is also possessed like I was when I was a young boy. But after experiencing hell, I doubt that the priest back then had any idea what a demon was really like.

The following page is filled with a very realistic drawing of Charles, who is smiling so iconically and his eyes seem to be filled with emptiness and some smaller doodles of Charles playing Cricket or talking to others.

Charles Rowland. His name repeats itself in my brain. I am not obsessive. He is just the best way of distraction I can find in this school. Distraction from the fear of hell. The fear of death coming back for me. Analysis and observation keep me away from those horrible thoughts. I have less panicle outbursts since I started my observation of this boy. Although when I am alone at night in the school attic I often start to cry in silence and my breathing races again.

Charlie. That is what his friends call him. It doesn’t suit him. Charles is his name. Not Charlie. I don’t like his friends. They are rude. They remind me of the boys in my old life. I wonder why I like Charles then. Maybe because he points out obvious misbehavior of the group even if they mock him.

The most interesting time is when Charles thinks that he is alone. That is mostly in the dressing room, when he gets ready for Cricket. As a short notion he is a fabulous cricket player, but he always waits till the other boys have changed and are out of the room. He pretends to struggle with his shoes or shorts. Even if that sometimes means that it is getting really dark outside. His smiles fades completely then. I saw the scars on his body. I feel bad for even looking at him in that state. Seeing a boy my age without a shirt is clearly inappropriate and it triggers the Mary Ann inside of me, but sometimes my detective senses is taking over too much. Especially after I saw all the scars and bruises. You don’t need to be that clever to understand that his family probably his father beats him. Although beating may be a too mild verb for those scars. I appreciate the absence of my father when I see him. My father and teachers used to beat me as well. With a ruler or the flat hand though not as much as my classmates. And after being through hell, that all seems like nothing in comparison. But even in my time no father would have mistreated their sons like that. I speak from a higher class, maybe it had been different in the lower class, but they were happy if their sons made it through childhood without a disease or scars so they could work properly. Although maybe they did this with the child workers. Is Charles secretly a child worker? Is there still child labour? Why would someone bruise their son like that if their son could provide a great income for the family? Or how many things was Charles doing something seriously wrong?

1989

His friends talked about me last night. They had cricket practice until the sun had settled and on the way back home I heard them talking about a school ghost. The janitor must have heard my weeping last night. My hysteria yesterday was indeed a lot. Too much to handle for myself. I think I was shaking till dawn. This vivid fear must have crossed over into the living world. They told Charles, that this had scared the janitor and he quitted. Then they told him of Mary Ann who was sacrificed 1916 and killed all the boys that night. Charles questioned this logically, since it was an all boys school, so there probably was never a girl. I certainly appreciate his thinking, but this just triggered a lot in me. Being called a Mary Ann even after all this years. Being remembered only as a Mary Ann. Being blamed as the murderer. Those boys clearly had no idea of what the term Mary Ann actually meant, but it just triggered me so badly that I started to panic again. My panic must have bursted through the worlds again, because the boys suddenly turned white and ran home. Charles stayed a little longer. Looking in my direction. I know he couldn’t see me, but maybe he could sense my panic more than the other boys could. Again we are much a like if you observe closely. After this strange second of him just starting into nothing and me starting back, he ran away as well.

I need to leave this place. But I am too scared. Too scared of the outside world. Too scared of the changes.

I wanted to leave today, be brave enough. But I heard Charles ‘friends’ talking bad about him behind his back. How weird he behaved. They had no idea about his scars. Then again if I would be his friend, which is rather unlikely, I wouldn’t confront him. I know how horrible I panic if someone says the word Mary Ann, I imagine that it is a similar situation for him with his scars. I stayed. I don’t know why. Again irrational fears.

I wish I would have left. I saw Charles defending a boy who got bullied by his so called friends. I felt tears in my eyes, because this was the kind of protection I had wished for when I was alive. I definitely feel too many emotions at the moment or maybe it just feels like more emotions because I was mostly numb in hell. The younger boy could escape with only a few bruises, but his friends still were in this blood lust. In this moment of still wanting the fun even though there was nothing funny about the action in the first place. I have seen those faces before. The faces of murders who only realize their actions when it is too late. They stoned him in the cold water. The water of the lake in which I once thought about killing myself a long time ago. I wanted to help. I wanted to stop them, but I had no idea what I could do. I am too new in this ghostly body. I tried desperately, but I ended up only pausing them by holding them back for a short time. It gave Charles time to ran away to the school building. He hid in the attic. I wanted to help him. The least I could do was by giving him a light. He was in a state where a floating light probably was his least problem. It turned out that he could see me and that was the moment I knew it was too late for him anyway. It was a strange sensation to properly speak again. I had never spoken in hell and in my ghost form I had only weeped. Hearing my own voice was odd. I was shortly surprised that I still knew how to use my voice. Reading to him from one of my old comics in the attic calmed him and gave me the opportunity to adapt a bit to talking for a longer period of time. He stayed with me, which honestly stresses me out a lot. I am not made to be a friend. I have been isolated for too long to be a good friend. I have been in hell for so long that I am probably a horrible person myself. I haven’t talked in so long. I am just adapting to just have conversations, how should I teach him to be a ghost, if I haven’t figured it out myself? Even if that all would not be the case and even if we would not be from different times, still I never have been good with other people. I never had friends. The only person a bit close to me was Cordelia and she was always more a sister for me. And still he chooses a stranger his own afterlife. From my observations I would blame his intentional behavior. He sees something and does something without thinking long. Although this decision might be too big for only this explanation.

I really can’t understand why Charles is choosing me over his afterlife. I just read to him once and gave him a lantern. He barely knows me and now he follows me everywhere. I showed him some ghost tricks and somehow I can really impress him by everything I say or do. But he made me smile for the first time in my life. So I am impressed by him as well. Whenever I read in this book, I just tell him that I like to keep record of things. That I would plan were we can go next as we no longer can stay in the school and waking around without plan is never good for too long. It is partly a lie I really am making a plan. But I do this in my head rather than writing it down, but it is an excuse for not letting him see my private writing. I tell him that it is rather boring planning and he believes me. I feel bad for lying to him, but if he would know about my past he surely would leave me and I would be all alone again.

We mirror traveled together to London. Charles felt a bit sick after it. He seems to still need to adapt to his ghost body. I was a bit overwhelmed with his sudden mood shift. I have been too selfish all my life and in my death so much that I don’t know how to help. He didn’t notice or he just didn’t say anything. But we had to mirror travel, it was too dangerous in the school after Charles died. Besides Charles is a talented and athletic boy, he will get the grip of it. In addition death could have caught me in the attic. I didn’t tell him why I am on the run. Not yet. I fear that once I tell him that I was in hell, he will think I am evil. Maybe that is true. Maybe I am just doomed. I feel like it was my fault that he died. I watched him so long with this incorrect feelings of mine. Maybe this cursed him like in a Greek tragedy. For now I just want to make sure that Charles is not alone. I had been alone for too long to know how dreadful it can get and he is much more social than I am.

We visited his family in London. A real rural area. His mother was crying over the loss of her son. His father just seemed to see it as a natural thing to happen to those who aren’t careful enough. I made a mental note to haunt this man every year to Charles’ death day without telling Charles. The school, once again, swept the problem under the carpet and made it appear like an accident. How can someone possibly stone himself while being in the water and then run in an attic? No clever detective would see that as the solution. I said that out loud and it turned out that Charles and I both share a passion for detective stories. That was something to make him smile. But he started to cry again as he saw how desperate his mother and sister were. He hugged me, which was a lot. I never have been hugged before and at first it felt like this demon from hell was gripping around me again. I froze in place and pushed him away in a reflex. Charles stopped. I didn’t tell him about the hell part, but I told him that I am not used to hugs and touches in general. He took it in surprisingly well, but for his own sake I added that I might could get used to it. I hope that I am able to get used to it. Charles sees it as something that he can teach me.

It was just a matter of time till my hell trauma wouldn’t be able to keep hidden anymore. We were in an abandoned apartment, since we both are not staying out the whole night. We don’t have to sleep but it is just too awkward. He usually talks through the whole night and I like his voice even with his weird way of talking. He likes me reading to him. He even carries all my books for me. But as we explored the abandoned house, I discovered an old doll. I overreacted I know. But there was just so much panic inside of me all of the sudden. My fight or flight mood was activated again. I don’t know what Charles did. I don’t know how he managed to stop me from repeating the word ‘Please spare me. I don’t belong in hell.’ I vaguely remember his hands securely holding my head and his shining dark eyes and his calm voice, but I don’t remember his words. He was confused by my sudden changed behavior, but he tried to not show that whole calming me. Once he had calmed me, I obviously had to tell him the truth. I gave him the opportunity to leave me again, but he stayed and he understood, said that this is probably the worst thing someone could have been through. We didn’t speak the rest of the night, but we continued the next day as if nothing had happened.

It is harder to continue my writing as Charles could find out and I don’t want him to know about this. He is so lively. He is jumping and sprinting around, while telling me things and just appears from behind. I cannot risk that. We have a detective agency now. We don’t want that others have their deaths so badly twisted as ours. Another reason was that he had introduced me to a game called Clue, which is basically a detective game, and then we both came up with the idea of starting our own detective agency. He is the brawn and I am the brain. It fits perfectly. We even managed to get a abandoned flat in London. I probably have no time to continue this memoirs, but I will make sure to use my notebook as a case lock book from now own.

I will never tell him about the real meaning of the word Mary Ann. I will never tell him that I had been in the school for a whole year and not just shortly before his death. I will never tell him that I have watched and observed him. I appreciate him now too much. I don’t ever want to lose him.

After that only a whole lot of cases and notes and questions on them followed.

[indieyuugure]

Hi Indie !

First of all, I truly love your version of TMNT. Your dialogues are so good and the designs are great. In terms of writing it kind of reminds me of the Webtoon comic: Batman, Wayne Family Adventures in the way that it’s a brilliant take on a famous franchise.

Also, I kind of had a question and a request.

I noticed a change of style with the color scheme you have now compare to your previous sketches. Like before, Mickey’s stickers were colored and blood was red when those elements are now in black and white. My question is why the change ? Not that it’s a bad choice or it doesn’t fit in you aesthetic, I was just genuinely wondering😁.

As for my request, well I’m French and I really enjoy doing translation either from French to English or from English to French. Therefore I was wondering if you were okay with me doing a French version of your comics ? If you’re not, I totally understand so no worry😁

I can’t wait for the next chapter !!! I wish all the best !

Aw thank you so much! I’m so glad you love the art and the writing! I’ve never read that webcomic, but I’ve heard about it before! I’ll take it as a compliment! ^v^

That is an excellent question! Basically I wanted to reduce the colors on the pages to just the colors of one of the characters items.

I’ve actually been cutting down on color usage since TMS (April’s hair and Casey’s under shirt were colored red and mauve respectively in ROTP but not in TMS) since I felt that it made for some very odd color things, like it felt like too much color be stylistic, but too little to be fully colored? Idk I just didn’t like it, so in TMS every character was allotted two colors: one eye color and one outfit color. That made it a lot simpler and drastically decreased the feeling I had about the colors.

That reason is also why I cut Mikey’s sticker colors. I did think about it, but I decided against it because it felt odd to give Mikey three colors and everyone else one. He’s not the MC, so like, it just seemed like an odd design choice to continue with.

The removal of using red for blood is a bit more complicated. I actually considered making it red in Indie TMNT, but I ended up not because of a few reasons.

1: Red is Raph’s color, it should be used as such (every character only got one color anyway, reusing the color makes it feel less special that it’s there)

2: flushing, whether because of love or illness or embarrassment or whatever, was also being shaded with red because it’s caused by blood, and I just didn’t really like the way it looked? I dunno probably a personal thing? I won’t say why cause I don’t wanna put the thought in your heads, but specifically with Donnie’s face being red from his fever in TMS, I just didn’t like it.

3: I found that the color red makes wounds more graphic. Not sure why? I found with TMS I was having to censor Leo’s wounds more than I anticipated. They were originally so much more disgusting when the red was added that I had to add a lot more black to be comfortable with the drawing. I’m satisfied with my results, I think I struck a good balance, but it did kind get me thinking since I plan to make Indie TMNT just as gory.

Its original purpose for being added was because wounds were key plot points in both ROTP and TMS and I wanted you to pay attention to them and remember them. Now, that’s not to say they’re not important in Indie Tmnt, but I found with the increased violence I was adding (because murder is okay in this comic) it felt unnecessary. Almost every fight scene has splatters of blood that aren’t really that plot related, so it’s not the same as TMS which follows 2012’s no blood or injuries in fights rule until it’s shattered. So in addition to all the other reasons listed, I felt it was fine to get rid of the usage of red for blood and other injuries in this comic.

TLDR: I want each character’s color to be special and they only get one cause I’m lazy and I think it looks cooler. Red blood makes people squeamish but black blood doesn’t 🤷‍♀️ also less important in this comic

As for your request: YES!! I’m totally okay with it, you absolutely may! I would love that! However you decide to do it, just be sure you credit me as the original author of the comic and send me a link when your done so I can post it on the comic masterpost for anyone who wants the translation to read!

Good questions! :]

[gumnut-logic]

Diary of a Fanboy Engineer

Alexander Sweetapple series on Ao3

What's this? Is this Nuttyfic? Not a nuttyfic reblog? The first in ages?

Why yes, yes, it is.

Consequently, the writing muscles are a bit rusty so don't expect much.

However this was prompted by conspiring Thunderfam on this post.

It is a bit of a 'let's see if this idea works or not', but since most of my fic comes under that category, I'm hoping it works at least a little :D

So we have the beginnings of some possible Sweetapple Diaries :D

Many thanks to the wonderful @onereyofstarlight for proof reading and pointing out the bits that really didn't work :D ::hugs you tight:: And many thanks to the Sweetapple cheering squad - without you, there would be no Sweetapple ::hugs you all to bits::

Warnings for m/m fic and a bucket of fluff.

I hope you enjoy these little scribbles :D

-o-o-o-

14 Jul

We are going to Paris.

Mr Tracy told Virgil in no uncertain terms that he needed time off. I can’t agree more. Hell, all the brothers need time off, but Virgil has been flagging lately. He denies it, of course. Workaholic to the core. I can see where he is coming from, but really, he needs to take better care of himself - they all do.

Paris was an interesting choice. I’ve never been to Europe, but I guess that comes with the billionaire territory.

I am excited, there are so many opportunities in Paris. I’m particularly looking forward to seeing some real Da Vinci. Climbing the Eiffel Tower is also on my list.

But for our next holiday, I think we’ll choose a spot more close to home. I know some quiet seaside towns where we could rent a bach and just lay back and relax.

Maybe France has a few hidden corners we could climb into.

Anyway, it’s something to look forward to. Really, anytime, anywhere, would be fantastic.

-o-o-o-

15 Jul

Today wasn’t a good one. We had multiple failures in the latest prototype.

Erica isn’t happy. She says it isn’t my fault, but honestly, I should have seen at least one of them coming. The effect of vacuum on micro air pockets in a flexible solid is so obvious it was ridiculous. How did I miss it?

Dearest had to cancel out again. Mount Etna tried to take out some tourists.

Virgil isn’t happy. Apparently, he has been warning the Italian authorities about the destabilisation of the volcano’s eastern face, but because their equipment can’t detect what International Rescue’s equipment can, they don’t want to sacrifice the tourism euros to close the tours.

Fortunately, it was only a partial collapse and IR was able to save those caught in the landslide. I have to say though, Commander Tracy was furious in the holoclip shown on the news. I wouldn’t want to be person responsible right now. Scott can get scary.

I did get to see some cool shots of Virgil in action though. That, I could never get tired of. He and Gordon manoeuvred Two and rappelled down to pull people out of the dirt and ash.

They are such heroes.

I do miss him, of course, but those poor people needed him more than I did.

Maybe we can holochat later…oh god, it’s 3am already!

-o-o-o-

16 Jul

Erica woke me up this morning. Really, I love her, she is so good to me, but bloody hell, can’t she knock?

Okay, it was nearly eleven and I had my phone on silent and I didn’t answer the door and…

At least I had my pyjama pants on, I guess.

What if Virgil had been here?

She said that was the reason she barged in, Virgil wasn’t here - no great green ‘bird and Tracy Two wasn’t logged at the airfield, and I was late for work. I might have been dead or something.

She cares and I appreciate that.

She could have held off the laughter, though.

Besides, I wasn’t late for work. Work is on flexi-time and considering I was up until 1am last night analysing yesterday’s screw ups, my sleep-in was natural and totally allowed.

Virgil left me a message with a ‘maybe tonight’. I’m hoping, but if there is one thing I’ve learnt it is that whatever happens, happens. No hoping too hard.

So here I am writing this entry a little earlier to kill some of that hoping time.

We solved two out of the three problems we had yesterday. The third is being a pain in the ass. Erica says I should speak to John as this lies in his speciality. I said, not until we’ve exhausted all our resources because John is a busy man.

We’re all busy, she said, and he offered to help. Gordon helped with the water issues. I could even ask Alan.

Really? It’s not at the point where I have to go to the top to help solve the problem. We’ll give it a few more days. It’s urgent, but not life threatening like the Tracy brothers need to attend to. They’ve got enough on their plate.

But John has such a lovely voice, she said.

I swear she does this just to rile me up.

That or she does have a thing for John. You would think she would have a thing for Mr Tracy, he was the one who saved her from the earthquake. Hell, she and Fireman Fred still have a mutual flirting thing going on.

—!

Virgil is here!

-o-o-o-

17 Jul

The sun rose early this morning. Somewhere in our haste we forgot to close the blinds and the first rays of dawn woke me.

I’m not a morning person, I’m the first to admit that. But this morning…

You’re lying on your belly and the covers have slipped down to your waist. The sun is painting your skin in shades of gold and your hair is glowing.

You are beautiful.

…

PS: I haven’t read anything, I promise. I just needed to write the image down and this book was the closest at hand. Can I paint you some time?

…

He read the above to me when I woke.

Let’s just say I was late to work again.

-o-o-o-

17 Jul (cont.)

Virgil stayed at Māhia today. He helped with the issue we were having with the prototype, though we did end up calling John.

John was happy to help - man, he thinks fast. Don’t get me wrong, I love my math and my physics, but John seems to be able to bend both to his will. It took him a total of five minutes. Five minutes! To design a solution to our problem - in between rescue calls.

It was one of those daunting moments where I could see exactly why they work so well together.

Of course, I am working with V.T. Green. Just let me name drop that right here. And the Voice Who Answers…is my life real? How the hell did I end up here?

Frickin’ bloody amazing.

-o-o-o-

[lightlycareless]

i just read ur reader piercing naoya's ear fic and i was wondering can u write smth about naoya finding out reader got their belly button pierced? xx

Hello!!!

Did someone say smut? because that's what we got. I think hehe. I'm still somewhat uncomfortable writing it but you know what they say!! practice makes perfect 🙈🙈🙈 Anyways, thank you so much for your patience and for sending this ask!!!!! 🥺 it took me a while to get an idea of what I wanted to write, but here we are :> I hope its to your liking!

Also, I believe this is the fic anon is referring to :> If not then gee I've written more about piercings that I've ever expected lol.

warnings: smut. MINORS DNI. you get a piercing and decide to... act weird about it. naoya does not like it :)

Happy reading!

How you managed to hide your piercing from his ever-wandering hands is a commendable feat, even after all went down, you still don’t know how you did it.

Though all this could’ve been easily avoided in the first place if you hadn’t convinced yourself to do it after seeing a particular photoshoot and thinking “I can look just as good.”

As well as believing this would further spice up your life with Naoya. Like it wasn’t spiced enough!

But only after you surpass both your embarrassment and heal; unfortunately, the former only growing stronger and stronger upon realizing this was far more than what you bargained for.

You initially try to play it off as being sick whenever he gets too close. Not in the mood, even. “I’m dizzy.” “My head hurts.” “I’m on my period.” Are just a few of the excuses you deployed.

And your loving husband, always the (surprisingly) patient one, takes it, because he supposes that for his ever-willing wife he could allow these exceptions. Thus, right after you reject him, he cuddles up to you and falls asleep.

However, his tolerance quickly ends when understanding this wasn’t to be a 1-week occurrence. But rather, a monthly endeavor that soon turned his everyday into utter punishment.

Naoya frantically attempted to make sense of it all. Think that perhaps the reason behind your distance was because of some unknown issue that troubled your mind; you always tended to keep things to yourself, even if he’s countlessly assured you he could fix all of your problems—he just needs to know them first.

…

But even then… Naoya could not understand how easily you were able to detach from him. Because to him… to do so meant death itself.

The problem wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Naoya had more than enough means to keep you satisfied however you needed it, and he made sure of that too.

Thus, at the lack of answers, he begins to feel threatened. Intimidated. Replaceable.

And we all know how Naoya gets when feeling such way.

“Princess, you will explain yourself—now.” Naoya demands, his abrupt, towering presence forcing you deeper into the bedroom, nowhere to escape.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You gasp, a blatant lie that only served to bury you deeper into your mistakes.

“Oh, no. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, mochi.”

If you hadn’t transgressed Naoya, you would’ve found his approach very, very inciting.

Unfortunately, even if you wished to go down that path, your dear husband was far too infuriated by your ridiculous behavior to consider anything else that wasn’t confronting you.

“Why are you avoiding me? And don’t even try to get out of this one, I’ve been patient enough.”

You knew this moment was fast approaching; only a matter of time before you ran out of excuses… or patience to abuse.

There’s only so much he’s willing to tolerate before he… well, you don’t want to think about it.

“I’m just… I just— I don’t know how to tell you…” you breathe.

“How to tell me what?”

“Do you promise to not get angry at me?”

“I’m not sure if I can promise that.” He frowns. You swallow.

“…at least not too much?”

Naoya squints his eyes, as if considering it. You knew he wouldn’t, you were in the wrongdoing after all.

“Just don’t judge me, please.” You eventually profess, and after taking one last breath, you reach for your obi and untie it, careful to not reveal too much but just enough to show the bare skin of your abdomen—

And the shiny addition to your navel.

Naoya couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Is that all, princess?” He chuckles loudly, like you just told him the funniest joke he’s ever heard. You do not find it amusing. “Is that the reason why you’ve been avoiding me??”

“Y—yeah I—I guess!” You frown, cheeks burning hot. “Don’t make fun of me, I was really hesitant whether to tell you or not!”

“Really? For this silly little thing?”

“It wasn’t silly to me, Naoya!” you cry.

“Alright, alright—I didn’t mean to upset you.” He says, curiously attempting to reach for your piercing before you smack him away. “Hey!”

You glance away, placing your obi back in place.

“Come on now, you don’t have to hide it from me.” Naoya smirks, stepping closer. “Hey, princess—”

“It’s still healing.” You quietly explain; a partial reasoning behind your dismissal.

“Ah, so you’re telling me you wouldn’t like me to help you?” He enticed, you retreated further into the wall; if possible. “I have more than enough experience with piercings, there’s no one in the estate more qualified than me.”

“Don’t misinterpret my words, you know I didn’t mean... that.” You caution, though he spoke nothing but the truth.

“Is that a yes?” Naoya continues, placing his fingers under your chin and pulling your gaze back to his.

“…only if you don’t make fun of me.” You eventually agree, and he seals the deal with a chaste kiss on your lips, followed by a tight hug that has you whining in pain. “Na—Naoya!”

“Oh, princess, I’m sorry.” Naoya says, quickly releasing you. “You poor thing… is this how it’s been since?”

You nod.

“Well, you’re in good hands now; and luckily for you, I know just the right thing that will ease your pain.”

Had you known Naoya would completely dedicate his time to make sure you weren’t passing any discomfort, then maybe you would’ve told him of your small endeavor from the very beginning.

It just… to see him so enthralled by your impulsive decision, you couldn’t help but wonder how different everything would’ve been if you had decided otherwise.

As well as how much you exaggerated your worries; hadn’t your husband consistently proven how far he’s willing to go just to make you happy?

From whatever craving you desired (but nothing that would hinder your healing process) to the endless kisses he’d place on your navel—as if he weren’t sufficiently hypnotized by your body, your piercing heightened that desire—Naoya was all yours. Completely allured.

But mostly by the rush he got at being the only person to know of the debauchery that hid beneath the pristine, meek and obedient look you carried around the estate; fitting to the wife of the future leader of the Zen’in— the same woman many admire by her gentleness, how you’re his living contrast, his better half; never daring to be as outrageous at he is!

If only they knew the truth.

No. It was better if they didn’t. He’d fervently keep all this enjoyment for himself.

“St—stop, Naoya!” you cry, squirming beneath his touch that roamed across your body, caressing the places where he’d like to taint next, such as your now sensitive nipples, which he’d squeeze and pinch incessantly for you to suffer in the following days.

Or your twitching clit, grazing it with no particular desire outside of tormenting you with pleasure. Remind you who really was in charge of your mere existence.

Yet, nothing compared to the way his cock plunged into your warm, tight walls—choking him so painfully exquisite, Naoya can’t help but moan whenever you do. Keeping your hips steady as he gives you all that he could not these past few months—blinding your sight with stars when bruising that one spot that always has you coming undone, which you desperately grasp whenever possible, wanting to steady that agonizing sensation.

Because as cruelly as your husband teased you, you equally desired to pour out all the desire you bottled up by a silly fear, let him enjoy the gift that was always meant for him. Your role in this marriage.

“It—it hurts—Naoya—!” you whimper, a profession Naoya was quick to interject as a lie given the way your cunt refused to stop milking him.

“Hmmm, it does, doesn’t it?” He breathes against your skin, placing ardent kisses across your cheek down to your neck as his hands reached for one of your nipples once more, giving it a particularly tight pinch that made you squeal.

“N—Naoya—!”

“Would it hurt here too, if you got a piercing?” he ponders curiously, another wave of excitement travelling all the way down to his member, which you felt grow even harder, bigger at the thought. Hips unwavering as if he were attempting to drill the proposition deeper and deeper into you.

Naoya was pretty much depraved when it came to your breasts, his hands or mouth always on them whenever possible; So, with this, you fear your chest will never know peace again.

But it doesn’t frighten you. In fact, you are willing to entertain such an idea. Endure the pain that follows this decision—for him to completely succumb to you.

“Would you do that for me, princess?” Naoya gasps, plummeting faster, stronger into you in that familiar sloppy way that signaled to you he was dangerously close.

You instinctively, as if second nature, wrap your legs around him, keeping him close, right there, followed by the agonizing tightness of you walls that soon make his voice tremble—stopping any silly consideration he might’ve had of spilling his seed anywhere else except where you deserved… though Naoya never entertained otherwise.

“Show how much you truly love me, by—by doing this?” he gasps, firmly shutting his eyes to not urge his release at the sight of your bouncing breasts.

“N—Naoya—!” you gasp, pulling him closer to you and captivating his lips in a heated kiss. Moaning into his mouth as your tongues intertwined with one another. “Ah—Naoya~! I—”

“Ple—Please, Y/N!” He suddenly begins to beg, now delirious with pleasure. “Please—Please do it for me, princess, you don’t know how happy this would make me—how much I wanted this!”

The combination of your devotion, your sweet whines, the tightness of your core, and the eagerness in the markings in his back is his ultimate downfall, just a few more thrusts and the first spurts of his burning seed spill deep within you—ropes of white covering your walls which you welcome almost jealously, as if wasting the smallest drop was the highest sacrilege.

And to a longing mother, it just might—but beneath your desires of a family, you wished to welcome back the husband your actions had unwillingly estranged: his intoxicating scent, the strength he’s amassed throughout years thanks to his strict routine, his burning touch tracing your skin with invisible lines…

But most importantly, his love, which you tightly held onto as he came down from his high, resting on your chest as he lets out a deep sigh, still plugged into you, just as he’d done the past few times in hopes his seed will finally take root. Naoya wishes to be a father too, and the thought always makes your heart flutter.

It’s the look of a man well satisfied. A man that has wholeheartedly committed to you, body and soul…

A husband that deserves to be rewarded, consoled. Urging you to speak coherently for the first time that night and let him know he no longer stands alone.

“I’ll do it.” You say, Naoya snuggles closer to you.

“Hm?”

“The piercing thing. I’ll do it, if that’s what you want.”

“The… oh.” Naoya blinks, moments of his passion suddenly flash back to his mind. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s spoken at the heat of the moment, nor the last.

“Do you really… want me to do that?” you murmur hesitantly. “Get another piercing?”

And for a few seconds, the two remain in complete silence, whether enjoying the intimacy he’s been cruelly deprived from, or considering your words… it didn’t matter. Neither wanted this moment to stop.

It was simply… perfect. Just the two, with each other’s heartbeat to fill the quietness in the room—and the doubts in your mind.

“No.” Naoya eventually confesses, placing a kiss on your skin. “I do not.”

Because as much as the idea enthralled him, he didn’t want to force anything on you. Certainly not for a piece of metal.

“You’re perfect to me like this. With or without piercings.”

Your heart tightens at his words.

“You don’t mind the one I already have, then?” you ask, he laughs. As if it hadn’t just shown you.

“No. Not at all; I didn’t think you could be any hotter, and yet, here you are… proving me wrong, my adorable lava cake.”

You frown at the gross nickname, playfully smacking him on the shoulder.

“Hey! What’s with the aggression?” He jests, but you simply hug him tighter, closer to you. “Is that how you treat the husband that had so lovingly filled you with his seed—"

“Shut up, don’t be crude!” You say, resting your head on his. After a few moments of silence, calming down, you declare: “…I love you.”

Naoya lets out a breathy chuckle, succumbing to your affection moments before his slumber.

“I love you more, my little mochi.”

Oh, how could you ever doubt his affection?

I always suspected Y/N to be more of a tattoo kind of person; idk why, but I think it would complement each other nicely too. Naoya is with the piercings, and you with the tattoo's. We all known which one he'd like.

Also, I will never tire myself of writing Naoya as completely gross with you. Like, the mere thought of you hiding such a simple piercing from him is OOF he loves it. I mean, without the constant pushing him away lol But yeah, watching you walk around in one of those traditional yukatas with your hair all pulled up in the most appropriate way ever, looking to appease the Zen'in only for him to be like:

"Yeah, you see her? No one would suspect my wife has her nipples pierced." IS SUCH a HUGE turn on to him. Maybe you do get them later on, who knows? 😏

Anyways, I hope you liked this small thing I wrote 🫣 I shall continue to strive improving my smut skills, sometimes I get so inspired, sometimes... I don't even know what I'm doing :'(

Well, still; I wish y'all enjoy it. Take care and hope to see you soon ❤️❤️❤️

[springypaws]

Literally haven’t posted in what feels like forever but I’ve been mumbling Arcane theories and symbolisms nonsensically in the corner of a private discord server since it came out and I haven’t seen ANYBODY talk about which I doubt is the case because I only noticed this because it was super apparent by the second watch

Okay, so, in the end scene of season 1, the show made sure to SPECIFICALLY show that the bomb was aimed directly at Mel’s back— realistically speaking, there was a literally no way she was going to survive that hit, especially looking at the damage (most) everyone else had— and yet she didn’t even get a scratch, and neither did Jayce, which Jayce himself states clearly.

Every other character in that room was HEAVILY damaged, and yet the people who should have been some of the most hurt weren’t? Again, it doesn’t make sense when you think realistically/logically.

Yet, I noticed, at the very beginning of the episode, we see Mel and Jayce wrapped around one another; everything is dark, a lot of the light from outside covered by ash and debris, and yet Mel’s golden accessories glow— and I’m talking GLOW glow, not just a reflection, like I thought it was the first time. In fact, you can see literal rays coming off of it as Jayce begins to get up (ignore that the picture’s taken from my phone, my Netflix was being weird)

Anyways, long story short, I highly suspect that that gold somehow kept her, and in addition, Jayce (since she was clinging to him physically), from being injured at all. If this is the case, it’ll obviously be mentioned later (… probably), and I’m really intrigued by what it’ll spark relationship wise.

We already know that Jayce is more than upset about the fact that he left that situation unharmed and Viktor wound up… well, Y’know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was, understandably, equally (if not more) upset to know that the reason he came out unharmed was because Mel grabbed onto him, not Viktor (which honestly makes sense for Mel considering she appears more connected with Jayce than Viktor for obvious reasons).

I’m also curious as to what the origins of this gold might be, if this theory of mine really is the case. I’m not sure how it would be connected to magic like the Hexcore and wild hex are, or if it would even make sense in this world’s programming for it to be magical, but eh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (god I love that emoticon)

Anyways don’t mind me blubbering this nonsense out loud here cause I’m way too into Arcane right now and will go insane if I don’t talk about it somewhere

[mammomlette]

I originally made this account to write but I then realised I hate writing so I think this is more for brain dumps and a bit of art now…🤷‍♀️

Anyway new obey me (demon) oc just dropped- POV: she’s trying to make you say some cancellable shit live on her podcast (just an unintelligible info dump below cut)

She was NAWT supposed to look so soft she was supposed to look JUDGY but covering her other brow and the curve of the shown one make her look smitten so…

Her name will PROBS be Astaroth, but I’m still searching for names anixjanjd

She’s a lower demon!! I have… concepts of a backstory. Something something poor lower demon something thief something gets told to pledge to Diavolo or be tortured by Barb because it’s olden times something close with Mephisto and dia something eats humans and upsets diavolo something kinda causes there to be a human-world visiting ban because of how many humans she was eating something…

It makes no sense but I’ll plan it out properly soon🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ I also want her to have beef with most of the cast. For fun. Like each person is a different reason she’s just a painfully dislikeable person (Examples being for Mephisto it’s because she makes fun of him and made the podcast to spite the newspaper club, for Diavolo and Barb it’s because she tried to eat a human after she was told about his dreams for peace, for Solomon it’s because he may or may not have been the human she tried eating after being told of Dias plans so he may or may not have had to curse her… etc etc)

She’s gonna have SOME friends, like Asmo and a group of succubi because 1. She’s a huuuge gossiper and 2. Her love language is physical touch but her curse means she can’t initiate direct contact with others so being friends with touchy people is the only way to feel normal idk is that too edgy

You can’t really tell in the photo thanks to the lighting and res but she has lilac-ish hair, darker lilac/purple tips and magenta-pinky eyes with multiple circles for pupils, plus a few piercings… random but I’m info dumping it’s not like anyone has to read this !! You also can’t rlly tell in the photo but her nails are like an icy blue

She’s a girls girl though. Like don’t get me wrong she’s gonna talk shit about you behind your back but she’ll make sure you know she’s doing it because if she’s nothing else she’s real and won’t pretend to like someone for the sake of it, plus she has a bit of a bias towards girls for no reason, she just prefers them a bit.

I have more but it doesn’t make sense so I’m gonna finish before I seem too insane on main. Shout out if u read this !!

[ladygojooo]

The shadows stain the snow (but darling, I want you anyway)

Synopsis: Betrayal, duty, and death - these were the only things the world of jujutsu had ever given you for all that you toiled. A twin of one of the fallen, you left it all behind in the hopes of carving out a small bit of uneasy paradise for yourself.

You should have known it never was going to work.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader

WC: 1.8k

Content: light angst, marriage proposal, marriage of convenience, soft!Gojo, fluffy ending, pre-Shibuya arc

A/N: raaaaah, I was so tired of having this in my drafts, and though I think it's utter trash, maybe one of y'all will like it, lol. Satoru Gojo, my beloved, the man that you are <3

There was white everywhere you looked.

Seven years after you left, and you still couldn’t think of anything but him when you saw the stupid color. At least the sky was covered in clouds today. Sure, it made you feel boxed in, but it certainly wasn’t blue.

You shut off the ignition in your car, not giving yourself time to prepare for the bitterly cold air that you’d step out into. If Japan hadn’t accustomed you to its winter lows, then the Yukon Territory certainly did the trick.

As you stepped out of the car, you watched with faint amusement as your exhales wafted up and away into the air around you. It was the one thing that brought you a bit of joy during the winter season - always reminded you of incense, for some reason.

The warmth of your home hit you all at once, and you couldn’t help the sigh that left your body as you unbuttoned your jacket and hung it up on the coat rack right beside the door. You could hear the ham and potato soup you’d frozen calling your name, and as soon as you shucked all our outerwear, it would be a matter of minutes before you could consume it. It was truly one of the best Western recipes you’d found while in Canada.

You walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer, humming with glee when you saw the frozen soup sitting near the front. So focused were you on pulling out a pot and opening the container that you failed to notice the 6’3” man in black sitting at your kitchen table.

“You have enough for me?”

Over the rush of your heartbeat, you didn’t even realize that you’d thrown a knife from the countertop until you saw it floating a few inches out from his heart.

Gojo laughed. “Oh come on, is that any way to greet an old friend? I’m starving after all this travelling!”

You had two options at this point. 

One - you hadn’t seen Gojo in ten years. You could laugh with him like no time had passed, get out a bigger pot and some more soup, and catch up over dinner.

Two - you could take all the hurt, anger, and fear you were experiencing at that very moment and put it to good use. Maybe you’d even be able to turn him out of your house. Freezing to death would do him some good.

You chose the second option.

“What are you doing here, Gojo?” You hissed, not turning back to the stovetop quite yet. You didn’t trust him not to get up in your business and try to steal some food.

“I’m here for a nice, homemade meal,” he grinned, grabbing the knife, kicking his feet up onto your kitchen table, and lifting his hands up to rest on the back of his head.

You threw a spoon on the countertop at him for doing so, uncaring that his infinity would keep it from reaching him. “I’m insulted that you think I’m that stupid. This isn’t some wellness check.”

Gojo sighed and settled into the chair some more as the spoon clanged to the floor, dragging out each second just because he could.

“We need you to come back,” he said. “We’re in need of more sorcerers, and you’re a special grade.”

You were already shaking your head as you answered, “Absolutely not. I’m retired.”

“You ran away.” The subtle accusation screamed loudly, even as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Semantics.” You waved it away with the bigger pot that you retrieved from under the counter. “Besides, what does it matter? Not once was I needed for missions. Surely the higher ups would have sent out a search party to bring me back if they really needed me.”

“And just who do you think kept the higher ups off your back?”

And oh, how the temperature dropped, even if his voice remained chipper. Your hand froze where it was about to turn on the gas.

“You knew where I was this whole time?” You whispered, voice shaky.

In lieu of an answer, the chair Gojo sat on skid across the floor, protesting the movement. His footsteps moved closer to you, each one sending your heartbeat skittering faster. You didn’t remember shutting your eyes.

“Look at me,” he murmured from right behind you.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Look at me,” he repeated, grabbing your shoulders and turning you around. Still, your eyes didn’t open.

“Gojo, you can’t-”

“Why did you leave?”

His insistent tone had you opening your eyes, only to find the bandana gone and cerulean blue staring back at you. Your heart, despite all the dates and failed relationships you’d had between then and now, fluttered just like it did back in high school. 

He was there, for the first time in a decade, he was there with you. You’d forgotten just how much you craved his attention, his presence, his very being until now.

You wouldn’t have the strength to leave a second time.

“Because my brother didn’t have the answers either.”

You felt him still, and for the briefest of moments, you thought the last thing you’d see would be a blinding purple. Hell hath no fury like a Gojo scorned, after all. You learned that shortly after the Sorcerer Killer’s death, when Suguru told you of the sheer power that Satoru unlocked.

“You know,” you whispered, eyes flitting down to the buttons on his shirt, “why I couldn’t have stayed.”

Gojo hummed. “You could have.”

“And where would that have left me, hm? Stuck between dangerous mission after dangerous mission or fearing when the higher ups would give me a fatal mission to finish me off? That’s not a life for anyone, never mind me.”

“And you don’t think I would have protected you?” He asked, the back of his knuckles brushing lightly over your cheek. Your breath stuttered, even as your eyes widened in disbelief.

“Gojo, we were barely adults! Between everything else going on, you couldn’t have shouldered my burdens.”

He chuckled. “You don’t think I’m strong enough, do you?”

You rolled your eyes and glossed over the parting words your brother left him with. “Satoru Gojo, I know your strength firsthand from our days in school, and I assume you’ve only improved since then. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

He smiled warmly at your free admission and let his thumb brush over your cheek. “Come back with me to train the next generation of sorcerers, and I promise you’ll be safe.”

“Have you not listened to anything I’ve said?” You moved your head back the slightest bit. It certainly wouldn’t surprise you if Gojo let your arguments for staying away go in one ear and out the other. 

The white haired man shook his head. “I’ve listened to everything you’ve said since stepping foot in the house. I just have solutions to each and every one of your protests.”

You moved to push him away, but with his infinity up, he still stood there, mere inches away. It was having an annoyingly dizzy effect on you, if you were being honest. It pissed you off.

“Oh, really? Pray tell, o wise one, how are you going to keep the higher ups from retaliating or marrying me off to some creep who only wants me for my technique?”

“By marrying me, of course.”

You sent him the most deadpan look you’ve ever conjured in your life, hoping that he wouldn’t catch the genuine shock that ran through your body. “That is the worst plan you’ve ever come up with. Absolutely not.”

He whined around the smile on his face. “It’s not! Think about it - you get protection from the higher ups through me, I get to bring you back to train the students, and based on how long it’s socially acceptable to wait to have children once married, we can work out a plan for divorce in plenty of time. After that, you can come right back here and live out your days in lonely solitude.”

“No, Gojo. I’m not coming back, what’s not clicking here?” You groaned in frustration, throwing your head back - anything to get away from his puppy eyes.

“One of the first years is Sukuna’s vessel.”

Your head whipped down to meet his gaze, eyes wide once again. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope!” Gojo chuckled. “Pretty great kid too. You’ll love him.”

The entire conversation was giving you whiplash to the extreme. Gojo showing up out of the blue, wanting you back at the school, offering to marry you to keep you from the higher ups, and now Sukuna, the feared King of Curses himself, was alive and trapped in an innocent boy.

The man really knew how to sweep you off your feet, you’d give him that much.

“Satoru, why do you really want me back?”

His lips slowly fell from a smile, and he backed away to look out the window to your right. Silence curled around you both, growing more suffocating by the second.

“Something big is coming,” he spoke lowly. “I don’t know what it is, but something tells me that it’s time to get my affairs in order. I-” He cut himself off with a harsh sigh and turned back to you once more. “I have my regrets, sure, but I don’t want you - not being with you - to be one of them.”

Your body moved of its own accord, letting an arm slip through his before resting your head against him. You breathed him in, sandalwood and bergamot and him in the best way possible. The fabric of his shirt brushed against your lips as you spoke.

“Can you really love me after all that’s happened? All this time?”

You missed the tender smile on his face. “I never stopped.”

Your breath shuddered as you buried yourself in his chest. After the betrayal from your brother, Satoru being ordered to kill him, the brutal argument you two had in Shoko’s morgue, all of it - you ran away to be free of the memories, the love strangling you every way you turned. You ran away because how could Satoru see you without seeing his best friend in your face? How could you face yourself in the mirror when all you saw was Suguru staring right back at you? How could anyone at Jujutsu High stand to be near you when all you were was a walking failure?

“And you’re sure you want me?”

“Well, it was either you or Utahime, so.”

You groaned and let your head drop to Gojo’s shoulder, slapping his arm a few times. “I hate you with a burning passion.”

“That’s the spirit!” He cheered, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

“You owe me so much kikufuku.”

“I’ll buy it all for you.”

“Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“This honeymoon better be at the beach.”

“Done.”