#violent night sequel

[miyaagis]

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐I desire violently—and I wait. gojo satoru

political unions are means to strengthen a clan, and you were lucky enough to willingly accept his affections and give him an heir—a son. so, why does he need backup heirs from other women?

(sequel to 444)

explicit content‐mdni. ₊˚⊹ ⚝ clan head!gojo, wife+mom!reader, infidelity, hurt little comfort, angst, jealousy, gojo being a boy dad, unnamed three-year-old baby gojo, pet names (honey, love), mentions of breeding and pregnancy.

word c. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ a bit over 1,000

clan head gojo art inspo

the gojo estate had always been blessed with bright landscapes during winter.

gray skies blended seamlessly with the light colored buildings, graced by the light rain (even with monsoon season still months away) and a calm atmosphere brought by the cold mornings.

"fishie c'mere."

your son wiggled his little fingers inside the water of the fishpond, squealing in delight when a fish splashed next to him. the three-year-old turned to look at you, bright eyes shimmering with mirth and child-like wonder.

"kōhaku!"

still crouched next to the pond, he loudly repeated what he had been taught recently by his governess.

even at his young age, his curiosity for the world surrounding him seemed endless, constantly having the clan's nannies on their toes only to get his way with that charming smile he clearly inherited from satoru.

"is that my mochi!?"

the exaggerated gasp from your husband quickly caught the little boy's attention, searching for his dad by turning his head left and right.

satoru's grip around his son came from behind, his little sandals falling from his feet as he's thrown up in the air before landing safely in his father's arms.

"papa, look! kōhaku!"

your husband gasps, dangling the boy over the pond as they watched the fish swim, "woahhh! my son is so smart!"

the little boy giggled as satoru littered his chubby cheeks with kisses, getting thrown over his dad's shoulder as they made their way towards you.

"good morning, my love," he leaned down to peck your lips, smiling tenderly at you. "has the little squirt been giving you any trouble?"

"he woke up an hour ago" you sighed, and he could perfectly picture you handling the cranky boy all by yourself.

"mama, i'm hungry." your son whined, letting his head fall against satoru's shoulder as he pouted adorably. "tummy hurts."

"go wash up, I'll handle breakfast," seeing the tired look on your face, he knew he had to cut you some slack and do his part as a parent. "take as long as you need, sweetheart."

with a kiss on your temple and a thankful smile from you, he sent you back to your shared bedroom while he took your little one to the kitchen.

"c'mon, mochi. let's go make mama something yummy."

—

two hours earlier.

satoru felt the warm embrace of his mistress nuzzling against him, her arms wrapped around his middle, and their legs tangled together under the thick comforter.

the sun wasn't even up, but the birds already chirped loudly through the window.

her faint sigh caught his attention, pulling her closer by throwing her leg over his hip while caressing the smooth surface of her thigh. they didn't even bother with clothes the night before, cocooning against each other after falling limply on the bed.

small kisses had warmth blooming on her skin, the comforting heat shared between their nude bodies as they stayed cuddled together.

"again?"

the clear disbelief in her tone made him chuckle, grunting softly as he pulled half of her body on top of his.

"I have to make sure it takes."

she hummed and smiled sleepily, pressing her lips onto his as he nudged her bare folds with the crown of his shaft right before sinking in her warmth.

they both felt their bodies ease up in relief, soft sighs exchanged in between sloppy kissing as he lazily thrust inside her.

satoru kept his face nuzzled against her neck, breathing her in while his arms wrapped around her. eventually, his lips moved back to her mouth in need of intimacy, the languid strokes of their tongues matching the steady pace of their lovemaking.

it didn't take him long to feel his member twitch and throb, emptying another load of his seed inside the woman, murmuring sweet nothing's as his length softened and slipped out of her.

satoru found it easy to fall asleep again with his mistress in his arms.

—

the fabric of your robes rustled silently around your feet—which seemed glued to the floor, as you watched her exit the main house of the gojo estate after another meeting between the Gojo's and her own clan.

her eyes met yours, and her hand immediately went to her flat stomach, as if protecting it, which made you scoff. and it only worsened when your husband held her hand as he helped her descend the wooden stairs.

all you could offer was a blank, emotionless stare, your sleeping son carefully held in your arms with his face hidden in the crook of your neck.

her eyes went to him, and your instincts screamed at you to shield him from her. what else did she want from you? was she after your son as well?

satoru swiftly rushed his mistress towards the exit so he could go back to you, having seen your distress. once he met you at the entrance of your own home, his frame interrupted your stare-down with the woman.

"let's go inside, honey." his tone was calm and gentle, coaxing you to let the issue go and head inside, but you didn't move. "please?"

"have you fulfilled your part of the deal?"

the coldness of your gaze had your husband pouting like a kicked animal. he ached to reassure you of his love, but he was quickly running out of ways to prove it.

"yes, I have."

wordlessly, you turned around with your son cradled close to you, his little fingers clinging onto your robes and satoru right behind you.

"my love, I hold no feelings. you know this already."

his reassurance was of little to no use. how he expected you to accept him impregnating another woman was beyond you.

"it's a political union," he vehemently said, knowing he had to convince you that she'd never become a wife of his. he'd give her a child—a backup heir—in exchange for her clan's resources and political ties. "I hold no feelings. you are my wife and the mother of the gojo clan's heir."

after putting down your son in his bed, making sure his soft hair was out of his forehead and the blanket kept him warm, you finally met satoru's gaze back.

"I don't want to know anything about her existence. don't ever bring her to my home again."

satoru nodded eagerly, willing to promise anything in order to end your sour mood. "I won't."

your son's room went silent besides the small breaths of his as he slept, unaware of the conflict worming inside his own home.

"but I will be out of our home more often." satoru knew he had to be careful with his words, blue eyes watching your reaction closely. there was no way to make it hurt any less, and he was finding it harder to conceal the excitement brimming from him. "she's pregnant."

satoru had to make sure the mother of his unborn baby had everything she wanted—him included.

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after a week of silence following the events that spiraled from your fake relationship, there's a knock at your door in the night. the sequel to wishful thinking, read part 1 here!

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: some angst (happy ending), really sappy make up smut, soft sylus, kinda sub sylus if you squint, body worship, female reader

★ 𝐰𝐜: 3.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: woot woot part 2 is finally here, sorry for the wait!! i had envisioned this being a two-parter from the start, and i wanted to do a bit of sweet smut hehe. you'll have to pry soft and caring sylus out of my dead cold hands that man is needy and obsessed w mc :(

It had been a week.

A week of nothing, absolute silence. No calls, no texts. It slowly became as if Sylus never even existed.

It was hell at first. My feelings had come on so fast, and then just like that it was over in the blink of an eye. The game of it all, will they or won’t they find out, the lies, the fun. It was exciting, until I started to get hurt; and I wasn’t going to put my own feelings and misery aside at the expense of everyone else.

Slowly, but surely, the days got easier. I had a break from work where I could take the time to put myself back together, though the band aids didn’t heal the wounds. They just helped to ease the ache.

I started to move on. It had been a week; I was going to go back to work, and act as if none of this ever happened.

Then there was a knock at the door.

It came in the middle of the night, and I just assumed it was one of my neighbors telling me to turn my TV down, or Xavier dropping off a game he had borrowed.

When I opened it, outside in the complex's hallway stood a sopping wet Sylus, drenched from the storm outside. His silver hair was messy, sticking to his forehead, his clothes disheveled as if he had thrown them on in a rush. A look of desperation resided on his face, replacing his usual calm and smug demeanor.

Not seeing him for a week was not something out of the blue, but the big bad leader showing up at my doorstep shivering like a wet cat was. Especially after everything that happened.

My heart felt like it lurched out of my chest, and all the bandages I had tried wrapping around it came loose in one swift movement. All the healing I had done flew outside the door I had opened and stood beside Sylus, mocking me.

I almost slammed the door closed, angry at his audacity, showing up at my place in the heat of the night after not speaking to me. Angry at everything that happened. Angry, hurt.

A whisper of my name escaped his lips, and I froze. It wasn’t often he called me by my name, only addressing me with his usual pet names.

“What are you doing here?” I questioned, hesitant about this whole exchange.

He glared at me, “That’s no way to speak to someone in distress.”

Angry.

I went to shut the door in his face, pissed off and violent, but he stopped it with his hand.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” The apology felt foreign coming out of him, “Can I come in?”

The look on his face went soft, and it almost looked as if he was going to cry. Everything about this was so out of character for him, and if I wasn’t so angry, maybe I’d even feel sorry for him.

Without a word, I pulled the door back open, stepping aside for him to come in. He was obviously cold, and it seemed like was trying his hardest to keep himself together.

“Don’t sit on the couch, you’re wet.” Maybe I was being mean, maybe he was undeserving of my anger, maybe letting him in was a mistake. I sighed, “Sylus, why are you here?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” His words were hard, and his stare was piercing. Normally I would feel uncomfortable under his gaze, but the exasperation I felt from his words outweighed that.

I scoffed, “I’ve been ignoring you? You haven’t reached out, what was there to ignore?”

“You’ve been ignoring me, you’ve been pulling back. I know you know I’m not stupid, kitten.”

He was right, he wasn’t stupid. When I started pulling away, he started pushing harder, and I could tell he knew I was almost done.

“Okay?” I crossed my arms, avoiding his eyes, “Then you started ignoring me. We’re even.”

“No.” He shot out, taking a step towards me, “That’s not how that works. I was waiting for anything from you, but it never came.”

“What did I do? What did I do wrong?” Sylus tilted his head forward, and I started to finally feel guilty. All of this was so different for him, when Sylus was upset he became mean, aggressive. He put up walls, started fights. For him to be so…pitiful, where was all of this coming from?

“I don’t understand what you mean-” He cut me off with a forced laugh, “You don’t understand? I don’t know how much more obvious I can be, sweetie.”

“Okay,” He paused, “I love you.”

My heart stopped. For a second, the world stopped spinning. It’s like everything, all at once, came to a halt with Sylus’ confession.

“You…love me?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. This was not how this was supposed to go. I loved him, that’s why I had to stop all of this, so it didn’t continue. It couldn’t continue. He cannot love me back.

“Why else do you think I threw myself into all of that? Why do you think I didn’t want anybody else to do it? Because I was bored? I have plenty of other things to do in my spare time.” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading for me to understand.

“Sylus, I-”

“For a second, I thought you loved me too.” Sylus sounded desperate, “But then you pulled back. You disappeared.”

He grabbed my hands, “Tell me, sweetie, what did I do wrong?”

“You love me.” I whispered, “That’s what you did wrong.”

Sylus let go, taking a step back. He ran his hand through his hair, a sorry attempt to pull himself back together, “I apologize,” He said, “I misunderstood this then.”

I looked at him, his appearance disordered and disheartened. The once prideful and arrogant man was now broken down to nothing but a shell of himself, and I realized the cause of that was me. Sylus was never one to back down from a fight, yet here he was throwing up a white flag.

He went to leave, turning his back to me. Turning his back to whatever was happening, breaking the character I had come to know. Going down without a fight. This broken man wasn’t Sylus.

“I love you too.” The words came out rushed, in a hurry to stop him. Announcing my own declaration of love wasn’t something I had intended to do, planning to keep it inside for all of eternity, letting the poisonous feeling bubble inside until it ate me alive.

Sylus stopped in his tracks.

“Then why is this wrong?” He didn’t turn back around to face me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. I’d crumble and fall if I saw his eyes.

“It would never work,” I let it all out, everything I had been holding in for so long, all the insecurities I had collected regarding any kind of relationship I could have with Sylus. “I’m a hunter, and you’re the head of Onychinus. We’re in two different worlds, living such different lives, it’s doomed. All of this is doomed.”

“Do you really think I care?”

His fingers suddenly gripped my chin with a possessive hold, as if he thought I might run off again. Trying to pull myself away, his grip tightened on my face, as well as the hold he had on my heart.

“It doesn’t matter if you care or not,” I gave him a weak glare, trying to scare him off, “don’t be selfish, Sylus. We’ll both just get hurt.”

Sylus lips twitched downwards, “I think you should allow yourself to be selfish for once.” His grasp left my face, “Do what you please.”

We stood in silence for a second, and I set my gaze upon the floor to avoid his stare, his red eyes penetrating my soul.

“What are you thinking?” He finally asked. I hesitated, not exactly sure what the right answer really was. I could continue to fight this feeling, or jump into the water.

“I’m scared.” I confessed, “I don’t want to get hurt. I can’t go through all of that, all of the heartache when things go wrong.”

“Now why do you think I would ever let that happen, sweetie?”

Sylus grabbed my hand, placing it against his heart, “This beats for you, I live for you.” I felt the quick, erratic rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingers, “I never stop missing you when you’re not around, every second you’re not beside me is misery.”

“I'll love you until my last breath, and even in the heavens too.” He pulls my hand up, placing a kiss against my palm, “I will never let anything happen to you, I could never live with myself if I hurt you.”

He kisses the back of my hand, my wrist, all the way up my arm to my collarbone, “I will do anything to make this work - if this falls apart, I’ll just put it back together. I need you by my side.”

I feel his soft breathing against the crook of my neck, and goosebumps rise on my skin. I want to fall into him, let myself become loose in his embrace and learn to trust his promises.

“But if you don’t want it, just say that.” Sylus presses one last kiss to the skin of my neck, “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave through that door, and I won’t bother you again.”

“Sylus…” I can only manage a whisper of his name. Everything else gets caught in my throat, my mind a tangled mess of emotions.

His face is inches from mine, and he quickly gives me an amused smile, “That's not a no.”

Before I can respond, even think of something to say, he captures my lips with his own. The strong smell of his cologne mixed with the taste of his mouth against mine makes me dizzy. The room and everything in it has suddenly become so warm, and my skin feels as if it’s been lit on fire.

Sylus pushes my body up against the wall behind us, hands trailing up my curves, grabbing at anything he can. His fingers embed themselves in my hips, waist, thighs, trying to pull me any closer.

“I’ll ask you again, sweetie,” He pulls away and I’m left standing there breathless with an unwavering grip on his (still) damp sweater, “do you want me to stop?”

I tangle my fingers in his wet hair, bringing his face back down to mine.

“No.” I whisper against Sylus’ lips, before crashing mine against his feverishly. Every feeling I had for him, everything I had suppressed, all of it was going into this kiss. He groaned into my mouth, his hold on me becoming tighter.

It all made perfect sense; The way our lips moved in sync, how our bodies fit perfectly together, our minds addicted to the thoughts of one another. We were, to put it simply, made for this. Our souls intertwined with ease as we found solace and safety in each other. All of the fear I had been plagued with dissipated with the consolation of Sylus’ body against mine. I was no longer scared of this not working, all I cared about was him.

After all, even a broken clock is right twice a day.

With one swift movement Sylus lifted me off my feet and cradled me with ease, maneuvering around my apartment as if it was his own.

Before I could even register I was in my bedroom, I was pinned against the mattress in the safe confine of his arms.

“Please,” His breathing was ragged, “let me show you how well I can treat you, let me touch you how you deserve.”

I lean up and kiss him between his furrowed brows, and he takes the opportunity to dive for my neck.

“Please.” Sylus repeats again. His eyes are practically begging. I give him a nod.

Stripping me of my shirt, he places gentle kisses down my torso down to the waistband of my shorts. Goosebumps rise on my skin from the cold air mixed with his gentle touch. His rough, calloused hands hold my hips like glass, a finger slowly pulling my shorts off my legs. A hiss of air leaves his lungs when Sylus sits back to take me in.

“Fuck.” He whispers, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for... Thought about having you like this.”

I give him a sheepish smile, “Is it worth the wait?”

His adams apple bobs in his throat as he swallows whatever words were going to leave his lips, running his hands up my thighs and waist. Sylus’ eyes travel up my figure, almost as if memorizing every dip and curve of my body.

“Every single second was worth it.” His voice was soft, “You’re perfect.”

Sylus leans down, pressing his lips to the bone where my hips and pelvis meet. He picks my leg up, lightly lifting it over his shoulder, resting his head on the inside of my thigh and looking up at me through his eyelashes.

He looks angelic, pure almost, glowing in the moonlight that spills through the window. His dominant, hard-bitten and arrogant exterior had disintegrated into nothing but his surrender as he lay open and bare for me in between my legs. All the walls I knew Sylus to have crumbled and fell, his only goal to show me that I’m loved; serving to please.

The tip of one of his fingers slides up my slit, and my breath catches in my throat. Sylus pauses, “Is this okay?”

“More than okay.” I confirm.

He quickly discards the cloth separating him from the heat in between my thighs, placing a gentle kiss to the place that craves him the most.

A moan escapes me as his lips latch onto my clit. My hands weave themselves through his hair, “Oh God, Sy- Do that again-”

Sylus groans into my core, worshiping the sex and heart that weeps for him, and only him. I twitch my hips towards his face, my mind reeling with the feeling that emits from his mouth.

“Yes-” He pushes a finger into me, easing the ache deep inside, “Be greedy, kitten, use me as you wish.”

I can only manage whimpers of his name, my brain incoherent and high on his mouth and touch as his tongue and fingers work magic. Tugging on the silver strands that grace his pretty head, the moan that leaves him vibrates against me, and I think for a second I might be done for.

“Mm, Sylus, wait-”

“That’s it, sweetie. Getting close?” His fingers curl up inside me and I shake my head, not wanting to finish so soon, “No, I-”

He pulls back and sits up as soon as the word leaves me, and I almost sob at the loss of contact. Sylus’ eyes scan my face with concern, and I pull him back down on top of me. His chest heaving against mine, he plants a kiss to the corner of my eye, “I thought I-”

“Not yet, fuck me.” Cutting him off, I push my body up against his.

“Of course, kitten,” Within seconds his pants and briefs were discarded somewhere in the room, my thighs instinctively wrapping around his hips, “who am I to deny you?”

His hard length pressed up against my entrance, the desperation making me crazy.

“Sylus, please-” I tried to push my hips forward, longing for more. He cupped my cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, inching deeper agonizingly slow, “Patience, sweetie. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t!” Despite my reassurance, Sylus’ eyes were still filled with worry. Using my legs that were wrapped around him, I yanked his hips forward and with one fell swoop he was to the hilt inside.

Spasming around him at the sudden fullness, I sunk my teeth into his collarbone to stifle a scream. I could feel myself gripping him like a vice, his moaning and panting in my ear a sweet confirmation.

“I told you I could do it.” I lapped at the broken skin where I had bitten.

Sylus laughed lowly against my lips, “I didn’t mean to doubt you, kitten.”

The movement of his hips were rhythmic, every thrust sending me deeper into a spiral of love and pleasure. My thoughts were nothing but static, only focusing on the beautiful man in front of me and how good he was capable of making me feel.

His own moans were strangled, groaning praises and muttering sweet nothings into my ear. Sylus thrusted deeply into me, tightly holding my hand as if he thought I and this moment were going to disappear. His eyes would snap open and flutter closed with every movement, relishing in the feeling of our bodies together.

My skin was electric, fireworks setting off in every corner of my being. My mind spun with the addictive feeling and taste of Sylus’ sweet lips on mine, his fingers digging into my hips.

He and I together were not doomed, though us being apart was. We were magnetic, velcro, sworn to be together. We were aligned in ways I wasn’t sure was even possible.

“Tell me again that you love me,” Sylus trapped my head in between his arms, “tell me that this is okay and you want it.” His eyes were misty, his voice hoarse.

“I love you.” I mewled as his thrusts were getting faster, harder.

“I can be good for you, I’ll take care of you, please just let me be yours. Please be mine, let me have this.”

The familiar feeling rose inside, and I knew I was close, “Yes, Sy- I’m all yours.”

“I love you, I love you, I love- Fuck-” His hips snapped against mine at a pace that had me seeing stars, “My girl, you’re my girl. Mine-”

His girl.

I came undone with a loud moan of Sylus’ name, scratching my fingers sharply down his back, arching myself deep against him. His hips stuttered against mine, reaching his own high. Wrapping each other in our arms, trying to pull one another any impossibly closer. So close our souls could touch.

I didn’t just want Sylus, no, I needed him. It wasn’t until I found him that I discovered the large, empty sorrowful space that resided in my life. A space that I was always too scared to confront, a space that he fit into so perfectly.

Some force in this massive universe decided to pair me with him, to make me his, and I was tired of being scared and ignoring it.

“I love you, Sylus.”

tag list!! ty all for the support <3

@crowskitten22 @peacedreamer14 @phantom-101 @evilldentists @ionlypartiallyslay @fealy @sellelqvz @huachengnism @mandysfanfics @shiorihoshino @sinnamon-bunn @knifep-rty @l0bulariia @knifep-rty @yoyach @ononpetitecroissant @syluslittlecrows @beewilko @unbetirtlt @sylus-crow

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Stay With Me

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

a/n: sequel to Try Me; in this one Carlos' appendix and Lando's crash happened at the same time

"Guys, don't let him fool you. He was horrible to me when we were kids" You joked taking a sip of your beer.

"That's one big fat lie you just said" Carlos defends himself.

"I'm sorry y/n, but I just can't believe that, he's so protective of you, you know just like an older brother should be" Kika commented on your accusations.

"Well he sure wasn't like that when we were little. One time he slammed me so hard against the door that I almost broke my hip! I was bleeding!" You say making everybody's jaws drop and listen carefully to what was coming next.

"Slammed you..I didn't slam you, I pushed you a little and then you threw yourself against the door just to make me look bad" Carlos rolled his eyes at you as you mockingly mimicked his words.

"You scarred me for life! Literally! I still have a scar from the cut!"

"What cut?" Lando asks coming back from the toilet and taking a seat between you and Charles.

"We were just talking about how Carlos was violent towards me when we were kids..so much that I have a visible scar because of him!" You explain.

"Oh the one on your right hip?" Lando blurts out and at that moment everyone falls silent staring at the two of you.

It was a calm relaxing night. Kika, Pierre, Charles, Carlos, Lando and you were hanging out on a yacht. You were drinking a little, talking, laughing, the music was playing in the background and you were all enjoying a race free weekend.

Somehow you got on the topic of your and Carlos's childhood so you decided to tell them some interesting stories. Lando didn't know about the story you just told them, but of course he saw the scar on your hip the first time he saw you naked. He traced it with the tips of his fingers and even kissed it before going down on you multiple times..

"How would you know that she has a scar on her right hip?" Carlos asks furrowing his eyebrows at him. Your breath caught and your heart rate quickened. No one said a word waiting with wide eyes for one of you to give an explanation.

"I-I.." Lando stammered glancing at you. Both of you were so caught off guard that you didn't know with what lie to come up with. You kinda knew there was no going back from this now. There was no point in lying actually because none of them were stupid. Everybody knew how he must've found out, but still, you couldn't believe your brother was going to find out this way about you two.

"Are you sleeping with my sister?" Carlos growls angrily clenching his hands.

"Carlos, calm down okay? I can explain-" Lando tries, but is soon cut off by Carlos getting up from his seat and gripping the collar of Lando's shirt.

From a pleasant and relaxing evening, things quickly got out of hand. Kika and you both let out a scream as Carlos pounced at Lando and Charles and Pierre quickly intervened pulling Carlos away.

"Carlos, stop!" You shout your chest quickly rising up and down as you stood in front of Lando who put his hands on your shoulders to calm you down because he could feel how scared you were.

"What are you doing?! Get your hands off her!" But Carlos was seeing red. He was so angry that one of his friends disobeyed his rule about staying away from his little sister.

"Stop it right now! Yes, Lando and I have been seeing each other for quite some time now and there's nothing you can do about it!" You declare confidently, but quickly blinking to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. You were disappointed and embarrassed with the way he overreacted. He acted as if Lando was a drg dealer or something not his friend. You always knew all Carlos wanted was to protect you and your feelings, but this was completely unnecessary.

"Estas loca o que?!" Carlos snaps at you. "There's no way I'm gonna approve of that!" Are you crazy or what?

"I don't care! You don't get to tell me what to do with my life! Stop treating me like a child! I don't need you to protect me!" You bark back frustration bursting out of you. "Besides, Lando is your friend! What is wrong with you to act like this?"

"Baby, calm down, please.." Lando mumbles quietly, but loud enough that Carlos hears him too.

"This..this is the last time you see her. I don't ever want you around her ever again."

But of course it wasn't like that. You weren't even thinking about breaking things off with him. You two cared about each other way too much to let it all go to waste. Although you agreed to let the situation settle down a bit so you didn't see each other for 2 weeks, until the next grand prix in Las Vegas.

You missed him. You weren't used to not seeing him for more than 3-4 days, and now it's been more than 10 days since you last saw each other. You missed his touch, you missed his kisses, his warm hugs that always made everything bad go away. And he missed you too, even more than he thought he would. He realized in that relatively short period of time that he doesn't want to be without you anymore. He also realized that, to him, nothing will ever make sense if you're not there.

You took the opportunity and went with Carlos to Las Vegas to be as close to Lando as possible even though Carlos never let you out of his sight. Since Carlos got his appendix removed two days before the grand prix, he wasn't able to race so you two were following the race from the Ferrari garage.

You were feeling kinda strange that day. You couldn't explain it, but your gut feeling was telling you that something was just off that day.

You had a great need to go to Lando before the start of the race and tell him how much you miss him and how much you are in love with him. But since you didn't want to cause problems with your brother who came out of the operating room two days ago and was still in pain, you decided to keep everything you desperately wanted to say to yourself.

Everything about your gut feeling became clear as a day when while following the race you saw a McLaren car snap out of control and heavily crash on the third lap of the race.

Your heart dropped and your legs went numb looking at the screen before you.

"No.." You whisper to yourself putting your hands over your mouth and turning to your brother who went pale. "Is-is that Lando?" You ask, your voice breaks as Carlos pulls you to him and wraps his arms around you.

"Shh, he's going to be fine, okay? Everything's going to be alright." Carlos eyes were stuck on the screen as he was comforting you rubbing your back and you cried into his chest.

All the worst possible scenarios went through your head at that moment. The very fact that you could lose him scared the life out of you and you didn't even get to call him yours yet. You couldn't bear it.

"I need to see him. I want to be by his side." You said and Carlos just nodded. All the anger and rage quickly evaporated from him when he saw his best friend crash.

When Lando was taken for precautionary checks in the University Medical Center, you were in his driver's room pacing back and forth waiting for him or any kind of information about him. And then finally, after what seemed like years later, there he was entering the room after being told that you were there waiting for him.

"Lando.." You stopped in tracks at the sight of him in front of you before running into his arms. "You scared me so much you don't even know.." You said leaving gentle kisses over his cheeks, jaw and lips.

"I'm here, baby, it's okay" He said burying his face into the crook of your neck inhaling your scent as his arms tightened around you.

"I missed you, I missed you so much.." You say sobbing.

"I missed you too. I couldn't concentrate on anything, I just kept thinking about you the whole time" He admits looking deep into your eyes wiping your tears away with his thumbs. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He didn't even have to ask. There was no force that would separate you from him anymore. From now on it was two of you together through everything and anything.

"I'll stay with you forever, baby" You smile softly as he leans his forehead against yours.

"I'll hold you to that"

[thehydraethereal]

OKAY SO when the last on ended it could pick up from there and he ties her up in a room. Then they get to where their going to and she tries to get away from him but he finds her. Then brings her back to the house and torture her ( idk if u write for that ) or he just ties her up in the basement and just leaves her there for a while idk <3

ꪖꪶꪶ I 𝘴ꫀꫀ Ꭵ𝘴 ᦔꪖ𝘳𝘬ꪀꫀ𝘴𝘴

๛༊ 𝒲ARNINGS: This work contains dark themes such as dv + mentions of; NONCON (rape); heavy violence (on reader and others); mentions of murder; abusive relationship; and possibly more. MNDI, 18+ ; IF YOU DO NOT LIKE MY CONTENT, DO NOT INTERACT.

࿐༊ 𝒲ord 𝒞ount: 1.2k. BARELY PRROFREAD.

๛༊ CATEGORY: A RAFE CAMERON DRABBLE | RAFE'S 𝓜ASTERLIST |

๛༊ MY NOTES: this is the sequel of '𝒜ll ℐ see is ℛed ℒights'. thank you all for reading and giving me so much love, I feel blessed! 🥹 hope you all enjoy this part as well. always, to my sister @highonmarvel , maybe you'd like this as a late night read. Love you forever and always, thank you for inspiring me so much! A lil something for @stargirllanaa, ofc if you wanna read. @ghostbusters6 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING. It did not turn our as violent as I would've wanted---more poetic tbh--- but you can request more and i'll write torture as well. ily and hope you enjoy this.

You barely stood awake the rest of the journey. You were lying limp on a thick blanket in a corner, and you only remembered glimpses of Rafe checking up on you, muffled voices and the never ending sound of the waves crashing on the sides of the ship. 

The sleep soothed your pain, numbing your senses, so you welcomed it thankfully. You did not want to see or talk to anyone—that person being your boyfriend that beat your brother to death—, you didn’t want to believe you’re alive, going to a future you didn’t want to have. It wasn’t up to you though, apparently Rafe was making the choices and you just had to ask how high when he told you to jump.

 The thought of finding a sharp piece of glass and using it to finish off the suffering had crossed your mind, but your body was way too weak to comply with your brain’s commands. 

Your lashes batted as you tried to open your eyes. You placed your trembling hands into the mattress and managed to sit on your bottom, letting your back fall on the wall.

 Finally, you felt a little strength running through your bones and muscles and your foggy state of mind cleared a bit and, after the days that had passed, you were able to fully open your eyes. 

The view was the same: an iron wall, a few carton boxes and the blanket around your body. 

But wait—the ship was not moving anymore. 

The door creaked open and your puffy eyes fell on your boyfriend’s emotionless ones. 

You immediately got up, bringing your knees to your chest and planting your palms into the mattress firmer as Rafe was coming closer.

His dark tee shirt clung tightly to his broad chest, bicep muscles flexing under the material as he brought his hand up to wipe at his nose with his fingers – the obnoxious habit that warned you about the stormy emotions running through his head. Fear ran through your veins as you saw in your mind, again, your brother’s blood staining Rafe’s hand

“C’mon, baby…” he spoke, now as he had fully reached your bed. 

Your feet tangled in the sheets as you moved further from him, a whine bubbling up in your throat. The pet name felt foreign and bitter. 

Rafe’s brows furrowed, and he spoke your name, it sounded as both a warning and a threat, but it also was the chant of a lost little boy begging you to just…comply with his demands. But did it terrify you to your core. 

When you still hadn’t complied, Rafe nodded to himself — another habit he owned —  and his hand extended, willing to grip your wrists. 

You whimpered as his iron, long fingers wrapped on your skin, coldness running up your spine. He managed to get you on your feet and you yelped when he smashed your back across his chest. Hard. At first, you were grateful for the sustain offered by his body because your legs felt disattached from your hips, considering the stagnation of the blood flow and muscles in your thighs, calves and ankles, but when his hardness poked your lower back, nausea filled you again.

A part of you tried to excuse him, it was telling you he ‘cannot help it’, that he is a man, and men have certain needs at any moment –you inherited this because of his constant manipulation, the contrast and bipolarity of his actions, of vulnerability and power. But having him get aroused from the way your pained whimpers sounded was cruel nevertheless. 

The following events went rapidly, and once you were off the massive ship, your numb form was secured into a backseat of a jeep.

“Can I trust you?” Rafe asked, raising his brows, and the threat behind it pinched at your brain. You knew what he meant. ‘Don’t fuckin’ run away.’ But as soon as your boyfriend left, his words were long forgotten. Fight or flight conquered all your senses and you opened the door and sprinted through the bushes adorning the dusty roads.

You knew nothing about the zone, but you would have rather stayed with a crotal than the man that murdered your brother with cold blood. 

Your heart started beating faster—if that was even possible—when you heard Rafe’s panicked and terribly angered voice behind you. 

“Hey..HEY!” he shouted behind your head and his bicep curled around your chest, stopping you from your sprint. 

You screamed, the hoarse and frightened noise filling the emptiness of the dunes. 

Rafe’s lips impacted your ear and his hand came to grip your face. The silence was not necessary—nobody cared for your cries, but Rafe needed your silence. It was his everyday bread, he was healing himself by painting your life in ashy shades of black and blue.

The new mansion was not more infant nor healing. The wealth had left its mark all over. Wealth terrified you. In your heart and soul, wealth was a synonym of dore and dreadfulness. Wealth meant the lack of freedom for others. Maybe you were globally right or maybe you were just the unfortunate stupid little girl. 

Rafe’s eyes, painted by sorrow and madness, looked at the ghostly scene he created with his own bare hands. He had never seen you this terrified and beaten before, and, as much as he desired to feel a certain fulfillment—the one he had always felt before—he did not. Actually, your tears have turned into tears for him. He felt pathetic. 

But that patheticism disappeared as soon as you jumped away from his touch. The voices were chanting in his head ‘disobedience; disobedience’ and then ‘abandonment’. Everybody, absolutely everybody in his life had given up on him at some point and then, he was powerless. But with you it was different. He had the strength to hold you back, even if that meant that you would tear your limbs off trying to uncuff yourself from his claustrophobic, torturous grip. You were the only star in his sky and he was draining all the light from every cell of your body. He knew that someday you will fade away. But until then, he had to bathe in your light as much as it was possible. 

"I need you, and you-you don't seem to understand that--" Rafe shouted in the second part, shoving his index and middle fingers in his temples, trying to show you that it's not hard to get this into your head.

However, your black and blue body, splayed across the expensively polished floor was sending a totally different visual message. Wracked sobs and whimpers were met by the back of your palm, puffy eyes staring up at the man you couldn't recognize.

Rafe screwed his eyes shut as he was breathing heavily, trying to calm himself down. "T-take me home, please--" you suddenly whined, and Rafe was immediately crouched next to your body. “Even if you could kill me and then throw my corpse away in a fuckin’ swamp, I will not live without you. If I’m on fuckin’ fire…", he stopped but you didn't need him to continue. "Do you understand that?”. His yell made your throat constrict and you nodded, forcing more pain into the bruises of coagulated blood on the flesh and muscles of your neck. 

In two months, he would put a priceless diamond necklace over them—if you would be lucky enough to be unchained from his dorm—, and you would be expected to place a soft kiss on the lips that brutally murdered your true self, and drink from the poison of his being. 

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: hey there! i never actually planned on writing a sequel to ‘9 pm’ but a few anons asked about it and i liked the idea of giving them some happiness following that fic! the perfect title gave me the idea for the fic and here we are ☺️ i hope you guys enjoy!!

word count: 2.8k

tw: brief and minor mention of a miscarriage, pregnancy

direct sequel to 9 p.m. in vancouver

summary: andrei’s off on a road trip and you’re more exhausted than normal. once you realize why, you have to call andrei immediately

It’s barely ten at night and you’re falling asleep on the couch, Friends rerun playing at a low volume on the TV. Your blinks get longer, eyelids heavy, while Joey yells about the Coast Guard.

A yawn creaks at your jaw and you try to blink away some of the sudden exhaustion in your body. It doesn’t really work, another yawn catching you a few minutes later. You wrap your arms around one of the throw pillows, cheek smashed up against the pillow tucked under your head.

It’s been a long few days, work overwhelming you and Andrei up in the tri-state area for a mini road trip. The Canes had lost to the Flyers before beating the Devils. They’re currently up two goals on the Rangers, according to your NHL app updates, with just a few minutes left in the third.

The team will spend the night in the city before heading to Long Island for the second half of a back to back tomorrow.

It’s a grueling schedule so early in the season, four games in six days, and you know Andrei will be exhausted when he gets home on Monday morning. At least they’re off for two days before hitting the ice for a home game on Wednesday. You yawn again and decide vaguely that maybe you’ll go to the game, if you can keep your eyes open. It’s been a while since you went to the arena and you miss watching Andrei play live.

You can’t help but think briefly about the game in Vancouver last November, almost a year ago now, and your hand drifts to your stomach.

The baby would’ve been four months old, probably keeping you wide awake right now.

You don’t really think about the loss as much anymore, you can go long stretches of time without thinking about him - because you’d decided that it was a boy, even though it was too early to ever tell. Your due date had come around at the end of July and Andrei had spirited you out of the country, the both of you quiet and moody for a few days.

And then training camp had started and you’d gotten busy with work and then the season started and you didn’t dwell on the loss for a while.

But now it’s late and you’re tired and you haven’t seen Andrei in a few days and you should be cuddling a baby right now.

A few tears trickle down your temple and you swipe at them, emotion clogging your throat.

“God, get a grip,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head slightly. It’s not even like you’re on your period to be so hormonal right now. Your brain takes a second to process the thought and when it does, your eyes widen and you kick your legs out, struggling with the blanket to try and sit up.

“Oh, oh my god,” you scramble for your phone, tossing blankets around until you hear the tell-tale thunk of the phone hitting the floor. You lunge for it, the TV remote going flying, but you barely pay attention to that as your fingers wrap around the loop on the back of your phone case and snatch it off the floor.

Your hands shake violently as you unlock your phone and thumb over to find your period tracker app. The app takes seconds to load, seconds where your heart beats wildly and your vision goes a little blurry. You mutter, “come on, faster, faster,” under your breath and suddenly the screen loads and there in the center of the screen, in bold font, is the notice that your period has been late for more than thirty days.

You’ve missed two periods.

Without even realizing it.

To be fair to yourself, after the miscarriage, everything was thrown off and you’ve only had seven or eight periods in the past year. So it’s not totally crazy that you didn’t realize you missed two cycles.

Your stomach lurches a little bit and you chew at your lower lip. You probably should take a test. But do you want to know without Andrei, again?

It didn’t work out so well last time.

You’re probably not even pregnant, you rationalize, it’s the stress of a new season starting and your body getting back to normal.

Never mind the fact that you’ve long been cleared to get pregnant again and your gynaecologist hadn’t said anything was wrong at your last appointment.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s just a notification from the NHL app - sometime in the last few minutes, while you’d been spiralling, the Rangers had tied the game and it was going to overtime.

Overtime anxiety is better than maybe-pregnant anxiety, so you tune into Bally, the sudden brightness of the glare off the ice making you blink. You’re half-heartedly paying attention, fingers tapping against your thigh while the players zip up and down the ice, trading scoring chances. Andrei’s on the ice for a shift and then he’s back on the bench. Pyotr makes a save and then another and then he doesn’t.

You frown at the TV, watching Andrei and the guys file off the ice, miserable for the team’s loss. You change the channel back to Nick at Nite, not interested in seeing the post-game analysis of the loss.

The audience laughter from the show echoes around the living room and you chew at your lower lip anxiously. Andrei won’t be back to his hotel room for hours, the post-game process already underway, but between media, a shower, and the travel. Well, it’ll be at least close to midnight before you can talk to him.

He’ll reassure you that you’re overthinking, that it’s nothing. But a quiet part of your brain is insistent that you’re pregnant and it just won’t shut up.

The smartest thing would be to take a test, find out once and for all if you’re even going to mention anything to Andrei. You’re pretty sure there’s no tests left after last time and if there are, they’re probably expired.

Your fingers tap at the screen of your phone almost by memory, the Google search showing that there’s a twenty-four hour CVS just a ten minute drive away.

The episode ends and another begins while you sit on that information, giving yourself a moment to imagine what you’ll do if the test is positive. He has to know immediately this time, you don’t think you’d be able to wait.

“Oh fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the blankets off your legs and getting up from the couch. Your vision goes fuzzy, briefly, the blood rushing from your head. You blink and everything shifts back into focus, your heart hammering a little.

Before you can overthink it, you turn off the TV and head for the front door, making a stop at the front hall closet to grab a jacket. Your fingers close around the sleeve of one of Andrei’s, the jacket dwarfing your frame as you slip your arms into the sleeves. You shove your feet into a ratty pair of Uggs and drop a faded Canes ball cap on your head.

You look insane, more like a college kid doing a walk of shame than a married woman, but Andrei’s scent embedded deep into the collar of his jacket is comforting you.

At CVS, you grab at the pregnancy test boxes like a woman possessed - Clear Blue, First Response, and the CVS generic brand all go into your basket, along with a bag of pumpkin shaped Reese’s Cups and a pack of Twizzlers. Something about the waxy, artificial strawberry ropes seems appealing right now.

Thank God for self-checkout, you don’t think you can face another person right now.

The pregnancy tests feel like they weigh a million pounds in the plastic bag and you gnaw anxiously on a Twizzler as you drive back home.

It’s well after midnight by the time you manage to drink enough water in order to pee on all the sticks and this round is more anxiety producing than when you’d done it over a year ago. Once you’re done, you set the timer on your phone and flip each stick over on the counter, so you can’t see the displays.

Instead of waiting in the bathroom, which is feeling small and stuffy despite how large it actually is, you pace around your bedroom for the few minutes it takes for your timer to count down. You wonder if you could call Andrei now, be on the phone with him when you look at the display, but if you’re not pregnant and he’s on the phone, he’ll be disappointed right before the next set of games. He’s been talking about it a little more lately, in the abstract, how nice it’ll be to have a baby one day. And you maybe haven’t been as enthusiastic as he’s been, so you don’t want to get his hopes up.

If you’re not pregnant, Andrei doesn’t need to know that you worried yourself into a tizzy over nothing.

But if you are? Well, Andrei will be the first call anyway.

The timer goes off on your phone and the sudden, shrill noise makes you jump. Your stomach lurches and you flatten your palm over it. Underneath the anxiety, there’s a little bubble of excitement growing, the thought of a baby providing a little spark of joy.

You wander back into the bathroom and close your eyes before flipping the tests over with shaking hands.

The plastic clatters against the countertop and you squint one eye open and then the other, vision focusing on the little displays.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes immediately filling with tears, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

All three are positive, the little Clear Blue display declaring you ‘Pregnant’ in tiny letters.

Tears slip down your cheeks and you start giggling wildly, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Your hands press on your stomach, palms flat and fingers splayed.

“Hey there, baby,” you murmur, looking down. “Stay safe in there, okay? We want to meet you.”

The tears fall faster and you wipe at them with your shoulder, a damp splotch forming on the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s so late, but you need to tell Andrei, and you move on autopilot, climbing onto your bed and finding your phone among the messy covers - the bed hasn’t been made in two days because Andrei is more of a stickler for that than you are and you like to get right back into the nest of blankets at the end of the day. It’s on your list of things to do before he’s back in a few days. Now, you pile yourself into a little cocoon of the blankets and comforters, warm and happy.

You text him first, just a quick ‘you awake?’ that you know he’s going to read as a request for phone sex.

True enough, your phone vibrates in your hand a few seconds later, Andrei’s name at the top of the screen. You grin and slide the bar to answer, “hey there.”

“Is late,” he replies, a faint laugh in his tone. “Thought you would be sleeping.”

“No,” you giggle, feeling a little unhinged. “Not asleep. Couldn’t sleep. Um, are you alone?”

Your husband laughs fully now, the sound echoing over the line. “Solnyshka, been a long day. I love you, but we have early morning,” he teases and the rumble of his voice makes you smile.

“No, not for that you perv,” you shoot back, twisting your fingers in a loose thread. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You know you’re sounding vague and strange, but to his credit, Andrei doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he’s quiet for a second before your phone vibrates against your ear, signalling an incoming text. You pull the phone from your ear and tap over to your messages, laughing when you see the picture Andrei just sent.

The hotel room is nearly pitch black, but you can still make out the shape of Martin Nečas passed out in his bed with what looks like an eye mask covering his face. Andrei’s grinning face is cut off in the corner of the picture.

“Guess that’s a yes then,” you smile, bringing the phone back to your ear.

“Neci has earplugs in too,” Andrei informs you. “Says I snore, which is lie.”

It’s not, but you don’t feel like relitigating that particular point with him right now. So you move on.

“I know I should’ve waited, done something cute, but I’m bursting,” you let the words come out in a rush, feeling lightheaded with excitement. “I couldn’t, I had to tell you right away, Drei, baby, I’m pregnant.”

Andrei’s silent on the other end and a slightly manic laugh bubbles out of your mouth while you wait for him to say something.

“Pregnant?” He repeats, sounding like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach - winded and hoarse. “Like, with baby?”

“Yeah, mhm,” you hum, just letting the news soak in. Andrei’s breathing is audible in your ear, a soft ‘huh’ puffing out.

He starts to laugh and you can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “oh, solnyshka, fuck, I’m… ya chertovski schastliv.”

He slips into Russian and you’re not totally familiar with the words, but he repeats them in English, “I’m so fucking happy. Are you okay? How you feel?”

“I’m okay, I was feeling a little tired earlier,” you say. “That’s kind of why I took the test, just to see.”

Without asking, Andrei switches the call to a FaceTime and you pull the phone back, his grinning face taking up the entire screen. He looks lighter and happier than he has in months and the sight of him, of that smile that you love so much, makes you emotional.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he shakes his head, still smiling. “Hold you, something other than smile like idiot on phone.”

“I’m just happy to see your smile,” you say truthfully. A hug wouldn’t be unwelcome, but just seeing Andrei’s face has you calmer. “It’s late,” you continue, catching sight of the time in the top left corner of your phone - nearly 1:30 in the morning. “You should get some sleep.”

The adrenaline is starting to wear off now and you slump back against the pillows and headboard.

Andrei nods. “Call me when you get up,” he requests, phone bouncing slightly as he shifts on the bed. “We leave early, but call any time, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, pressing your lips together to smother a yawn. “Hey, I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Andrei replies in Russian, warm and awed. “You and baby, both.”

You’re both quiet for a bit, comfortable and sleepy, reluctant to end the call. You just want to enjoy his long-distance presence and this little bubble, but eventually Martin lets out a snore on his side of the room, startling you since you forgot he was there. Andrei laughs faintly and reluctantly ends the call, after telling you he loves you again.

Now that Andrei knows, your whole body relaxes and you sink happily into the nest of blankets and pillows, curled up in a c-shape, one hand on your stomach.

There’s a million things to figure out in the coming days, weeks, and months, a million worries to ruminate on, but for now, you fall asleep with a smile on your face and pure happiness bubbling in your stomach.

The next morning, you snooze your alarm and allow yourself to wake up slowly and lazily. It’s an easy morning and you don’t plan on getting out of bed until you hear the doorbell ring.

With a grumble, you climb out of bed and shove your feet into a pair of slippers to pad downstairs, wondering who could be at the door this early.

It’s a delivery man, half-hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers. You accept it, surprised at the delivery but not at the sender.

The oversized bouquet made up of baby roses, baby’s breath, and a few other types all in various shades of baby pink and baby blue can only be from your husband. Your face hurts from the size of your smile and you dig out the little card from between a pale pinks rose and a light blue hydrangea.

‘I love you, we will celebrate as soon as I am home. A hug and a kiss from New York for you, mama. -A’

It’s not Andrei’s handwriting, but you trace your fingers over the letters and feel tears well up. Any concerns or worries you might have about having a baby are pushed aside.

Andrei’s going to be the best dad and you’re so lucky to be doing this with him.

[goryhorroor]

horror of 2025

here's the list (hoping i get every movie but mostly will be kinda focusing on the ones i'm either excited for or is super popular)

the wolfman - leigh whannell's take on the classic

final destination: bloodlines - tormented by recurring violent nightmares, stefanie returns home to break the cycle

black phone 2: sequel

sax xi: eleventh installment in the saw franchise

28 years later - it's been three decades since the rage virus escaped a laboratory and some groups have been able to live amongst the infected but when they leave the safety of their island they'll discover dark secrets

m3gan 2.0 - sequel

companion - after being invited to a weeekend trip at her new beau's lakeside estate, iris uncovers a terrible secret

they follow: sequel to it follows

frankenstein: guillermo's del toro's take on the original

the strangers: chapter 2 - sequel

the strangers: chapter 3 - end of a trilogy

scary movie: return to the horror spoof series

sinners - trying to leave their troubled lives behind, twin brothers return to their hometown to start again, only to discover that an even greater evil is waiting to welcome them back

untitled jordan peele film - plot tba

poohniverse: monsters assemble - a team of evil childhood cartoon characters i didn't know we needed but i guess we're getting one

vicious - a young woman must spent the night fighting for her existence as she slips down a disturbing rabbit hole contained inside a mysterious gift from a late-night visitor

blade - i mean i hope so but i'm not sure if we're actually getting it this year

the bride - in the 1930s, a lonely frankenstein travels to chicago to seek the aid of dr. euphronius in creating a companion for himself. they murder a young woman and the bride is born

scary stories to tell in the dark 2 - sequel

thanksgiving 2 - sequel

the auditors - nikki, grappling with post-job loss financial strain, inadvertently ignores the fine print of their MDPOPE purchase, and their descent into horror begins with the arrival of the auditors who subject them to torture

grind - a group of college students host a midnight grindhouse film festival. they discover a cursed arthouse horror movie called the creeping chaos. in screening the movie, they unleash absolute mayhem

you take can now - plot tba

scream 7 - plot tba

kraken - marine biologist johanne is doing research on a fish farm in vangshe, a rural community located by the fjord. when she encounters strange occurances along with two brutal deaths, she discovers that a mythical creature rests

the woman in the yard - a mysterious woman who repeatedly appears in a family's front yard, often giving chilling warnings, and leaving residents to question her identity, motive, and potential danger

i know what you did last summer - reboot of classic

fear street: prom queen - prom season at shadyside high is underway, but when an outsider is unexpectedly nominated to the court, and other girls start disappearing, the class of '88 is in for a hell of a prom night

until dawn - live action of the video game

let the evil go west - a railroad worker stumbles upon a fortune teller in distubring circumstances and horrifying visions drive him towards madness

the monkey - when twin brothers hal and bill discover their father's old monkey toy in the attic, a series of gruesome deaths start occurring around them

hell house llc: lineage - fifth installment

screamboat: a late night boat ride turns into a desperate fight for survival in new york city when a mouse becomes a monstrous reality (what the fuck)

body farm - the forester johann only wants to warn his ex-wife sophie of a forensic research facility, but when he gets to the site, fast-growing slime has infested the corpses of the dead and brings them to life

i know exactly how you die - when his slasher-fiction novel manifests in real life, rian burman has to finish his story without getting his protagonist killed

le fanu's carmilla - retelling of the book

devil's work - when a couple, traveling on their vacation, meet a desperate girl seeking for her missing sister, they encounter terror and up as hostages to a twisted family and their son

the seductress from hell - hollywood actress undergoes a horrific transformation after being pushed to the edge by her husband

hyde - modern take on the classic novella by robert louis stevenson

crawlers - in the year 2030, a zombie pandemic decimates the united states population. american surviors rush to mexico where a plateau is believed to be zombie free

the children of the woods - in january 1999, a group of five disappeared after they went into the woods of york, south carolina for a camping trip, their story is being told 25 years later (inspired by blair witch project)

the dreadful - in the backdrop of the war of roses, anne and her mother-in-law morwen who live in solidary, run into a man from their past

presence - a family moves into a suburban house and become convinced they're not alone

victorian psycho - winifred notty arrives at a remote gothic manor, and as she assimilates into life, staff members begin to disappear

heart eyes - when the heart eyes killer strikes seattle, a pair of co workers pulling overtime are mistaken for a couple by the couple-hunting killer. now they must spend their valetine's day running for their lives

peter pan's neverland nightmare - after her brother michael is abducted by "the boy who won't grow up," peter pan, wendy darling goes on a rescue mission

[maeintree]

for all of us | l. laufeyson

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Sequel of For the Children

Summary: After a brutal attack against the royal family, you get hit in the crossfire and Loki realizes what's been missing all along. Pairing: husband!Loki Laufeyson x wife!fem!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Author's Note: yay i made a part two!! and i honestly had a hard time with how the story flowed because i'm not exactly a writer of fighters but i tried my best! hope you enjoy lovies!

The attack came swiftly, without warning.

One moment, you were strolling through the gardens, the children’s laughter echoing through the crisp evening air. The next, the world was chaos.

The glint of a blade. The sharp cry of a guard. The sickening clash of steel.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, instinct screaming at you to move, protect, shield. You shoved the children behind you, your arms spreading wide—a useless gesture, but all you had.

No, no, no—

The first assassin lunged. A guard intercepted, but another took his place. You tried to step back, tried to move, but a searing pain bloomed in your side, hot and white, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You gasped, stumbling, your hand flying to your ribs—wet, sticky. Blood.

I’ve been stabbed.

The thought was oddly distant, detached, as if it belonged to someone else. The pain hadn’t fully hit yet, but the weakness had. Your legs wobbled. The edges of your vision blurred.

The children—where are they? Are they safe?

Through the haze, you heard frantic voices, the clang of weapons, the distinct crack of something—magic, perhaps.

And then, a voice.

A voice you had not expected.

“NO.”

The air around you shook.

A blast of emerald light erupted across the battlefield, swallowing everything in its path. You barely registered the bodies hitting the ground, barely saw the way the assassins’ screams were cut short.

Your legs gave out.

The stone pathway rushed up to meet you, and you braced for impact—only to find yourself caught.

Arms. Somewhat familiar arms.

Loki.

You blinked up at him, dazed, your fingers clutching weakly at his tunic. He was speaking—frantic, desperate—but the words swam together, lost in the roaring in your ears.

Loki?

You had stopped waiting for him long ago. Stopped hoping. Stopped believing that he felt anything at all.

But now, looking at him—his face pale with terror, his hands shaking as they pressed against your wound—you saw something you had never seen before.

Panic.

Desperation.

Fear.

He’s afraid.

The thought made you want to laugh. Loki Laufeyson, afraid? The idea was absurd. He was always so composed, so untouchable, so—

His hands pressed harder, and you gasped, your fingers gripping his wrist in protest. He flinched as if burned.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said. A lie. A desperate, broken lie. “Just—stay awake.”

You wanted to tell him that you would, but your body betrayed you, the darkness creeping at the edges of your vision.

He’s holding me.

It was such a foolish thing to focus on, with your blood staining his hands, with the world tilting precariously beneath you. But you couldn’t help it.

For the first time in years—after all the distance, the silence, the empty nights—Loki touched you.

And he shook violently before darkness consumed you.

You awoke to the distant sound of raised voices.

It took effort to lift your eyelids, as if they had been weighed down by lead. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the walls, the scent of herbs and linen surrounding you. Your body felt heavy, dull aches pulsing beneath your skin, but the sharp pain from before had faded to something bearable.

You were alive.

But then—the voices.

One of them was unmistakable.

“I am not leaving.”

Even exhausted, even barely conscious, you recognized that tone—sharp, biting, dangerously low. The tone he used when he was barely holding himself together.

“Your stubbornness is as legendary as your magic, my prince, but you are no use to her if you collapse from exhaustion,” came another voice—calmer, firmer. Eir. The palace healer. 

“I am fine.”

“No, you are not,” Eir snapped, voice edged with rare irritation. “You have not eaten. You have not slept. You have been here for seven days. Do you truly believe she would want to wake up only to find you on the brink of ruin?”

Seven days.

You inhaled sharply. He’s been here for seven days?

The room fell silent.

Then, Loki’s voice, quieter this time. Strained. “She nearly died.”

“I know,” Eir replied, the earlier sharpness gone, replaced by something softer. “But she did not. You saved her.”

Loki let out a hollow laugh. “Did I?” A pause. “She was bleeding out in my arms, and I—I could do nothing.”

Your chest tightened.

“I could only watch,” Loki continued, voice hoarse, as if dragged from somewhere deep. “Watch and... beg.”

The weight of those words settled between them.

Eir sighed. “She is strong. She will recover.”

Loki didn’t reply.

“You should see the children,” Eir tried again, gentler now. “They ask for you. They miss their father.”

A sharp inhale. Then, after a long moment—“I cannot leave her, the children will understand—“

Frustration seeped into Eir’s voice again. “They are merely children, Loki. You cannot help her if you drive yourself to the grave, either.”

“I said—”

“Loki.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, weak and raspy, but it was enough.

The room fell utterly silent.

Then, in an instant, Loki was there.

His hands hovered over you, hesitant, uncertain—like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure he deserved to.

“You—” His breath hitched, eyes scanning your face as if afraid you would disappear. “You’re awake.”

You swallowed, nodding slightly. “And you need rest.”

A sharp exhale, part relief, part frustration. “You would lecture me the moment you open your eyes.”

Despite everything, your lips twitched. “Someone has to.”

Eir huffed. “See? Even the princess agrees with me.”

Loki shot her a glare but said nothing.

You let out a shaky breath. “Go, Loki.”

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening. “No.”

“Husband.”

He flinched.

And for the first time, you saw it clearly—the exhaustion weighing on him, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his normally pristine attire was wrinkled and undone.

He looked wrecked.

Your heart ached.

“I am not leaving you,” he said again, but this time, it was quieter. Almost pleading.

Your fingers twitched, reaching out. He caught your hand instantly, as if he had been waiting for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

Something in his expression cracked.

Eir, sensing the shift, sighed. “Rest, my prince. Eat. I swear upon the Allmother herself, if you collapse in my infirmary, I will personally make sure you regret it.”

Loki scoffed, but his grip on your hand tightened.

You squeezed back, as much strength as you could muster. “Please.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment—then, finally, he nodded.

“Fine.”

Eir looked far too pleased, but you barely noticed.

Because when Loki pressed a kiss to your knuckles—soft, lingering, almost desperate—you knew.

Knew that, no matter how long it took, no matter how much stubbornness or silence lay between you—

He would come back to you.

The afternoon sun filtered through the grand windows, bathing the room in soft golden light. The warmth of the covers wrapped around you like a protective cocoon as you lay propped against the pillows, watching your children chatter excitedly at your bedside.

“—and then Uncle Thor said he could throw his hammer all the way across the kingdom!” one of them exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder.

The younger one gasped. “Did he really?”

You hummed in amusement, brushing a hand through their hair. “He does like to show off, doesn’t he?”

They giggled, and for a moment, all was well.

Then, the door creaked open.

Loki stepped inside, his tall frame casting a shadow across the floor. He was dressed in his usual black and green, but something was different. His shoulders weren’t as tense, his expression not as unreadable.

And in his hands—

Your breath caught.

It was your book. The one you had read countless times, the one you had thought he never noticed. The spine was worn, the pages slightly creased from the many nights you had held it close, lost in its words.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering up to meet his.

He knew.

He had always known.

Loki cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “May I have a moment alone with your mother?”

The children groaned in unison.

“Do you have to?” the older one complained, crossing their arms.

“You’ve had her all week,” the younger one added stubbornly. “It’s our turn now.”

Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see your mother has passed on her defiance.”

You smiled softly, though your heart ached at the thought of them leaving. “I promise I’ll see you before bed.”

They still pouted, but at your gentle insistence, they relented. You turned toward the door. “Could one of the servants come fetch them?”

A maid appeared quickly, offering a warm smile as she ushered them away. Their complaints faded down the hall, and soon, it was just the two of you.

Silence settled, thick and uncertain.

Loki’s fingers tightened around the book before he finally moved, his steps slow and deliberate. He placed it upon the nightstand with measured precision, his hesitation betraying an unspoken weight upon his shoulders.

“I did not know you paid such attention to my books,” you murmured, your voice soft yet uncertain.

His gaze met yours, something unreadable lingering in his emerald depths. “I pay attention to you.”

Your breath faltered, fingers twisting in the sheets.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before settling into the chair beside you. “I have wronged you,” he admitted at last, his voice low, edged with regret. “In more ways than I can count.” His jaw tensed. “I should have—” He stopped, shaking his head. “There are many things I ought to have done differently.”

You swallowed. “Loki—”

“No.” His tone was firm, yet not unkind. “Allow me to say this.”

You nodded, heart hammering within your chest.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his knees, his fingers laced together in contemplation. “I thought to protect you,” he said. “By keeping my distance. By not—” He exhaled slowly. “By not allowing myself to feel too much.”

You frowned. “Too much?”

A humorless chuckle escaped him. “I convinced myself that if I feigned indifference, it would become truth. That you would not matter.” His jaw clenched, the muscles twitching. “But then I held you in my arms, your blood staining my hands, and I—”

His voice wavered.

Your heart ached at the sight of him—so composed in the eyes of the world, yet so unravelled before you.

Cautiously, you reached for his hand. He stiffened at first, as if startled by the gesture, but then—

He grasped it.

Tightly.

Desperately.

“I do not know what love is meant to feel like,” he confessed, voice scarcely above a whisper. “But I know this—I was undone at the thought of losing you.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Loki—”

Yet doubt, cruel and relentless, still clung to you.

You withdrew your hand.

Loki’s fingers curled into a fist.

“You speak that now,” you murmured, voice fragile, uncertain. “But how am I to believe you?”

His brows furrowed, confusion darkening his gaze. “What do you mean?”

You forced yourself to look at him. “You were never here, Loki. And on the rare nights you were, it was as though you were absent still.” Your voice wavered, but you pressed on. “I convinced myself it was because you did not love me. That you never had.” You swallowed thickly. “Yet, in truth? In truth, I feared there was another.”

His entire body went rigid. “What?”

“You vanished each night. You never told me where you went. And when I ceased asking, you let me.” A bitter laugh escaped you, hollow and aching. “What was I to think?”

Silence.

Loki stared at you, his expression unreadable, but his knuckles had gone white from how tightly he clenched his hands.

Then—

His chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly stood.

“You believe I have betrayed you?” His voice was low, dangerous—but beneath it lay something raw.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze despite the fear twisting in your stomach. “Did you not?”

Loki inhaled sharply, as though struck. “No.” He raked a hand through his hair, his movements sharp, frustrated. “By the Norns, never.”

He turned back to you, emerald eyes ablaze with anger and anguish. “I have taken no other to my bed, nor to my heart. Not once.” His voice hardened. “I may have been a fool, but I have never been faithless.”

Your breath hitched, but doubt still lingered. “Then where did you go?”

His jaw clenched. “Does it matter?”

You let out a broken laugh. “Of course it does, Loki! You ask me to trust you, yet you keep your secrets still.”

Another tense silence. Then, finally, he exhaled, shoulders sagging.

“I sought a way to dissolve this… marriage.”

The breath left your lungs.

Loki did not meet your gaze when he spoke again. “I deemed it a kindness,” he admitted. “If I could find a means to free you—without shame, without dishonor—you would be happy.” His voice grew rough. “You would not be bound to a man unworthy of you. Someone who knows how to love you the way you deserved.”

Tears burned at your eyes. “You thought I wanted to leave?”

Loki let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Did you not?”

Your lip trembled. “No.”

His head snapped up, eyes searching yours desperately.

“I wanted you, Loki,” you whispered. “Always you.”

His face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw it—regret. The years of distance, of silence, of misguided attempts to spare you pain.

Slowly, hesitantly, Loki knelt beside your bed, his hands grasping yours as though anchoring himself to you. “I swear to you,” he murmured, his voice barely holding steady. “There was never another. There never will be.”

Your heart twisted painfully, warring between the ache of the past and the fragile hope before you.

Loki’s grip on you tightened. “I do not know how to love you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the back of your hand. “But I will try. If you allow me.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his skin, the weight of his presence. The man who had once been an untouchable shadow was now pleading to stay.

And despite everything—despite the pain, despite the years of uncertainty—

You wanted to let him.

like i said, i don't condone cheating. hope you enjoyed! likes, comments, and reposts are much appreciated <3

[mrskokushibo]

Forgiveness

Kokushibo x fem!reader

Sequel to Beg!

Warnings: Sex, Smut, MDNI, NSFW, 18+

Summary: You were dealt penance for you have sinned. Now, Kokushibo offers you his mercy: aftercare, sleep, food, and a relaxing, hot bath. But is this really all you need? This is part 2 of BEG !

Masterlist

You were tucked away in bed, your body still aching from the events of last night. With eyes slowly opening, still dimmed after a deep sleep, gradually adjusting to the candle-lit room, you could barely make out what was in front of you, but after a few moments, the sight stirred your insides... Because in your clear line of sight was your lover.

Kokushibo was seated on his favourite armchair in the corner of the room next to the large futon you both shared. The chair was a big, European-style, heavily adorned piece, big enough for two, he jokingly called it his throne. And it might just as well have been exactly that, the countless times you were kneeling in front of him, worshipping his manhood.

He was lounging leisurely, wearing only a thin purple yukata that showed off more than it covered, making him look …. delicious to your starved senses. His muscular legs spread, chest partly bared, and his hair down. As always on his days off, he was reading, and he absolutely loved to immerse himself in a captivating story. Six eyes fixated on the text; he kept on sipping a dark red liquid out of a crystal glass. Wine, you presumed. He was a bit of a wine snob.

You loved his chamber, dark walls with tapestries, soft Persian rugs covering the tatami, chandeliers, and bookshelves, rows, and rows of bookshelves. Decorative cushions, soft down-filled quilts, and velvet blankets were all over the large bed.

The quiet sounds of you waking up must have registered with his heightened senses because he lifted his eyes to meet yours. Slowly putting down his book while still holding on to the glass, he leaned back in the armchair. His gaze studying you, lips twitching with the quickest and faintest of smiles. It looked like it was a struggle for him to remain serious. He took a sip of the wine and finally spoke.

‘You slept for a very long time. I assume you must be hungry.’

You nodded slowly in reply. He must have used the telepathic communication to call on a servant as within minutes one of them entered the chamber carrying a tray. With a nod of his head, Kokushibo pointed her in your direction. The servant put the tray on the bedside table while helping you sit down against the large pillows. You were sore… The tray had small fold-out legs that made it into a tray table perfect for eating in bed.  

While you were eating, he concentrated back on his reading and wine. Every now and then you were glancing his way, admiring the noble profile of his face. Oh, you were so horny. Despite the violent punishment you suffered last night, without reaching an orgasm of your own, your insides were almost literally on fire, wetness making you rub your thighs involuntarily. There was not much for you to resort to, but remain in this state until he allowed you near him again.

Once you were done with your meal, you put the tray aside and adjusted yourself down on the pillows. This action caught his attention.

‘I think a bath will do you good, don’t you think?’.

You nodded again, sheepishly. On the way to the bathroom, he walked past you and around the bed, still carrying his wine glass. He was so tall and fit; you were close to drooling. Very soon the sound of water pouring out of a tap was reaching the chamber. It always took ages to fill that tub as it was almost the size of a small pool. The sound of water was soothing and made you drift off into a short nap. Finally, the pouring of water stopped and a moment later you were woken up by Koku standing next to you.

‘Hmmm, you know, I am afraid you will have trouble walking for a day or two’.

His voice deep and soft now, was it compassion you could sense? With that, he buried his arms in the soft mattress under you and lifted you off the bed as if you weighed nothing. You rested your head on his chest and into his thick mane. This was heaven, you could stay like this forever.

Well in the bathroom, he placed you seated on the edge of the tub and gently helped you remove your yukata. You were too aroused and your thoughts too scattered to even register what was happening. Right now, you were trying to take in what he has prepared for you in the bathroom.

The whole place was lit with chandeliers, the smell of precious oils permeating the air and there was a large pillow next to where you were meant to rest your head on the side of the bathtub. Once again, he lifted you up and placed you in the warm, fragrant water, gently placing your head on the pillow. The sensation of the warmth engulfing every crevice of your body, refocused you on the needy feeling between your legs.

‘Make sure to relax now. I put some oils in the water that will help you regenerate faster.’

He was just about to leave when you decided you had enough of waiting. You reached out and grabbed his forearm and looked into the six eyes pleadingly.

‘Can you stay with me?’

He tilted his head slightly and scrunched his lips in a playful grin.

‘Are you sure you can handle, hmmm, sex when you are this battered?’

Your eyes widened at the shameless mention of what he knew was on your mind…

‘Yes, I am sure’ you whispered; your voice almost breaking.

Without taking his eyes off you, he slid out of his barely covering clothes and stepped into the tub. He sat down next to you and wrapped his arm behind your neck until your head rested on his large biceps. With his free hand, he started tracing your neck, up to your jawline, your ears, your eyes now closed in pleasure, then your cheek and the line of your brows. His delicate actions were sending small electric shocks of pleasure.

Your hand drifted towards his groin, his cock hard and large, you started stroking it gently moving on to grabbing hold of it and pumping up and down the entire length. His girth was huge and your small hand could not grab hold of it fully, so you were pumping in a snaking movement, trying to touch every part of his now twitching cock.

The action made him release a quiet sigh and lean over you and kiss your lips gently. He slowly but decisively pried your mouth open with his hungry tongue and the two of you entwined in a wet, passionate kiss, tongues caressing each other, that lasted for what felt like an eternity, his long fingers continuing to touch your face and hair.

Eventually, his hand started moving down your neck and onto one of your breasts. His large hand cupped the soft mound and started kneading it and thus sending even more pleasure impulses down to your sex. Suddenly, he pinched your nipple and persisted with this until you started arching your body as the wave of intense arousal and pleasure was hitting you senseless. It was lucky you were in water, because you were sopping wet. Your juices were literally running out of you now as you were slowly losing all control of yourself. You were moaning like a whore and your hand on his cock was gripping tighter for every wave of pleasure he was gifting you.

‘I want you inside me’ you moaned.

Without a word he lifted you off where you were sitting and placed you in his lap, his cock sliding in you causing you to cling on to him tight. He grabbed you under your ass cheeks and started bouncing you on him. The position was making his cock rub its whole length against your g-spot and you were slowly but surely becoming your arousal, your walls clamping around him and your pussy squirting all over the thick member. His tempo was steady and consistent and after a few minutes of this, you reached an orgasm so intense that your scream could be heard well outside of Kokushibo’s chamber.

When you collapsed onto him, he kept on going until his own release filled you up with his warm semen. The two of you stayed in this passionate embrace for a while, exchanging soft caresses and an occasional kiss. After a while, he pulled his head away from you and looking you straight in the eye and with a mischievous smile, said:

‘I hope you feel better now, my love.’

Divider by @cafekitsune

Tagging: @doumadono @cursetopia2 @crescentmoontsuki @muzansfangs @horror4themasses

[et6rnalsun]

introducing … matt & chris: THE GHOSTFACE DUO 𓂂໋𓈒 ᯙ̷ best paired with YOU, unfortunately.

NO, PLEASE DONT KILL ME MR. GHOST FACE, — I WANNA BE IN THE SEQUEL !

[ BOSTON KILLERS ON THE LOOSE, you read as you lock all the doors. who would have ever thought that the killers in question were sitting on your couch, tho? ]

⠀⠀ⓘ⠀⠀ I. CHRIS / the possessive one. mind games by sicksick. i’m not a violent dog. cigarettes & weed. twenty— two night stands. touchy in a suggestive way. ‘i kiss you like i bite into an apple’. death; the ultimate orgasm. captivating eyes. warm, addicting touch. manipulation skills are top tier. bestfriend or something more. II. MATT / the stalker. in the night by the weeknd. she tastes like every dark thought i’ve ever had. n1 pervert. personality: cruel, sadist, and selfish. commit a sin twice. diabolically angel looking. aching to touch her. obsessive. tattoos like a second skin. love kinda gory.

A/N: this is obviously all fake. it’s an AU, alternative universe, so please keep this in mind! every fic will prolly contain problematic shit like a bit of violence, toxic behaviors and clear manipulation, stalking, etc. but we can say i’ve been out there cooking 🧑‍🍳 i’m veeeery excited to write these 2 crazy asses cuz they good, trust. ( NOT ROMANTICIZING ANYTHING. )

also, credits to whoever created this kind of au first !! i have no idea 😕

tags. @secretlocket @zweigsangel @waitforyrlove @sirenedeslily @rafespreciosa @zebonos @sosasturns @freshloveee @sturn777 @sweetestpoetic @jetaimevous @sturniolossss @ilovedanielcaesar @fallbhind @carvedtits

[tawked]

I know we're all real big "read the comics" fans here but, considering the show is now 32 years old and many people in the Batman fandom might not know about it -

if you do not want to read the comics, might I recommend the massively acclaimed Batman animated series from the 90s instead?

Seriously, room-temperature take: it's better than what was going on in the comics at the time.

DCAU Batman: kind, empathetic but still troubled and a little self-centered at times. He understands even scary dangerous mentally ill people are not beyond help and that what they really need is support and care. He actively tries to resolve every conflict with a minimal of violence and brutality, with stories often focusing on detective work in a pulpy noir atmosphere, or the clever use of a tactic relevant to a bad man's gimmick. Every character is consistent and has a clear, coherent vision. There is exactly one profoundly stupid retcon and it's in an extremely skippable bottle episode of another show (Justice League Unlimited, and the retcon relates to Batman Beyond, the Wise Man's Favourite Batman). Respects women (here to take back the night, for her). Loves his gay sons and daughter. Does not turn his car into a murder tank to shoot people with.

90s comics Batman: violent asshole who is mean to everybody because idk Denny O'Neil thinks that's what autism or PTSD or whatever is. Makes absurdly stupid fucking decisions that later need to be retconned into making sense and even then they rely on everybody else being an inconsistent nonsense character. Launches into monologues about how it'd be super easy if he could just kill people, especially those incurable freak scoundrels at the crazy people prison more often than you would think. Truly horribly mean to women (Huntress and Spoiler especially) in a way that is simply beyond the norm of the genre at the time. Relentlessly weird and abusive in "my dad never hugged me" ways toward his ever-growing collection of sometimes dead children. Constantly turning his car into a murder tank to shoot people with.

This show is not an adaptation of the comics (though some individual issues are adapted or reworked), but if you just specify you're writing about or discussing DCAU Batman, people are pretty chill and in my experience will actively tell you about specific issues or TPBs that relate to the show. Other than that, it's just an extremely solid, accessible version of Batman, and the version of the character most people remember / care about when they criticize mean asshole comic book Batman for being "out of character" (even though comic book Batman has kinda sorta been that way since Crisis).

The same is basically true of Superman. His DCAU series has less of a reputation but is honestly crazy underrated. Best version of Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen.

The Justice League cartoon, a sequel to both series, will also introduce you to a bunch of mainstay DC characters, albeit usually pretty far-removed from their own stories and exclusively in a team context. The only major outliers are The Question, Wonder Woman (kinda) and Martian Manhunter, who were basically 100% rewritten for the show. Even then if you just specify you mean the DCAU versions of these characters people will get it, the shows used to be more popular than the comics in the 90s.

This will also sneakily onboard you to the Zeta Project and you will learn, albeit indirectly, who the most insufferable kids in like 2002 were. Seriously, I sound insane telling children this now, but Ro's design was like... the rosetta stone for shit Deviantart anime OCs for a whole five years or so.

The watching order I'd recommend is:

Batman: Mask of the Phantasm.

Batman: The Animated Series.

Superman: The Animated Series.

Batman & Mr. Freeze: SubZero.

The New Batman Adventures.

Batman: Mystery of the Batwoman.

Justice League.

Justice League Unlimited.

Batman Beyond.

Batman: Return of the Joker (the only Tim Drake story I like lol).

The Zeta Project (severely optional).

I'd place Static Shock somewhere before Justice League Unlimited, personally, but you can move that one around as you please. There's some jank to it because it wasn't originally going to be part of the DCAU, but then come season two they started incorporating little crossovers and nods.

Batman & Harley Quinn and Justice League vs. the Furious Five are also in continuity but I pretend I do not see the Harley Quinn farts in the batmobile and fucks Nightwing movie, and have not actually seen the Furious Five movie.

Easy, simple, no fuss no muss. Batman is the only character to appear in every single show (albeit not every episode, obviously), so he serves as kind of a connecting throughline for the "Timmverse."

A lot of these shows are on Netflix and I mean, y'know, just pirate them, it's not like Warner Bros. needs more money lol.

Other recommendations:

Super Friends - no bullshit. It's aged pretty horribly, especially the animation, but I kid you not, this show genuinely captures what golden age superhero stories and especially Batman feels like. Not at all remotely character-driven (but neither were 90% of the comics), instead centered 100% around very badly animated action. I fucking love it. It will teach you how the idea of Batman worked before he was Gotham's dark moody emo prince. I don't recommend watching all of Super Friends, there is a lot of it, but there's value in just blasting through a couple eps. The benefit here is that they tinker with the format and line-up every season so if you do find yourself enjoying that 1970s American cartoon style of storytelling, they do keep it kind of fresh.

The Batman - that is, the 2004 series. Hated on arrival for not being more Timmverse DCAU stuff. Some of the most creative direction in villain and action design the franchise has ever had, but like, everybody in this show is a kung fu fighter when that is extremely not the case in the comics lol. Will demonstrate Batman as a pulp scifi detective, and how his stories can work when he's an isolated character. Plays hard into the idea of empathy for some villains, and provides most villains with pretty human motives. Downplays Batman as mentally ill and makes his Bruce Wayne persona, uh... more "relatable" to kids in the mid-2000s lol. Doesn't really supplement comic book canon but if you want to see how concepts can be stretched and adapted for fanfiction purposes, this is an invaluable show.

Batman - The Brave & The Bold. Captures the vibe of the wider DC universe during the 1950s - 1970s, with a lot of fun modern characters reworked into a silver age vibe and aesthetic. Very lighthearted and silly, but feels like if Gardner Fox were around today he'd fuck with it hard. Not a replacement for comics that people actually read and discuss in the tumblr fandom, but will introduce you to a range of characters, some of whom are actually pretty obscure, in an extremely digestible format. Has a bad, Teen Titans Go esque habit of responding to reddit fan criticisms in the Bat-Mite episodes, but those are paradoxically some of the most solid shit in the show.

[ashen-char]

dating amber freeman - hcs

ship: amber freeman (scream) x gender neutral reader

warnings: toxic behaviour (jealousy, possessiveness, etc.), swearing, mentions of canon violence/violent tendencies. this is the more tame of the amber hcs though

notes: this took a while! i was debating on whether to do amber during the movie, or a very toxic nsfw leaning take. those will be separate hcs. thanks to @certifiedpuppyslitter for the help! requested here

✦ amber is alone in her old creepy house a lot. she despises how lonely it feels and often has you over to ignore how empty it is

✧ her parents divorced when she was really young, and her dad got custody. a hotshot lawyer, he's always away, and she's always been distant with her step-mom. amber doesn't like letting people get to know her

✧ amber was a total daddy's girl. she loved to argue even as a kid, loving how people would say she's just like him - whip-smart and could win any argument. she even wanted to be a lawyer to be like him

✧ but he was less and less present, and eventually she stopped hoping he'd be around more. stopped trying to impress him, realising that her accomplishments don't mean he'll say he's proud of her

✧ he's always away on business trips which is why she can invite everyone over as much as she does

✧ parties, sleepovers, movie nights, you name it

✧ amber is very lonely deep down. only child, she doesn't let her best friends truly know her

✦ because of her parents, she had to grow up very quickly and take care of herself

✧ so she's got a lot of surprising skills. really self-sufficient. she cooks amazingly, and likes cooking for you because, as she says "cooking for a single person kinda sucks"

✦ she'd scoff if you ever said she was clingy, since amber likes to act all tough and independent

✧ but it's the truth, amber's happiest when you're spending all your time with her

✧ if it can't be in person, she sits in vc with you on discord

✧ whether amber gets to yap away about her beloved horror movies or the latest band she's into, or listening you talk about your day, or even silence

✧ amber just likes that you're there on the other side

✧ and amber loves to sleep on call

✧ she'd get angry when you leave, even if your phone dies, accusing you of leaving her alone

✧ (but she's kinda easy to win back, all you have to do is promise to watch stab with her, or set aside some time to be "all hers")

✦ speaking of discord, let's be real. amber's a loser

✧ she spends her time on reddit and discord, and on occasion places like twitch, tumblr, or 4chan

✧ it's not her fault! she was online at a very young age cause she was so alone

✧ trying to make friends, trying to fill her time so she wasn't so bored, trying to connect with people. amber was totally on omegle as a kid

✧ she's always arguing with strangers on the internet about her stab theories and how bad it's gotten, how derivative the sequels are, or ranking her favourite killers

✧ she's a mod on r/StabUnfiltered, a smaller subreddit off of the main stab one because she kept getting her comments or posts removed there for being too "inflammatory" or even "trolling" for her hot takes

✧ amber would stop in the middle of hooking up because she was bidding on stab memorabilia on ebay

✧ she'd be pissed all day and it'd be because she lost an auction, or some twitter idiot had a bad take on ghostface motives

✦ amber is on letterboxd 24/7, clocking in like it's a job

✧ whenever you two watch a new movie together, best believe amber is reviewing that shit like she's a critic

✧ and you're the type that just enjoys watching movies for the experience. amber absolutely gets heated at you when she asks what you thought about a movie she thinks is 1/5, and yo shrug and go "eh it was fun i guess?"

✧ but amber lets you off the hook when you kiss her and tell her that you enjoyed it because you enjoyed spending time with her

✦ she's also a loser in love. honestly, she's a bit of a simp for you

✧ love is the one thing where she doesn't try to pretend she's tough

✧ amber has these sweet nicknames for you that she peppers in all the time, ranging from babe, love, hun, sweetie

✧ she's pretty touchy. amber holds your hand under tables or under blankets, rubs your back when she passes you, absentmindedly plays with your hair

✧ amber loves teasing her friends about their relationships, like chad and liv's lack of a sex life, but she'll defend you like a knight if they even try to tease her back

✧ and best believe they tease amber about how whipped she is over you

✧ if you invite her somewhere, even when she's hanging with her group, she'll ditch them in an instant (well, not in an instant. she does always tell tara where she's going)

✧ she flips everyone off if they tease her about you, but internally she's smiling. she loves that they talk about you in relation to her, loves being brought up as a couple

✦ you painted the portraits of amber that she has up in her room

✧ by the next time you came over, she already had them hung up on her walls, bragging to her friends that you did them and how talented you are

✦ possessive

✧ when you dress up for her, she shows you she appreciates it

✧ BUT she also doesn't want anyone else to see you like that

✧ she'll whisk her jacket off and drape it over you, insisting that no one else deserves to even look at you

✦ protective af too

✧ she'd wrap her arm tighter around your waist if people are walking too close, with a fierce glare if they almost bump into you

✧ amber would watch your drink like a hawk at parties

✧ she'd insist on going with you to places if you want to go anywhere at night, and she'd definitely tell you to stay over if it was dark out

✦ gets jealous easily

✧ no looking at other girls, no following other girls on social media

✧ you're in for a huge fight if you dm anyone else, even if it was for something fairly innocuous like asking where they got their outfit

✦ oh and she loves to argue. you swear it turns amber on to fight

✧ she jumps at any excuse for it

✧ "why did that girl smile at you? how do you know her?"

✧ "why are you on your phone? i'm literally right here"

✧ she'd accuse you of ignoring or forgetting about her, then give you the silent treatment

✦ amber gets pissed off when you spend too much time with your friends

✧ and honestly, considering how close she is with her friends, it's hypocritical

✧ like, amber still has sleepovers with tara but god forbid you say you're hanging with any of your friends one on one

✧ amber will be at your door in an instant, claiming that you two made plans and that since she's here, she may as well hang out with you two

✦ sometimes, you don't really get why amber likes you

✧ you can't keep up with her horror movie rants like her friends, or even those weirdos she's always arguing with online

✧ like, amber's dream is to go to film school and she's so passionate about it that you wonder what you're even adding when you just go "you'd be amazing, baby" and "that sounds awesome, of course you're gonna make it"

✧ you try to be supportive but you feel bad that you don't really understand her 100% of the time

✦ when you ask her why she chose you, amber looked at you like you were being ridiculous. because the answer is obvious to her

✧ she likes you because you make everything easier. being with you is one of the few things that can make her mind go quiet

✧ like, yeah, she loves horror but even amber can be drained by how obsessed she gets with things

✧ you make her feel normal. you make her want things other than violence and pain

she doesn't want to throw her life away so bad when you two make plans for the future

✧ she admits that you're the reason she even thought about film school in the first place

✦ amber never really thought of life outside of woodsboro until you started bringing up universities, or apprenticeships, what next year could bring

✧ that's the first time amber actually thought about what she wants to do

✧ and she's wicked smart, so you were surprised that she didn't already know what universities she wanted to apply to

✧ AP classes, honor roll, college scholarships, you name it

✧ but when you ask about her plans, amber just shrugs and says she'll go where you end up going

✦ she can feel like a regular girl when she's around you, instead of all the pretending she normally does

✧  cheesy teenager shit that she always thought she was too good for

✧ dates to the local bowling alley, sneaking out, sharing a shake at the diner, going to the mall, camping, baking brownies for your birthday since she knows you prefer it from cake

✦ with you, amber can feel less damaged. less above it all

✧ she didn't think she was capable of a genuine love like this before you

✧ you make her think that she could be a decent person if she tried, that she's not defined by the monster that she could be

[chronicdisasterwrites]

alcohol isn’t for the weak gojo satoru

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru, shoko ieiri

genre + warnings: -underage alcohol consumption, a lot of swearing, reader slaps gojo around, pining, overall FLUFF!

word count: 3,380 (i was gonna write more but i’m lazy)

authors note: So this is the sequel of my fic “gotta keep these kids on leashes”. The dynamic quartet is back and up to no good yet again :3 There will for sure be a continuation and it just might end up being a series going through their lives. Also, this takes place before Riko and Toji, so basically their teenage days when everything was good and dandy :’)

enjoy this chaos <3

“You absolute, fucking lightweight.”

With tired bones, eyes, soul and mind, Geto’s glare remains steadily fixed on the drunken mess sprawled on the ground before him. Gojo Satoru was a complex human being. The strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the world; the first person in 400 years to possess both Limitless and the Six Eyes, his strength knew no bounds - except when it came to alcohol.

“Suuuguruuu~” Gojo slurred along with several incoherent words mushed in between giggles.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Geto leaned his head against his ajar door and shut his eyes, thinking of all the incredibly painful ways by which he could murder and then dispose of his best friend’s wasted body. His anger wasn’t uncalled for, of course. It was a long day for Geto and all he wanted to do after spending an entire day killing one particularly difficult curse followed by a couple extra (albeit easier to defeat) surprise curses was take a nice long shower, go into his dorm and sleep like a corpse. He had a feeling it was too good to be true when he didn’t get 30 calls from Gojo by the time the sun had set and he had stepped into campus. He was even more surprised when he got out of the shower and came back to 0 notifications from the “pain in everyone’s ass” sorcerer. Gojo always knew when Geto had missions, and more so he would always know when Geto would be gone for the entire day. On days such as this one, he would usually go and bother literally anyone else he could find around him; when desperate, Yaga, but that would never end well for him, so that would only be reserved for very special occasions.

“Satoru, just why…” Geto sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and wondering what he did to deserve this torture.

“I had soooo much fun t’dayyy,” Gojo slurs and laughs much too loudly considering the time.

“Les go out, the night is youuung like you and me and Mochi and Shoko- but…” He pauses, sits up then looks directly at Geto, suddenly serious. Geto squints, expecting something stupid as per usual.

“...Not like…” Cracks appear on his half-assed poker face and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as his lips twitch. “Not like…Yaga AHHAAHA-”

Laughter explodes from his chest as he falls back on the ground, rolling around clutching his stomach as if he just cracked the world’s funniest joke. Geto on the other hand, was not phased. In fact, he was preparing to be violent. Inhaling and then exhaling deeply, Geto stood straighter, thinking of ways he could make this night go his way. A few weeks prior to this moment in the present, Gojo along with his posse played an almost funny practical joke on Geto, which ended up costing him a date with a girl and 10 of his brain cells. Since then, Geto had been pondering day and night on exactly what he could do to get Gojo back. There were a few weaknesses the strongest sorcerer had which Geto knew of. One being, his obvious lack of alcohol tolerance, and two being his stupidly obvious crush on you. (not Shoko, although he definitely finds her hot).

Geto knows all about Gojo’s embarrassing feelings for you but he still has no solid evidence on whether the feelings are reciprocated or not.

Suddenly, his train of thought comes to a stop as his eyes glint with mischief. He grabs Gojo’s arm and starts to drag him along the hallway. Gojo doesn't even bother standing up to walk. Instead he lets his best friend drag him like a sack of potatoes, with no care in the world as to where he might be taking him.

“What the heck?! Suguru?! Where are we goin-”

They stop and Geto aggressively knocks on a door. Freshly painted, different from the rest. Immediately, he drops Gojo’s arm and sprints back to his dorm before Gojo’s little brain could even begin to process what had happened.

“Satoru…what the fuck?”

You rub your eyes and glare at the drunken mess sprawled before your dorm door and rub your eyes again, hoping he’d disappear the next time you look. He doesn’t. And you actually hear a mechanical click in your brain when the idiot starts grinning as if it wasn’t 3am and he didn’t just ruin your perfect slumber. Yet again.

“Mochi!!! You’re here! I missed yo- HEY! OUCH! WHY- STOP HITTIN ME-”

“I SHOULD KILL YOU-” slap

“IDIOT,” slap

“WHY CAN’T YOU EVER LET ME SLEEP IN PEACE?!” slap

You wanted to throttle him. But you figured 3 slaps were enough for now. You honestly felt kind of bad seeing him curled up in a ball on the floor and you worried whether you went too far or not.

“I’m sorry… I just missed you s’all,” His voice was soft, gentle even, and that made you feel even worse. Your shoulders slump and your head drops as an exasperated sigh escapes your mouth.

Why is he like this?

You crouch next to his curled up form and stare at his disheveled silver hair. He doesn’t look at you, in fact his eyes remain closed. His hands cover his ears and he literally looks like a kicked puppy and you feel so awful. You roll your eyes and sigh.

Ugh, damn him.

“Okay. Satoru, I’m sorry for hitting you.”

He doesn’t move.

You pinch your nose bridge and decide to take the high road. He is drunk after all, you think. Reaching out, you run your fingers through his soft hair. His shoulders relax at that and the corner of his mouth quirks up ever so slightly. You stifle a laugh at his childishness and grab his chin, tilting his head to face you. Finally, he opens his eyes and stares at you as a gradual, natural smile slowly takes over his face. You smile back and at the back of your mind, you think how stupid you two must look right now. In the middle of the night, your dorm door wide open, Satoru sprawled on the floor of the hallway, you crouched near his head while the two of you stared at each other like something straight out of Spiderman. Except, you won’t kiss him. That’s never going to happen.

You let go of his chin and flick his nose. He huffs a short laugh, rubbing the spot and attempting to return the favor. You grab his wrist before he could deliver the blow and say, “You still drunk?”

Satoru hums, eyes shiny, “A little?”

He grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, snorting as you glare at him.

“Y’know… you don’t look as scary with your face like this,” He emphasizes his point with ‘awww’s’ and ‘you’re so cuteee’s’ and you can’t help but laugh at this blatant humiliation. You move his hand away and stand up, holding out your hand and expecting him to take it.

“Alright, c’mon. Get up.”

Satoru groans much too loudly and proceeds to throw his arms down and stretch his legs like a starfish.

“Noooo, just stay w’ meee,” He whines like a petulant child and you smile.

Damn him.

You consider bringing him into your dorm and spending the entire night with him doing nothing. Maybe talking, laughing. But you quickly discard that horrifying thought. He’s Gojo Satoru. Your best friend. Nothing romantic could ever happen between you two because he is Gojo Satoru and you are nobody. He is the one person who could even come close to changing the world. He holds the balance of the universe in the palm of his hands. He is everything, and you hate that. You hate how much he means to you, and you hate how much he has on his shoulders. You hate the fact that you can’t even help him ease those worries. You might be strong, but you’re not nearly as strong as him. He knows it, everyone knows it. So, you ignore these feelings. You bury any semblance of hope, of potential ‘maybe’s’ and ‘what if’s’ and you keep your guard up. After all, he is your best friend and you’re his. That’s it.

But then, why does he keep looking at me like this?

“Mochi?” He mutters, eyes suddenly clear and gaze fixed at you. You hum. He waits a while without saying anything and then sits up cross-legged and holds his hand out. You ponder for a moment and eventually you hold his hand and he attempts to pull himself up with your help. You steady your feet and help him up and… wow, he’s ridiculously tall.

You clear your throat and let go of his hand, to which he makes a little noise of protest. You roll your eyes and put his arm around your shoulder, ushering him towards his dorm, “Alright Satoru, let’s put you to bed.”

He nods his head one too many times and starts to walk with you, slowly but surely. You held onto him as he held onto you, and you walked at his pace. He smelled nothing like he usually did. The pungent odor of sake wafted off him in waves and it almost made you want to throw up. He was dozing off, eyes almost shutting. Those cerulean blues were almost a shiny navy color now. You wonder what made him want to drink so much tonight. So you asked.

“Satoru?”

“Hm?” He looks down at you and musters a tiny smile. You hold his waist a little tighter.

You rephrase the sentence a few times in your head before asking.

“Why’d you drink so much tonight? Is everything okay?”

He stares at you for a while, then purses his lips and tips his head down, exhaling loudly. You know something happened, but you don’t know what it could be. Satoru was always an enigma. He was always an open book, and yet so mysterious at the same time. He always kept a smile on his face and always did the stupidest shit. Yet sometimes, he would change completely. His eyes would look sad and distant, he wouldn’t talk as much, he’d look out the window like some kind of tortured main character in an indie movie. Satoru was never easy to understand. He has his vices.

Finally, he looks at you with hazy eyes and a soft smile. Using the arm slung over your shoulder, he holds you in a headlock and kisses your forehead. You can’t see your face but you can feel just how red it must have become. You struggle to try to get out of the headlock but to no avail. Even when drunk, Satoru was still stronger than you and you hated that with a passion. He laughs and releases you, returning his arm back over your shoulder as he leans against you, basically using you as a crutch to walk.

“Satoru?! What the fuck was that all about?!” You sputter. Angry? Not really, it was nice. You’re more confused and freaked out, and why do you feel drunk when you’re the one who’s completely sober?

“No reason, you’re just cute s’all,” He giggles and ruffles your hair. You glare at his stupid face and he laughs again.

“Plus, I had nothing to do all day. Suguru was gone, you were busy and Shoko was-” He pauses. “Well, wherever she was.”

You sigh and pick up your pace which makes Satoru look like Bambi trying to walk on ice for the first time. He giggles all the way there.

—

Fucking finally…

You open the door to his dorm while dragging Satoru’s half limp body inside.

“Alrighty, now lie down,” You say as you gracefully lay him down (more like unceremoniously drop him) on his bed and take his shoes off. Satoru groans and proceeds to almost slip off the side of the bed. Thankfully, you noticed and pushed him further away and more towards the center of the bed. You leave his clothes alone and stand up straight, turning to leave.

“No, wait,” His hand grabs your wrist, without any force whatsoever and you think you’re going to straight up melt when you turn back around to see him looking up at you with ridiculously childlike eyes it’s not even fair.

“Stay, please.”

Your breath hitches and you know you have to leave. You have to wake up early in the morning and also you are not going to spend a night with Gojo Satoru while he’s drunk. It's not a matter of safety; you know he would die before ever hurting you. It was more a matter of heart.

“Satoru…” You try to wrench your hand free from his grasp.

He lowers his hand and wraps it around your fingers. His voice is quiet as he says, “A lil’ bit. ‘M sorry…”

You quirk an eyebrow in confusion, “For what?”

Your question is met with only snores. You shove him and call his name to which he opens his eyes with a “huh?”.

“What are you sorry for?”

He looks bewildered, “Oh um…”

You wait.

He continues sleepily, “For ruining your sleep.”

You chuckle as his hand slowly falls to the bed and snores fill the emptiness.

“Idiot.”

You pat his head and leave.

—-

Satoru wakes up very cold. And wet. Not in a good way.

“Woah- what the fu-”

“Rise and shine, princess,” Suguru announces with a shit-eating grin on his pretty face. He keeps the empty glass on Satoru’s side table and crosses his arms.

Satoru rubs his drenched face and stares incredulously at his so-called best friend, confusion etching his hungover face, “What the hell was that for?”

Suguru snickers, “It was for ruining my sleep last night.” He sits on Satoru’s bed and crosses his legs, resting his head on his hand, enjoying Satoru’s discomfort.

Satoru groans and puts his pillow on his face. His muffled voice says something Suguru makes out to be, “My head is killing me.”

“Not surprised, you were completely wasted.”

Satoru moves the pillow and glares at Suguru, to which he only receives a grin.

Suguru asks liltingly, “So? What happened last night?”

Satoru gets up and makes his way to his bathroom, the sound of water and teeth brushing resonating around the room. Suguru waits for a reply that doesn't come.

Impatient, he asks again, “Did you get your ass kicked?” Satoru gets out while putting on a new uniform jacket. He glares at Suguru until realization hits.

His eyes widen and he points a finger and exclaims, “You took me to her room?!”

Suguru processed that light bulb moment with wide eyes and burst into a hearty laughter to which Satoru only gaped mouth open and eyes unbelieving.

“You- you didn't remember how you got there but you remembered being there?” More laughter, louder this time.

Satoru scoffs and picks up his sunglasses, “I can't believe you…”

Suguru’s laughter dies down and he receives a slap on the back of his head for his incompetence. He laughs and rubs the site of injury.

As Satoru makes his way out of the dorm, Suguru follows close behind. He asks with genuine curiosity, “Did you confess?”

Nothing.

“Did she confess?”

Silence, except for the birds chirping cheerfully and the metronomic footfalls of the two boys.

Suguru sighs, “Did anything happen?”

Satoru puts on his sunglasses and shoves his hands in his pockets, “Nothing happened, as far as I remember.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow. Satoru rolls his eyes and says in a low voice, “Anyways, I'd remember if anything happened.”

Suguru smiles and ruffles Satoru’s already disheveled hair. He scoffs but laughs when Suguru laughs at his lovesick state of being.

“Forget it, Suguru. It’s never gonna happen,” Satoru mutters dejectedly, kicking a stone. Suguru stays silent.

“Like, she’s so… just- y’know?” His sparkling sapphire eyes glittering with admiration and so much love, Suguru can’t help but smile at his friend’s hopefulness. He continues rambling incoherently, hands waving around like it actually does anything to explain his feelings for her. In reality, nothing Satoru is saying makes any sense. Or more so, it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. Suguru, on the other hand, understands Satoru. So no words are required.

—-

“He’s such an idiot.”

You sigh and twirl your pen, “Tell me about it…”

Shoko knows all and sees all. She knows all about Gojo’s stupid crush on you and she knows all about your crush on him. She doesn’t approve of it, because she firmly believes you deserve better and Gojo is an immature idiot. But after countless sleepless nights of talking about life and love, she saw just how much you liked him, despite your lackluster denials to her allegations. You were adamant on hiding your feelings, even with Shoko. You don’t know why exactly you lied to her about this. Probably because it seems too out of reach, or maybe because you know she’d disapprove. But you know Shoko loves you with all her heart. She would support any decision you make, no matter how much she hates it. Your happiness is paramount and she will never make you feel less than or stupid for anything you tell her. You just can’t tell her about your crush yet, because it’s just too embarrassing and you can’t deal with Shoko’s side-eye.

Shoko closes the book she was reading staring at, kicks up her feet on the desk and crosses her arms across her chest. You look at her, then look at her neglected textbook and sigh, shifting your attention to your own textbook.

“Y’know you’ll never even pass at the rate at which you’re going…”

She says with a giggle, “Relax, will you? It’s just class tests.”

You muster your best side eye, to which she just snorts. She kicks back her chair and stands up, holding out her hand for you to take. You raise your eyebrows, silently questioning whether she’s serious or not.

“C’mon let’s take a break, we’ve been studying for hours.”

You put down your pen and cross your arms, properly facing her now, “You mean, I’ve been studying for hours.”

She shrugs, “That’s what I said.”

“Ha-ha,” you deadpan.

She actually laughs and tugs your sleeve, “Come onnnn.”

You sigh and hang your head. Shoko takes that as a sign to collect your items and pack them into your backpack and you know you’ve lost. You always lose to her arguments. She’s too quick and too laid back to ever lose an argument. Even when something really serious goes down, Shoko will be the last person to freak out. You can’t even argue with her because she’ll just come up with some random logic that you don’t even know how to counteract. You watch as she packs your stuff and you smile. She looks at you and smiles back, albeit in a confused manner.

“What?”

You shrug still smiling, “Nothin’.”

Shoko mutters a small “okay” and grabs your shoulders, hunching down to your eye-level and staring into your eyes with a kind of scary expression. Shoko has never been serious in her entire life, except for a few times when you made bad decisions.

“Listen to me, and listen well. I love you. I will always be here for you. Even if you and Gojo date and that doesn’t work out, you don’t have to worry about us, ever,” Shoko’s grip on your shoulders was ironclad.

Your eyes widen and face heats up furiously, “W-what? Where is this coming from?!”

“Because I am your best friend, you absolute braindead idiot! I know you. I don’t know why you’re not just coming clean with me but I’m here always, so come to me whenever,” she ends her monologue with a sweeter than sweet smile and stands up to her full height while you were down there stunned, touched and offended all at once.

You get up, put your bag over your shoulder and stare at Shoko concerningly, while she just grins.

What the actual fuck was that?

“Hey, let’s go get some food, I’m starving.”

You glare at her as she loops her arms through yours, “You’re paying.”

Shoko laughs, “No way. Gojo’s paying.”

taglist: @thepup356, @porridgesblog, @stray-npc, @daisy-the-quake, @reignsaway, @ainetx, @icarusignite, @mariapierce789

[badguyswin]

No More Morgan

This is a sequel to this story written by my bro @transform4u

Morgan Wallen woke with a violent gasp, as if he’d been punched awake. He immediately took notice of an unfamiliar smell: the air reeked of vanilla and patchouli, a stench that clawed at the country singer’s senses. It was too sweet, too pleasant, and nothing like the familiar mix of stale nicotine and denim from his tour bus. 

His head throbbed, a sharp, pulsing ache that was worse than the aftermath of any bender he’d ever had in Nashville. He tried to roll over, expecting the creak of his tour bus bunk or the sag of a motel mattress, but he was on a lumpy futon, sheets tangled around legs that felt wrong—too short, too light. His arms flailed, weak and uncooperative, as he sat up in a cramped Brooklyn studio. The walls were plastered with rainbow flags and a poster of a punk singer mid-scream, her shaved head gleaming. Where the fuck was he?

Morgan stumbled to his feet, bare soles slapping cold hardwood littered with books—How to Be an Antiracist, Gender Trouble, The Queer Bible—and a half-knitted blanket in the pride flag colors. His body felt like a betrayal, every movement awkward, as if he’d been stuffed into a puppet too small for his soul. He was used to broad shoulders and thick thighs, the kind of frame that filled a stage and parted crowds. This body was scrawny and delicate, with arms like pipe cleaners and a chest that barely registered under his touch. 

He tried to flex, expecting the familiar swell of muscle, but his biceps stayed flat, trembling under the effort. “Goddamn it,” he muttered, and the voice that came out was a high, reedy squeak, like a teenager who hadn’t hit puberty. His heart lurched. This wasn’t him.

He staggered to a smudged mirror above a sink piled with crusty dishes, the sight freezing him. The face staring back wasn’t Morgan Wallen’s. Sharp cheekbones, too-high and delicate, framed big, anxious eyes that looked like they belonged on a cartoon deer. His hair was buzzed short, no trace of his signature mullet. His jaw was smooth, not even a hint of stubble present. He touched his hands—soft, unblemished, nails clean and even, no calluses from years of strumming. Even worse: the nails were painted pale green. 

“What in the hell is this?” he growled, but the sound was pathetic, a stranger’s whine rather than his familiar country drawl. Disgust roiled in his gut. He was Morgan Wallen—country music superstar, arena-packer, a man who could toss back a fifth of Jack and still sling a guitar, not… this. This body was a joke, a weak, prissy shell that felt like an insult.

Panic surged. He was supposed to be in Cleveland, getting ready to soundcheck for a sold-out stadium show, not trapped in this hipster hellhole. He fumbled for his phone, but it was gone. An old iPhone sat on the counter, its cracked screen glowing with a lock screen of guys in glittery makeup holding protest signs. The sight made Morgan’s lip curl—his old self would’ve laughed, maybe thrown out a slur without thinking. Right now didn’t feel like the time though. 

He unlocked the phone, mildly tormented by getting access through facial recognition, and scrolled through texts from names he didn’t know: “Kai - You coming 2 the Pride mtg?” “Jasper - Book club tonight, bring Fun Home.” His stomach twisted, a mix of revulsion and confusion. This wasn’t his life. He was supposed to be signing autographs, not debating queer literature with a group of giggling gays!

A memory hit, sharp and damning. Last night, half-drunk with his tour crew, Morgan had stumbled across a cursed website, AskTharnis, on a Reddit thread. Egged on by the laughter of his band and more glasses of whiskey than was sensible, he’d typed a reckless wish: Swap me with a fan for a day. Let’s see how they handle my life.

He’d thought it was a prank, like when they’d filled a roadie’s boots with hot sauce. Now, here he was, in some fan’s scrawny body, in a Brooklyn shoebox. None of this was supposed to be possible!

He opened the AskTharnis app, but it glitched, static flickering across the screen for a moment. Finally, a single message appeared: Enjoy your new stage. Tharnis. 

His blood ran cold. This was no joke.

Morgan’s memories—neon-lit honky-tonks, the weight of his Fender, the roar of crowds chanting his name—felt vivid but slippery, like a song slowly fading out at its climax. New memories slithered in, uninvited: arguing politics at a coffee shop, marching with a rainbow flag, kissing a man with a scruffy beard and soft lips. He recoiled, disgust flaring. “I ain’t like that,” he muttered, but his pulse quickened, a warmth spreading through this frail body that he couldn’t shake. It was like this flesh had its own agenda, pulling him toward thoughts he’d never entertain.

He had to fix this. Now. Morgan rummaged through the apartment, finding a wallet with an ID—Elliot Harper, 27, Brooklyn address. The photo matched the face in the mirror, and it made his skin crawl. 

Deciding enough was enough, he turned his attention back to the vintage iPhone and typed in his own cell phone number. His hands shook as he dialed, the phone slippery in his soft palms. The line rang twice before a voice answered—him, the impostor in Morgan’s body, his Tennessee drawl unmistakable.

“Who’s this?” the impostor demanded, cocky and relaxed.

“It’s Morgan!” he shouted, Elliot’s voice cracking, high and desperate. “Some damn demon swapped us! I’m stuck in your fuckin’ body. You gotta help me!”

For a few seconds there was only silence, then a low, cruel laugh. “You’re outta your damn mind, boy,” he heard his own voice reply. “I’m Morgan Wallen. Go play with your glitter and leave me alone.” The call cut off.

Morgan stared at the phone, Elliot’s skinny fingers trembling. He redialed, but it went to voicemail. He texted, frantic: This ain’t a joke. I’m the real Morgan. Tharnis tricked us. Call me. No reply. He tried again, leaving a voicemail, his reedy voice shaking. “Listen, man, I’m you. Check the damn website—AskTharnis. We gotta fix this!” Nothing. His chest heaved, tears pricking his eyes—tears, a humiliation he hadn’t felt since childhood. He was Morgan Wallen, not some crying kid, but this body didn’t care.

The morning dragged, each moment a fresh insult. Morgan tried to move like himself, but Elliot’s body was clumsy, weak. He bumped into furniture, his narrow shoulders catching on doorframes built for smaller men. He tried to lift a chair, expecting his old strength, but his arms quivered, barely managing it. He opened Elliot’s fridge, hoping for a beer, but found kombucha and kale. “What kinda freak lives like this?” he muttered, slamming it shut. His stomach growled and he was alarmed to realize that his hunger was not for ribs, but for something green and leafy. He gagged at the betrayal. 

Returning to the bedroom, he pulled on Elliot’s clothes—skinny jeans that clung like a second skin, a tight black tee with a queer slogan: PROUD VERS. The mirror showed a stranger who somehow pulled it off, and Morgan hated the tiny spark of approval in his gut.

He ventured outside and was confronted with Brooklyn’s chaos—screaming buses, tattooed crowds—jarring him. He ducked into a coffee shop, and before he could stop himself, he ordered an oat milk latte, the words slipping out like muscle memory. The blue-haired barista smiled, and Morgan’s cheeks flushed, his body reacting in ways that made him want to punch the counter. The latte was creamy, sweet, and he cursed how much he liked it. 

Back in the apartment, he kept trying to reach the impostor—more calls, more texts, all ignored. His number (and those of all his close friends and tour manager) had blocked him by noon. He emailed promoters, messaged the tour’s social media, but got silence or bot replies. Disgust gnawed at him—not just at the situation, but at this body’s urges, the way his eyes lingered on a guy’s stubble outside the coffee shop and the way his heart raced as he thought back on it.

The first day ended with no swap back. Morgan sat on the futon, Elliot’s body trembling with realization. He’d asked Tharnis for one day, but the sun had set, and he was still here, still Elliot. The demon had tricked him, maybe for good. His only hope was the impostor—the new Morgan—who knew the truth. They had to team up, find Tharnis and force a reversal. But the impostor’s cruel laugh from their brief conversation still echoed in his mind. No, he wasn’t going to help undo this.

The second morning, Morgan woke still in Elliot’s body, the reality sinking deeper. He avoided the mirror, hating the delicate face staring back. He tried to eat a burger from a corner store, but his stomach rebelled, craving quinoa or some nonsense. His brain was worse—humming showtunes, nodding at X posts about “systemic inequality.” He’d mocked that crap, but now it felt… right. He shook his head, desperate to hold onto himself.

That afternoon, he cracked Elliot’s laptop and searched his own name. Videos loaded—the impostor in his body, strutting onstage in Cleveland, belting “Chasin’ You” to a roaring crowd. The man had Morgan’s mullet, tattoos, his cocky grin. Comments raved: “Morgan’s on fire!” and “Best show yet!” 

Morgan’s chest tightened, rage mixing with a sick fascination. His eyes lingered on the impostor’s jaw, the sweat on his neck, the flex of his arms as he gripped onto the guitar. His breath hitched, arousal coiling in Elliot’s body despite his disgust. He slammed the laptop shut, panting and ashamed.

As time passed, Morgan kept trying to reach the impostor. Daily calls, texts, voicemails—all ignored or blocked. He found a clip of “Morgan” backstage, arm around a girl with a “Jesus Saves” tattoo, laughing boisterously like he owned the world. Morgan’s old self would’ve cheered; now, it made him queasy, but his body reacted, heat pooling in his crotch as he watched his own face smirk. He hated it, hated himself for what he knew he was becoming.

Weeks after the body swap, Morgan scraped together cash from Elliot’s meager wallet, bought a bus ticket to a Brooklyn terminal, and headed to a gritty Jersey dive venue where his old body was scheduled to perform. 

At the venue, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, the crowd a sea of trucker hats and American flag tees. Morgan, in Elliot’s skinny jeans and tight black tee emblazoned with a queer slogan (“YES HOMO” this time) stood out like a sore thumb. He pushed through the crowd, his frail frame jostled by burly fans. His heart pounded, a mix of desperation and dread. 

Finally he spotted himself—Elliot Harper, now in Morgan’s body—near the stage, surrounded by the tour crew. The impostor was a vision of Morgan’s old life: chestnut mullet, whiskey-honey eyes, tattoos curling down muscled arms, a Bud Light dangling from calloused fingers. He laughed, a deep, cocky bellow, as a roadie slapped his back over some crude joke. Morgan’s stomach twisted—not just with rage, but with a shameful heat that bloomed in Elliot’s body at the sight of his own face, now worn so confidently by another.

“Hey!” Morgan shouted, Elliot’s reedy voice cracking, barely cutting through the din. Heads turned, eyes narrowing at the scrawny figure in tight clothes. “It’s me! Morgan! We gotta fix this!” His voice trembled, high and desperate, a far cry from the gravel-rich drawl that once filled arenas.

The impostor—Elliot in Morgan’s body—swiveled, his broad shoulders shifting with predatory ease. Morgan’s own face stared back, but it was warped by a sneer, lips curling in a cruel way that Morgan never remembered using. The crew fell quiet, sensing a spectacle. 

“Well, hot damn,” the impostor drawled, his voice a perfect mimicry of Morgan’s Tennessee twang, now laced with venom. “What’s this? Some twink lost his way to the glitter bar?” The crew erupted in laughter, a harsh, barking chorus that echoed off the venue’s concrete walls. Morgan’s cheeks burned, Elliot’s pale skin flushing a humiliating pink.

“I’m you!” Morgan pleaded, stepping closer, his skinny frame dwarfed by the impostor’s bulk. “Tharnis swapped us! You know it’s true—Elliot, you wanted my life, but this ain��t right!” His voice broke, the name “Elliot” feeling foreign, a reminder of how far he’d fallen. He clutched at the impostor’s arm, but his grip was weak, fingers slipping off the tattooed muscle.

The impostor yanked his arm back, towering over Morgan with a sneer that twisted Morgan’s own features into something cruel. “Don’t touch me, you little fag,” he spat, the slur slicing through the air like a blade. The crew hooted, some mimicking the word in mocking falsettos. “You think you’re Morgan Wallen? Look at you—skinny-ass queer in them tight pants, probably headed to some Pride parade after this.” He leaned in, his breath hot with beer and dip, the whiskey-honey eyes glinting with malice. “You’re pathetic. Ain’t nobody here buyin’ your fairy tale, fag.”

Morgan stumbled back, Elliot’s body trembling. Tears pricked his eyes—tears, a weakness he’d never known in his old life, where he’d swaggered through bars and brushed off hecklers with a grin. The crew’s laughter grew louder, a roadie shouting, “Go back to Brooklyn, homo!” Another tossed a crumpled beer can, grazing Morgan’s shoulder. The humiliation was a living thing, wrapping around him, but worse was the sick heat coiling in Elliot’s gut. His body betrayed him, pulse racing, arousal spiking at the impostor’s cruelty, at the sight of his own face looming over him, spitting venom. He hated it, hated the way Elliot’s flesh responded to the degradation, to the raw power of his stolen body.

“Listen,” Morgan tried again, voice shaking, barely audible over the jeers. “We gotta team up. Tharnis tricked us both. We find that demon, we can swap back!” He reached out, desperate, but the impostor grabbed his wrist, twisting it hard. Elliot’s thin bones creaked, pain shooting up his arm.

“Team up?” the impostor mocked, his grin wide and vicious, showing teeth Morgan once used to charm crowds. “You think I’m givin’ this up?” He flexed his free arm, the bicep bulging under inked skin, drawing cheers from the crew. “I’m Morgan Wallen, sweetheart. Got the voice, the girls, the cash. You? You’re just some queer nobody, cryin’ for a life you ain’t man enough to hold onto.” 

He shoved Morgan, sending him sprawling onto the sticky floor. The crew roared, one yelling, “Kick his ass, Morgan!” as if it were a bar fight.

Morgan scrambled to his knees, frail and unsteady. He looked up at the impostor and saw his own face staring down with a mix of disgust and triumph. It was a more arousing sight than it should have been. “You’re a fraud,” Morgan choked out, tears spilling now, hot and shameful. “You’re Elliot Harper, a damn fanboy who got lucky. You can’t keep my life forever!”

The impostor crouched, grabbing Morgan’s chin, forcing his head up. Morgan’s own calloused fingers dug into Elliot’s soft skin, the grip bruising. “Elliot Harper’s gone, you dumb bitch,” he hissed, low enough for only Morgan to hear. “I’m better at bein’ you than you ever were. And I ain’t sharin’.” He stood, kicking Morgan’s thigh—not hard, but enough to sting—and turned to the crew. “Get this queer outta here before he tries to blow me for a backstage pass!” The laughter was deafening, a roadie grabbing Morgan’s arm and dragging him toward the exit.

Morgan fought, but Elliot’s body was no match for the burly crewman. “You’ll regret this!” he screamed, voice cracking, his last shred of defiance drowned by jeers. “I’ll find Tharnis! I’ll take my life back!” The impostor didn’t even look, already cracking open another beer, his laughter blending with the crew’s as Morgan was shoved out into the cold Jersey night.

The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise, leaving Morgan alone, trembling on the pavement. Elliot’s body was a mess—torn jeans, bruised wrist, face wet with tears. He sank against the wall, chest heaving, the humiliation a weight he couldn’t shake. But worse was the heat still burning in his gut and the hardness in his pants, provoked by the twisted arousal that lingered from the impostor’s cruelty, from the sight of his own body dominating him. He buried his face in his hands, Elliot’s soft palms smelling of coffee and shame.

The next day, Morgan tried again. His throat burned, raw from the final, desperate call he’d made to the impostor. “Please,” he’d croaked into the phone, Elliot’s reedy voice cracking with every syllable, a far cry from the gravelly drawl that once commanded arenas. “You know it’s me. We can fix this. Tharnis tricked us both—let’s find that damn demon and swap back!” 

A long, agonizing pause had followed, then the impostor’s voice, laced with Morgan’s own Tennessee twang but sharpened with a cold, triumphant edge: “I’m Morgan Wallen now, kid. You’re nothing.” The line cut off, and even though it was something he’d heard a dozen times before, this time it was a guillotine dropping on Morgan’s last shred of hope.

He clutched Elliot’s cracked iPhone, its screen frozen on a video still of the impostor onstage in Nashville, mid-performance under blinding stage lights. Morgan’s old face—square jaw, whiskey-honey eyes, chestnut mullet flopping just so—smirked with a confidence that used to be his. The crowd’s roar bled faintly from the paused clip, a sound that once set his blood on fire, now a dagger twisting in his gut. Elliot’s soft, unscarred hands trembled, tears pricking eyes that weren’t his own—a weakness he’d never known in his old life, where he’d swaggered through honky-tonks and brushed off hecklers with a grin. He was Morgan Wallen, damn it—country star, whiskey-drinker, a man who’d slung guitars and charmed girls with equal ease. But the smudged mirror across the room showed Elliot Harper: buzzed hair, delicate cheekbones, a body that felt like a borrowed costume. The realization burned worse than any shame, a slow, searing truth: he was trapped.

The apartment was a claustrophobic shrine to Elliot’s life—rainbow flags taped to the walls and dog-eared books on queer theory and systemic racism stacked on every surface. For weeks, Morgan had fought this world, dodging texts about queer book clubs, forcing down burgers only to crave kale, recoiling as his mind hummed showtunes or nodded at X posts about “abolishing borders.” His old self—conservative, brash, quick with a slur—would’ve laughed this life off the map. Now, those slurs echoed the impostor’s cruelty at the Jersey venue, where Morgan had been humiliated before his own crew. “Pathetic little fag,” the impostor had sneered, wielding Morgan’s face like a weapon, the crew’s laughter burying him in shame—and worse, a twisted arousal that still made his skin crawl, Elliot’s body betraying him with every venomous word.

He’d spent those weeks scouring AskTharnis’s glitching forums, desperate for a way to reverse the swap. The site was a dead end, its cryptic messages taunting him: The stage is set. Play your part. 

The impostor, Elliot Harper in Morgan’s body, had no intention of helping. He was thriving, amplifying Morgan’s swagger into a caricature of MAGA bravado, spitting conservative rhetoric and slurs with a venom Morgan had never fully embraced. The new Morgan ruled arenas, seduced girls backstage, and basked in red-state adulation, while the old Morgan drowned in Elliot’s life, his mind and body slipping further into a world he’d once despised.

That night, alone in the dark, Morgan gave in to the pull he’d fought for too long. He opened Elliot’s phone, hands shaking, and pulled up “Heartless,” his old voice—gritty, raw, unmistakably him—filling the tiny apartment. The sound was a wound, slicing through fading memories of soundchecks in Nashville barns, the burn of rye whiskey, the chant of his name from thousands of throats. His eyes locked on the frozen video still, the impostor’s smirk searing into him like a brand. Elliot’s body reacted, a shameful heat coiling low, and his hand drifted, unthinking, to his waistband and then underneath to take a hold of his stiffening cock. 

He hated it, hated the way this body craved the man who’d stolen his life, but the music wrapped around him, his old voice a siren’s call. He moved desperately, panting as he stroked his meat, shameful tears eventually mixing with the rush of release, Elliot’s frail frame trembling under the weight of his surrender. When it was over, he curled into a ball, sobbing, the phone still glowing with his stolen face. “You’re pathetic, Wallen,” he whispered, unsure if he meant himself or the impostor.

Months passed, and Morgan finally lost the energy to continue fighting. 

He answered to Elliot now, the name settling like a heavy coat. He joined the queer book club, his soft voice reading aloud from Fun Home as Kai and Jasper nodded approvingly. He marched in Pride parades, a rainbow flag draped over his shoulders, the fabric no longer feeling like a betrayal. His politics, once firmly red—proud Fox News appearances, hunting selfies with Kid Rock—bled blue, then deeper, into a radical liberalism that would have once made him sick. He tweeted about defunding the police, about trans liberation, his fingers flying across the phone with a fervor that felt both foreign and right. At a Brooklyn coffee shop, he poured oat milk lattes with a steady hand, his soft palms no longer yearning for a guitar. The nonbinary barista with the nose ring, Luna, became a friend, then more, their gentle kisses stirring a warmth Morgan no longer fought.

Yet, late at night, when Brooklyn hummed with protests and drag shows, Morgan would slip back. He’d pull up the impostor’s latest videos and watch. In the time since their switch Morgan Wallen had somehow become even more of a global sensation, his music dominating charts, his conservative rants drawing roars of approval from red-state crowds. The new Morgan was a titan, his swagger sharper and his cruelty colder than the original Morgan had ever actually been. 

The original Morgan hated him—hated his politics, his venom, the way he’d pushed his conservative reputation into shameless MAGA idolatry. The new Morgan Wallen was a monument to everything the old one now despised. But the want he felt for his former body never faded. He’d lie on the futon, Elliot’s body trembling as he wrapped his hand around his hard cock while whispering to the screen, “Goddamn you, Morgan.” As humiliating as it was, his heart ached for the man he’d been, the man who’d replaced him with a better, brasher version.

One crisp autumn evening, Morgan—no, Elliot—stood at an outdoor Brooklyn drag show, a Pride pin gleaming on his jacket, cheering as performers twirled in sequined glory. His phone buzzed—Kai, inviting him to a protest against police brutality taking place the next day. He grinned, typing back, I’m there.

But as he pocketed the phone, a street TV flickered with the Country Music Awards. The impostor was center stage, in Morgan’s old body, accepting a trophy, his grin wide under the lights, mullet perfect, tattoos gleaming. The crowd chanted “Morgan! Morgan!” and for a moment, the old ache flared, sharp and raw. He saw himself in that spotlight, the life he’d lost—then turned away, joining the drag show’s applause, his voice blending with the crowd’s.

Tharnis’s trick had no end. The impostor would never help, never relinquish the throne he’d claimed. Morgan was Elliot Harper now, fully, irrevocably—a queer, radical literature critic in a world he’d once mocked. The realization no longer burned. It settled, heavy but final, like the last note of a song he’d never sing again. 

[himehikoshrine]

What do you think happened to Kisa’s brother?

This is something I don't think the game gives us a single clear answer on yet, and it's very fun to play with different possibilities for it.

If anyone wants more specifics or sources for any references, shoot me an ask and I'll try to get that for you. I may have missed something, too. Also, always feel free to correct me if I'm misremembering something, it can happen.

This will have spoilers for and references to a bunch of side material, and assumes knowledge at least of Kai route and Kisa route, though Fumi route is also mentioned. By reading it, you will, at least, know what the game doesn't include, so if you're still working through the canon and don't want spoilers, here's your warning.

I think we are supposed to be assuming Tummy/Onaka is in some way related to him, but the game gives us so many different avenues as to how, it would feel presumptive to say which one will end up being the case (if, indeed, the sequels plan on resolving it at all.)

If anyone still doesn't know, Tsuki means "moon" so the joke of that first scene with Kai and Tummy is that the player is supposed to think Kai was about to name the weasel "Tsuki", after the mark on its tummy, but opts for "Tummy" instead. It isn't spelled with the kanji for moon, but is read that way.

I think if there was any doubt, that scene you can get at the end of Kisa route if you meet specific parameters is really meant to drive that home. But even that leaves some deniability, and provides little clarity.

We're given so many different details about the supernatural and they don't ever cohere into a single answer, which is fascinating. We know that weasels are considered sacred to Mt. Oodate, a god in its own right that predates any association of the area with theater.

We know that it's a strange place with many superstitions. We know the area has a local legend that people sometimes get "invited off" on a specific night of the month, and on Kai route, we see something potentially related to that happen to Kisa. [Read more about Izayoi here]

In the Arata forest live reading show, they added a new scene that isn't in the story in the summer light novel where Kisa falls into a cave on the mountain, starts hearing voices, and maybe hallucinating.

All of this carries the potential deniability of all the signs that Kisa herself is maybe more unwell than we're being shone for most of the game. She has her moments, like the Good Morning Exercise, and side material like her birthday story last year or the final story in Seven Winds, which paint a picture of someone who may in fact be prone to things like this, even without supernatural assistance.

But the way its framed in the game I think favors the supernatural being real in some way, and acting on her.

And if it is acting on her, it may well have been related to what happened to her brother.

We've got these disappearances, these seeming slips into other dimensions, ghosts, possessions, mountain gods and sacred weasel messengers, old superstitions based on plays, curses, a theater god that died of violent emotional suffering that shares part of the sound of his original name with her brother. We've got Fumi and Kai talking about how stressed Tsuki seemed by the end, Fumi remarking that Kisa about to lose it and wander in the woods reminds him of Tsuki. Kai recalls that Tsuki used to head out there when he was struggling, too.

Heck, buried in the Ishida Sui exhibition booklet, there's a rough sketch of Tsuki dancing that didn't make it into the game proper, with text beside it talking about him performing a Kagura dance of Himehiko dancing to quell the Mountain, and losing his heart in the process? People are commenting on how good he is as only a first year.

Kagura, traditionally, is a worship dance form in Shinto, that is thought of as a kind of channeling or possession in retelling stories of gods as both ritual and entertainment. So who knows what sort of ideas Towada and Ishida were kicking around when planning the game.

Whatever they were they have left us with pieces of a bunch of different ones, each with supporting evidence if you look for it. Was Tsuki a normal small town boy who became touched by the supernatural when he came to Univeil? Did his talent attract supernatural forces to act on him? Was he partially possessed? Did he make a pact of some kind with some force there? Did someone do this to him? Is it some kind of curse? Did the supernatural whisk him off? Did it reach in to try to save him?

Did he know, as Fumi says he suspects, that Kisa would follow him to Tamasaka?

Did he lose his heart the way Himehiko did? Did he turn into a weasel? Did he ask the mountain god to send a weasel to get Kisa? Did he buy Kisa a weasel stuffed animal that came alive as a spirit of the mountain?

Or maybe he was just a really talented kid, and all the pressure of this 'Treasure of Univeil' label, and all the expectations of genius, and playing class lead and jack ace and mentor and mysterious and calm upperclassman weighed on him more than he really let on. Maybe, like his little sister, the stress of it got to him, and something in the woods whispered to him, and he followed it.

Maybe something even more mundane and tragic happened. I think there's a lot of room left in the game to see Tsuki as a kid really in over his head who wasn't doing well, himself. That for all the perfect prince he played for everyone, he was breaking under the pressure. He does a terrible job of preparing the class for his departure, and he leaves Fumi an absolute mess without him.

Given that the 3Q routes are all about breaking through this image of your really talented upperclassmen who seem to be able to do anything to find scared traumatized confused kids underneath, I think the game is very much offering us the reading of Tsuki being the same way. A kid forced to help raise his little sister, who left that role for the first time and was thrown into another demanding one, full of expectations that only grew.

If you wanted to get real dark, I think you could fill in what else might have been going on with Tsuki in a lot of ways, but I won't go into them all here, because your imagination can provide, and also I don't want to color readings that darkly unless asked specifically for it.

It could easily be a combination of any of the above, too.

But also, I wrote an entire fic about the possibility that he was never a normal small town boy to begin with, and that is simply Kisa's perception of him. That maybe Tsuki was always Tsukihiko, the first generation Himehiko, incarnated using part of Kisa's own name, come to a sad lost theater kid at a shrine and playacting her big brother.

That maybe all the strangeness around him is because he was always not entirely human.

You can read that fic [here] and see all the supporting evidence I find for that side of things.

You can read another version of a similar theory written up by @archaeren [here]. I have several other ideas besides, and I'm sure I could come up with several more. I think the opening of the game, and some early sketches, float a potential of Tsuki as an antagonist, however the heck it would get there. Maybe he got possessed and Tummy is the part of him that survived that, or the last minute gift he sent. Maybe he got corrupted, somehow. Maybe he's a not-all-together-benevolent god here to mess with Kisa more. Maybe the Mountain and Himehiko are both playing at this. Maybe something completely outlandish I haven't even come up with. I think all these combinations of reads have some support and potential. There's enough material to theorize in so many different ways, and I don't think one is clearly more convincing than any of the others.

And, in new material, they may introduce more possibilities instead of cutting them back, instead. Maybe they'll be heading to there never even being one canon answer, and each theory will continue to get more evidence as it's joined by others. Maybe they'll be different equally supported endings. Who can say.

Or maybe they've got a single answer in mind, and as new material comes out, it'll get clearer and clearer which is correct.

Honestly, I think, if they wanted to, they could make the sequel (or, if they're planning on doing more sequels,, and just trap me here forever, one even later on) more of an explicit mystery game.

The way the game handles it, it genuinely comes off as weird how little curiosity Kisa seems to have about her brother's disappearance. I think through side material and brief moments in game, once again most strongly on Kai route, the implication I, at least, was left with, is that she can't think to much about it, that she's keeping these theater blinders on as a way to cope. The first chapter of the Moon Signpost Novel suggest she has always used this to cope with grief. But there's a layer of utter denial to it, too. In the Summer Kageki Novel, in his story, Yonaga thinks to himself that Tsuki is probably dead, and that he thinks Kisa must, deep down, know that. But that he doesn't want to be the one to say it, so he just awkwardly laughed and agreed when she said he was probably out there somewhere.

But it still feels weird. She never tries to crack this case, even a little, when it seems set up for her to do that. So I think it's a path they could take in later material, and because Ishida and Towada both seem to love making their characters fall apart, psychologically, we could get more of that fun Kai Route weirdness as she does. The fact that there ARE so many paths and answers that seem to have thematic or textual evidence means that the branching nature of an otome game, or a visual novel in general, could work really well to explore each of these and other potentialities. Each LI could have their own theory, or at least provide a different window into the mystery.

Like, Yonaga's interests canonically include researching the occult. Get on this, Fox Mulder! I'm genuinely so bummed out that doesn't come up more in game, and I think the side material constantly dropping new Tamasaka Town legends suggests that the authors had a lot more in mind that just didn't make the cut for the first game. I love the weirdness in Jack Jeanne, so I hope there will be much more of it.

Yonaga's got this research angle, and is someone who knew Tsuki in the past, and can explore those memories. Suzu's special ability is asking people about things - his summer light novel chapter has him and Kisa going around and getting lore, and his birthday story and some events also include that. I think Mitsuki's intense focus on trust and honesty could be a good opening to making Kisa talk about her feelings about things, and Mitsuki is in a unique position as not having met the guy and being annoyed at the mess he left behind. Kai's already got the Kai route stuff, which could easily continue. Fumi was Tsuki's partner, and almost certainly has more to share. I think there's a lot that can be done with the compare and contrast on the images of Tsuki that Fumi and Kisa have, but on Fumi route, Kisa is sort of still shutting that down, so we don't get it. Neji, ever the wild card, giver of lore finding quests and random information, is also positioned -- even more so after his birthday story -- to be in the middle of whatever politics are going on in Tamasaka, if that has something to do with it all -- that's an angle I didn't even really touch on. What's Chuza's role in all this, anyway? I feel like there are a lot of fucked up ways that sketchy guy could be involved in this.

Even the side characters from the first game could get in on it, if they get routes. Mare's got a big brother whose shadow hangs over everything too. Kasai, like Suzu, like Kisa, is someone who followed Tsuki's image to the Univeil stage. Minorikawa seems like the sort to constantly get himself involved over his head in something. Chui could go in so many directions, either political or supernatural, or again like in Kai route, shaking some realizations out of Kisa through the Magic of Theater. So, the very long answer to your question is, basically: I have no idea! And that I think there's a lot of potential for the game and it's side material (can you even call Jack Jeanne primarily a game anymore? Considering how much non-game bonus material there is?) to poke around in that mystery. Thanks for the ask! Happy to take any follow-ups or other questions!

[painted-flag]

A DRUNKARD'S PATHOS - aegon targaryen

☾⋆⁺₊✧ elf!Aegon Targaryen Series

☾⋆⁺₊✧ Sequel book to 'Of Flowers and Death' but can be read as a standalone.

☾⋆⁺₊✧ Summary:

Following the advice of his good sister – the new elf Queen and Aemond’s wife – Aegon is sent on a journey of self-discovery across the kingdom's lands. Seeing it as an opportunity to drink his way through all the pubs and taverns that exist in their kingdom, he embarks on his travels. 

However, he finds himself enraptured in the foreboding mystery of a town that holds more secrets than its number of residents. The most alluring of all is a barmaid, Arlina, whose turbulent past forces him to reckon with his own. In the wake of a personal metamorphosis, Aegon finds his connection to Arlina as a means to the end of his struggles.

Yet, the secrets that lured him begin to close in and want for blood.

Arlina wishes to escape every notion of her past self, forcing her life into a cycle of monotony. With a few close friends, she lives in relative peace. On the eve of one night, the prince Aegon comes into her town and inadvertently causes an upheaval of change; in both her and the lives of others around her. 

A violent past, a secret dark magic organization, and the beating hearts of two stubborn, sorrowful elves circle the cursed town at the edge of the world. 

Can also be found on AO3, right here.

☾⋆⁺₊✧ Chapters:

Chapter 1: The Drunken Fool Chapter 2: The Merry Maiden Tavern Chapter 3: Nightmares Chapter 4: A Proper Peasant Chapter 5: The Last Harvest Chapter 6: A Body at the Edge of the Woods Chapter 7: An Investigation Begins Chapter 8: Peculiar Markings, Peculiar Cave Chapter 9: Just Friends Chapter 10: Nowhere Is Safe Chapter 11: On the Road Again Chapter 12: More Valuable Than Gold Chapter 13: The Queen's Advice Chapter 14: A Startling Revelation Chapter 15: Back to Orilon Chapter 16: Imprisoned Chapter 17: Denial Chapter 18: A Beautiful Sacrifice Chapter 19: Run, Little Lamb Chapter 20: A Final Deal Epilogue: Terminus

☾⋆⁺₊✧ Content warning: 18+ Smut, depictions of gore/violence, alcoholism, PTSD and anxiety attacks.

☾⋆⁺₊✧: Ah! I'm so excited to roll this one out. As stated above, it's a sequel but can also be read as a stand-alone work. The schedule for the release dates of chapters is susceptible to change, as the previous book went from weekly updates to multiple uploads a week -- which will likely happen for this piece.

Thank you all for the support! Wishing everyone a fantastic year to come. Go out there and kick some ass <3

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

[xxghost-bloodxx]

Black Vampire Movies/Media:

an incomprehensive watch/reading list

/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\

(part 1/?)

Blacula (1972)

William Marshall (The Boston Strangler) plays Prince Mamuwalde, an African royal whom Count Dracula takes everything from when he turns him into a vampire. (after Dracula refuses to help Mamuwalde suppress the slave trade.) Renamed Blacula, Mamuwalde grapples with losing his humanity, similar to other gothic tales.

Scream Blacula Scream (1973)

Marshall returns as Blacula in the 1973 sequel, where he creates a horde of vampires. Pam Grier (Jackie Brown) plays Lisa Fortier, an inexperienced voodoo practitioner trying to remove Blacula’s curse. Scream Blacula Scream was the acting debut of Richard Lawson (Sugar Hill), and it strayed away from the typical portrayals of voodoo as dark magic.

Ganja & Hess (1973)

After being stabbed with an ancient, germ-infested knife, a doctor's assistant finds himself with an insatiable desire for blood.

Vamp

Two college buddies go to a strange city late one night and find themselves in the clutches of evil.(source)

Fledgling (2005)

Octavia E Butler’s Fledgling follows Shori, a girl who appears to be an African-American child but is actually a 53-year-old Ina – a vampire species that have seemingly always coexisted with humans.

In typical vampire fashion, the Ina need to feed on human blood to survive, but instead of killing their victims, the venom they produce hugely extends the human lifespan. So the relationship between vampires and humans is symbiotic rather than parasitic.

Shori can’t remember her life before the story begins. This means she also doesn’t remember why she is different. As the story progresses, she gradually and violently becomes aware that society is hostile to her. The Ina are a species of vampire with white skin. Shori learns that she is black because she was experimented upon and mutated in the quest to help the Ina survive the sun – vampires are killed by sunlight. (source)