#well I mean- worm on a string

[otiksimr]

WUWHAHAHAHA

[moondane-lovers]

Working on my next set of acrylic charms ;) thoughts?

[crossbackpoke-check]

Fixed point (mathematics) // The History of Perspective // "Point of Disappearance", Dennis Held // How the Hughes hockey family stays grounded // Fixed Point Photography-- // "Portrait of A.", Tung-Hui Hu // Mic'd Up | Hughes NHL 25 cover shoot // "Burnt Norton", T.S. Eliot // "Circuitry", Janine Joseph // Bruce Bennett // Nick Wass // from obedience [maybe one day, during a point in time], kari edwards // Bill Rapai // "Errand Upon Which We Came", Stephanie Strickland // Benchmark (surveying)

art kid luke hughes

[criminalyapping]

due for trouble | you're mine

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: i'm actually going to murder my keyboard i am so done with the extra letters and spaces you're gonna yell at me about the end but i'll pick up straight where this leaves off tomorrow :)

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, language, the girls are fighting!! he's big mad, they yell, etc. gets saucy near the end but no smut

< part 5 | part 7 >

Jack loves working on the night shift. He loves his coworkers, being able to watch the sun rise, and he loves the relative peace in his shift when compared to what he knows the day shift is like.

Lately, he's been thinking about the downsides, though.

When the baby is here, god, he's having a baby, but when it's here does that just mean that its your job to take care of it all night and then go to work all day? He can afford daycare no problem, but maybe he should look into nighttime nurse for you. He adds it to the mental list of things he needs to figure out.

There's approximately 4 million other things on his list as well.

It's another of his string og three days off, and he's seated on his couch trying to enjoy a movie that he put on. He'd much rather be with you, but you're out with your friends at some new country bar that popped up.

When you had first told him your plans for the night, he cringed. Thinking about the hot, sweaty environment you must be in, the opportunities for slips and falls on the sticky dance floor, and in his darkest thoughts, the possibility of you getting something put in your drink, regardless of if it was just water or a soda.

But be a controlling ass he will not, so he wished you and your friends a fun night and left it at that.

He's regretting that now as he looks at his phone and the message he got from your friend Emily. He scrambles for his reading glasses, slips them on, and inspects the text message thouroughly, trying to decipher it.

'miss girl fully eating with her fit'

She had sent along a photo as well, highlighting your cowgirl boots, your cute little sundress, and the intricate way that you had styled your hair for the evening. Jack, however, is focused on the tall cowboy character that you're talking to in the picture, smiling up at him as he looks down at you.

He puts his phone down, biting his lip and thinking about how hard he wants to take this. He's not taking it well overall.

'Do you guys need a ride home?'

He asks. It's about 11:30 now, so he would be able to get there at midnight, which he thinks is a perfect time to leave a country bar.

He's already up and changing out of his sweatpants before he gets a text back.

'uhhhh we were all going to get an uber home'

Emily had texted back.

Jack rolls his eyes.

'I'm on my way, be there in 30'

Jack has a white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel as he gets closer to the bar and finds a parking space.

He has to wait in line to get in and pay a $15 cover, which only sours his mood more. He's borderline seething as he enters, his eyes quickly scanning the open space.

He finally spies you, standing at the bar talking to someone.

Instead of being your friends, it's a tall, cowboy-hat wearing tool with a few too many buttons undone on his shirt.

He makes his way through the bar to you, and you don't even notice his presence until he has wormed his way into your conversation, standing directly in front of you.

Your eyes flick over, at first just preturbed about the man in your space, then your expression shifts to shock and a little bit of fear. The look on his face must be severe.

"Jack..." you trail off, "what are you doing here?" you ask.

"Emily texted me." he says, "I'm here to give you all a ride home." he says.

The man you've been talking to seems to think now is a good time to speak up.

"Hey, man, we're in the middle of talking," he argues.

"Not anymore," Jack says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him as he turns to go.

"Jack," you start to argue as he sucessfully pulls you away from the man, deeper into the bar and looking for the other three.

"Not right now." he cuts you off harshly, not letting go of your wrist.

You trail behind him as he finds the other three, and goes to leave with the four of you trailing behind him like ducklings. You give Emily a severe look, pointedly looking down at your wrist caught in his grasp and back to her.

She looks a little guilty, but the look she shares with Jada afterwards tells you that they're enjoying this.

Jack unlocks hiis truck, opening the passenger door for you and then shutting it hard after you're seated.

As he climbs in the drivers side, he opens his phone and gives it to the backseat.

"Where am I going first?' he asks. Jada lives closest, so she types in her address and Jack pulls out of his parking space.

The car is silent, an unseen tension filling the air as he makes his way around the city dropping off your friends.

As Jack pulls up to his home, you scoff.

"What?" he asks in a monotone voice.

"Can you take me home, too? I thought that was where we were going." you ask snidely.

"No," he disagrees, "we're going to go in and we're going to talk." he tells you.

"Oh, are we?" you argue.

"Yeah," he says, getting out of the car and rounding to the other side, opening your door. "Come on," he urges.

You roll your eyes and clilmb out of the truck gingerly. Jack keeps a hand on yoour shouder like you're about to run away as you walk to his door.

As soon as his door is shut behind him, you lay into him.

"What the fuck was that?" you ask, not quite yelling but definitely close.

"I was trying to have a good time with my friends," you complain.

"Your friends? Your friends who were halfway across the bar while you flirted with some guy?" he spits.

"Oh, fuck off," you scoff.

"No, no tell me." he insists, "Tell me about how much fun you were having."

You roll your eyes again and turn away from him. He grabs your shoulders and angles you towards him. He's standing close enough that your head has to be tilted back to look at him.

He looks pissed. His eyes are wide, a red tinge covering his whole face and neck, and his intense look is focused soley on you.

"I told you," you start, measured, "that I was going out out of courtesy," you spit, "I can do what I want, and it was not okay for you to show up and ruin our night-" you're interrputed when Jack cuts you off.

"Ruin your night?" he repeats.

"Yeah, ruin our night!" now you really are yelling. "You show up, make us all go home, and for what? For what, Jack, so stake some kind of claim?" you yell. "You're not my boyfriend, Jack!" you yell.

Jack chuckles wryly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

"You know," he starts, crowding into your space again, grasping the tops of your arms. "I don't have to stake any claim," he tells you lowly. "I don't have to, because I already fucking did," he says, pressing you against the length of his body. "I didn't think I had to spell it out for you, but I will." he continues.

"You're mine," he says, and you open your mouth to argue, but he stops you before you can.

"And don't argue, okay? I'm telling you." he's all but whispering now, his face a few milimeters from yours as he speaks with an intensity that has your toes curling in your boots.

"You're mine," he repeats. "I'm not just around because of the baby, but it gives me a damn good excuse." he tells you. "Call me your boyfriend, or your baby daddy, I don't give a shit. You want to call me your fiance and I'll go get a ring right now," he growls. "But whatever you want to call it, you're all mine, and you need to get that through your head."

Despite being 100% sober, his words give you a floaty feeling in your heads as you struggle to put together a string of words, intoxicated by his presence.

"And I get no say in this?" you finally ask.

"I think," he starts, "that if you really wanted to put up a fight, that I wouldn't have even gotten you out of that bar, let alone into my house." he argues. "I think you just wanted to put up a fight and be a little brat."

You don't say anything, but look up into his eyes and keep your gaze locked there.

"Am I right?" he asks.

You roll your eyes and try to move away, only to be stopped by his renewed grasp on you, pulling you into him as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

"You wanna be mine, baby," he says into your cheek, "that's okay," he assures. He drags his lips down the side of your face and presses his lips to yours in a messy kiss.

His tongue plunges into your mouth annd tangles with yours, overpowering any attempt you make at turning the tides of the kiss. He wrenches his lips from yours and skims them down your neck, leaving licks and kisses and at least one bite, for good measure.

"Yeah, I do," you agree breathily as his mouth works on your collarbone.

"Yeah, you do," he parrots around your skin, "good girl," he sighs.

tagging: @michasia24 @veggieburgerwrites @bruher @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catmomstyles3 @qardasngan @fuckalrighty @rae4725 @beebeechaos @thatssomebadhat89 @cari87 @livingdeadblondequeen @wowitsafemale @neonpurplestars89-blog

let me know if you want a tag!

[glitter-stained]

Thinking about how some modern comics writers (Tom Taylor) write the batfam and why it doesn't sit right (this post centers around the robins because of their training but some of that reflexion would definitely fit for Barbara and Cass as well.)

The thing with writing a team of people with similar training and strength is you can't take the easy route of "well this one is the smart one! And this one is the flexible one! And this one is the strong one!" .... which is obviously reductive to all of their characters. Obviously, they have interpersonal differences; Dick, being raised as an acrobat, is the most flexible, but that doesn't mean that every single one of these little fuckers doesn't like to bend, twist and somersault to dodge bullets like an annoying worm on a string being flung around in the sky. They're Robins. Obviously, Jason is the bulkiest, but that doesn't mean they don't all go through hardcore conditioning -Tim is only considered "frail" when you put him between Bruce and Jason, this guy would bench-press you any day, come on. (And DC editorial can lie to us about the girls' weights and heights and make them at the limit of ed-territory even though they're doing parkour and hardcore martial arts every day but I know the truth, Steph's strong as hell, homegirl's got bazooka-level guns). Obviously Damian was raised in the League and is proficient in a bunch of martial arts, but they all received training from a bunch of different experts, including, for all of them, the same guy (that they are all so normal and chill about.) Obviously, Tim is the one who used detective work to figure out everyone's identity but you're kidding yourself if you think he's the only intelligent/detective one amongst the robins. Being smart and a detective is a defining part of all of their characterization, and so is being a leader and a strategist. And then of course with that kind of simplified characterization we end up with Steph being "the girl robin" and Damian "the assassin one/stabby one" and Duke "the meta one" (yes this post counts Duke as a Robin. They trained him and also just cause I wanted to. I love him.)

And even if we make an effort and try to dissect it "this one is the detective smart one! And this one is the strategist! and this one is smart in a more techy-way! And this one is the leader! And this one- hey what kind of intelligence do we have left..." obviously doesn't work either. Duke was a exhilarating strategist in WaR already, Jason's strategic work in UTH and detective in Lost Days is thrilling, Damian is a fucking child surgeon (do I need to develop how intelligent that kid is), Dick was the first leader of the Titans and is always doing detective work like, that's an inherent part of his character, Duke was a cute-ass baby doing puzzles and planning to defeat the Riddler himself, Steph literally became Spoiler to stop Cluemaster (girl knows to solve riddles that would make Nygma shit his pants), they've almost all lead a team at some point, etc, etc. All of this is great and cool and a character being great doesn't take away from the skills of another character! Stark contrasts cannot possibly be the only interesting team dynamics, especially since they already have their own teams of contrasting skillset and personalities.

Imo, best robin team-up dynamics is them stepping on eachother's toes with their plans, getting into rapid-fire brainstorming sessions where they're all finishing eachother's sentences, reaching a conclusion and saying it out loud at the same time, one of them having a crazy ass plan and suggesting it to the other and the other saying "i like the way you think" to that person who thinks exactly like them, getting mad at eachother for being stubborn while also being a stubborn little shit, pulling complicated acrobatics together, and just thriving solving a good old complicated mystery with other people who are just as competent and enthusiastic about detective work as them but not a carbon copy, with extremely specific strength and weaknesses and quirks (like Dick's ability to recognise heroin by putting it in his mouth, Damian's uncanny voice imitation ability, etc.)

Of course, this doesn't even begin to touch the family drama, but honestly we get so much family drama angst with no real consequence rn, I'd really love just a robin team-up, relatively low-stakes (aka nothing taking over the city, the world, no past traumas unearthed to haunt them or parental abuse or secret cults etc etc.) Just a very elaborate murder mystery and a good excuse for all the robins to be there and a story that works with their similarities and their potential (both comedic and in terms of plot) rather than erasing it. It would be so much fun!

[prlssprfctn]

Hi. It's me again.

So, since there are so many 'Jaybin haunts people' and 'people hallucinate Jaybin' hcs and fics and AUs, what about— after Duke and Jason start getting close (close for Jason and batfamily, at least), Duke starts seeing Jason's core inner self at his side (Jason's).

Maybe as a combination of the long time he was dead, the time he was in coma + the time he was catatonic + all the supernatural/magic shenanigans he went through or has going on, part of Jason's soul/feelings/inner thoughts sometimes takes an astral form when he's feeling too much/thinking something strongly.

It's harmless and doesn't have any side effects. Even more, it would be completely unknown to everyone if Duke hadn't start seeing him.

Now Duke is like one of those chinese novels where a character suddenly can hear someone's monologue and has to fight hard to keep a normal face because the outside doesn't match at all what he's thinking.

In part because he's a super cheesy, squishy plushy pile of slime inside a lot of the time. In part because he doesn't just say the most ridiculous lines unprompted, he also says way more to himself. He's not even trying to be funny, he just thinks like the love child of a shitpost and Shakespeare.

And then there's the things he doesn't say because he thinks everyone already knows. Both as 'one of the things no one talks about' and as 'this is obviously common knowledge, right?'. Just, obscure random facts at the most unexpected time.

There's also the gap between Jaybin, who just hugs him when it's his turn and is over all a really fun kid, and younger Jay, who seems like he needs a hug but would bite you if you tried to touch him, and a teenage Jason, who is older than Jaybin but a few years younger than Jason-Jason and is full of snark and looks just tired. They all have different dispositions but are still very much the same person. Curiously, Duke has yet to see an older Jason that matches his outward looks.

At some point he could also just tell him about the Jay's. He'd be mortified but later he could try to make Duke laugh out loud at the worst moments just by thinking.

wow, this so heartbreaking to read in the early morning you cannot imagine.

the mixture of humour but angst in Jason's head, both unintentional, is killing me. i don't think either of these kids realise just how tiring it could be, to be them, to have their thoughts, to live like this. the can of worms constantly swarming in your thoughts, reminiscing of all things that hurt you, that despair you, and that beginning from the very early age—

imagine standing next to little pre-Robin Jason, and all you hear in his mind is constant questions like: will mom survive tonight? can i scrap us a little more money? will father ever return from the jail? will i die tonight? is there any food?

and then you have Jaybin, whose thoughts a tad lighter — at least, he thinks of books, school, or family — but it eventually spirals as well in: will Bruce kick me out once? am i a washed out Robin? why i am still hungry? why does everyone on galas hate me so much? i miss my mom.

but let me add this: catatonic Jason is there, too. like a ghost, sometimes, he disappears. sometimes, just stares before himself. but there are no much of thoughts. just a repetitive string of Bruce and dad, all over again. and the more you listen to him, the more you start understanding what each of it means in different times.

angst aside! the son of Shakespeare and shitpost is KILLING ME, and it is so incredible real, and i felt it so much. stealing it.

Jason's thoughts jumping from one to another, which results Duke hearing this:

"what a one ends up becoming if his roots are deep in rotten ground and— omg, lmao, babies camels are so funny. wait, they are called calfs. anyway—"

(probably, Jaybin's thoughts during a fight)

[godslush]

The 'new' classification system with Dan's 'ask chat' ability is fascinating to me. I dug some up in-game, but since it takes soooo long, I ended up just going into the files and digging them up manually (enemyType: string in the Enemies.json file). There's some interesting thought process going on here.

I won't list them ALL because I do have to go to work. A bunch of them are pretty obvious; a lot of characters you'd guess are classified as "Cursed" are, in fact, Cursed.

A few interesting things have stood out to me so far:

Cursed doesn't apply to everyone who looked outside, or got mutated; even Joel and Hellen are classified as "Human", as well as most of Joel's family (except Baby Teeth, who is "Cursed"). Leigh, as "Grinning Woman/Beast", is fully classified as "Cursed".

Even "Stressed Out" (IE William, the wounded door encounter after his lower half turns into a monster) is classed "Human"

Morton is classed as "Insect" right out the gate, not Cursed. This means 'Chat' figured it out even before Sam did, which is very funny to me.

Rat King is "Cursed" (Frankie did straight up say on stream that Rat King is Fabrice; Frederick's friend who saw his painting), while Rat Freak, and most of the 'body part' rats are classed as "Human". Weirdly, Rat Hole is "Cursed" despite describing its situation as transforming through having been bitten a lot.

"Witness" appears to apply to those very basic beginning game enemies, but the knife neighbor and Vincent are still "Human". Eternal Eye is "Cursed" so perhaps it's a "level of transformation" thing. However, Mutt is also classed as a Witness.

The only other character specifically classed as "Witness"? Jasper.

("Chorus of One", "Unholy Duet", "Discordant Triune", and "Chaos Quartet" are Cursed, while Exalted Four is "Ascended"... XIN-AMON is also "Ascended")

SPEAKING OF ASCENDED there are a few others with this class: Spore Mother, Faceless Fred (!), Furnace, and some unimplemented bosses I won't speak of here but have deliciously fascinating names.

Branching off of Spore Mother, "Fungus" is obviously it's own class and which characters are fungus should be obvious, but weirdly enough Laughing Mold is considered "Cursed" instead.

Lokjaw is a "Mutant" which also applies to Tumorhead, EyeCluster, any of the Worm Parts associated with Rafta-infested Nestor, the 'remade' creeps in Edwin's dark apartment and... weirdly enough, the first couple enemies in the garage (the cone and the tires). That's it. Very small clade.

"Painting" should be obvious, but once again it is interesting that Faceless Fred is "Ascended" but becomes a "Painting" once his face is returned. "Cowboy Hat" is "Human" but I am presuming this is when you attack it while it's on Sam's head, so technically you're attacking Sam. "Not a Cowboy Hat" is still a Painting.

Another obscure one is "Passenger" which only applies to things off the bus, but not EVERYTHING off the bus (Crawing Hand is Cursed). Things in Henderson's apartment are "Conscripts". Trench Digger is Cursed.

"Pipe Man" is it's own class for the sewer (includes the 'corpses'), but the Boiler Beast is "Cursed".

"Frostbitten" is its own class, which applies to all the frozen enemies including Enforcer in the basement, but NOT to PomPom, who is Cursed.

"Taxidermy" is its own class, which applies to all the enemies in that apartment except Suture Wire, which is Cursed.

It does seem like a single 'Cursed' surrounded by a bunch of hyper-specific enemies in a special area indicates an infection that spread, with the 'Cursed' being the Patient Zero for that area, but not always.

It's worth noting that nothing in the plant apartment has an enemyType: and is just listed as a lowercase "monster" in-game (which might just mean the devs forgot)

The "???" shadow enemies have the class "Shade" until you get to the BIGGEST ones (that don't have words, only variations of "???? ?? ?? ?"), where they become classified as Cursed.

And to make matters EVEN MORE CONFUSING, "Shadow" (IE, the white mask) is classed as "????"

DO take into consideration the only way one would canonically find these in game is through Dan's "Chat" so take that as you will.

THERE'S PROBABLY MORE TO GLEAN, but right now I have to go to work!!!

[heartz4levi]

hey, goodluck with your studies!! i wish you the best >_>

anyway, omg.. braaahh, i can’t stop thinking about till in scenarios i shouldnt be thinking about (..like him crying and being overstimulated), wait sorry im such a freak LMAOO

anyway, stay safe and healthy!! remember to take care of yourself and get plenty of rest, food, and water!!!!

-🪷 anon ^-^

shining like gun metal, cold and unsure !

☆ thinking abt till + overstimulation . .

☆ till (alnst) ,, gn reader . . combined with anon's request : can u do something w sub till pretty please with a cherry on top!! take ur time ofc (=^ ◡ ^=) ,, sub!till ,, dom!reader ,, orgasm denial ,, use of toys (cock ring & vibrator, till receiving) ,, till cries and begs ,, overstimulation ,, reader is sadistic if u squint.

if you managed to worm your way into till's heart, then he trusts you with every fiber of his being.

you can do anything — anything! — you want to him and his complaints will be kept to a minimum. he could have tears streaming down his pale face, his body jolting each time you touch him and he would still give in to your every desire.

even if you have been denying him of one single orgasm for what feels like hours now, refusing to slip the cock ring off of him, till won't flip the switch on you. his hands aren't bound together by anything, no part of his body is restricted from moving, meaning he can take the cock ring off himself if he so pleases.

but no, you wanted to toy with him tonight, and that is exactly what he'll let you do.

his vision is blurry, he can hardly even make out your silhouette that he knows like the back of his hand. his cock is aching, the head is red and weeping, dripping with pre. the sight of him is almost hypnotizing, you think. his head is thrown back against the pillows, hips bucking upwards whenever your hands come into contact with any part of his body.

till is not one to normally beg, but he's been chanting your name like a sacred mantra continuously, pleading with you to let him cum once. each time you deny him of the privilege, he whines, then continues to take whatever you give him.

you've reduced him to nothing but a pliant, sobbing mess. he can hardly think straight, the only things on his mind are you and how he needs to be on his best behavior if he wants to cum. for you, till will do anything. not for the sweet release of climaxing, no. for you.

at one point, till stops begging. the only sounds that escape him are small sniffles and whimpers as well as moans of your name. that is when you decide that you could remind him of how persistent he once was when it came to the notion of cumming.

till's body doesn't even register the feeling of you sliding the cock ring off, tossing it elsewhere. you swapping your hand out for a vibrator to press against his hypersensitive dick doesn't make a single impression on him, good or bad. his breath hitches once when your fingers ghost over the skin on his inner thighs, then he's back to letting out faint mewls of pleasure.

laying back, you watch the gradual shifting of till's expression. the way he slowly begins to realize that something changed. that now he can actually feel the possibility of an orgasm washing over him without it being ripped right out of his reach right before he's about to grab it.

till's lips part further and his first instinct is to look at you with wide, teary eyes. desperately, he babbles on about how he's going to cum, about how he can't hold back, asking if you'll allow it nonetheless.

not long after you coo at him in such a saccharine—filled tone that he can cum, till feels himself doing exactly that. his entire body stiffens for but a fraction of a second, muscles tensing up as strings upon strings of his release coat his stomach. then, all of his limbs relax. after being denied the moment of respite he had been searching for ever since you stripped him bare, finally getting to experience it causes relief to overcome him.

till feels like he's on cloud nine. he can see how your loving gaze is focused on him, watching intently as his brows cease their furrowing and how his sobs turn into murmurs of "thank you—hic!—thank you.."

well, he feels like he's on cloud nine for about two seconds. the vibrator pressed up against his cock is still going, transitioning from gently helping him ride out his high to giving him too much pleasure.

till begins to writhe, tossing and turning frantically. but the buzzing doesn't stop and, once again, he turns to you. fresh tears prick in the corners of his eyes, hands gripping tightly at the sheets below him as he asks you to give him a moment, let him catch his breath and then he'll cum again for you.

according to plan, you remind him about his persistence in regards to cumming. he had begged so desperately, it was such a pathetic display, and now after cumming once he's asking you to let him have a breather? your answer couldn't be more clear — no.

till is quick to figure out that your response is set in stone, that you won't be changing your mind. he grits his teeth, hissing at the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through his body in sharp spikes.

he can feel himself cumming again, but this time it isn't as calming. he's at the height of pleasure during one moment, and the next, the soothing effect of climaxing is gone. his legs were shaking as he coated his skin a pearly white yet again, now he's back to thrashing around in your hold.

till sucks in a sharp intake of breath, trying — and failing — to prepare himself for the inevitable. you want to milk him dry, and till will choose to do nothing but to sit there and allow it.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

The Beggar Student by Dazai Osamu

"I could feel the hands of fate upon me. I'd been caught. In his heart of hearts, the student is a thirty-two-year-old drunken poet."

"Not even the wisest reader knows the anguish of the writer who has sent a truly awful piece of writing to a magazine in order to survive. Here goes nothing, I told myself, pushing that heavy envelope into the mailbox. It hit the bottom with a thunk. And that was that. Another crummy story. On the surface, it pretends to be a mirror to my soul, although I know as well as anyone the slimy worms of compromise are wriggling in the muck at the bottom. It's a work in which the work is far from done. ... It makes me so ashamed I want to scream and run around in circles. I promise you, it's terrible. A lousy piece of trash. I have no right to call myself a writer. Such is my ignorance. No insights to impart. No illuminating views."

"I wish I could just cut my belly open and let all of the words come spilling out. No matter if it's gibberish, as long as it's my flesh and blood doing the talking."

"My work will disgrace bookstore windows all across the land. Critics will sneer; readers will give up. That hack writer has outdone himself again, they'll say, setting a low bar for writers everywhere. Tough to beat."

"I'll have you know, I may look like an ass, but I'm not a total moron, and when I say I lack conviction, I only mean it relative to my own high standards."

"You ought to try this out sometime, dear reader. Sit yourself down on the sofa of a coffee shop or bar, facing the fireplace beside the madam of the house, so that both of you are staring at the flames, and talk as if you're speaking to the fire - I promise, up against even the dullest mind, you'll be able to sustain a lively conversation for hour after hour. But take heed, reader: you must not look into each other's eyes, not even once."

"I couldn't shut up if I tried. The only way I can stand being alive is if I'm playing the buffoon."

"One might call reason the glue that holds society together. In that sense, the order we enjoy is artificial, but we need this artifice if we want to go on living."

"Even if I feel bad for a person, I'm certain of the cold hard fact that I can't do anything for them, which leaves me feeling even worse."

"Growing up, I found the name incredibly embarrassing, so despite being a string bean, I've been publishing as Osamu Dazai, a name that makes me sound like a street fighter who might break your neck."

"...This guy's a good person. Not egotistical like you." "Hold on," I said, bristling at being labeled a good person. "I'm plenty egotistical..."

"When something pushes me over the brink of fear, I have a nasty tendency to begin laughing like an idiot. A disturbing, wild laugh. I lose control, can't hold it in. An expression not of brazenness, but extreme cowardice that takes me to the limits of delirium."

"Truth is that grownups are the same as kids, except a little worse for wear. Kids ask a lot from grownups, but grownups ask at least as much from kids. It's a real mess. But it's the truth. We count on you to hold it all together. ...To put it gently, we're always one step away from being overwhelmed. To put it harshly, we're all babies who cant' take a word of criticism."

"Next time life gets you down, curl up in a blanket in your rented room and open a good book."

[hells-wasabii]

hii, hope you're doing well. May I ask for alastor x reader where reader is way more powerful than alastor? and weird thing for al is that r didn't sell their soul to anybody or make a deal, they just slayed and managed to become very strong overlord just by themselfs. Could be fem or gn reader, please

Thank you, have a nice day/night <33

A/N: I went with a gn reader, wasn't too sure how to incorporate a specific gender into this one, but i hope you enjoy!

Character: Alastor

Type: Headcanons (Alastor x stronger reader, General)

Now, this was certainly interesting! It seemed to Alastor that history really did have a way of repeating itself! Just like himself, a new soul had arrived in hell and stirred up quite the commotion! And during his seven-year absence no less! You were one powerful demon, quickly rising in the ranks of the overlords and eventually even making your way to Pentagram City. Only where Alastor had stagnated in power by himself, you kept rising. You were stronger? Than him? Now he really was interested.

But what intrigued the radio demon the most was the source of your power. Where did it come from? He had heard the rumors that you had no souls, but that just didn't make any sense to him. Not in the slightest.

Souls equal power, plain and simple, whether it means obtaining the souls of others or selling your own. but you had done neither. quite the anomaly you were. He just knew that he had to meet you!

The moment that he even stepped into the same room as you, the radio demon was filled with a sense of dread. He could feel the power radiating off of you. Alarm bells rang in his mind, he knew you were a danger. But this also meant that he knew exactly who you were when he saw you. The overlord with no souls, power with no strings attached. You certainly did not disappoint, that was for sure.

Now, Alastor was not a demon to form alliances, but one with you would he certainly wouldn't mind making an exception for. Whatever he could do to get close to you. He'd sniff out any possible opening and poof, suddenly the radio demon was ingrained in your afterlife.

He would be looking for any opportunity to worm his way in, trying to find out why exactly you were so strong. Trying to get you to make a deal. It didn't matter to him if he had to start small, as long as he could get in it was a start.

He knew one thing for sure. You were exactly what he had been looking for. He had to add you to his collection. And he would do anything to have you.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I forgot his name, but can I request The Hood dating hcs? Maybe someone who also uses dark magic, but in a way similar to Agatha? However, reader can’t do much, or just like, can’t use intense magic cause they’re semi-bounded, so they’re restricted in their abilities.

I tried to keep it as close to the character as much as I can, implementing shit from the comics in terms of his backstory but yeah, this is the best I can do.

you most likely met during one of his heists, both gunning after an artefact, one that would help you strengthen your magic, make you more powerful and out grow the shadow that you had made for yourself.

shadow manipulation and illisionary magic, amongst the other generic abilities dark magic tends to give you had gotten you so far, the rest relied on your ability to worm your way in close proximity of highly valued artefacts of magical origin without being spotted.

It was highly likely that John would’ve been the one to have scouted you out, going back and telling Parker all about the dark magic user that he had happened to come across while you were using your magic to track your next artefact. Parker became intrigued by you and told John to keep a close eye on you and what you did, believing that due to your background in dark magic you’d be a highly valuable asset to him, especially when it came for bigger heists yet to come in the future that weren’t in regards of breaking and entering.

Your meeting was predestined in a way, almost as if something had been pulling the strings all along, guiding Parker into finding you and bringing you into his crew. You could tell from the moment you met him that the hood he wore was brimming with dark magic, you could easily hear the demonic whispered and taunts as well as he could, hearing them ask about desires amongst other things.

‘Where did you get that.’ You pointed to the hood.

Parker shrugged. ‘Snagged it off of someone.’

‘More like something,’ you replied, still getting use to the overwhelming presence of the hood’s magic, ‘that hood is dark magic, darkest I’ve ever felt and you’re meant to tell me it’s not feeding off of you.’ You add.

Parker clenched his jaw, the hood feeling a lot warmer then it usually was upon his shoulders, knowing you were very much in the right, you were quite possibly the only person who could understand the gravitas of dark magic and the burden it carries.

You raised your brows. ‘Or is it perhaps changing you, slowly, gradually, ridding you of your humanity until there is nothing left, altering you into something…not human anymore.’ You eyed him closely before adding. ‘Dark magic has a heavy price to pay, but I’m assuming you’re aware of that by now.’

You had an inkling about the hood and it wasn’t until you came across Parker shirtless one night that you saw that your inkling was more right than you originally thought. Scales across his back and trailing the back of his neck ever so slightly, the tattoos did little to hide what was happening to him and suddenly against your own better judgement you were by his side, holding his hand as you could feel the dark magic surging through him that tethered him to the crimson hood.

‘Now you see,’ Parker said, looking you in the eye, ‘now you know.’

Now let’s just get to the relationship aspect.

Parker deeply cares those he’s closest to, particularly you and his cousin John, though that didn’t mean he didn’t care for his crew because he did but it was of how far that care extended that made you different from the others. (And not in a pick me way either, you just know more then most of the crew about the situation with his demonic hood)

It was obviously taking its toll on him and you would try and give him the space he needs, while also been close enough to offer aid should he need you to help combat the whispers within his head, wiping away the sweat the build up upon his forehead as you held his face within your hands and clam him down by using hushed wishers and allowing him to cling to you.

John -albeit skeptical of you at first, merely protective of his family- slowly began to warm up to you and come to appreciate when you could get through to Parker when he thought the Hood was taking him away from him. He could see how much you did care for Parker, having been made aware of his sick mother whom he wanted to take care of, even if it was by certain means to do so, you didn’t judge and instead would offer a shoulder to lean on as a form of reassurance that both Parker and John were thankful for.

Parker would be very protective over you, even if he was aware that you had magic on your side, yet you’ve mentioned time and time again that you were on restricted magic which meant you could only do so much before you hit your limit. Yet despite being stuck with restricted dark magic, Parker still found your ability and control over it fascinating, tracking magic, illusion magic and shadow magic were just the few that he would step back and watch you with a proud expression.

He’s just watching over you and wouldn’t be too far from you during heists, always a few steps away from doing whatever it took to keep you safe, even if it meant becoming more and more reliant on the dark magic within the hood. His care for you, for John and for his crew would often be something you reprimanded him on as Dark magic would easily use this against him.

Parker didn’t care, he knew what he was getting into and didn’t mind loosing his humanity if it meant ensuring your safety, always coming to find you after the guests were over and pressing his head against your own, happy that you were safe and sound as you return his smile and reassurance upon seeing him safe and sound. You understood and would do the same for Parker, truly believing in his vision, so you couldn’t hold it against him from protecting his own.

The crew would tease you both for being sickeningly cute, but Slug absolutely adores your relationship, John was happy that Parker was happy, the blood sisters weren’t all that bothered about your relationship but were happy for you both either way, just as long as it didn’t make either of you loose sight of the bigger picture, clown -much like slug- adored your relationship and Riri was eyeing you both as while you both were cute; you both were dangerous adversaries we versed in Dark magic that could make a simple situation go from bad to worse within the blink of an eye.

to him you didn’t have to be all powerful, for it was always those with a limited range of abilities that tended to do the most shocking things, take more people by surprise by merely emerging from their shadows in comparison to creating a wave of chaos magic to take out your adversaries. That and he would inquire you more about Dark magic in hopes he would understand what he was messing with, always keenly away that dark magic is cryptic and often has second meanings that often backfire of those who sought it for means that can be manipulated.

Affection didn’t come frequently as Parker was focused from going from one heist to the next, so there’s not much time to be soft and gentle with one another, but that doesn’t stop you from making time to be affectionate with one another while being mindful of the blackened veins upon his back and kiss across his shoulders and his jawline as you admire his features. ‘It’ll be all yours, one by one, they’ll fall before you feet I assure you.’

‘Ours.’ Parker corrects you, holding your hand. ‘Ours.’ He repeats as he pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead as a prosperous future flashes before him, one where he would treat you better then his own father and one where you got to meet her mother for he knew that she would absolutely love you but Parker knew there’s too much work to be done before he could even fathom the idea of properly settling down. Yet it’s part of the bigger picture for Parker and he was determined to make that future a reality and not something the Hood would taunt him with.

John would tease Parker for being such a sap with you, nudging him in the shoulder and reminding him of the plan, reminding Parker that while he’s happy that he’s happy there was a time and a place to displace such vulnerability. Parker reassured John that his eyes were on the prize, knowing John’s main concern was in regard to the Hood and its manipulative nature. ‘You’re lovestruck.’ John would say teasingly as he saw Parker watch you read a dusty old tome about Dark magic while floating in mid-air.

‘How could I not.’ Parker replied, smiling as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he continued to admire you as John clapped his shoulder. ‘As long as you know what’s at stake and don’t make it a point to stare at them 24/7 then be a sappy shit as much as you want.’ Parker laughs, happy to know that John approved of his relationship with you, always valuing his thoughts and opinions above most, and knowing that it can only go up from here.

[pinksugarscrub]

Rivalry

Hobie Brown x fem! reader (modern au)

Scenario: Listen, I really want a guitar and I've been seeing a lot of garage bands on tiktok

word count: 1,772

warning(s): cursing

~

“I think I need new strings…” you murmur. Plucking each string expertly before focusing entirely on the G string.

“It does sound kind of dull.” Gwen notes while chewing. Far away from her drum set but still settled on the stool kept together by duct tape and dreams.

You hum before continuing to scrutinize the string. Adjusting the peg forward then back. No amount of tuning seems to bring back the low chord you’re accustomed to hearing. 

“Want me to check your bag?” 

“Yeah, thanks Felicia.” 

“Barf you know I hate it when you use my government name.”

Gwen snorts,“what do you want us to call you?” Biting into her sandwich again and waving the contents around. “That ridiculous stage name?”

“And what? You think Ghost-Spider is any better?”

Gwen’s cheeks heat up as she throws the remaining wrapper of her lunch. “It’s a work in progress.”

“More like a dumpster fire- god, do we really need (y/n) for everything.”

They both shift their attention to you, hunched over your bass and mumbling incoherently. 

“Yeah…” Gwen starts,“she’s not listening. Besides, the Mary Janes is a cool band name and so are the song titles. You can’t complain.”

“I wasn’t.” Felicia rolls her eyes. She’s found crumpled up flyers, math homework, and a gum wrapper in your case. “We just lack creativity. It’s sad really.”

“So you admit Black Cat is a dumb name.”

“I think it’s good,” you insert. “I’m still coming up with mine.”

“Which is hard to believe!” 

Felicia nods in agreement before sifting through another pocket in your bag. “This is filthy. How do you even work with this?”

“I write all of our songs on my phone.”

“That still doesn’t excuse the state this is in.” Felcia cringes as she pulls out a tissue.

“It was to clean my fretboard.” 

“Still,” Gwen winces. “Not even I’m so disorganized.”

“Finally!”  Felicia sighs in relief as she finds a packet hidden in a small pocket. Torn open but definitely not lacking the string you needed. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You answer. The brand logo is faded. You can’t recall buying these and can only assume someone gave them to you. Likely MJ.

“Guys!”

Right on cue

‘Hey’ you all simultaneously answer. Felicia taking a seat beside her piano and drinking from the canned coffee she bought from the drugstore.

“You’ll never believe what’s happened.” 

“You’ve got me stumped- ow!”

“Anyway, we were reposted then mentioned by another band!”

“Oh you mean that one- you know with the-” Gwen struggles while reaching for her phone. “And the-”

You huff, uninterested. “You mean the one they keep comparing us to?” 

MJ’s face drops. “Hey, chin up. It’s not their fault y’know.” She places a hand on your shoulder, in reassurance you guess. And of course you’re easily swayed. 

“Vocalist was cool.” You offer up like a bone. MJ takes it.

“His name’s Ned. They live in Camden, isn’t that crazy? Middle of the greatest punk movement.”

“Camden?” Gwen asks. Feeling her beanie slip she tugs it forward and fixes the pieces of pink hair that frame her face. Giving up on finding the above-mentioned band Gwen’s phone sits dangerously on the edge of the snare.

“It’s a city in England.” MJ nods enthusiastically. Tapping on her phone then turning the screen. 

The three of you lean forward to get a better look. It’s a page already filled with more than a dozen videos. The profile picture is the band’s logo, a spider with the letters ‘F’, ‘N’, ‘S’, and ‘M’ in the center.

“So what was the mention about?” 

Felicia combs through her hair. It’s ridiculous how not subtle she can be as she’s staring straight at a video with the lead singer as the cover. She has a thing for brunettes apparently but you’d like to avoid opening that can of worms by mentioning it.

“Well actually-it was for you.”

It doesn’t register in your brain her phone has been thrusted in your direction.

“(y/n)?” Gwen mumbles. Face pinched together in confusion. “Did you rage bait them or something?”

“What?” You blink.

“She is the type to create a fake account to comment ‘anonymously’.” Felica laughs while making air quotes with her fingers. 

“Huh?”

“Just watch,” MJ sighs. She’s lost all hope in her friends.

Gwen scurries to come closer but Felicia stays seated. Somewhat amused by the turn of events. “He’s cute.”

“Yeah, he’s alright.”

Felicia deadpans. “You have no taste.”

You turn to rebuttal but MJ’s quick to redirect your attention back to the screen. 

He is handsome. The boy who’s introduced himself as the guitarist. Piercings galore and wicks tied back. In all honesty his guitar matches his personality.

He screams confidence and it brings a smile to your face. A small one but one nonetheless.

“He wants to challenge you?” Gwen asks incredulously.

“He already did,” Felicia corrects. Grinning like the Cheshire cat. “I say give him a taste of his own medicine. He’ll regret asking.”

“It’s all in good fun,” MJ scolds. Letting go of your head now that the video has played through.

“I don’t see why he would.” Gwen grumbles and crosses her arms over her chest. “Why just (y/n)? Why not the whole band? He’s singling her out and isn’t that I don’t know- a bad sign?”

“I get where you’re coming from but it isn’t like that. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it if I had gotten a hint that they wanted to slander her name for content.” 

“Who knows,” MJ continues,“this could be the start of a really good thing. Having a challenge will make us a better band.”

“As if,” Felica laughs. Looking totally unfazed. “(y/n)’s going to wipe the floor with him. What do you say girly?”

There’s a stretch of silence before you answer. “I’ll do it.”

“See.” Felicia grins while motioning with her hand. “Poor guy, really won’t know what hit him.”

MJ practically beams and sets down her phone. “Great! Next practice, bring your guitar and we’ll shoot the video.”

You nod with your nose pressed against the body of your bass. You can’t help the excitement you feel in your chest and to calm Gwen’s worries you add in. “If they do try to use it for views, they’ll only look bad themselves.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“No!”

-

“...what’s Hobie doing?”

“Shit if I know,” Yuri mumbles. Too focused on tuning her guitar to really care. 

“We’re just going to ignore…that?” James cringes as he points in Hobie’s direction. “He looks sickly.”

“Sickly how?” Kamala pops in. Twirling a drumstick in between her fingers. “Oh, you mean that. He’s fine.”

James nearly chokes, gesturing more frantically as Kamala walks away and Yuri continues to ignore him. “But-”

Hobie meanwhile, sighs as he stares into his phone. Ned’s joked that his pupils practically turn into hearts and honestly, he can’t find it in himself not to believe him.

‘Never have I ever…played the two most dogged on instruments in my life’ Gwen grins. Sat in the middle of the Mary Janes.

‘What the fuck bro!?’ Throwing your hands up you stomp out of frame before coming back. ‘The viola is fucking cool and you know it!’ 

Hobie laughs under his breath. Your voice syncing to his brain directly through the most marvelous invention, earphones. He scrolls to the next video then the next. He thinks your laugh is the cutest and you’re so…ugh. If he could keyboard smash in real time he would.

“Dude.” 

Hobie jumps as he feels an earbud being pulled out. Ned only grins. “Man you are whipped.”

“What, what did I miss?”

“Uh, practice.” Yuri answers sarcastically. Strumming her guitar for effect. 

“You ok over there Hobs?” Hobie swears Kamala has flowers above her head. Or maybe stars? 

He nods, apologizing with a sheepish grin before sliding off the armrest of Ned’s old couch. “Sorry yeah, all good.” 

Ned snickers and hits his shoulder. “Yeah, he’s had his daily dose of (y/n) for one day.”

“Fuck off,” Hobie laughs. Ignoring the way his face feels hot by grabbing his guitar from its case.

“You mean that girl from that band? What were they called…”

“The Mary Janes!” Kamala informed.

“Yeah them. Thanks.” James ruffled Kamala’s hair. 

“He loves her.” Kamala puckers her lips and kisses the air. “They’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates aren’t real, Mala.” 

“Not with that attitude.”

Yuri sighs and drags a hand down her face. “Whatever.”

“I don’t love her-” Hobie gaped, “I don’t even know her.”

“Uh huh, keep telling yourself that buddy.” Ned knew firsthand how delusional his best friend was. Well, romantic if you wanted to put it nicely. 

“I don’t!”

“It’s kind of pathetic Hobart.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Really,” Yuri continued, “you can’t just pine over someone in another country. At least have the-”

A loud bang resounded in the room. “Oops, my bad,” Kamala chuckles. Picking up her fallen drumsticks. 

“-to ask her out. It’s not like you’ll see each other.”

“Yuri might have a point.”

Hobie glared as he not so subtly threw up both hands. 

“As cute as this is Hobs it can’t be healthy. Maybe in the face of rejection you can move on.” Ned muses while patting him on the back. “I mean just last week you totally ignored that girl who was flirting with you.”

“Wait, you think I don’t have a chance with her?”

“That’s what he focuses on,” Yuri sighs again. Shaking her head she swipes her phone from the rickety music stand.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ned defends. Hands raised as he frantically waves a white flag in his mind. “I’m just saying- you’ve never been this interested in someone. I don’t want you getting your feelings hurt mate.”

“Here.” Yuri interrupts before Hobie can come up with something smart to say. 

The charm on her phone dangles beside her pinky. The flash was quite obviously on as it was dark in Ned’s basement. Especially with the stormy weather. 

“You send her a video. Dedication—I don't care. Just get her attention so we can finally practice again.”

Hobie’s heart skips a beat at the prospect. 

Speak with you. What would he even say? ‘I adore you’? That was creepy as fuck even he could admit that. ‘I’ve been watching you’ ? That was even worse.

“You should challenge her to a song. She plays guitar too, not just bass right? It’ll show you pay attention to her craft as a musician.”

The room goes silent.

“Kamala, have I ever told you you’re my favorite?”

“You have told me on occasion.” 

[seratopia]

katsuki is definitely a "get my wife's name out'cha fuckin' mouth!!!!" kinda guy LMAOOO

You're mad, really mad. No doubt that your husband would be banned, not just from the Hero Gala, but as well as future important events for what happened.

The car ride back to the hotel was completely silent, your head tilted towards the window to gaze out into the dark city.

Finally, when you're both undressed and ready for bed, you talk.

"Why'd you do that?" You start, arms crossed whilst you lean on the soft headboard of the bed.

Katsuki averts eye contact, subtly appearing like a child being scolded for misbehaving (which angers you even more). There's a lengthy period of silence, before his face reverts back to his usual scowl.

"He was makin' fun o'you." He says, and you sigh.

"I know, Kats." You start, shuffling deeper into the covers. "There's people that are going to make fun of me no matter what, you know that. Didn't mean you had to go make a scene."

He lets your words sink into his skin for a moment, peering down at the white duvet.

"Can't fuckin' stand when people talk about you like that." He remarks, but you can sense the true passion in his voice. Even when he knows he shouldn't, Katuski inches his hand towards yours. Still, the pout on your face is evident.

"You could've handled it better, Kats."

There's a twinge of anger that sparks in his gut, one that reminds him of his teenage days. It tumbles immediately to his throat, born from his tendency to be angry. You can see his eyebrow crinkle, his mouth curling further into a frown. What was he not enough of?

Right as your husband goes to open his mouth, to release a string of curses, he stops. It closes, and you watch as he takes a dramatic sigh. His hand tenses around yours.

"M'sorry. Couldn't control myself around that shithead. Shouldn'tve slapped him, 'specially at a big gala." He mumbles. Something in your heart sparkles when you sense the sincerity in his tone.

You pat his knuckles, gently tracing the veins that run along them. "I really don't want to scold you like your mom, Kats. I'm just worried for your job... What if you get blacklisted from other events."

You're right, and he knows. "P.R. can help me fix it. Find a way to minimize damage or whatever."

Satisfied, you allow yourself to sink down into the soft covers of the bed, shuffling and worming around until you're comfortable. Katsuki expectantly staring at you for an answer.

"Spit it out."

He slides deeper into the covers next to you, slithering a thick arm over your midsection. You're warm, almost warm enough for him to forget about the events of earlier.

"You're the one striving for #1, not me." You mutter.

He takes it as permission to snuggle closer, slotting his chin up top your head.

"Damn right."

[kettlefire]

Time forgets most (DPxDC)

I've been getting too many brain worms that I need to clear out the cramp space that is my idea vault. In doing so, I'm just posting off-handed, random things I've typed up at work. (Partly so my drafts don't just end up like my vault). Without further ado, a much too too long post

°•°•°•°

The movement of time is a much too complex thing for many to understand. The knowledge that time was not perfectly linear. The past did not simply stay in the past. The future is not simply something to look forward to. The present is not simply a fleeting moment.

Time is a complex web. Every point in time, connected to another point in time. A never-ending mess of webs and connections. Things that are to be. Things that can be. Things that are being. Things that will never see the light of day in this universe.

Despite what some may want to believe, Time has no master. Time does not yield to any singular being. That did not mean that Time didn't need a helping hand. A guiding hand to help keep the chaos of time to something just a little more... fluid.

The being came to exist well before the universe had. The being was festered, taught, and nurtured in a small pocket dimension. A small space just like an incubator.

Until the world blossomed around it. Life started to grow. Time kept moving. Living organisms found untimely deaths. Evolved, learned, and grew into the new space around it.

When the first little creature crawled out of the water, Time's keeper was let free. A bumbling little thing, breaming with life and curiosity.

Just like everything else in the world, this keeper wasn't safe from time. It still moved. Brought forth problems and adventures.

As time continued to tick. Moving in every direction, the keeper continued to age. Unlike the rest of the universe, the keeper didn't age the same as others.

Some days, he was nothing but a small boy, frolicking in a field of flowers and bees. Other days, he was a strong middle-aged man. Pulling the strings in just the right way, pushing for a timeline that felt right.

On days that have been happening much more often. He was but a crippled old man, hunched over his staff, and dropping much needed wisdom on the young lives around him.

Being the keeper of time wasn't an easy feat. Being completely out of time, experiencing things in broken order. There was only a clear start, and a jumble of things that followed.

The keeper was content with his life. Watching over the world as it grew and blossomed. He was content with his special kind of solitude.

That was until he saw the boy. In the webs of moments, the keeper's gaze had found him. A boy much too young, suddenly with powers much too great thrusted upon him.

The keeper watched the scenes play out. The tears, laughter, humiliation, triumph, and pain. He watched as the boy's family was ripped from him. Watched the twisted attempt at fixing his life, only for it to go horribly wrong.

He watched the bloodshed and chaos that erupted. The lives ripped apart and destroyed. Not a single sign of life left behind.

Then he watched as the boy, no, not a boy anymore. The keeper watched as the monster tore through the fabric of time. Ripped its way through the thin veils that divided the universes.

Universes that had never known the boy's existence were torn to shreds to. A flight driven with pain and anger.

Despite the keeper having seen the boy turn into such a monster. He could see it in the beast's eyes. The deep-seated need for a family, a life. To be loved.

Something about the boy's life, his story, spoke to the keeper. He found himself reaching out into the web of lives and moments. Finding the moment when things went the most wrong for the boy.

Just like that, the keeper had inserted himself into a life. He pulled the boy out of the cruel stream of time. Filled the boy with the knowledge he needed. Let the boy see just what could happen if he let it.

The keeper of time was soon a simple mentor. A simple deity looking out for the world. Taking on the mantel of Clockwork and finding a new purpose for his life.

A young boy's life has been flipped upside down two times now. And there were certainly more to come. This time, the boy wasn't alone. He had a guiding hand, and a communtiy behind him.

The keeper, no, Clockwork watched with a strange pride and happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. The boy was quickly surrounded by a family that helped him navigate his new powers.

Clockwork, alongside many of the other ghostly beings, watched on with pride as the young boy grew into a strong young man. Mastering powers, taking a stand, and making their home safe.

Despite the best efforts, time always beings problems.

It was one thing for Clockwork. He was the keeper of time. His life has reason to exist as long as time exists. Which will always be. His purpose was infinite.

But this boy... Danny wasn't like Clockwork. He was still partially human and terrified of losing his humanity. Danny's story had to come to an end, it's how time works.

Except, Danny wasn't in the timeline anymore. Clockwork had ensured that, pulled Danny into a separate timeline. An unaccounted for timeline.

He couldn't live here forever, not the way that Clockwork could. Danny needs a life, a family, a place, a purpose. He was still human.

It took more effort than Clockwork would have liked. He had to cash in favors from other deities that he hadn't spoken to in centuries.

It took a combined effort of everyone who cared for the little halfa. The strange boy that teeter on the line between life and death. The boy who had freed the Zone from a tyrant. Who wanted nothing more than for everyone to live a happy and filled life/afterlife.

Getting the magic and spells right was the hard part. But finding the location was easy. A beautiful planet just on the edge of the Milky Way. Unlikely to be disturbed or hurt.

The planet was undiscovered, primative even. Far enough from humans that Clockwork was certain Danny wouldn't be bothered. Only one species lived on that planet. Along the jungle like fauna, and in the water.

Cute little guys, barely bigger than two feet long and one foot tall. There was no name, no knowledge about them. Aside from Clockwork analyzing their way of life.

A simple cycle. They were born, they aged, they played, fed, mated, and then died. A simple but content life.

The aliens weren't unsettling. At least not to anyone who has seen more creatures than what Earth has to offer. It is a strange combination between frog, fish, and squid.

Scurrying around on two legs and four tentacles. A small frog-like face with eyes that seemed to take up half that space. Colors vary from blues to greens to the same sandy brown found at the bottom of the lakes.

Before long, the planet had its own protector. A young boy who once was lost and alone seemed to meld perfectly with these aliens.

Clockwork was always sure of himself. He never let anyone see otherwise. Except, Clockwork hadn't been sure. Not when he had performed the ritual.

As he molded and changed Danny's DNA until the man was a new being entirely. To anyone who didn't know the full story, the boy could easily look related to the aliens.

Gills now painted the sides of his neck, not necessary, but Clockwork felt like it had been. Webbed hands and feet to make transversing the underwater caves even easier. An ethereal, almost siren-like touch to Danny.

It worked out perfectly. Danny settled in easily. Building a routine and bound with the aliens. It hadn't been hard for the little creature to take a liking to him.

Before long, it was routine. Danny would spend most of his time on the planet, watching over his new wards. On some days, he'd portal back to the zone. Spend time with the ghosts and deities that saved his life. To check in on the new govermental system that had been put in place.

It was perfect. Simple and nice. Everyone got complacent. The longer time went on without a hiccup or a problem. The longer Danny was able to rest in his odd solitude. The more people got comfortable.

The more they forgot that time was as cruel as it was forgiving.

It had been just another day cycle. Danny was playing with the most recent litter birth. The first time he had seen the birth, he was more disgusted than anything else.

After the third time, Danny had started getting excited. He looked forward to it. Loved seeing the aliens flourish and grow. Watching them thrive and find more fun in the things Danny creates. Every new fun game or obstacle was always made with the things natural to the planet. Or debris that was caught in its gravitational pull.

Danny was playing with Plop. The little guy got his name, and he always plopped out of the water. Unlike the other aliens, this one didn't crawl out. No, he'd pull himself out of the water with his tentacles, only to plop down on the ground.

Of course, Plop had also been the first alien to approach Danny when he arrived. It's how they formed such a strong bond.

Everything had seemed perfectly fine. The day was rolling along just like it always did. That was until a small group of the more elder aliens suddenly came scurrying into their main cave.

They hadn't waited a second before diving into the water. Danny watched, confused and concerned, as each one of them grabbed one of the young. Before shooting straight into the underwater cave system.

The once bustling and living cave was suddenly eerily quiet and void of any aliens. Leaving behind only the confused Danny in the pool.

At least that's what a certain Green Lantern saw when he followed the trail of retreating aliens.

This planet had been categorized to have no signs of intelligent life. It seemed to have the option to nurture life, but there had been no signs.

When Hal Jordan got word of a seeming spike of activity from the supposedly empty planet, he had added it to his rooster.

A quick peek, just a look into what kind of life might be starting to grow there. The little aliens he had seen were adorable, sure. But they didn't seem all that evolved. Still in their evolutionary journey.

That was until Hal saw him.

Now, Hal was no stranger to running into ethereal beauty. It's what happens when someone interacts with aliens on a basic daily. That was something he was used to.

Except, all his breath seemed to be knocked out of him completely. The cave alone was stunning, a stark contrast from the almost barren surface he had first seen.

A deep, shimmering blue pool that vanished into the rocky space around it. Trees, bushes, and flowers decorate the area. It looked almost too good to be true. Like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

Then there was the being that caught all of Hal's attention. Bright blue eyes that looked like gems, pale blue-tinged skin. Long black and white hair seemed to look almost like the night sky. A deep abyss littered with stars.

The closest thing that Hal's brain supplied was a siren. A beautiful, ethereal creature that lured men to their deaths. As beautiful as it seemed, Hal knew there could easily be danger.

Except, the creature didn't attack or threaten him.

Instead, he seemed almost shy. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, sharp deadly teeth flashing in the light with each motion.

Hal had just opened his mouth, taken a hesitant step forward. He wanted to know, and he needed to know how this happened. There wasn't supposed to be an intelligent, sophisticated life on this planet.

The moment Hal's lips parted, the creature let out a trill. A sound that seemed more scared than aggressive. Before suddenly, the beautiful creature vanished into the pool.

Hal moved before he could think, rushing to the edge of the pool. He peered into the crystal clear water, just in time to take the webbed feet of the creature vanish into a tunnel.

Now that left Hal with two options. He could either report this and wait for backup...

Or...

Or...

He could jump inside. The ring would protect him, and his lungs would be fine. Perks of being a Green Lantern.

That option seemed much more tempting to Hal. Nothing about this scream an outright threat. He felt more like a strange imposing on someone's home. A home that was meant for safety and protection of the young.

Yet, the shimmering water seemed to be calling to Hal. Something in him was trying to push him to get inside. To find the beautiful creature and learn more. Learn how this happened.

Without realizing it, Hal Jordan sealed his fate the moment he dipped a finger into the cool pool. Rippling the steady surface just slightly.

Just enough to get him wrapped up in the strange web created by time and its keeper.

[xoxokiaraaxoxo]

hallway crush (elliot)

summary: when rue casually mentions introducing you to her new friend elliot the boy you’ve been lowkey in love with from twelve lockers away your world tilts, and suddenly your hallway crush is looking at you like you’re the only song worth hearing.

word count: 3k words

a/n: this was a request! hope you enjoy!

⸻

“You’d like him.”

Rue says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s just a passing thought. You’re halfway through shoving a gummy worm in your mouth, barely listening as you stuff your notebook into your locker. “Huh?”

“My friend. Elliot.” She shrugs like she didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb into your life. “I should introduce you guys.”

Your hand freezes mid-air, gummy worm dangling stupidly between your fingers. You blink. Once. Twice.

Elliot? As in her Elliot?

The same Elliot who you’ve been crushing on from approximately twelve lockers down for the past three months? The boy who glides through the hallways like he’s got nowhere to be but looks good being late? The one with the lazy grin and headphones always around his neck and those stupid chipped nails you find way too attractive?

That Elliot? You recover fast. Or, well you try to.

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Whatever.” You toss the gummy worm into your mouth like you’re chill, like your brain isn’t short-circuiting and screaming at you in neon signs: This is not a drill.

Rue gives you a long, suspicious side eye. “You’re literally shaking.”

“I’m not,” you lie. You glance down. You are, in fact, lightly bouncing on your heels, your hands fidgeting with your hoodie strings like they hold the meaning of life.

She snorts, slamming your locker shut for you. “You’ve been staring at him in the hallway like he’s a damn Renaissance painting.”

You gape. “I have not.”

“You have. Like. Full on slow-mo head turn every time he walks past. If this was a movie, you’d have your own soundtrack.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“Mmhm.” She’s already pulling out her phone. “I’m telling him. He’s been asking about who my normal friends are anyway.”

You peek at her through your fingers. “You think he’ll like me?”

Rue pauses mid text, looking up at you with her weirdly perceptive eyes. “Dude. He likes weird, artsy, introverted, kind of smart, kind of social people who pretend they don’t care but really care. That’s you in a nutshell.”

You blink. “Was that a compliment?”

Rue shrugs. “Take it how you want.”

You lean back against the lockers, heart pounding way too fast for someone who hasn’t even met the guy yet. You’re already spiraling, mentally scrolling through your closet like it’s a runway lineup. Should you wear the graphic tee he might find ironic? Or the flannel that makes you look effortlessly cool even though it took you twenty minutes to style?

And what are you even going to say when you meet him? Hi, I think about kissing you when I’m supposed to be paying attention in math? No. Definitely not that.

You glance back at Rue, who’s still texting, now smirking at her screen. “What are you saying?”

“Relax,” she mutters. “Just told him he should meet you. Said you’re cool.”

You scoff. “You said I’m cool? Wow. That’s a lie.”

“Okay, fine. I said you’re a little annoying, but in a fun way. And that you’re probably gonna pretend not to care but that you’ve been dying to meet him.”

You nearly choke on your own spit. “RUE—”

She grins. “He sent a smiley face.”

You slap her arm. “That means nothing!”

“It means something.”

It means you’ve got maybe an hour, maybe less, before you’re face to face with the guy who has unknowingly starred in about ninety percent of your daydreams and at least four fake scenarios you made up just to fall asleep. Like, what if he trips and falls and you help him up and your hands linger? Or what if you both get detention and bond over hating authority figures? Or your personal favorite what if he’s secretly been watching you too?

Rue slings her backpack over one shoulder and nudges you with her elbow. “You’re overthinking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re planning your wedding.”

You sigh dreamily. “I was just thinking about matching tattoos, actually.”

Rue cackles. “You’re so far gone.”

You grin, cheeks warm, pulse still racing. “He’s so hot, Rue.”

“I know.”

“No, like, distractingly hot. Brain-melting hot. I get dumb when I see him.”

“You’re already dumb, so he’ll probably feel right at home.”

You roll your eyes, but the butterflies won’t quit. This is happening. Rue’s going to introduce you to Elliot. Your Elliot. And you’re not ready not even close but you’ve already started plotting how to ask him out.

Casual, of course.

Cool.

Chill.

Maybe something like: Hey, wanna go to a show this weekend? Or sit in the back of a 7-eleven parking lot and talk about music and feelings until 2 a.m.?

Yeah.

That sounds like a you and Elliot thing.

You try not to smile too big as Rue starts walking away. “Come on, loser. He’s in the music room.”

Your heart lurches. “Right now?”

Rue just grins over her shoulder. “Let’s go make your hallway crush a real one.”

⸻

Rue’s dragging you toward the music room and your palms are sweaty. Like, wipe them on your jeans and pray sweaty.

“Don’t say anything weird,” Rue mutters as you approach the door.

“I’m literally all weird,” you hiss back.

“That’s true,” she says, like it’s a compliment.

And then she’s pushing open the door. There he is. Sitting on a beat up stool, guitar in his lap, headphones around his neck, and a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he looks up. You swear the lighting changes. Like the sun moves through the window just to hit his cheekbone a little better.

“This is my friend,” Rue says, already walking toward the vending machine at the back of the room. “She’s been stalking you in the hallway for weeks.”

You choke. “Rue!”

Elliot’s brows lift, and a slow grin creeps onto his face.

“Oh yeah?” he says, voice low and amused.

You panic.

“I wasn’t stalking. I mean, not in a weird way. I just…you have a very walkable back?”

Oh my God.

A walkable back?

What the fuck does that even mean?

Rue lets out the loudest snort of her life from the vending machine.

You try to recover. “I meant I mean you just have, like, a vibe. Not your back. Your whole…thing. That’s walkable. In a not weird way.”

Elliot just laughs. Full on, warm, genuine. And he’s not laughing at you or if he is, he clearly finds it endearing.

“Well,” he says, standing and tossing you a piece of gum. “If you’re gonna talk to me about my back, at least have fresh breath.”

You catch the gum, stunned into silence.

Rue walks past you, muttering, “I told you not to say anything weird.”

But Elliot? He holds out a Sharpie and nods to your arm. “You want me to write my number down before you insult another part of my body?”

You blink. “You want to give me your number?”

“Sure. Hallway crushes deserve a fighting chance.”

You smile. Dumb. Gooey. A little unhinged.

Rue groans as she opens the door again. “I hate this.”

⸻

Later that night, you’re lying on your bed, staring at your phone like it owes you something.

Rue left two hours ago with a bag of chips and a smug grin, muttering, “Good luck, loverboy.”

And now you’re just…waiting.

You’ve refreshed Instagram twice. Scrolled aimlessly. Reread the interaction with Elliot over and over in your head like it’s your favorite episode of a show you don’t want to end.

You wonder if you should text first.

No. Cool people don’t double text when they haven’t even single texted.

You sigh dramatically into your pillow.

And then it happens.

Ding.

One message.

From an unknown number.

hey

it’s elliot

i asked rue for your number

hope that’s not weird

unless you like weird

Your heart flatlines, then restarts with a vengeance.

You type, erase, type again.

Finally you send,

weird’s kind of my thing

what’s yours?

Almost immediately,

trouble. mostly.

you busy tomorrow?

You chew your lip, trying to act like your soul didn’t just ascend.

depends. what’s the plan?

There’s a short pause. Then,

nothing wild

just music

corner store parking lot

speaker in my backpack

you, me, snacks

maybe you judge my playlist

maybe i judge yours

sound fair?

You stare at your phone, chest full of adrenaline and something softer you don’t quite have a name for yet.

deal

but if you play anything cringe, i’m walking home

guess i better pick the right love song then

Your jaw drops. You roll onto your back and scream into your hoodie.

He’s flirting. Elliot is flirting. With you.

And tomorrow, you’re going on your first unofficial official parking lot date with the boy who used to be nothing but a hallway fantasy.

You fall asleep that night to the glow of your phone screen and the memory of his smirk, already thinking of what hoodie to wear and which songs make you sound cool but also secretly emotional.

⸻

The next night, the sky’s dusky purple when you show up outside the 7-eleven.

Elliot’s already there, leaning against the curb, hoodie pulled over his messy hair, headphones slung around his neck like usual. He’s sipping on an Arizona iced tea like he’s been waiting forever but when he sees you, he perks up instantly.

“Hey,” he says, like he didn’t plan this whole thing just to see you smile.

“Hey,” you breathe back.

There’s a speaker playing soft indie guitar loops on the asphalt beside him, and he gestures toward it. “Didn’t want to overwhelm you with my excellent taste all at once.”

You sit beside him, the warmth of the pavement soaking into your jeans.

“I brought Red Vines,” you say, tossing a pack between you.

He makes a face. “You’re a Red Vines person?”

“You’re judging already.”

“I warned you I would.”

The playlist shifts something mellow, something with lyrics you don’t quite catch but feel in your chest and the conversation goes quiet for a while. Not awkward, just soft. Easy.

You’re trading sips of iced tea and stories you don’t usually tell people. He tells you about getting detention for arguing with a sub about David Bowie. You tell him how you once fake cried to get out of gym.

He laughs like you’re the best thing he’s heard all week.

And at some point, you realize he’s watching you eyes flicking from your mouth to your hands to your eyes again. Not in a creepy way. Just paying attention.

“You always like this?” he asks suddenly.

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

He shrugs. “Funny. Weird. A little chaotic.”

You grin. “Only around people I like.”

His smile stretches. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

The air shifts.

The sky is dark now, stars barely visible above the convenience store lights, and the music fades into something softer. Slower.

He leans in, just a little. “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath catches.

You nod.

And when his lips touch yours slow and a little unsure but warm and careful it feels like everything you’ve been daydreaming in the hallway, every fake scenario and silly crush, just fell into place.

Not a fantasy.

Not just a crush.

Real.

And it’s only just beginning.

⸻

The parking lot lights buzz quietly above you.

You’re both still sitting there, cross legged on the curb, sharing the last melted candy and the warmth from the kiss that happened and then kind of happened again when neither of you could stop smiling about the first one.

You check your phone. It’s late. Like past your fake curfew late.

Elliot sees you glance at the time. “You wanna head home?”

You nod, but kind of wish you didn’t have to.

He stands up and holds out a hand and when you take it, your fingers slip together like they’ve done this before. Like this has always been waiting to happen.

“I’ll walk you,” he says, like it’s not even a question.

You try not to overthink the way your heart jumps at that. “Chivalry’s not dead, huh?”

“Nah,” he says, tugging his hoodie sleeves down. “Just smokes weed and wears Doc Martens now.”

You laugh, bumping your shoulder into his as you start walking, sidewalk warm under your feet and the air that perfect kind of summer-night soft.

At some point, your hands find each other again. Naturally. No big dramatic moment just two people walking a little too close, fingers brushing, then holding. Like muscle memory.

“I liked tonight,” you say eventually, voice quiet in the calm.

Elliot looks over. “Even though I made you listen to lo-fi remixes of SZA?”

You grin. “Especially because of that.”

He lets out a small laugh, then goes quiet for a second. When he speaks again, it’s slower. Softer.

“I don’t really do this,” he admits.

You glance at him. “Do what?”

“This. Like…actually like someone.”

You blink. “You don’t have to say that, y’know. I was already into you without the emotional honesty.”

He smirks but his thumb brushes over the back of your hand like he’s nervous. “Just saying. You’re not, like just a hallway thing.”

Your stomach flips. Full on somersaults.

You reach your house too soon.

He stops at the edge of the driveway, hands in his hoodie pocket now, swaying a little on his heels. You half expect him to say “goodnight” and disappear like the scene in a movie.

But instead, he asks, “You gonna be thinking about me?”

You blink. “You want me to?”

He shrugs, but there’s a twitch of a smile. “Kinda hoping you will.”

You step forward again, just enough to close the space, and kiss him one more time quick, but warm. Right there under the flickering porch light.

“Then yeah,” you whisper. “I’ll be thinking about you.”

He backs away slowly, still smiling, still watching you like he doesn’t want to leave.

And then right as you’re about to go inside:

“Check your phone in a minute,” he calls out. “But don’t bully me, okay?”

You raise a brow. “No promises.”

You go inside, heart racing, and not even two minutes later, your phone buzzes.

made this on the way home

don’t laugh

just a lil playlist

if you ever wanna think about me on purpose

You open the link.

It’s titled:

“🖤 walkable back energy – for the hallway werido”

You laugh out loud, biting your lip.

And then you text him back:

bold of you to assume i haven’t been thinking about you on purpose for weeks

good

keep doing that

also

what are you doing tomorrow?

⸻

The next day, Elliot texts you before noon.

if you say “let’s keep it casual”

and then show up looking like that again

i will simply combust

You smile into your pillow, hair still a mess, barely awake.

good morning to you too, sir

and fyi: this is casual

i’m just naturally hot and mysterious

painfully true.

pick you up at 5?

wait

like pick me up pick me up?

yeah

date date

not parking lot hang

not hallway flirt

full-sent real shit

if that’s cool

You grin so hard your cheeks hurt.

yeah

that’s cool

⸻

You’re sitting on your front step at 5:03, pretending you weren’t ready since 4:30.

Elliot pulls up in a beat up car that matches his entire personality mismatched paint, a sticker that says “who needs therapy when you have reverb,” and music bleeding through the speakers even before he opens the door.

He gets out, hoodie and chipped nail polish, and actually walks over to open the passenger door for you.

You blink. “Didn’t know chivalry wore vans.”

He shrugs, grinning. “I’m full of surprises.”

You ask where you’re going.

He says, “Can’t tell you. You’ll judge it before we get there.”

You raise a brow.

He holds up a gas station slushie. “But I brought you this, so you legally can’t complain.”

You sip. blue raspberry. Perfect.

“…Fine,” you mumble, “but if this turns into a weird forest murder situation, I want you to know I’ve seen dateline.”

He just laughs. “Not a forest. Chill. Just trust me.”

And you do.

⸻

He takes you to this run down rooftop parking garage on the edge of town.

There’s no one else there.

Just open sky, city lights in the distance, and Elliot dragging an old blanket out of his trunk, like he’s done this before but never with someone who made his hands shake a little.

You lay side by side on the roof of his car, passing the aux back and forth, trading songs and secrets like currency.

He plays you a beat he made at 2 a.m.

You tell him your weirdest childhood story involving glue and a trampoline.

He laughs so hard he almost drops his vape.

At one point, you’re both quiet just breathing, the sun melting into gold behind the buildings, your shoulders touching, pinkies hooked.

And then,

You hear it.

Rue’s voice.

“YOU’RE KIDDING ME.”

You bolt upright.

Elliot blinks. “Is that…?”

You both whip around to see Rue standing across the rooftop, holding a taco bell bag like she just walked into a personal betrayal.

“How long has this been going on?” she demands, gesturing violently between you.

Elliot rubs the back of his neck. “Like, not long?”

You look at her. “Also maybe forever in my brain?”

She squints at you. “Are you blushing?”

“No.”

“You are.”

Elliot smirks. “She’s also been thinking about my back.”

You smack his arm. “Shut up.”

Rue stares, jaw dropped. “I introduce you for five seconds and you’re already making out on a roof? What the hell do you think this is skins?!”

You and Elliot exchange a look.

And then just start laughing.

Hard.

Because yeah, it’s ridiculous.

And perfect.

And totally real.

Rue rolls her eyes and stomps off, muttering something about “goddamn emotionally repressed musicians.”

You lie back down, still giggling, and Elliot looks over at you all flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

“So…” he says, nudging your foot with his. “Still down for a second date?”

You grin.

“Only if it ends in a rooftop kiss again.”

He leans over, slow and smiling.

“Deal.”

⸻

[theangelsheardyou]

In a dominant mood so here's how I think bsd men would act as subs

Atsushi

Would be a very obedient sub

Trusts you in every way imaginable

You know how parents tell you "well if your friend told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?"??

Yea that's him

If you told him to do something stupid or dangerous whether in the bedroom or not he would immediately trust that you have a plan behind it (even if you actually don't, he doesn't know that)

Other than that, he's very anxious when it comes to PDA, at least at first

But once he gets used to it, and by that I mean used to the feeling of being loved, then he will slowly start warming up to and even asking for it

When it comes to sex, he can be even more bashful and awkward about it

He mostly whimpers and whines and it's not super loud, but if it does get to that point he's very self aware and scared of others hearing him, so he covers his mouth right away

I think he'd be most compatible with a more gentle top

He can't handle very heavy scenes and I can't imagine him having a very active libido

He has sex to express love and passion, not just for a quick fling that doesn't mean anything

Outside of the bedroom, he's very quiet about what goes on in there

Dazai likes to tease him about it and you love how his pale complexion turns into a pretty shade of red

Dazai

Oh this man is OBNOXIOUS

He's the type of sub that makes you wanna fuck him so hard he actually shuts the fuck up for a second

One of the brattiest of the bunch, for some reason has to turn anything and everything into a game of cat and mouse

Also one of the horniest, believe me you'll be drained DRY after like a week or so

This man's libido is UNMATCHED

He may be taller than you, smarter than you, and possibly stronger than you when it comes to his ability,

But in every other way you are in charge And some part of him always wants to challenge that

Loves to be paraded around like a showdog (but prefers the term "trophy wife")

He's a little princess and always gets what he wants

I think he'd fit best with a dom who could handle his.....special traits

He needs someone who won't get tired of him so quickly and leave, just like everyone else in his life did

But he also needs someone to put him in his place from time to time

Dealing with dazai isn't for the faint of heart, anyone who's done it before knows that

So maybe if you're strong enough, smart enough, and a little bit delusional and crazy, you could have this cute little former mafioso wrapped around your finger like a worm on a string <3

Fyodor

Tbh this one's the whole reason why I made this post in the first place😆

This one's also a little....different...from the others

And by that I mean he's worse

His brattiness doesn't come in the form of disobeying orders or having a fit in front of your friends

No, this one will purposefully pick you apart psychologically

Trying to get this man to behave will require a labyrinth of words, a battle of the minds

He needs someone who can challenge him, because if they don't, he wouldn't bother to be submissive towards them at all, they don't deserve it.

He's one half sickly and one half pride, so taking care of him isn't gonna be easy

Of course you'd have to know going in that Fyodor's self care is abysmal and as his dom you'd have to take responsibility for his health

Taking care of his pills, his diet, making sure he eats and sleeps on time, gets enough rest, drinks enough water, exercises, that's all on you from now on

But you do it cause you love him

Sometimes he'll be bratty and arrogant enough to take you for granted, and would snap at you and tell you he doesn't need someone to baby him when you just were trying to help

But after enough time, he'll realize he was wrong, and as his health depletes, he'll slowly start to inch towards you, asking for your help

You would make sure it gets to the point where he'd have to beg. Make him realize what it's truly like to not have you "distracting" him with your care and concern

And eventually, if he's put up a pathetic enough display for you, you'll hold him in your arms, warm chest comforting him as he leans his head and torso on it

You'll watch how he shivers each time he takes a breath, his eyes are glassy and staring at nothing, his hair is drowning in grease, and it's obvious he hadn't showered in days, but you don't mind

All of this means he's vulnerable, which means he's weak, which means he's malleable.

Malleable enough for you to mold into whatever you please.

Because the only person who could dominate the demon Fyodor is someone who could become the demon Fyodor.

Whether he knew it or not, you were just as sinister as he was, possibly even more.

And every breath he took was another foolish step into your web, a plan you had conducted just for him

So he can be as proud and smug as he wants, but at the end of the day,

You are in control.

Chuuya

It's kind of hard for me to decipher what kind of sub he'd be to be honest

I want to say he'd be a brat but that term doesn't seem to describe him exactly

Sure, he's got a lot of pride, so getting him to submit to you or even to simply let you take the wheel will be difficult.

He's too stuck in his old habits, too used to having to take care of everything, so being taken care of for a change will be a new feeling to him.

He's also scared to love you, scared to let himself bring another person into his heart, afraid of instead accidentally luring you to your death as he had done with so many others.

No, he's not ready to lose another person. Not again.

He's grown to see his love for others as a trap, a ploy, a misfortune. It was like a prophecy for someone's death.

But you, you were different from the rest.

You were strong. Strong enough to protect yourself, strong enough to stand your ground. In fact, you could probably even protect the gravity manipulator Chuuya Nakahara himself.

It took a long time for him to be ready. Ready to open himself up for you. But you let him take his time. You let him think things through. And despite everything, you were there.

You both sprouted a relationship neither of you thought you could do before

And the sex wasn't just sex to you two, no, it could be a distraction, a vacation, an escape, a break, an apology, you name it.

Sex would be a big part of you guys' relationship

I like to think that Chuuya is a lot hornier than he says he is, and also a lot more submissive

Learning that he was a sub was surprising for you, especially because of, well, everything about him

But that was cool for you, as you were vers, and you had to admit you loved the way he screamed and cried under you.

The look in his eyes, the blush in his cheeks, the spit dripping from the corners of his mouth, even the small wounds he had gotten from biting his lips so hard to keep in a moan was adorable

Fucking in his penthouse was great because he had red lighting in almost every room, giving it a sexy, moody vibe.

It also reminded him of his place. He may be rich, he may be a mafia executive, and he may have a couple dozen people under his command, but no matter where or what he is, he will always be a pathetic little whore for you.

You fuck him in his room to remind him his riches mean nothing. He means nothing. All he is is a slut, and he must be reminded of that.

I think he'd be best compatible with a quieter personality to counter his loud one, but I think that loud, brash personality is most present around Dazai. Though he can have a little bit of a temper from time to time, even around you

He needs someone who doesn't care about status or ranks, Port mafia executive or not, you'll fuck him like there's no tomorrow and once you're done he'll be clinging to you like a lost little dog.

Ranpo

Brat. Brat Brat Brat. NOTHING about this boy is topping.

I mean, I do see him as a switch, but in this case, he's the brattiest brat to ever brat.

Will require you give him sweets and cold drinks whenever he asks, will make you drive him places, teach him things and even fuck him when he's too lazy to do the fucking.

He'll be obnoxious all day and then look at you like he's done nothing wrong his whole life. Spoiled little shit.

He's exactly the type of sub you would fuck into submission until you hear a sorry or any sort of appropriate apology.

He likes to be fucked lying down, sometimes sitting and leaning against something, but sometimes you'll force him to sit on you and ride you up and down even though you know he hates it. You'll never hear the end of it from him, though.

He likes to be fucked while eating, too. You'll fuck him from behind with a hand out and spoonfeeding him cake, and the rapid shaking of your bodies and the table he's up against will leave traces of cake all over his chin and cheeks. He doesn't know if he wants cake or if he wants you to eat his cake. Either way, he wants and needs you bad.

I think he'd be best fit with a top who would usually just give in to all his demands and would be patient with his bratty personality, but knows when it's been taken too far. You'd be calm and gentle with him, but come nighttime, you're a beast in bed, making sure he makes up for everything he did in the office that day.

He's not the type to apologize I don't think, he'd definitely beg if it's gotten too much for him but an apology? That's asking too much. Just take the moans and cries and leave.

However, right afterwards he'd go back to his usual bratty self no matter how bad the punishment was. In couldn't have been that harsh anyway, as you could never say no to Ranpo's cute face.

Akutagawa

When I say this man is a Virgin I mean he's a VIRGIN VIRGIN.

As in as virgin as the virgin mother mary

He hadn't even had time for sex before you came along.

You taught him everything, even things about his own body that he didn't even know. Like how he doesn't like the feeling of frotting because he doesn't like how another man's dick is on his own. Or how he likes when you pump his cock slowly, especially since he's so new to the game that he couldn't handle more even if he tried. Poor boy😔

He finds it odd, the feeling of being pampered. Being provided with food everyday, a warm place to live, constant affection, he didn't know what to do with it. It was as if he was an alien studying earth and experiencing the most mundane things for the first time.

And the weirdest thing about it was, he liked it. He liked the feeling of being taken care of, being provided for and pampered, and it was odd. He wasn't sure if he even deserved such wonderful feelings.

When it comes to sex, you better believe this man's got some weird shame thing related to sex

He sees it as a filthy task that he, unfortunately, likes to partake in.

He's ashamed even bringing it up, let alone asking for it.

But once you get the memo you take action and calmly and gently take care of him

Akutagawa's been used to violence, been used to screams of pain and agony, but this? It's soft. It's sweet. It's tender. He's not used to it but part of him wants to be. He's never been so happy in his life.

He's not the type to whine and whimper so much like Atsushi, instead he'll let out a low grunt here and there and maybe throw in a moan somewhere too.

He's into the wildest things, most of which involving your ability with his. It's probably some weird psychological thing where he's associated his ability strength = worth thing to the bedroom which......isn't healthy.

But once you're done his sickly little body is spent, his already damaged lungs trying desperately to keep moving. You hold him over your shoulder, as being carried bridal style would mess with his pride. Arm wrapped around your shoulder and tugging at you inner arm, he leans into you the way he's never done for anyone before.

He feels odd now, as if he's just discovered something new. Learning and even participating in sex has left him with many questions, that hopefully you could answer.