#what a wild time this game is going to be

[eowynstwin]

Ghoap x reader. Autistic reader. Christmas angst. Allusions to Ghost’s backstory. Salacious use of ribbon. Soap being inappropriate. NSFW.

Soap fidgets on the train the whole way over to the light show. You don’t notice, of course, your earplugs are in, but Ghost, hypervigilant for the season, cocks an eyebrow.

“Itches like mad,” Soap grouses. He tugs at the collar of his sweater, a ghastly thing in fuzzy green, red, and gold, with LED bulbs embroidered down the front.

Ghost scowls at him. Soap purses his lips, not chastened. You sit between them, oblivious, fingering the zipper of your purse.

There’s enough cheer on the train to make up for their collective lack. More than one person wears a dumb Santa hat, and at least every other has on something colorful and festive. It seems like everyone feels some sort of Christmas spirit but Ghost, and it makes his hackles tense up.

Your hand slips into his then, smooth like silk settling over his palm. He looks at you; your gaze is fixed steadily ahead, unfocused. He’s not sure whether you reached for him to find comfort or offer it, but he closes his fingers around yours anyway.

He looks over—Soap has your other hand. Reaching to find, then. He squeezes.

The three of you wait until the very last moment to disembark when you arrive, letting the crowd out first. Ghost’s choice. The absolute last thing he wants is to lose either you or Soap in the stream of people flowing from the train—Soap will get distracted, and you hate it when strangers crowd you. This is going to be a trial as it is.

Ghost has to admit—once they reach the grounds, the displays are something to see. Together, you walk through a tunnel of lights leading you to the beginning of the walk, rings of warm white gently shining overhead, and Ghost, despite himself, can’t help but admire how it makes both of his partners look like they’re glowing.

Then Soap tugs at his sweater again, and Ghost bites down a growl.

“Oh, hot chocolate,” you say at the end of the tunnel, looking over at a cart laden with a few big steel samovars. “I’m going to get some, either of you want any?”

“Cider,” Ghost says, softening the curtness of his tone with the tenner he hands you. “If they’ve got any.”

“Coffee for me, hen, if you don’t mind,” Soap adds with a smile. You nod, and scurry toward the drinks.

Soap eyes him. Ghost knows what he sees—his back has been ramrod straight since the bloody month started. He holds his shoulders the same way he might if he had his rifle across his chest. His jaw has been hard as a cinder block any time the market clerk tossed “happy holidays” at him when he did his best to get away as fast as he could.

“Don’t,” Ghost says.

Soap says nothing.

This is not their first Christmas together, but it is their first with you. The sergeant already knows how Ghost feels about the holiday; you do not, and Ghost wants to keep it that way for a little while longer.

Divining your feelings about anything takes a little longer than it might with anyone else, but he’s pretty sure you’re excited, in your way. Soap, for whom pine trees and glitter and the smell of snow in the air seem to activate a sleeper agent in his brain that orgasms at the mere sight of tinsel, already has a Wellington resting in their shared fridge, and artfully wrapped presents crammed under their pre-lit tree. The two of you together have flooded the flat with lights, candy-cane frippery, crocheted snowflake doilies, and ski-lodge scented candles.

Ghost, for his part, has scrolled various travel websites to figure out if assassinating Santa Claus is something actually feasible. Maybe if he defeats the final boss of Christmas he can actually sleep through the night at least once this month.

It isn’t that he hates it, exactly. It’s just that Christmas, to him, began as a hazy game of roulette, wondering if the wild animal of his father would appear to ruin the exchange of charity-shop gifts wrapped in reused paper, and then solidified as an image reflected in pools of spreading blood.

The last happy Christmas, he had to burn down. That’s no reason that he has to ruin it for everyone else, though.

You return with three paper cups held awkwardly in your two hands, and Ghost and Soap relieve you of your burden. Your cup has a peppermint stick jutting up out of it, and you use it to stir your steaming drink periodically as the three of you proceed.

The path leads through an army of glowing snowmen in mismatched sizes, life-size gingerbread houses, past multicolor balls tossed across the top of a frozen pond. Trees banded with so many strings they look like branches of lightning reaching up from the earth. Electric snowflakes dangling above your heads from netting stretched between lampposts.

Ghost keeps clenching and unclenching his fist. His cider goes rapidly cold in his other hand, untouched. He probably can’t get his money back for it, but he’s agitated enough to start a fight and try.

Meanwhile—it’s obvious, you’re enjoying yourself immensely. You don’t say much as you flit between installations, running a hand over the glowing bulbs, tilting your head this way and that like a curious little bird. You take your phone out more than once to open your camera, and Ghost knows you’re saving pictures to put together a slideshow later on.

More than once, you look back at him and Soap, and grin wide at some novelty or another. Ghost manages to nod his head at you—go on, little birdie, keep having fun.

“Jesus,” Soap mutters, trying to scratch at a spot on his back for the third time.

“Fuck’s sake, Soap, just take the fucking thing off,” Ghost snaps.

“Canna,” Soap says.

“Why the fuck not?”

Soap’s mouth slants sideways. He looks around for spectators, and, finding none within eyeshot, lifts the bottom of the sweater.

Bright, shiny, very red ribbon runs in two lines along the naked cut of his obliques—down past the waistband of his trousers.

Ghost tosses the cider out of his cup and grips Soap by the back of the neck, throws, “OY! Duckie! Bathroom!” at you, and drags his boyfriend to the nearby public loo.

It’s empty, thank god, so Ghost wastes no time yanking the closure of Soap’s trousers open. The ribbon continues downward, downward, the V narrowing and narrowing until—

It converges in a (somewhat lopsided) bow tied right around the base of Soap’s dick.

“Soap, what the fuck,” Ghost says.

The sergeant backs up, and pulls the sweater fully off. It reveals a latticework of satiny red crisscrossing his chiseled torso: lines of ribbon accenting the curves of his pectorals, his toned abdomen, highlighting the small indent of his trim waist.

Soap’s cheeks flush pink.

“Goes further down,” he mutters, not meeting Ghost’s eye.

“What the fuck,” Ghost repeats.

“Was gonna do a big reveal when we got home,” Soap says. “Start stripping when we got the door closed. That rubbish.”

Ghost, incredulously, snorts, and Soap smiles at him.

“First time you’ve laughed this month,” he says quietly. “S’ why I did it.”

Ghost steps up to him and takes Soap’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “You fucking idiot,” he says, and kisses him.

The bathroom door opens, letting in a gust of wind, and Ghost and Soap jump back from each other momentarily, before relaxing when your voice reaches them.

“There better not be a handjob happening in here without me—oh,” you say, stopping short.

Shoving the waist of his pants down further, Soap turns around to show off to you the full extent of what he’s done. It gives Ghost a good look at the pretty intersections happening overtop of the muscles of Soap’s back, and the dip of the ribbon down between the two perfect globes of Soap’s arse.

You blink several times. “There isn’t a lock on this door, Soap. If I get down to suck you off, someone is going to come in.”

Impossibly, Ghost snorts again, and then laughs for real, a full-belly guffaw that comes out a little more harsh than it should. But you grin at him, and the line of Soap’s shoulders, which Ghost suddenly realizes has been as tense as his this whole time, relaxes.

He pecks the bare swell of Soap’s bicep, and then the crown of your head as he passes you by.

“I’ll hold it closed, duckie,” he says. “Do whatever you want.”

He only leaves the door once when he hears you shriek suddenly with laughter—to find that Soap has decorated his cock with a peppermint-loop of red lipstick, all the way to the tip.

“Fucking idiot,” Ghost repeats, and cancels his trip to the North Pole then and there.

[amphitriteswife]

꧁ ༺mercy༻ ꧂

❦ pairing: Emperor Geta x empress reader

❦ Warnings: Geta yelling at his wife, reader doesn’t get along with Caracalla.

❦ note: i’m so in love with Geta and yes i have other fics with the same name

❦ summary: Emperor Geta wanted to kill Acacius.

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.

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Geta’s eyes focused on the arena. The sight before him made him feel conflicted. Acacius on his knees with his hand raised as a sign of admitting defeat. Hanno looking up at him and waiting for his answer. The crowd themselves had made up their mind. They were switching between calling Hanno the winner and calling out mercy for general Acacius. Geta pressed his lips in a thin line, he gave Lucilla a side eye. She was crying out for the general. Doesn’t she get that it won’t help now? She wanted to kill the emperors of Rome! And now you expect mercy?! How delusional can you be? It’s almost shocking….yes…he would be shocked of he wasn’t so enraged. The crowd’s yelling began to become louder. Geta felt his anger building up? Mercy? Mercy?! Even after the general showed to be a traitor they want mercy?! Geta the rose from his seat. Caracalla told his brother to not show any mercy to the general. Geta gave him a glance and turned to the people. He looked up to the sky and muttered some words to the gods, communicating with them with what he should do. Slowly, Geta extended his hand forward. The crowd went silent, there was a thick atmosphere, the praetorians had lowered their bows. What was happening? Geta turned to his brother who seemed equally confused. The sudden sound of Lucilla gasping brought him back to earth, he felt a hand on his own, turning his thumb to point to the sky.

‘Mercy! Emperor Geta has shown general Acacius mercy!’

The announcement of the master of ceremonies made the crowd wild, people began to chant praises to him, something he longed for yet he feels only rage in a moment he had always dreamed off. He slowly turns his head to see you, his wife who shouldn’t have been here but in northern Africa. His eyes looked at you with rage. His pupils almost shaking with anger, his pale make up almost giving away the redness underneath it. He was livid. You could see the veins in his neck throbbing, Caracalla laughed at his brother’s anger. He found it rather amusing. Lucilla, who was reliefed with neither her son nor husband dying in the games thanked you with tears streaming down his face. Geta pulled his arm away from you and grabbed you by the arm instead.

‘What in tartarus name are you doing?!’

His voice is loud which caused Caracalla to laugh even harder, his brother’s anger is always something he enjoys. No matter who the cause is and what he might to do them. His eyes gleaming with enjoyment as he watched Geta go off in his fit of rage…only for him to stop when you put your hand on his brother’s mouth and leading him out of the colosseum. He quickly marched behind the two of you while Lucilla’s chains were undone by one of the praetorians. Caracalla couldn’t help but snicker, you’re either very brave..or very foolish…or perhaps both.

Back at the palace Geta finally let go of your arm and instead grabbed you by the cleavage your chiton, his knuckled turning white, his face taking on an even deeper color of red. The make up didn’t help and only made him look more ridiculous. He was yelling so hard that there was spit flying out his mouth (sounds familiar) His eyes almost bulging out his eyes.

‘EMPRESS DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. HE WAS A TRAITOR. TRAITOR OF ME, OF ROME, OF YOU. OF US. HE NEEDED TO DIE.’

‘He was no such thing.’

‘HOW MORE IGNORANT CAN YOU BE! YOU LET THE MAN WHO WANTED TO KILL ME LIVE! DON’T YOU HAVE ANY DECENY? EVEN MACRINUS ADVISED ME TO KILL HIM!’

Your sigh made Geta stop and take a few breaths. He ran a hand trough his hair and then stopped it in front of his eyes. He feels exhausted. Caracalla in the mean time arrived at the palace and laughed once again at Geta’s outburst.

‘That’s quite the scene you made brother.’

Geta ignored his sentence and once again turned to you only to be met by you splashing water in his face and a cloth being thrown into his face.

‘Clean up. And shut your mouth. I just saved you from getting killed by the romans.’

Caracalla cackled at you while Geta grabbed the cloth of his face. He was still seething with rage and spat some insults at you.

‘That’s no way to speak to your wife.’

‘Wife? WIFE?! YOU EMBARRASSED ME!’

Embarrassed? Yes he gets embarrassed easily when he’s in front of his people but is he seriously this stupid? You saved him. The people were cheering for Acacius. After all he was way more loved that the emperor, with valid reasons too. Killing him would cause even more problems, and not to mention that it would show Geta’s insecurity.

‘An emperor knows when to show mercy and when not. An emperor doesn’t rely on someone like Macrinus to help him assure his choices. You should be sure of what to do and how to do it, not seek comfort in Macrinus when the general betrayed you. You’re an idiot.’

‘Brother, are you really taking a lecture from your little wife?’

‘Shut up, you rule with your head up your ass. You can’t even grasp the situation. All you care about is bloodshed and sex.’

Caracalla’s face turned sour at your words. He never liked you. Yes he does always want what his brother had but you? You’re just some useless piece of nothingness. And you have the galls to insult him? Hah! The sudden feeling of a blade being pressed against your neck wasn’t unexpected, Geta on the other hand was shocked and tried to get Caracalla off you.

‘I’ll cut you! You useless bitch!-’

‘Brother get a hold of yourself!’

Geta’s eyes flickered between his brother trying to free himself from his arms, and you not moving with a slight cut on your neck. Why are you so normal about all of this? Why do your eyes not hold any emotions? No fear? No anger? Just nothingness? The sudden sound of two swords clashing against each other made Geta stop, he felt the blade just barely pass him and cluttering onto the floor. Caracalla’s hand was also bleeding which caused him to shriek. Geta’s voice sounded truly angry laced with some concern, yet it was not for you. But for Caracalla.

‘How dare you! Praetorians, take her away!’

You wiped your sword with the cloth you had thrown into Geta’s face earlier, the blood seeping into the cloth. It wasn’t a lot, but it sure was noticeable. You refused for the guards to take you away, their hands were always gentler to you than anyone else. Something Geta had ordered for them to do. You handed your sword to one of them, who already left the rest of the group to take it away. A foreign swords to the romans, it was hard to miss. After all, you were the only one in the empire to yield it. You turned your back and Geta and walked with the guards. Not glancing or even looking his way.

‘You’re a coward. Come and see me if you find the balls and face the reality of the situation.’

The praetorians shared some glances with each other. You had a sharp tongue in contrast to Geta who only opened his mouth to say what others wanted from him. Geta watched you walk out the room and turned to Caracalla.

Back in your room you had gowned yourself in one of the many Geta had work before. He always shared his gowns with you to cover you up. You didn’t feel any guilt, nor any sadness. You did what you had to do. It’s as simple as that. Yes Caracalla is a very touchy subject for Geta. That is true and you don’t get along with him which is also true. An empress stays by the emperor’s side no matter what, she ensures there is no harm coming his way. You saved him, both with the situation regarding general Acacius and the people turning against him. Even if he doesn’t understand it. Sometimes he has to put his pride away to fall into favor. Rome is a difficult empire after all. Its too big, too busy and the emperors don’t make it any better. There are many issues that are arising and many that still aren’t solved. General Acacius did aim for Geta’s head, but then again it is not that it’s not understandable. If you were in his position you probably would’ve done the same. It is a logical decision. But…you’re not in his position…you’re in the position of an empress. Therefore, even if Geta is like this. You still have to remain loyal. It’s simply your principle, your moral. And you’ll stick to it until the end. The sound of soft footsteps made you open your eyes. Your head still turned to look outside. Rome was supposed to be a paradise, yet it is far from what it’s supposed to be. You recognized the footwork, Geta. But you did not turn your head to him, he’s here if he wants to say something. And that’s what he should do. No more pampering from you.

‘Empress…’

‘Ready?’

‘What?’

‘Ready to face what you caused?’

Geta didn’t reply. He doesn’t know if he wants to hear it. He knows it himself, but hearing someone tell him that is another thing. He hates this.

‘I’m sorry’

‘What are you sorry for?’

Geta is silent once again. His mouth opened and closed. He wanted to say something. But what should he say? You ignored his gaping and pressed a fruit against his lips.

‘See, you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. Just saying what you want me to hear from you, your sorry doesn’t mean anything.’

Geta listened to you quietly, he took the fruit from your hands, sitting on the bed and fixing his gown while you stood by the window. His eyes were focusing on you. His face a little somber.

‘You’re naive. You trust Macrinus too fast. Think about it. He was a man who was the slave of the former emperor, he has risen in the status to something more admirable. But, would the same man who was once a slave be loyal to someone of the status who once oppressed him?’

Your words made him contemplate a lot of things…was Macrinus not the man he thought he was?…yes..there is some truth to your words. No man would be willing to serve someone of the same status who hurtl them beyond their core. Beyond their existence. A man who was hurt and got everything stripped away from him would never be loyal to someone who did that to him…Geta’s eyes flickered for a little. He saw him as a friend. Yes, that’s what he said and believed. But it’s one sided. It’s a lie. A lie made up in his own mind that he believed in. Geta cleared his throat…such information is hard to process. But thay didn’t explain why you did what you did regardless the general.

Sensing Geta’s questioning eyes upon you, you turned to him, your gaze meeting his which caused him to look away for a moment.

‘The general was more loved. Killing him would result in greater dispair and rage. The distance between you and the people of Rome would grow even greater. An emperor is close with his people…and more importantly, an emperor can forgive.’

‘You want me to forgive general Acacius?’

‘Yes, not from the emperor to the general. But from a man to another. Who is willing to listen and see reason.’

‘You think he would actually be sorry.’

‘He might not be, but he did it for the people of Rome. You too should do it for Rome. Ofcourse i will prevent anyone for ever wanting to have your pretty little head.’

Gets thought for a moment. Yes..it sounds right. But there are still yet many problems to come. The general might try again, or perhaps there are more who are willing to kill him. Macrinus is still in grey area, he hasn’t tried anything but your reasoning has made him wary. It’s very tiring, to be an emperor. But one must be fit for it. Well…he may not be the right choice, but you make up for it. Moments like these reminds him once again why you’re the empress. Where he lacks you make up for. He may not be capable enough but you sure are. Geta’s eyes once again looked back at yours, standing up from the bed and holding your hand. His thumb rubbed over your knuckles before he placed a soft kiss on them. Everyone usually kissed the hand of an emperor. Yet here he was, the emperor of Rome kissing his empress’ hand. Geta pulled back, still holding onto your hand. He felt a rather warm feeling in his chest, quite different from the concupiscent feeling he usually had around his concubines. This one came out of a place of love and admiration.

‘Do you wish to lay with the emperor tonight, empress?’

[littleapocalypsekitten]

I am a gamer, but... lemme see... my favorite series is The Legend of Zelda. My first Zelda game was... literally the first one, from the 1980s. That series, let me tell you - that is Nintendo's "Let's experiment with art styles" series. Every game or directly connected set of games in the series has different art styles. I STILL love playing the little 8-bit limited graphics games of the 80s, and Ocarina of Time / Majora's Mask in the low-polygon style, although they look pretty nice in the re-release cleaned up versions, but they're never going to be super-realistic because they're just not designed to be. And, from there, they did stuff like The Wind Waker, which is purposefully a cartoon-style where characters have exaggerated features, big heads, Link with his big cat-eyes and everything "drawn" in a whimsical style, meant to evoke a cartoon or a children's storybook. And then they tried Twilight Princess, for an older audience, where they went with the attempt at hyper-realism and that "real is brown and gray" look. I love that game to death and back, and the color scheme fits it because of the themes of the story, with a twilight-world overtaking the light world, but even it had some stylized character-designs and a lot of Zelda fans really like other titles better. The much-beloved Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom run expressly on a "Ghibli" style, even something of "painting style" drawn from earlier title, Skyward Sword, which was purposefully made to look a bit like a watercolor painting. Some of the latest titles in the series (including what I just unwrapped for Christmas, Echoes of Wisdom) purposefully goes for a cute little toy-doll style on everything. And, generally, it does not overload a system. More is put into gameplay gimmicks and weird, fun things you can do in the games than into even attempting hyperealistic graphics. And the damn series is over 30 years old. Focusing in gameplay over graphics has staying power.

this is a controversial opinion and I’m not a gamer but I don’t need my graphics to be that good. I don’t need to see every individual feather on a bird. my poor computer doesn’t deserve to carry that weight either.

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 6)

You go to confront The Witch and Lady Death

Word count: 3900

Warnings: smut, fingering, more murder

You try to call Tony on the way over, but his number isn’t there. You scroll through your text messages, his thread isn’t there either. You try recent calls. Nope. 

It’s like he’s been entirely erased from your phone. 

You’re getting frantic, desperate, and you know that you can’t exactly look up the personal phone number for the director of an FBI branch, so on a complete whim, you check your blocked contacts. 

Fucking Rio. 

She must’ve gotten into your phone when she came by to get your clothes that night and made sure there was no way you could reach your life outside of Westview. No way you could get help. 

Fingers gripped around the blade of the knife, you’re about to leave the room when your phone lights up with a call. Tony. You scoff, decline it, and block him. You don’t have time for that. 

Grimacing, you massage the area between your eyes. You’ve made a huge mess of everything. 

You unblock him and call him and he picks up on the first ring. 

“Y/N, where the hell have you been?” He barks and you wince at his scolding tone. 

“Things here have…developed,” you start, weighing how much you should tell him. 

He scoffs. “None of my calls or texts have gone through. I thought you were dead!” You try to say something but he barrels over you. “I’m on my way to Westview right now. I’m supposed to land in about an hour. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I’m bringing you back to Miami.” 

“No!” You cry out. He can’t. “Please, Director, I’m so close, I’m about to get them right now. I know who they are and where they are, I’m on my way.”

You can hear his sharp intake of breath when he realizes what you’re about to do. “Agent, stand down. That is a direct order. You are not to engage with them.” 

A blush spreads through your body as you remember just how much you’ve engaged with them. 

“It’ll be fine,” you assure him. “They don’t want me dead.” 

The sound of him hitting the tray table on the jet reverberates through your phone and you almost jump. “Dammit, Y/N, this isn’t a game! This is life or death, and you are not to try and get them all by yourself. Turn around from wherever you are and go back to your motel and do not leave until I get there!” You’ve never heard him this mad. 

But you can’t. You’ve come too far to let them slip away like this. You have your gun and maybe the element of surprise on your side. You have the power to end this tonight. 

Tony’s still ranting about how irresponsible and impulsive and stupid you’re being, so you hang up. The call ironically disconnects in the middle of him saying how you never listen to anything he says. 

You’re more convinced than ever that Agatha and Rio did something in the woods that day that fucked you up beyond measure. 

And who was that other woman? 

Somehow, after all of that, you had ended up in the hospital with hypothermia and pneumonia, and the post-traumatic and retrograde amnesia accounts for the block in your mind. Did you hit your head on something? 

Or did someone hit you on the head with something? 

Agatha and Rio and the mystery woman had been so shocked and afraid when you came across them doing something bad that they had clobbered you in the hopes that you would forget, or die? 

It’s plausible. 

If nothing else, you need answers before you kill them tonight. Maybe knowing what they did will give you some semblance of peace and you can sleep without fearing that you’re going to murder innocent people. 

It can hopefully get rid of your headaches, at the very least. 

When you get to the address left on the note, Agatha’s car is already parked out front. You breathe a sigh of relief and the tension in your shoulders you didn’t know you were carrying seeps out. They’re here. They didn’t send you on a wild goose chase. 

Your heart is beating so fast you think it might fly right out of your chest and you try to slow down your breathing before entering the viper’s nest. 

There’s no telling what you might find in there, or what tricks they have up their sleeves, so you want to be mentally prepared. 

When your breaths are finally under control, you get out of the car and immediately slip on ice. You crash down to the pavement with a thud and you struggle to get your bearings and 

Snow. 

Clearing in the woods. 

The woman beckons you forward and you find her with two other women. Out of the three, there’s two brunettes and one with gray hair. The gray-haired one looks older, lines prominent on her angry face. She’s standing against a tree.

The two brunettes smile. 

When you get closer, you can see that the gray-haired lady is standing in the middle of a big mound of sticks and branches. 

Why doesn’t she just move? 

The cold ground bleeds through your pants and brings you back to reality. The big mound of sticks and branches coupled with the fire you started seeing…was she on a pyre? 

One thing at a time, you remind yourself, pushing yourself up with the help of the car next to you. 

You silently slink up to the front door. It’s slightly open. You pause and press your ear to the wood, listening for anything that might indicate a struggle happening. 

Nothing. 

You push it all the way open and carefully step inside, wincing when the floorboard creaks under your foot. It’s so silent in the front corridor of the house that you think you can hear your blood rushing under your skin. 

There’s flickering light coming from the living room and you make your way in that direction when you hear something. You strain your ears and stop against the wall to try and discern what it is – is that a smacking noise? 

Are they kissing? 

You dare to peek around the corner and yes, not really to your surprise, Agatha and Rio are making out amidst a crime scene.

 A dagger sits on the kitchen table next to a plate of the same cookies from their house, two purple azaleas, and two containers. 

Two people, a man and a woman, are laying on the ground gasping for air. Their skin is getting tighter, shriveling, lines etching into their face as their cheeks hollow out. 

Their chests are still intact though. Maybe they haven’t gotten to that step yet? Clearly Agatha and Rio have been sidetracked.

You should go help them. You should go in there and save their lives, you should stop The Witch and Lady Death. Why do you feel so hot? You must have a fever, there’s no reason your body should be this warm.

But then you look in their direction and you’re enraptured, all other thoughts leaving your head.

The skeleton mask is thrown on the floor and the glow of the fireplace lights up Agatha and Rio trying to devour each other’s mouths. 

A flush of heat stutters through your body as Rio reaches her arms around Agatha’s neck and tries to pull her even closer. Agatha’s hands are clasped on her wife’s cheeks and you can see her tongue sliding into Rio’s mouth. The electricity under your skin is back, roaring to life, while your eyes move from the people on the floor, taking their last breaths, to Agatha and Rio, still kissing like their lives depend on it, to the 

Snow. 

The clearing. 

The sound of a match striking against the matchbox. 

You watch it fall, almost as if in slow motion. 

A brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

Agatha’s foot squeaks on the floor as she walks Rio backwards, mouth never leaving hers. Your fingers tighten around the gun so hard you think you might snap them. You should shoot them. You should shoot them both right here, right now. 

But you can’t move. 

You’re stuck, rooted to the same spot around the corner, watching as Agatha’s lips trail down Rio’s neck. The younger woman’s head drops back to give her wife more room and you can almost feel the pleasure she does. 

“Agatha,” Rio whines and you never thought you would hear her beg. But the mighty therapist, the same woman who poisoned you after eating you out on your couch, is reduced to holding her wife’s hair so she doesn’t move away. 

Your breath comes out in sync with Rio’s, like you’re imagining that you’re her instead of you, that you have Agatha pressed up against you instead of being pressed against a wall. 

Rio’s fingers dig into Agatha’s thick locks and she switches positions, whirling Agatha around, and she takes control of the kiss. Your eyes are wide, rapt with attention, not daring to look away as Rio moves down to Agatha’s chest and rips her flannel open, revealing her pale chest and lacy black bra. 

Your mouth waters and the ache, the same one you felt in the woods and in your motel room, the same one you feel whenever you’re around them, floods through you, settling right between your legs. 

Rio nips at Agatha’s breast over the fabric, mouthing at her nipple, and you would kill to be with them. Agatha is watching her fondly, with heat in her eyes, and you think Rio must be looking up at her. 

Now would be the perfect time to shoot, so why can’t you move?

Because you like this too much, your body answers for you. You have to tug at the neckline of your sweater as you feel too hot. 

Rio kneels down, hands sliding up and down Agatha’s thighs while she sucks on the smooth expanse of her wife’s stomach. Your body is swimming with desire, it’s dizzying almost, and you think you need to cum soon or you might die. 

Agatha gasps when Rio sinks her teeth into her skin roughly and then soothes the spot with her tongue. She reaches up, moves Agatha’s hair out of the way, and unclasps her bra and you feel a guttural moan form in your throat. You have to bite your lip hard so it doesn’t escape. 

The pale skin of her chest is flushed red and there’s a slight sheen of sweat on her clavicle. Her nipples are a dusky rose color, pebbled and hard, and you want them in your mouth so fucking bad. 

Rio surges up to do exactly that, tugging on them with her teeth, and Agatha groans, eyes fluttering shut. 

Your brain finally forgets about shooting them, forgets about the fact that they’re serial killers at all, and you do possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. 

You put the gun into the waistband of your pants and you step out from behind the corner. 

Agatha’s eyes fasten on to you immediately, but instead of looking surprised, she looks impatient. Like you should’ve been here thirty minutes ago. 

“There’s our superstar,” she drawls, hands tangling in Rio’s hair, forcing her still. “What took you so long?” 

You try to think of something to say, anything at all, perhaps a remark about how you caught them, when Rio rakes her eyes up and down your body and chuckles. “Look at her, Aggie. She didn’t just get here. She’s been watching.” 

Agatha smirks in agreement. “I wonder what got her more hot and bothered, watching us” She nods to the surely dead couple on the ground. “-or watching them die.” 

“You two are crazy,” you say, willing your hand to grab your gun, but it doesn’t obey. The heat in your voice betrays you, though. 

Rio simpers, advancing toward you with Agatha in tow. You clench your teeth as they start circling you like sharks. “Want to know how we do it?” Rio purrs into your ear and you shudder. 

“No,” you spit out, trying desperately hard to keep your eyes from darting down to Agatha’s breasts. She’s made no move to cover up. Her nipples are still hard.

“First,” the detective starts. “We lace the cookies with a delicate mix of hydrofluoric acid, acetone, isopropyl, and a few other things meant to just confuse test results. It slowly decomposes their body from the inside out and they’re dead within minutes.” 

Rio moves your hair out of the way to press kisses to your neck and it sends goosebumps down your spine. 

“And then,” Rio says right against your skin while Agatha’s hand slithers from your waist to your stomach up to around your throat. You can feel your pulse throb against her fingers. “I take my knife and carve out their hearts. The first cut is always the sweetest. After that, we use bleach to wash it away and hydrogen peroxide to eat away anything we left: blood, fingerprints, DNA.” 

“Voila,” Agatha says, snapping her fingers that aren’t around your throat. You hate how wet you can feel yourself getting. “That’s how you get away with murder.” 

Rio’s hands are on your hips now, squeezing in time with the hand on your throat. Your airway is constricted, you know you should be scared, but you meet Agatha’s blown-out pupils and are sure yours look the exact same. 

The therapist finds your gun and disarms you. “Or in your case,” she says right into your ear, jabbing the muzzle into your back. “You just lure them into the woods while you’re unconscious and slit their femoral arteries.” 

All the air leaves your lungs, both from their proximity and your own weapon being used against you. 

“Get on your knees,” Agatha orders, letting go of your throat so you can immediately drop down. 

Your knees hit the ground hard, but you barely even register the pain, looking up at them eagerly to await what’s next. 

Rio slowly walks around until she’s standing next to Agatha and tucks the gun under your chin, forcing it up even more. “Look at how much she’s getting off on this,” she says in a hushed voice. The air between the three of you is thick with tension, the dead bodies only a few yards away completely forgotten. 

“You’re capable of so much more than just being a profiler,” Agatha says wistfully, stroking your hair with some sort of affection. “You can be so much more.” 

Snow. 

The match drops.

Fire. 

The gray-haired lady screams. 

You’re running through the woods. Are you being chased? 

There’s a crack as your head hits the ground.

“What did you do to me?” You ask, voice breaking. “What did you do to that woman?” 

Rio drags the gun up the side of your face, traces your cheekbones, and then presses it to your lips. Instinctively, your tongue darts out to flick at the cold metal, and both their eyes flash. “You still don’t remember everything?” Rio asks. 

“I remember that you killed her, and it fucked me up,” you tell them, voice level as it’s finally making sense to you. “I found you two in the woods. You burned her, and then what? You tried to kill the ten year old who saw it? And this is — what? Your way of finally tying up all those loose ends?” 

Agatha snorts and Rio scoffs. 

“Look at our superstar, thinking she knows everything. We don’t want to kill you,” Agatha says, rolling her eyes. Rio takes the gun away from your mouth and tosses it onto the couch. 

Your gaze flicks between them, not sure who to look at. “What do you want then?” 

Agatha winds her fingers through your hair and yanks you off your knees, dragging you in for a kiss, biting your bottom lip hard. A metallic taste fills your mouth and it only makes you hungrier, so you open your mouth and shove your tongue into her hot and waiting mouth. 

You feel Rio’s body pressing against your back and her hand delves under your waistband to cup you over your soaking underwear. Your hips involuntarily jolt at the contact and you moan, but it’s swallowed up by Agatha’s lips. 

The detective pulls your shirt over your head as Rio pushes your underwear to the side and lazily spreads your wetness around your cunt. 

There’s a tugging in your gut, a burning, aching, guttural tugging that is going to be the death of you. Electricity skates through your veins, lighting up your blood and setting it to a boil. 

You’ve never felt so hot in your life. 

Agatha’s lips on your neck do little to quench your thirst for more and Rio shoves two fingers into you with no warning and a gasp tears its way out of you. Agatha bites on your collarbone as Rio twists her fingers and you groan loudly. 

“She loves this, Rio,” Agatha says like you aren’t even there. Rio whimpers and curls her fingers, her other hand snaking around to grab Agatha’s throat. The older woman’s breath hitches as she kisses along your bra, tasting the perspiration on your cleavage. 

Rio’s fingers inside you and Agatha’s mouth now sucking on your nipples, having pushed your bra down, somehow isn’t enough. 

You need to feel them. 

Your hands find Agatha’s breasts, kneading them and pulling on her nipples. She makes a noise against your skin and it only sears you more. You slide your fingers down her stomach, over the red marks from Rio’s mouth, and dip them into her pants. 

She’s just as wet as you are, and you gingerly rub her clit, gathering wetness from her entrance and bringing it back up to swirl at her. She pants hotly against your skin and you can feel her hand creep behind you to Rio, who has set a slow pace inside you. 

“Aggie,” Rio breathes and bites down onto the back of your shoulder. Agatha chuckles breathlessly and you’re able to twist your head just enough to see Agatha’s hands down the therapist’s pants too. 

It makes you clench around Rio’s fingers. You’re all being fucked, and fucking someone, and you can feel Agatha’s wetness the same way Rio is feeling yours, the same way Agatha is feeling her wife’s. 

You slide your middle finger into Agatha, groaning when her walls flutter around you. Rio squeezes a third finger into you and you keen at the stretch, but then she starts fucking roughly and it’s everything you need and more. 

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you try to time your thrusts into Agatha with Rio’s into you. 

Rio’s teeth find your shoulder blade again and dig in, and the pain just makes your body feel even more alive. 

You’ve never felt like this before. The intensity is tenfold what anyone else has ever given you. 

Your ring finger joins your middle and Agatha nips at the curvature of your breasts. Your free hand palms hers and you roll her nipple, enjoying the way she gets tighter around you. Rio plays with her wife’s other boob, and you don’t think you could move a muscle either way because the two women are wrapped so firmly around your body, holding you in place in the middle. 

But that’s nothing new. You’ve been intertwined with them since you’ve gotten here, maybe even almost your whole life. 

Agatha’s lips capture yours and you can feel her muscles in her arm strain against your bicep. You curl your fingers and find the spongy spot that pulls a resounding gasp from her mouth right into yours. Rio pauses, pulls out, and when she presses back at your entrance, your head almost falls back when you feel four fingers posed. 

The detective seems to know because she chuckles against your lips, sucks on your tongue. 

And then she pulls away as Rio plunges four fingers into you, the stretch burning. But the pain gives way to even more pleasure and when she twists them upward, you almost cum. 

“I’m so close,” you moan and Agatha leans behind you and out of the corner of your eye, you see her kissing Rio. And then Rio pulls your head back by your hair and her mouth is on yours and then there’s a flurry of tongue and teeth and lips and you don’t even know who you’re kissing but it’s someone and it’s so good and you’re about to —

— Rio’s fingers stop inside you and you whine, frantically rolling your hips. Your fingers are still pumping at a steady rhythm inside Agatha and you can feel by the movement in her arm that she’s still fucking Rio. 

“Why did you become a profiler?” Rio asks into your ear. “Tell us and we’ll let you cum.” Her thumb brushes against your clit and you’re so sensitive, you think you might be able to cum anyways with that and the fullness. 

“You guys…you killed her so I wanted to know why you did, how you could,” you choke out and Agatha peppers kisses all over your chest. The livewire in your body is about to snap. 

Rio gives you one harsh thrust and you almost sob. “Try again,” she orders. 

Tears prick in your eyes and your fingers falter inside Agatha. You can hear Rio’s breaths becoming shorter and shallower, indicating how close she is. Agatha’s eyes dart from your dark pupils to your swollen lips. She’s still holding onto her composure, better than you and her wife are at least, but you can tell she’s on the edge. 

“I don’t know,” you say, but is that the truth? 

The thrumming in your head comes back, like a memory knocking on your brain, asking to be let in. 

You give in. 

Snow. 

The clearing. 

The three women: two brunettes and one with gray hair.

You can now see that the gray-haired lady is tied to the tree.

The sound of a match on the matchbox. 

The match is flicked onto the sticks by someone, igniting the stake and a brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

Who set the fire?

Your eyes snap open, the entire block in your mind gone and the memories flood through your head. 

“I wanted to understand why I did it,” you gasp and you know that you finally got it right when Rio starts fucking you with a renowned vigor. 

It takes no time at all before you cum explosively all over her hand and the two of them follow shortly after. The feeling of Agatha orgasming around your hand triggers another one in you and you cling to both of them while you come down from the most intense high of your life. 

They soothe you, whisper sweet nothings, press kisses all over your face, and you wince when Rio pulls her four fingers out of you, the emptiness filling you. 

You start to shake and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until they’re kissing your lips and you can taste the saltiness from your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, baby girl,” Agatha says, and they wrap their arms around you, holding you and letting you cry. “We got you. We’re not letting you go.” 

You sniff and lean into their embrace, feeling whole for the first time in your life. 

[sugary-daydreams3]

Quiet inbetween [Sukuna x Reader]

Summary: Collections of quiet, cozy, intimate moments you share with Sukuna, who thinks you two won't last a year. Someone who used to live a wild, fast-paced, loud lifestyle couldn't possibly be fit for a long-term relationship. But he doesn't know that you're the one he needed this whole time.

Word Count: 3.7K words

Rating: Mostly fluff with a little spice (sexual content) at the end, but no full explicit content. Mostly T with a little M.

A/N: Happy holidays y'all. This might be my last fic posted in the year so I hope you guys transition into the new year safely. Goodness, do I love writing my A.U. version of Sukuna. So fun and flirty that he makes me blush sometimes and I control what he says. But I guess that's a good thing, right. Sadly my next fic is dealing with a not so fun topic, haha. (It's Gojo-centric, so you might know where I'm going with this) Anyways, stay safe out there and I'll see you again in 2025. Enough yapping from me, enjoy!

Normal, quiet moments tend to bring discomfort within Sukuna. Dating trouble as a teen limited his time to sit and enjoy the small pleasures of life. He was all about the grand, overwhelming, taboo pleasures that one wouldn’t dare chase but rather daydream about. Or worse, make simulation games about and live out their guilty pleasures vicariously through fictional characters. But with taboo pleasures come consequences which landed him in jail for some time.  

Within the year after his release, he met you which slowly inspired him to alter his fast, vicious lifestyle. You introduced him to things he never would have found himself participating in. Things he used to tease his twin brother for being a sheep for society for. A mom-and-pop coffee shop was one of them.  

“How do you drink this shit?” Sukuna sticks out his tongue. Tanned liquid trapped in your mouth almost spills. Air blows from your nose, signifying your amusement at Sukuna’s first experience with coffee.  

Swallowing down the first sip of your coffee, your eyes admire Sukuna’s childlike distaste for your go-to morning beverage. “Because I order mine with cream, sugar, and caramel. You’re pretty much drinking burnt black water.”  

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”   

You give him a “really?” look. “I said you should start out with the caramel Frappuccino but you said, and I quote.” You notch your voice down several pitches lower. “The hell I look like drinking that sissy shit.”  

“You could have recommended me any other drink but this. This was a terrible first impression.”  

“I can order you another one to make up for it.”  

Sukuna pouts. “I’ll pass. I fear I’ll be disappointed again.”  

“Sukuna, you just drink straight black coffee, you can’t write the whole thing off just because you had one variation of it. That’s like saying “I hate potatoes” because you ate unsalted, lukewarm fries.” Sukuna scrunches his face.  

“That’s not the same.”  

“Yes, it is. It’s a perfect comparison.”  

“It’s two completely different scenarios. You really thought you schooled me with that, huh.”  

“Shut up. I’m ordering you a new drink.”  

Waiting for his redemption cup, Sukuna stares at you typing away on your laptop computer. Your hair curtains over part of your face, tempting Sukuna to reach over and fix it. Yet the messy hair curtain highlights your beauty so effortlessly, he couldn’t stop adoring your natural radiance.  

The strong smell of roast occasionally makes its mark. Ranges of chatter mingle with the loud cycle of brewing and baking. Quirky, cheesy posters hang all over, providing a drowning sense of positivity and relatability. Generic chill music slithers through the atmosphere, failing to chill Sukuna’s social anxiety. Thankfully, his new drink just came to save the moment.  

Taking a drink from the flat white laced with sugar and cream, he sits back to allow his brain to register. His eyebrows raise with a small smack of his mouth, giving you some hope that coffee redeemed itself on the oh so great Sukuna’s tastebuds.   

“Well?” You ask impatiently.  

“Not bad. Could use more sugar but it’s drinkable.” Sukuna reviews. A pleased smile killed your worry. “I’m glad you gave it a second chance. I hope we can have more coffee dates like this.”  

Sukuna narrows his eyes. “This is a date?”   

Your eyes roll. “No this is a job interview.”  

“I’m not one for customer service but if I get to look at you all day long and the pay is good then sign me up.” You hate that something as corny as that made you blush.  

“Hush Sukuna, of course this is a date. This is like our twelfth time seeing each other, I like to think all of the time we spent together so far wasn't a waste of time.”  

“Ooh someone’s no-nonsense.” Sukuna smirks, large arms crossed.  

You sigh, “I’m just over the hookups and the flings. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just one-and-done me.”  

“Eh, all of the one-night conquests and strictly sex ordeals were starting to get stale. You got a nice face with a body to match. You’re on no bullshit and are fun for the most part. You haven't bored me yet so I don’t mind continuing this.”  

“Yet?”  

“I tend to get bored with my women so I wouldn't hold hope of this lasting past a year. Just letting you know so the heartbreak will hurt a little less.”  

You smirk, amused by his lack of filter. “Well, a year will be record breaking compared to my recent relationships these last few years. So bring it.”  

Your polished nails navigate the grassy fields of dusty pink, natural hair oil inked on your fingertips. Your poor thighs are weighed down under his dumbbells for arms. Your other hand caress Sukuna’s right bicep, fixating on the jet black tattoos contrasting with his pale skin. He rubs your left knee as he rests against your stomach.  

Sukuna releases a deep sigh, letting go of the temporary stresses of life. He’ll rather die than admit it but this is what he mostly looks forward to when he goes about his day. It took him a while to get used to you being positioned behind him, often side eyeing the first few times you two were like this.   

Call it trust issues. Slam the non-medical diagnosis of PTSD resulted from a rough upbringing and life as a criminal. Or if we’re really getting psychological, throw out the fancy “internalized misanthropy” word. Re-fucking-gardless, he’s always been highly aware and on guard whenever people are in close proximity to him, ever since he was a kid.  

Now, the more he allows himself to turn his brain off in your lap the easier you hear him lightly snoring within several minutes. You giggle as his resting figure emits loud snores thirty minutes in of scalp scratching and head caressing.   

“Sweet dreams.” You reach down to peck warmth on his forehead.  

Your wishes go unnoticed as child-like ease warps itself across face tattoos and a sharp jawline. A surprisingly dynamic clash.  

Your laughter saturates the kitchen space accompanied by music from the vintage radio. Flour dressed your behemoth all over, making it the sight of the century. Sukuna frowns as he attempts to smooth the pizza dough with the rolling pin. Tears edge your eyes; the catastrophe he was causing was funnier than any standup comedy.  

“Hush. You're breaking my focus.” Sukuna was struggling to knead the dough enough to be a thin foundation. It usually ends up shaping to be a deep dish or just a regular sized pizza. This was his third effort to mold the pizza, with two “epic failures” baking in the oven.  

When your laughter demoted to light chuckles, you rub his arm for support. “You know I can help you shape the dough. It took me fifteen tries before making an objectively decent pizza.” Sukuna shakes his head.  

“That’s because you were the one making it. It’s gonna be perfect this time.” Sukuna smooths out the dough and smirks at his “perfectly” thin pizza. You roll your eyes and walk over to gather the cheese and other toppings.  

The pizza rises within the oven, gluing the toppings within the cheese. Sukuna watches it carefully from the kitchen island, like his life depended on whether this Thursday night dinner was great or not.   

A marathon of T.V. commercial ramblings was bugging background noise as you tidied up. The other two pizzas sat on the cooling rack, being forgotten tasty mistakes. Flour ages his hair many decades, snowing down his chest with every tiny movement. He turns to see an unlikely troublemaker look down at him, a small hill of flour ready to be thrown from your palm. Sukuna narrows his eyes with a challenging look.  

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”  

“Game on.” You threw it, igniting a two-man war.  

The remaining time for the perfect pizza to cook filled with flour fights, spotting majority of the kitchen with white powder. The cooking timer goes off as you two lay across the table exchanging flour and zeal between prolonged smooches.

This epic fantasy was seducing your imagination during the mundane hours of the late evening. You sense Sukuna spying on you and your book from the corner of your eye. However, the clever arrangement of words trailing above your bookmark helps you ignore him.  

“How do you read these things? That shit looks bigger than The Bible.” Sukuna pokes at the spine of your novel, trailing over the gold-engrained lettering.  

“I don’t judge stories based on length. If it’s engaging enough then I wouldn’t mind reading three hundred-plus pages of something.”  

“Where do you find the time to invest in a story that long?” Sukuna wasn’t even teasing at this point; he was genuinely curious.  

“People watch 10 seasons worth of television or animes with more than 100 episodes.”  

“Watching TV and reading are different no matter how much you try to make them feel the same. I can simply turn on the T.V. and watch 100 episodes of something without exerting much energy. You have to sit up, read so many words, and decipher hundreds of pages worth of story. It’s not the same.”  

“True, I’ll give you that. I just find it funny that people draw the line at consuming a story through reading only because you have to put a little more effort in it.” You bounced back.  

Sukuna rubbed his chin. “I remember being into poetry and haikus a lot as a teenager. But I started getting involved in other shit so I lost interest along the way.”   

You snap to him, no longer being a silent witness to a passionate kissing scene. “You like poetry?”  

“I suppose. I always liked how poets managed to craft thoughts so elegantly. Perfectly describing the complicated or unsaid.”  

“You know the local bookstore down the street has a whole section of poetry books. What’s your favorite poets? I could buy you some of their latest work.” Your comforter became a temporary bookmark with your book lying face down.  

“Hmm, I don’t really have a favorite poet. I used to buy a bunch of random poetry or haiku books and kept the ones that stuck with me. There is one writer that I really like though...”  

You wait in anticipation as you witness him in thought. Simple things like racking his brain makes him a cutie. Sukuna snaps his fingers.  

“Ahh, Yosa Takahama is his name. His work is usually written in Japanese but some translators re-publish them in their mother’s tongue. His work is hard to find around here though. I don’t even know how I managed to snag one of his books in the first place.”  

Despite the challenge, you were determined to get it for him. “I’ll figure out a way to get you one. That way we could be reading buddies.”  

“You don’t have to do all of that, doll. You’ll rip your hair out trying to find those books. I’m fine watching you ignore me in favor of a book that can knock your teeth out.” You chuckle.  

During the rest of the night, you noticed the boredom on Sukuna’s face as he mindlessly consumes television. The least you can do is try to hunt down this haiku book for him. Dating him for some time, he confessed to losing touch with so many hobbies he grew up with over the last few years. You wanted to bring that inner child back to life, killed by proving to the world how tough he was.  

Getting him to read something that actually interests him can be another way to embrace the innocent pleasures in life. You can tell he misses that wild delinquency some days, but you hope he doesn’t miss it enough to end this relationship over. If you can find it, hopefully it can be a building block that rebuilds his new path after leaving the old behind. Anything to help you be closer to him.  

6 weeks later 

Sukuna emerges from the bathroom. The odors of the food he cooked from his restaurant today were replaced with standard soap and his natural scent. Like every other night, you sat with your book, seemingly ignoring Sukuna’s lingering stare.  

After dressing himself, he sinks on the mattress and attempts to lay against his pillow. His thick neck isn't met with the soft cushion but instead a hard surface in the middle area. He stares at his pillow, offended for it not providing comfort, so he lifts it up. A white hardcover book reveals.  

“What’s this?” He asked, not turning to you yet. You shift from the words to your boyfriend’s confusion. “I don’t know where that came from. Maybe the book fairy paid you a visit.” You played dumb.  

“You’re so corny.” He holds up the book.  

“A corny girl you’ve been dating for almost a year now.”  

“Quiet. I’m trying to see what this is.” Sukuna didn’t even examine the title, the pages of the book flutter until he lands on a random page. He reads aloud.  

“Vindictive winter / A white, mighty rabbit looks / betrayed by the king / ...wait.” Sukuna looks at you and you copy his shocked expression.  

“This is Yosa Takahama’s stuff. How did you even get this? This must have cost you a fortune.”  

“It was costly and took me weeks to find a readable copy but the look on your face right now makes it worth it. I wanted you to read with me instead of being a T.V. zombie. Even if that means reading mind fuckery haikus.” You chuckle.  

Sukuna grabs your waist from the side and unleashes many wet pecks around your cheek, neck, and upper chest. You giggle as you brush his hair and hug him back.  

“I appreciate it.”  

“No big deal.” You replicate his cool cat version of “You’re welcome.” that he usually throws at you. Sukuna smirks at the playful imitation.  

The rest of the evening is spent with you two lost in your own worlds of literature. Your brains mixed imagination, broadened perspectives, and emotional intelligence from honeyed words inked against the white.

“I’m too big for this tub. You barely have any room to stretch your legs.” Sukuna commented.  

He adjusted his position behind you, the bubbles shifting from his large body. Your feet rested on the tip of the tub to keep from smushing against the porcelain. You turn to him, offering a reassuring smile. He snickers at your ridiculous face mask, particularly the cucumbers concealing your eyes.  

“No, you’re not. You say that every time you get in with me. You’re fine Kuna, really.”  

Sukuna rests his arms around the top edges of the tub, leaning back to make himself comfortable in his slightly cramped soak. The warm water, Epsom salt, and meditation music playing from your phone kneads away the hidden tension that plagues his body from the everyday.  

“Before I met you, I haven't taken a bath in almost fifteen years.” He confesses.  

“That sounds so disgusting out of context.” You cringe. Sukuna chuckles.   

“You know what I mean.”  

“I can’t imagine going that long without a bath. Baths are way better than showers.” You admitted.  

“Showers are for a quick wash. Baths are more for relaxation.”  

“I shower for fifteen minutes minimum, thirty-five minutes max. I spend about three minutes just letting the hot water hit my body and think about whatever. There’s no way I can just shower for ten minutes or less.”  

“Is that why you’re so smoking.” Sukuna flirted. You shake your head, “That was so corny, Kuna. C’mon you can flirt better than that.”  

“You’re right. I just wanted to see your reaction.”   

You two enjoy each other’s company. The heat protects you from winter and the sheet of bubbles float around and pop within. Sukuna arms lay over yours, rubbing over your wrist. Sukuna focuses on your face and develops a sense of mischief.  

“Babydoll.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Turn around for me.”  

You quirk a brow but obeyed by slowly turning his way. In a swift motion, Sukuna moves forward and bites off the cucumber sitting on your right eye. Your right vision sees Sukuna munching on your edible eye mask.  

“Really, Kuna? You couldn’t resist temptation to eat that?” You scolded. You take off the other cucumber, abandoning your hopes to keep your eyelids nice and fresh. Sukuna steals the other cucumber from your hand and flings it in his mouth.  

“You’re impossible to relax with sometimes.”  

“Thanks for the snack.” Sukuna mumbles through chewing.  

You sigh then lay against his chest and close your eyes. If he was going to interrupt your beauty routine the least he can do is be your pillow.

Sukuna big toe hugs your own after caressing your right foot. Both of your feet poke out from the thick blanket, suffering from the gentle lashes of the nippy air condition. You rest your head on his squishy but firm chest, goosebumps forming from his rough hands brushing your skin.   

“We should light the fireplace.” You suggested.  

Sukuna let out a lazy sigh, “What you really mean is that I should light it.”  

“Yeah, you should.”  

“I could but I fear I’ll turn into a popsicle.”  

You giggle. “Hey, at least you’ll taste good.”  

Sukuna smirks, “I already taste good. You should know out of anyone.”  

You playfully shrug. “Eh, you’re alright. No fine dining though.”  

“Oh really?”  

“Yep.”  

“How about you taste this then.”  

Sukuna leans down and traps your lips in the moment. His lips were smaller than yours yet they managed to govern the heat stirring between each lingering kiss. The frigid air in the room is forgotten in your minds as you and Sukuna make out under the grey blanket. After a couple minutes of sensual touching and lip pulls, Sukuna goes for your neck.  

“Well?” Sukuna lands soft bites inches under your chin.  

“I was just kidding earlier but that was...”  

“Better than fine dining?”  

“I don’t know what’s better than fine dining but, yeah, better than that.”  

Sukuna chuckles, “Glad to remind you.”  

Sukuna “accidentally” lands a hard bite just above your collarbone, caging a pleasured groan within closed lips. Sukuna kisses the forming red patch, “Sorry baby, got a little greedy there.”  

“I hope I give you a brain freeze.” You joked, trying to take your mind off the aching spot.  

Sukuna hooks his finger around the side of your silk underwear, his other hand slowly appreciates your ass. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

Your body slowly rocks on top of him, the yellow and orange from the fireplace illuminate your dips and curves. The aftershocks of your second orgasm calm down, giving you the signal to stop riding him. One hand caresses the trimmed hairs sprinkled across Sukuna’s chest. The other traces the small gold chain decorating his pecs. Sukuna squeezes the body fat from your hips then pats your left butt cheek.  

You hop off and lay down on the blanket you set down for your second round. Sukuna pulls off the condom and gets up to throw it away. The contained fire warms your naked body from a distance, defending you from the army of white cold. You hum while the fire entertains you until Sukuna comes back. He’s wearing the boxers he had on earlier with the embroidered knife patterns. Where he got those kinds of boxers you may never know.  

Sukuna drops the pillow he stole from the couch then sits down on the blanket. He pulls you towards him and you two lie down together. You perform his signature trait, pushing his hair back, enabling his wild look. Sukuna traces your spine, quietly admiring both how strong and weak one’s bone structure could be.  

“I never thought I would enjoy silly things like sitting in front of a fireplace during winter.”  

“It’s silly?”  

“Not really. I guess I just associated this with Christmas activities. Christmas always seemed too cheesy to me so I associated things like this as silly holiday stuff.”  

“Yeah, I get it. Sex in front of the fireplace, just silly wholesome Christmas activities.” You joked. You instantly felt Sukuna’s laughter rumble throughout his chest. After calming down he gives your arm a light pinch.  

“You know what I mean.”  

“I’m just happy you allowed me to bring some mellow in your life. I remember when I met you, you were always in some crazy illegal trouble. It seemed like I could barely keep up with you and your fast-paced lifestyle.”  

“Yeah, it was fun for a while, I’ll admit. Even getting caught had some sort of thrill. Now that I’m pushing thirty, I just feel over it.”  

You chuckle, “Not a spring chicken as you used to be.”  

“Yeah. I suppose every hot shot has their limit.”  

“Well, I’m proud that you’re beginning to settle down. I know your brother is too.” You rub his cheek.  

“I was surprised when he offered to help me set up my fight clubhouse. He’s usually against violence and shit.”  

“Maybe he thought that it would be a nice distraction from your life with crime. Even if it meant supporting you doing something he also doesn’t like. Like a lesser of two evils kind of thing.”  

“I never knew someone so predictable yet unpredictable at the same time more than him.” Sukuna said. You giggle then sprawl your hands across Sukuna’s abdomen, trailing over the ridges in a playful matter. Sukuna tender gaze studies your features as he softly pulls little cushions of your skin.  

“Thank you for sticking with me.”  

You look up to see the wild orange shadowing his strong features. His usual too cool-for-school attitude was replaced with a loving nature only reserved for you. A nature molded by small, seemingly insignificant moments sparked by a mutual agreement of casual dating. You plant a few kisses against his jawline then lay back on his chest.  

Before your eyes close for the night, you slur a few words that gets a smile out of Sukuna. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”  

[vengefultakeover]

Napping Roomie

I came home to my roommate closing the fridge wearing nothing but a pair of blue underwear. He did this often, not that I cared. In fact, I actually really enjoyed it. I'd come home to him in a pair of sweatpants, free-balling it with a semi while playing video games and every time he'd make a successful goal or a multi-kill he'd celebrate while that snake pressed against the fabric. Plus, I couldn't complain because he really helped me when I was in a tight spot - offering up his spare room when I couldn't find a place to stay while I was in school.

"Hey man, I was just about to take a nap." He said, walking towards his room.

"No problem, just getting home. I hope it's alright, but I invited someone over in a little."

"No worries, man. I sleep like a rock." He laughed, waving me off and disappearing into his room.

It took thirty minutes for my friend to arrive. Jerry was a larger guy, tall and stocky, and he was my best friend. He brought over some groceries he wasn't using since he mentioned he was going on a trip. Not sure where, figured he'd tell me sooner or later.

"Is Devon here?" He asked, putting more items in the fridge and then some dry goods in the pantry.

"Yeah, he's taking a nap. He looked tired when I came home."

"Oh, sick. I've got something to show you." Jerry walked over to the door and poked his head inside. He closed the door quietly with the biggest shit eating grin I had ever seen.

"What is wrong with you, dude?" I asked with a laugh. He waved me over and I joined him. He started to strip leaving his clothes outside the door before going in. "Hey, what the hell?"

"Shhh, just follow me." He started to creep into the bedroom and I protested with quiet huffs before following him in. We closed the door and could see Devon passed out on his bed. His cock was poking out one leg and then his balls the other. This was enough to make my cock twitch and I felt a warmth at my neck.

"Watch this." Jerry went around the bed and rubbed his hands together before reaching for his cock. I was wide eyed and hard, but frozen in fear and confusion. I watched him pull his thick meat out from his Calvin's and then shove a hand right into the tip. I don't mean like the tip of it, or even a finger, he shoved his whole hand inside. Devon's cock grew hard instantly, his hand making it bulge. His face shifted, turning into slight discomfort, but nothing that was going to wake him up. Then I watched him shove his other hand inside. His arms were suddenly deep inside his cock, the thick rod growing in size as he wriggled his way in. 

"What the fuck?" I gasped.

"Don't worry. He's fine." Jerry whispered. He bent forward, sticking his head between his arms and then pushing his head into his tip. Devon started to writhe, but Jerry kept going. Jumping up and in, his body looked like a cartoon as it expanded his cock and then his body. his stomach bloated, his chest puffed up, even his legs expanded as Jerry disappeared and started pushing himself into each of his limbs. Devon's eyes fluttered and his mouth hung open, a bit of drool coming out as Jerry made his body his home and suddenly it stopped. Devon's musculature returned to the toned sexy body that was napping there before. Devon popped an eye open and that same shit eating grin I had seen on Jerry before appeared on him. 

"What the fuck just happened?" I held my legs together to keep the boner from showing.

"Just a little something I picked up from a witch on the corner." He hopped out of the bed and wobbled once he got to his feet.

"Holy shit this is wild." I said, reaching out and touching him.

"Oh fuck that feels good." Jerry said through Devon, shivering.

"Sorry, I -"

"No. Keep doing it." He pulled my hand close to him and then grabbed my other hand. He pressed them against his chest and I squeezed, feeling the muscular mounds under my palms. Flexing, he pulled me back onto the bed and then wrapped his arms around me, going in for a kiss. I fell to the side, making out with my roommate who was now being controlled by my best friend. I could feel him press against me, the blue underwear slowly being peeled off as I reached down and grabbed a hand full of his plump ass. I couldn't control myself, as we made out I kept pushing myself closer, grinding my hips into him until he was turning around. 

"Fuck me as hard as you want?" He said, reaching back and squeezing his ass. I leaned into him, kissing his back as I aligned the tip of my cock with his hole. I was slow to push into him, my cock head popping in and I could see his back muscles react. 

"Fuck yes." We said in unison as I pushed my whole shaft inside. I let it throb inside, leaning over and laying on him as he was on all fours. He tensed his hole, making me whimper. I pushed myself up, held onto his hips and started thrusting hard. Each slip out and in again felt better than the last and he arched his back in pleasure. Both of us moaned as I slammed myself against him, feeling the euphoric feeling sneak up on me and suddenly I was exploding inside of him. Filling up his hole, we both moaned and the sensation of me busting inside of him caused his cock to erupt, leaving a wet streak along the sheets.

"Holy shit. I didn't think things would feel this crazy inside another person." Jerry said, panting as he rolled over.

"That was amazing." I was also panting, a bit more aggressively from the thrusting.

"I should probably hop out of him. I feel him waking up." Jerry said, jumping up and squatting bit. I watched a hand suddenly appear from his ass, grabbing ahold of his ankles and pulling himself out. The wet squelching was insane as Jerry appeared as his naked self once more. Devon passed out and I pushed him onto the bed. I quickly pushed him into the same position he was in and then met Jerry outside of the door as he was getting ready.

"We should do that again some time." He said, slipping on his shirt.

"Oh, we should do it again and again. that was incredible." I could hear stirring from inside and we ran over to the couch, turning it onto something random. With one final glance at each other, Devon walked out and he had no idea what had just happened between us.

[left-side-up]

Jupiter

Smallishbeans hit the ground too hard.

When Joel opens his eyes, he's in a desert.

That's strange. For one, the Wild Life server doesn't have a desert. Even if it did, Joel wouldn't be around to see it, seeing as he's dead now.

The sun beams down on the sand. Joel squints. It's unbearably bright here.

The desert looks like it used to be a war zone. Cacti and lava surround its borders, making an impenetrable wall, and in the middle of everything is a series of deep craters.

There's not another soul in sight.

Joel begins walking.

Something about this place seems sad. Familiar, almost. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, but he just can't seem to grasp it. He knows this place.

An image of Gem flashes in his head. She would've liked to build here, he thinks. She'd know how to turn the barren wasteland into something cute and livable. He wishes she'd had more time. A space to build freely without fear of being backstabbed or blown up.

There's something you're forgetting.

"Who was that?"

Joel whips around, searching for the source of the voice. There's still no one here. The sun beams down on the sand.

"Show yourself! I just won a death game, I'll have you know!"

I know.

In the blinding light of the desert, the waves of heat start to reassemble a person.

"Who are you?"

The figure is short, but it's hard to make out any other features. Joel reaches for a sword, but his hand comes back empty.

The mirage raises a hand and gestures for Joel to come closer. Then it starts walking away. Under any other circumstances, Joel wouldn't be dumb enough to follow. But Lizzie and Gem are gone, and Joel is pretty sure he's dead, and there's nothing left to lose now. So he follows.

As they walk, the mirage becomes clearer and clearer. It begins with a more solid outline. Then sandy blond hair. Then a red sweater, and fabric draped over it, large enough to defend from the desert sun. Then feathers, red and blue and yellow.

I killed you, Joel thinks. And then- No. You're not the Grian I killed.

A mountain comes into view. There are structures on top, and stairs leading up to them- evidence of life.

Or not.

The house is just as destroyed as the rest of the desert. All that remains of the front porch is a flowerpot, cracked and lain on its side, dirt and dead lilacs pouring out of it.

The mirage of Grian is now clearer than ever. Joel can see the scars on his hands and the poppy in his hair as he guides him towards their final destination.

A grave. And a ring of cacti. And blood, splattered all around the tiny arena. The mirage kneels in the red sand, resting his hands in his lap.

Sit with me, he beckons, and Joel complies.

It's silent for a moment. Just Joel, the mirage of Grian, and the grave before them. Then-

Can we still be friends?

Joel startles at Scar's voice. He looks around, but there is no Scar, mirage or otherwise.

YOU TRAITOR!

Long live the science bros!

Put your shirt back on!

I am going to murder them.

Grian and Scar's voices echo through the war torn desert, a series of memories Joel has no part in. Some sad, some happy, some bleak or forlorn. Beside him, the mirage holds his head high. Grian has always been a prideful being. Even when he's sad. Even when he's in pain.

...How does he know that?

You may slay me and take the enchanter.

I can't do that.

I think that, no matter what, we can call this a double victory.

Scar, fight back!

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry, Scar.

Grian fell from a high place.

The mirage is crying.

Joel thinks he can piece together what happened here.

"Grian, is this... was this a life game?"

Do you really want to know?

"Yes."

Grian wipes his tears, then holds out his hands to Joel.

I'm sorry in advance.

"For what?"

The mirage doesn't respond.

Joel sighs and takes Grian's hands.

[knivestothroats]

Last minute Christmas special for The Professionals

I originally wrote an excuse for why this is going out at like 9pm on christmas but we dont have to explain ourselves. Enjoy. cowritten with @victimeyez as always

Tommy woke up late.

The pale light of day was already filtering through the gray winter sky. 

Tommy leapt up and threw some clothes on quickly, hopping as his feet touched the cold wood floor. He dashed to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, running his fingers through his hair the best he could.

Two of the trainees were already up and about, engaged in a heated game of slap jack.

“Hey, uh, sorry, have you guys seen Fletcher?” Tommy asked, flinching as Caldera’s hand hit the table.

“I saw them dragging a carcass out of the forest earlier,” Barlowe said as they flipped a card. “So they’re probably out there on all fours eating it like a wild animal.”

“They’re processing a deer in the shed,” Caldera clarified.

“Okay, thank you.”

Tommy slipped on boots and a coat and ventured outside, the cold air scraping at his face. He pulled open the door to the shed, and was immediately hit with the metallic tang of blood and raw meat.

Fletcher was standing beside the body of a stag that was hanging from its hind legs, stomach torn open, blood dripping onto a tarp beneath. Their coat was smeared red, and there was a knife in their hand. A small speaker was playing music for them to work to, and they had to raise their voice over it. 

“What’s up?”

“I just wanted to check in, um…” Tommy pulled his eyes away from the animal. “...About what you wanted me to do today?”

“Isn’t it your day off?”

“Oh, uh…” Tommy had a hard time keeping track of the days here sometimes, but if Fletcher said it was his day off, he wasn’t about to argue. “I suppose it is.”

“Unless you want to help me skin a deer.”

“Um,” Tommy swallowed. “Is it optional?”

“This time, yes,” Fletcher said. “I like to have my alone time with the blood and guts. It’s like meditation.”

The next day, everyone loaded up into the truck.

“You’re riding shotgun, Thunderbird,” Fletcher informed Tommy, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Williams complained. “So the three of us have to squeeze into the back together?”

“Three people have to squeeze in the back either way,” Fletcher said. “So suck it up.”

Tommy shrank into his designated spot as the trainees piled into the bench seat, their bags stashed in the bed of the truck.

The trees had blocked much of the snow accumulation, and the roads were plowed, so they had no problem getting to the airport. All the trainees were going home for the holidays, meaning Fletcher and Tommy would have the lodge to themselves.

“Alright, I’m not getting out of the car because I don’t want to be on camera,” Fletcher said as they pulled up to the drop off zone. “Have a nice holiday, tell your families and bosses I said hi, don’t get nabbed by airport security.”

Tommy watched through the window as they disappeared inside the building. It was somewhat daunting to be alone with Fletcher while the rest were gone, but it wasn’t like the trainees provided any sort of comfort or safety for him. If anything, it was less people to worry about. 

“We’re going out to the rez before we go home,” Fletcher said as they drove away. “I have to offload this deer hide. Maybe one day I’ll teach myself to tan but… ehh. It’s enough effort as is.”

It was a while before Fletcher pulled up outside of a house and put the truck in park. They got out without a word and went around to the back. Tommy fiddled with his seatbelt, but since Fletcher hadn’t told him to come along, he opted to remain. 

He watched Fletcher heft a duffle bag over their shoulder and knock on the door. A man with greying braids answered, and Fletcher handed off the bag. He waved Fletcher inside, but Fletcher said something and jutted their chin in the direction of the truck. The man looked at Tommy, gave a wave, and disappeared into his house. He returned a moment later and handed Fletcher a much smaller bag. Fletcher dug around the contents. They pulled out a pair of yellow gloves and felt the material between their fingers.

They said their goodbyes and Fletcher returned to the truck, tossing the bag in the backseat.

It began to snow as they drove home, small flakes dancing down from the sky.

Fletcher opened the door to the lodge and let Tommy inside. They stood outside the threshold and fiddled with their keys for a moment.

“I’m gonna be doing some stuff outside for a bit. So. Behave.”

Before Tommy could ask if they needed help, Fletcher shut the door.

Two days off in a row seemed odd, so Tommy tried to find something to do. There were a few dishes in the sink from breakfast that he washed and put away, before starting to wipe down the counter and clean the stove.

The back door opened and Fletcher walked in, carrying a sapling fir tree in a large pot. They locked eyes with Tommy, paused a moment, and set the pot down before and walking back outside, closing the door behind them.

Fletcher reappeared a couple minutes later through the front door. They kicked off their boots and walked back to retrieve the tree.

“Follow me,” they ordered.

Tommy put down the sponge and quickly wiped off his hands before following Fletcher into the living room. They placed the tree a comfortable distance from the fireplace, then picked up the bag they had gotten earlier. After pulling out the gloves and a spool of sinew, they placed the bag under the tree.

Fletcher gestured to the little setup they had created and said, “Merry Christmas.”

Tommy just stared at them.

“That’s yours,” they nodded to the bag.

“I… I didn’t-”

“Yeah, obviously you didn’t get me anything,” Fletcher cut him off. “I don’t usually do anything for Christmas. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. It’s just like a nice little thing to do, since it’s just us here together. So open your gift.”

Tommy picked up the bag. Inside was another pair of gloves, made of soft deerskin leather. Beneath that…

Tommy pulled it up slowly. A hoop wrapped in suede with a web of cord stretched across the middle, feathers hanging down from the bottom.

“Don’t worry, you can still sleep in my room sometimes,” Fletcher assured him. “I just thought it’d be nice if you had your own dreamcatcher.”

Tommy held it up to look at it in full. It was beautiful, woven with care. He touched the webbing, feeling the very slight tackiness of real sinew, no cheap plastic or dyed feathers. He stroked them gently, smoothing them into sharp points.

“Fletcher…it’s really beautiful. This is…this is very thoughtful of you.”

“Well, you know,” Fletcher shrugged. “I have a trade worked out where I give him my skins and he gives me some of the stuff he makes and I usually don’t need much, so I just asked for a couple extra things this time. No big deal. Let’s watch a movie or something. I can make hot chocolate.”

Fletcher walked off to busy themself in the kitchen.

Tommy dashed off to his room, his hands a little sweaty. He dug through his sketchbook, flipping through the poorly bound pages until he found what he was looking for. 

When he got back, he found them finishing off the hot chocolates. 

“I, um - I actually do have a little something for you. I might clean it up a little bit more, but…here.” He held out the page of his sketchbook.

Fletcher wiped a hand on their pants and took it, tilting it to the light. The page was filled with a pencil drawing of the lodge, a slightly stiff Fletcher standing in front.

A genuine smile grew on Fletcher’s face.

“Huh.” 

Fletcher plucked a magnet off the fridge and hung up the drawing. They picked the mugs and handed one to Tommy. 

“You can pick a movie off the shelf,” they said, giving his hair a ruffle as they walked back into the living room.

Tommy figured that was about the best it was going to get. He looked at his drawing on the fridge, and felt a sense of pride he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just cleaning, it wasn’t just being used, it wasn’t pretending to be anything he wasn’t. It was a drawing he did because he wanted to, a drawing no one else would have done quite the same way. Maybe not the greatest, but…it was his. Totally his. And that felt really good. 

He offered a few choices he liked to Fletcher, and they settled on a fun action one. The hot chocolate was rich and warm. Tommy held his new dreamcatcher in his lap while they watched, fiddling and petting it. He was excited to have something that was his, as “his” as something could be, here in the lodge. Fletcher gave him a look for it, but didn’t say anything. 

When the movie was over, Tommy was still awake, and a little restless. It was getting late, but… maybe it was the holiday, but he felt like there was something he was supposed to do. Some kind of ceremony that would make it all real. 

Tommy slowly made some tea, being methodical and slow as if the meditative practice would bring him a sense of closure to the day. As he was pulling out his tea bag, Fletcher found him. 

“Wanna see something?”

Tommy did. Probably. He followed Fletcher out the front door and onto the porch, looking out on the grounds. Snow was falling softly, dampening sound for an almost eerily quiet night. It was peaceful, the low light cast from the lodge illuminating enough that they could see out almost to the forest edge.

They watched in companionable silence, and Fletcher even accepted a sip of his tea. Tommy wasn’t sure what he had been hoping for, but this did it. This would do. 

“Merry Christmas, Fletcher. Or…you know. Atleast, a nice night.”

“Merry Christmas or at least a nice night to you too, buddy.”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[luvzxr]

Little Pougie

Hi! I'm back from a long break. I've been working on this book that originally is posted on wattpad and it's ongoing currently. I wanted to branch out from my previous posts from video games to shows as well.

This story also is originally using my OC's name and I'm not very good with coming up with alternatives to make the story for people who want to use their OC's or their own names. I will do my best though because I also don't like using the (Y/N) stuff but we shall see. anyways, onto chapter one.

01. Kegger

I wish I had stayed at home, curled up on the couch with my hair up in a messy bun and some stupid microwaveable meal on the coffee table in front of me. I wish I never let my older brother, John B, rip me away from the comfort of our own home to come to a kegger, or in other words- a party that I most certainly did not want to attend.

"John B," I tugged the hem of his loosely worn shirt. I've been so uneasy the entire night I've completely forgotten what it means to be content, "when are we leaving?"

"Just a little longer, Poguie. I promise," He gave a soft but playful nudge with his elbow.

'Just a little longer' means we'll be here till daybreak or until I pester him enough to drive me home himself. Time meant nothing to him when a Pouge party was happening.

I was more than eager to go back home and I grew more and more impatient the longer I stood there in hopes John B would change his mind and offer me a ride home of his own free will but that would only happen if hell froze over.

Pouges had no reason to throw parties, they just would and at this point being the sister of one and considered one myself by our peers and friends you would think I'd have no problem with participating but the word parties always left a bitter taste on the tip of my tongue. In what way does a night filled with hammered teenagers and raging migraines the next morning sound appealing?

The time we spent there grew longer and once it hit ten o'clock I couldn't take it anymore and made the utter decision to leave my older brother's side and push past the sweaty bodies and blotched faces.

I was sure that John B would grow increasingly tense once he'd start to realize my absence and after having practically the whole town on a wild goose chase- only to find me safely at home and also find time to lecture me about how I need to stay with him at all times. Yet I couldn't find even just an ounce in me to care about the repercussions of leaving on my own.

Luckily, none of John B's friends were around to stop me from reaching the main road, as everyone I left behind were either trying to find any way possible of getting a free hook up or a free buzz.

All I could keep my mind set on was crashing on the couch and tuning out to either The Vampire Diaries or jamming out to a random playlist of mine on the stereo. To some that might be one of the most boring activities you could be doing on a Friday night but to me it sounded like absolute bliss.

I wanted to die, After what felt like hours of heaving and gasping for air, I had finally reached the house where I could kick off my Chuck Taylor's and crash on the couch with my original plan. But first, I needed a snack because my stomach was probably on the verge of kicking my own butt if I didn't prioritize the next five seconds of finding something to satisfy the hunger.

I make my way to our kitchen, flicking on the light, and began scanning through the different varieties of food held within the cabinets and fridge. I quickly settled with a chocolate pudding cup stashed in the very back of our cabinet that seemed my brother tried to hide so desperately.

"Little Pouge?"

"Jesus!" I shrieked, practically throwing my enclosed pudding cup as a poor excuse for self-defense. If there was an actual intruder he'd probably have already made off with what we had left that was considered valuable.

I relax my nerves upon seeing a much more familiar blonde boy standing in the doorway and not an intruder ready to high-tail out of here with whatever he could.

"Sorry." a sheepish grin creeping on his face, "didn't mean to startle you, Little one."

JJ Maybank is my big brother's best friend since the third grade and he's also one of the very few people I didn't mind stopping by whenever he felt like it and lounge around the house as if he lived here himself. He's been in my life for as long as I could even remember because John B was never without him and ever since our father went missing it was always me, John B, and JJ so that surely helped our bond develop over time.

'Little Pouge' however was a nickname given to me by my brother and his friends. It was something the Pouges wanted to have special for me considering to them that 'y/n/n' was too bland to call me. I don't know a single one of them who doesn't call me Little Pouge or Pougie. That nickname has been with me for so long that even Kooks seem to be catching onto the idea of being referred to as those rather than my birth name.

Many Kooks have tried calling me the nickname's just to get under John B's skin or even JJ's but a lot of the time that ended in the boys beating a Kook to a pulp and the rest of their night spent in a six by eight foot holding cell and the horrible back pains that came with it in the morning when I'd bail them out.

I feel my face grow hot from embarrassment, "What are you doing here JJ?"

"John B couldn't find you so he sent me out looking for ya," he says, giving a curt nod towards the direction behind him, indicating my brother sent him out to hunt me down.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. John B acts as if I can't spend even just a little bit of time by myself anywhere and that I constantly need someone to watch over me like a little kid- I'm not a little kid, I'm a year younger than him, and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

I let out a groan, "I'm not a little kid, JJ. When is he going to understand that."

He made his way over to me, leaning forward so that he could rest his elbow on the countertop and his chin in the palm of his hand.

"He's just worried about you (y/n). You're the only family he's got left other than our little group as far as he knows." JJ states. "Plus, with all the Kooks at the party too he was worried that maybe one of 'em kidnapped ya."

"Hm."

"Ah Princess, don't be like that. He's looking out for you." He ruffles my hair.

He gave a soft grin before making his way over to the couch, swinging himself over the top and landing perfectly in a comfortable seated position.

Why does he never just walk around the side like a normal person?

Not long after JJ made himself comfortable on the couch is when I decided to do the same thing.

I take a good look at him, at his side profile, the way he clenches his jaw ever so slightly out of pure justification. His father had beat on him so many times he'd probably never have the same jaw alignment as he once had and a part of me wished that I was closer to him than just his best bud's little sister because he didn't open up to anyone, he doesn't allow anyone to get too close to him and in a way I understand.

Being as close to JJ as I was now I could smell the severe alcohol on his breath. It was no secret that Pouges drank, it was more common than you'd actually think but I could only imagine how his liver must have felt and practically beg him to take a break. On top of that, I also knew JJ was into a lot of different kinds of substances. He used those as an escape route, a way to completely make the pain go away for a temporary amount of time before he had to rejoin the rest of us in reality.

He tended to do his best to stay away from pain, choosing to ignore anything and everything that even remotely had the chance to trigger the emotion. He tried to bottle all of it up and throw it out the window as if it had never existed in the first place but like every human being, there comes a time when that glass bottle fills to the brim and then it explodes.

"JJ."

"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow, turning his head towards me to give his full attention.

I paused. He wasn't going to like the question I had in store for him so was I really ready to potentially ruin the small, yet sweet relationship I had with him? Over being a little too nosey for my own good.

I decided against it and just shook my head, "How was the party?"

He tilted his head to the side, his tongue slid between both sets of his teeth and his mouth making the ever so slightest oval like he usually does- He was confused, and rightfully so. This man has been around since before my childbirth and every step after that, it was hard to keep anything from him. That is if he's sober.

Fortunately enough for me, he was not and wasn't the sharpest when it came to being intoxicated. JayJ and his love for alcohol for once actually saved us a conversation that I don't think either of us were fully ready to have. Nonetheless, the question still raked through my mind and I was only hoping that the curiosity wouldn't power through.

Why does he resort to things that destroy him? Does he seriously think that low of himself?

[littleartidiot]

GIVE ME YOUR WILD KRATT HEADCANNONS PLZ I WANT THEM SO BADDD

You know what? I'll go first.

-The bros childhood home was basically right next to a huge forest and every night they'd sneak out to go look at cool animals. They'd only get caught when they'd have to wake up their parents to take them to the hospital for a rabies shot.

-The gang all had met each other at least once when they were kids but only became a group after college. And they all have really funny memories of the others as kids, like Aviva meeting the bros cuz they fell out of a tree trying to look at birds up close, stuff like that. They bring it up sometimes

-On long trips they'll have movie nights, and sometimes game night, but Jimmy always wins without fail. Even the animal trivia games, which upsets chris and martin GREATLY.

-All the crew have their own rooms to sleep in, but Chris is the only one that almost exclusively uses his when he's on the ship. Martin mostly sleeps in his bed, but will sleep in a hammock in the main area if he can't fall asleep, it somehow always works. Aviva and Koki were roommates in college and had a bunk bed set up, so they would talk about tech stuff if they couldn't sleep. They set up the hammocks for that case originally. And Jimmy just kinda sleeps anywhere. They found him sleeping in the garage once, just on the floor, so they added another hammock to the stack so it wouldn't happen as much.

-Koki can get REALLY protective over Aviva and Jimmy, it can be a little scary sometimes, but she means well

-Jimmy thumb nail is kinda fucked up from hitting it with a hammer like 7 times in the same day

-Jimmy is the only one in the crew with a pilots license, which is why he almost always drives the Tortuga, and while he's not officially the chef, he's the best cook on the ship and will often make the rest of the crew food without prompting

Ok I did some of mine now TELL MEE-

[theender36]

I got some thoughts on Sonic 3 that I wanna talk about so

⚠️ Spoilers for the movie Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (2024) ⚠️

Love that the riff from Live and Learn is used as a leitmotif for Shadow but also Maria was playing it on her guitar which is sad and now I'm picturing Shadow playing that riff in his head all the time

Right before Shadow busts out of containment his heart monitor starts going and then stops which I'm interpreting as his heart beating so fast it doesn't register

They didn't outright say it but Gerald is the one who hacked into GUN to revive Shadow. I don't think they addressed how he got out of prison but he probably built something in his cell

I love the running gag that Ozzie the golden retriever resents Sonic

Loved the joke about Sonic's security system (nunchucks) still working (hit himself in the face again)

Shadow has always been a foil for Sonic but the movie fully realizes the potential of that dynamic in my opinion. They both have a loneliness deep inside from losing someone they loved but Sonic was able to move on and find more family. Shadow hasn't had that chance yet

They used the "Talk about low budget flights" line!

The credits said they used the City Escape music but I must have missed it

Wild that they gave Shadow a gun and a motorcycle again and made it work this time. It probably has something to do with him doing the Akira slide up the side of a building

The CG animation really shines in this movie. I kept looking at how good the reflections in their eyes were. And the fight scenes just had so much slick movement and speed while also properly conveying what was actually happening

When the egg-drones show up, you assume they're going after Team Sonic. But Gerald is controlling the drones so they were definitely gunning for Walters

A Traveling Wilburys song during the flashback was a surprise to be sure but a welcome one. However, I will nitpick the fact that the song End of the Line came out in 1988, which would have been 14 years after Shadow was locked away

Biolizard cameo as the kaiju in the movie Maria and Shadow are watching

Eggman says something about having some unknown quality that makes him "totally undesirable to all possible genders" which suggests to me that he has tried dating loads of people with various gender identities (Woah, he's pansexual! I didn't know that!)

You may ask why the plot treats G.U.N. keeping the other key to the Eclipse Cannon like it's a bad thing. For one thing, the Robotniks are gonna try to steal it, and for another, I don't think a secretive yet fallible military organization having access to a doomsday weapon is a good thing

The concept of G.U.N. keeping a vault that has no records of it so that people can't visualize it to use Warp Rings is very cool and almost SCP-esque

Big fan of Shadow's solution to a telenovela love triangle being for the woman to just kill the two men vying for her affections

Love the subversion of a fight between Sonic and Knuckles with Knuckles instead relenting because he trusts that Sonic will do the right thing in the end

That being said, Knuckles desperately needs a flying island to keep the Master Emerald safe because Wade just ain't gonna cut it

There are a small handful of moments where I think Jim Carey did a really good job of dramatic acting. In particular, the final flashback to Maria's death where he manages to really show the loss and heartbreak Gerald experiences despite wearing a goofy prosthetic

Gerald turning ice-cold to Eggman when he says "You're no Maria"

So glad they did a DragonBall-style Super fight between Sonic and Shadow. If you're gonna make a movie with a bunch of CGI, you might as well go a little nuts with it

You may ask "how are Sonic and Shadow breathing in space?" The same way they do in the games babeeeyyyyy

Shadow and Gerald really wanted to kill the whole world and themselves. And once the Cannon was charged, Shadow didn't care anymore. He was totally willing to let Sonic punch a hole in his chest

Of course, Sonic comes to his senses and is willing to talk with Shadow after sparing him. I love that what changed Shadow's mind was remembering what Maria told him about the stars. That even when they're gone, their light still shines

They literally Lived and Learnt

I wish the Live and Learn sequence wasn't interrupted by Gerald giving Eggman an over-the-knee grandpappy spanking but what can you do

I'm glad that Tails and Knuckles weren't just sidelined for the third act. They show up to save Eggman, help redirect the Cannon, and then save Sonic. Would have been really awkward if they made such a big deal about teamwork only for Sonic to wrap up the conflict on his own

Tails is really chill about Eggman stabbing his grandpa in the butt and launching him into a giant bug zapper

Eggman comes to terms with his own loneliness and is willing to sacrifice himself to save the world not just because he wants to rule it but because he has someone to care about

Missed opportunity for a "Sayonara, Shadow the Hedgehog"

I know it's still a family friendly movie but it's odd that Tom got kicked by an enraged hedgehog moving at the speed of light and all he got was an arm in a sling

The mid-credits scene got me hyped. I can't wait to see who they have voicing Amy. And I like the decision to have an army of Metal Sonics

I hope the next movie explores more about where the animal characters come from because we really don't know much. I'm guessing whoever is behind the Metal Army is from there

Post-credits scene, of course Shadow lived but I'm hyped to see what direction they take that in. Are they gonna do the amnesia thing or will he just be stranded somewhere?

I know that using Chaos Control requires an emerald and the movies established that the Chaos Emeralds are held within the Master Emerald but it sucks they never said it except for in the Shadow Generations DLC. So uh 0/5, do better

[maxpilote]

In the wake of finishing Dragon Age Veilguard, I've been thinking about what adventurers do when the world is saved. What does life look like when you return home carrying all the baggage you collected on your journey? How do you just live a life after that?

I think about this a lot in the context of one of my tabletop characters, specifically my Pathfinder 1e paladin. Callais spent a wild six months chasing a death cult intent on resurrecting Tar Baphon (think PF1e's version of Vecna, to be overly simple with it). Over the course of this adventure, she made a personal enemy out of a demon lord, was anointed the mortal avatar of her deity, purged an entire village of old god worshipping murderers, and learned her father was the vampire king of the country's capital -- which is a bit awkward when your goddess is staunchly opposed to undead. Those are just the high points and all before the party even faced off against the death cult's leader.

After all of that -- and then some -- she's just supposed to go home and be a wife and mother? Does she just lead sermons in the church or play the dutiful housewife? Where does her armor go? Where does her sword rest?

Basically, how does one retire after you save the world?

And I've been kicking around these thoughts quite often in the last few days when it comes to my Rook -- and not just because of the startling parallels between her and my Pathfinder character. My friend knows exactly what I'm talking about.

Some games give extensive enough epilogues that you don't really need to have these questions. Veilguard is not one of those games. (For the record, I love Veilguard despite and sometimes because of its flaws. And I will not be engaging in a debate otherwise.) And I love that I lived to a time when fanfiction is more common and acceptable. So, I can fill in these blanks. We are all filling in these blanks. I might some day when the horrors of holiday retail aren't doing their best to break me.

But you know, I just wanted to ask the question. What do you do when you wake up the next morning and you don't have to kill a god? When you don't have to fight an archdemon or prevent some world ending catastrophe? What do you do the day after that?

How do you find purpose in the wake of victory?

[justtrashperson]

Could I hear that RtGame life series essay? 🥺

KSAJASKJ TBF it's not really a full essay, but just multitude ideas of what would happen if RT joins life series (in my opinion)

It's a mix between RT playing minecraft in general and My own Magistrex lore/characterization so be warned

might get long, if it is long then it's gonna be after read more lol

ANYWAY in my opinion the way RT plays games and interacts w people very much fits the gameplay of life series boogeyman gimmick, even if he had no like, skills in pvp or what not, being the boogeyman means basically hiding your identity before killing someone in any way possible to get the curse out

MIX THAT with how RT somehow has such good charm and persuasion points I feel like he'd try to be allies w almost everyone similarly how WL!Joel did it

BUT IF WE'RE TALKING VERY MUCH LORE WISE OH BOY OH BOY if we're basing this on Martyn's eyes and ears lore, RT would definitely be liked by the watchers. Why you may ask? Well it is basically confirmed that the watchers HATE positive feelings mainly love and enjoys chaos and destruction. Now, RT has multiple times be the being of chaos during a gameplay either directly or indirectly (especially if he's like, roleplaying). This said man created a revolution in a yogscast server that had monarchy. This man would kill himself if it means causing chaos. He embraces that personality so much that I feel like if he's mostly spending the series in Red life or was a boogeyman, he would try and just cause chaos as much as he can even if it risks his life. If he ever got involved into the lore, he'd definitely be someone the watchers like.

He would also probably try to make some sort of gambling system just like the heart foundation or the game Tango made in 3rd Life or if someone else made it before him, he'd gamble and probably somehow wins bc this mans luck is umatchable /silly

He could also probably do a Scar thing and try to scam people out of their stuff or money. All i'm saying this man could definitely gamble and scam his stuff away but he's probably gonna get out with profit at the end.

now if we're going at it per season, this is how i think RT/Magistrex would go:

3rd life: He's probably gonna be against dogwarts, probably trying to dismantle the "monarchy" from the inside out or as an opposition

last life: boogey gimmick introduction. he'd probably thrive a bit

double life: no thoughts rn bc idk who he would be paired up with

limited life: the season where death doesn't have that much of an impact, so i'd think he'd also thrive considering boogey system is back

secret life: probably would do almost all his task flawlessly

wild life: this is just the gambling season. let him gamble- /silly

but anyway RTgame in life series when /lh

OH ALSO EXTRA! RT seems to have quite a good character reading skills (which boost his charm and persuasion skills imo) so he definitely can pick and choose how he interacts w other players during the season

though if we're speaking realistically between you and me? he's probably gonna die first due to not having as much MC experience as the other characters /hj /lh

[the4rcanist]

I'll add to the last paragraph as a concept artist.

About the artbook, agreed and, the art everyone is seeing it's probably barely made of things that actually were present into day to day production, yeah the idea it's cool and all but it does work with everything else? Will having a ship add to how much days of modeling, texturing, implementation and so on? Does this idea works with the pacing of the quest? Like you said, does it work with the character at all? Does still works with the character? cause bob the director from the narrative team now scratched the "the villain is manipulated" arc and now it's something else. No?

99% of times what comes out it's purposefully handpicked and developed art for marketing, to go into the art book and for the artist's portfolio, that most likely didn't even looked finished like that when it was conceived.

It tells the story of the production in a compelling way, it's the purpose of it, but if it's on the artbook and not in the game that would never be real in the first place, you surely have better uses of your time than grieving so much an wild idea that nobody found a way to make it work.

"But still, these ideas are better for the game" are they? Is this something you can objectively defend in the front of the art and the narrative director? Of a game developer big enough so that everything is tied to efficiency?

And again, please, that doesn't mean people cannot criticize things.

Imagine making a post that says “I've been grieving how this series ended for two months now because it just meant to much to me and I'm so disappointed in this game and the only thing making me feel better is the critical tags”

Please. It's been two months. Get help.

This game is not as bad as some of you are making it out to be, and pretending we are using “toxic positivity” when no, we genuinely enjoy the game and the issue is that you had built up expectations that weren't met is so bizarre and martyrish. That is your issue alone, no one else's. It's also not “toxic positivity” if someone corrects erroneous posts regarding lore, or wild-ass takes like “the devs retconned [x]”

No one actually minds when someone makes an intellectually honest critique. In fact, it gets them interested.

But if you're upset because your *personal* needs weren't met and people are still telling you the game is great, it's fine, then I'm not surprised at your continued experience where you feel invalidated and encourage you, after two months, to find something else to do. You are shaping your own reality.

Claiming that the people who enjoy Veilguard the most are "casual fans” is so fucking insulting. I've been talking to and watching intense fans of all the prior games defend Veilguard specifically because of how it ties so much of the lore together.

Touch grass.

[izelthewashbear]

Good news: we finally know why c!Martyn fell off between his win in Limited life, and then his recent placements in Secret life and Wild life!

Bad news: Not angsty enough.

Worry not, for I have already thought of three (3) alternative reasons for why Martyn fell off the way he did!

(disclaimer: this post is NOT meant to signify that Eyes and Ears is a bad AU by any means. I respect the decisions that Martyn makes (as much as I wanna toss this man into a wall sometimes), but I decided to give this one thing my own little spin, since I've already been thinking about it for a while. Enjoy!)

These headcanons are placed in a particular order: 1 fits pretty well into EaE AU and technically could be canon if Martyn likes it ig?, 2 is a pretty neutral one that could fit into any AU or interpretation (+ is the closest one to what Martyn said on his lore stream, but a little different) and 3 is one I personally use in my own AU, called Preservers AU, or The ones who watch, the ones who listen, the ones who kill AU (WLK for short).

1. Martyn got fucked up the same way Cleo and Pearl did in Double life.

While doing research into EaE and watching Limited Life lore stream a while back, one particular thing caught my attention. As you may remember, in session 6, Cleo and Pearl were absent and Gem and Lizzie came to fill in for them. I really liked what Martyn lored there - the idea that Double Life messed up with them so much (especially Pearl, but Cleo too) that even after "resting" in the eternal fuckass void that the Watchers throw them into (the void has no name, so may I propose the name I use in my own AU - The Midway, as in the middle of the way between different worlds) they weren't quite in the right mindset to enter the games again - hence, for example, Pearl talking about Tilly in ep 1 of LimL. So, their souls got snached by the Watchers, threw into the void like into a microwave when you need to heat up your food for just a minute longer, and their conciousnesses were replaced with Gem and Lizze's.

And what if the same should've happened to Martyn?

Let's be honest, winning this series messes everyone up, especially if it ends by you backstabbing the only person who was nice to you the whole season (+ some random guy who just happened to be too close to your sword). Especially if we take into account the interpretation that Martyn got briefly possessed by the Watchers as he killed them ("time is delicious" yada yada yada, we know what you are sir). I can totally believe that this win messed with him enough that at the beginning of Secret life, he was still a bit woozy, a bit disjointed. That would explain him being the first yellow, first red, as well as ending up in the bottom half of the leaderboard for the first time. Funny how he was still the only person to never fail a task, I guess even when fucked up by the Watchers he still has his 300 IQ.

But why didn't the Watchers snatch him during Secret life and put him back into the aforementioned void? Cuz they like torturing him too much and they were like "naaaaaah he'll be fineeee" (he wasn't). Or, they wanted to, but they accidentally snatched the wrong blond guy (aka Tango) (just like in Wild life, they mixed up their blondes again and got Martyn killed before Jimmy).

2. The nihilism route

Martyn's explanation during the lore stream was that c!Martyn, after he won, stopped caring about his performance and decided to chill out a bit, hence him doing worse and worse each subsequent season. But c'mon dude, where's the angst? So I propose a slightly changed version.

You go through four painful, draining, exhausting death games. Each time you die too early to reach your goal. You see your friends die, and you die painfully as well. Until one day, it happens. You win, you kill everyone. You're ecstatic, now you can fix everything, free everyone, change everyone's fate and be free-

And then you're tossed into a new game. All your happy murder time didn't matter. You're right back where you started. Not to mention, the one you were fighting for isn't around, still. So what do you do? Wallow in sorrow, of course! You're all stuck and you're all fucked! There is no escape! Nothing matters! (/neg)

So yeah what Martyn said but make it sadder

3. The Watchers hate you, personally (spoilers for my AU! + if it sounds stupid out of context I'm sorry)

(TW for body horror, oops)

So I'm no stranger to writing horrible fates to characters I really like (and unfortunately that includes c!Martyn, this guy is just too fun to mangle repeatedly). In my AU, after a win, each player is granted a singular wish from the Watchers - and that wish is twisted into a sick version, making up the new game. WLK!Martyn, the nosey bastard he is, asked to know everything about the Watchers - all their secrets, all their knowledge, how to defeat them. Watchers said "bet" and in return, gouged out his eye and replaced it with their own, "lending" him some of their powers (with the side effects being migraines, insomnia, being flashed with horrifying visions, throbbing pains in half of his skull and falling off in general). So uh yeah, guy that loses an eye in such a fashion and doesn't have any time to recover will probably have a hard time placing high again.

It could also be made into a non-WLK version where the Watchers mangled him in some other way. Sorry Listeners but you can't save your boy from that, he too far gone

So I hope you liked my little ramble! If you have any of your own ideas, interpretations or even questions lemme know, I love loring and I wanna outlore the lore guy one day :3

[princess-of-songs]

Happy 8 months of Challengers!!! Justin Kuritzkes interview with Al Horner

Shout out to Al, for asking great

questions!!! I thought this was a great interview.

Some of my favorite highlights from the interview:

AH: There’s a reading of this film and Tashi’s arc in particular that kind of like explores the idea, I suppose that like Tashi’s sense of injustice at what was taken from her as this tennis starlet who very much anticipated living one type of life is that like she has this kind of obsession with tennis and winning. She’s trying to vicariously live through Art, but it’s never going to fully satisfy her. And it leads to this, particular love triangle in which, well, the read online is “Patrick loves Art, Art loves Tashi, but Tashi is kind of incapable of loving either because she just loves winning so much, to the point it’s such a point of obsession.” I don’t know if I quite agree with it because like, I do think there’s genuine love for both parties there. But I’m curious what your take is or how you thought of the character as you approached her on the page.

JK: Yeah, I don’t think anybody is that simple, and I don’t think anybody ever wants one thing. I think it, it would be very tidy and very neat to say this one really wants -“He really wants her. She really wants him. All of that.” That I think is kind of like that’s just not as interesting to me as what I feel like is the truth about them, which is that they all want conflicting things. And you know, I think what’s frustrating for Tashi about these two guys is that in a way, I always thought of her as somebody who’s really hungry to be seen fully and to be understood fully and met as she is. Patrick and Art both see parts of her and are both in love with different parts of her. But neither one is in love with the whole thing. Neither one can accept the whole thing. And she is in love with parts of each of these guys, but can’t love the whole thing because they’re deficient in some way. And in a way that demand makes is her deficiency. You know, that sort of stubbornness is her deficiency, but also how could she demand less? She has too much respect for herself. So I think that then gets reflected in the way they all play tennis. Patrick plays in this very wild, naturally gifted, sort of explosive, athletic way. Art plays in this well mannered, studied by the book, disciplined way. But Tashi before her injury, had both. And that’s how you become a great tennis player. There’s a great essay by David Foster Wallace about Roger Federer. He talks about how there was a moment when tennis moved from being classical music to Metallica and that there was a sort of trend around the time that Federer became ascendant of power baseliners, like Nadal, for the most part, that his game is a lot of just power from the baseline. And of course, Nadal does a lot of other stuff very well, but that’s the predominant mode of his tennis, right? This overpowering of the opponent. It’s a very muscular sort of tennis. And what David Foster Wallace says about Federer is that he somehow managed to play classical music and Metallica at the same time. To watch that is liking meeting God. To watch that in person is like a religious experience. And so that was very much what I was thinking about when I was thinking about just how good Tashi is.

AH: There’s a crucial moment later on in the movie where Tashi secretly meets up with Patrick to ask him throw the upcoming match he has against Art and she’s doing this out of love for Art. She wants to boost his ego and arguably their marriage is on the line. It’s tied up in this game. She and Patrick have this explosive argument that leads to them having sex inside his car. And again, in terms of the ambiguity in this film, purposeful ambiguity, there is some debate as to how much of that was premeditated, how much of it was transactional almost, and I’m curious on how you approached all this on the page. Were you kind of aware or were you letting the characters dictate you on what they were doing or what was your read on the granular details of what everyone is doing in that scene?

JK: Well, I think, again, sometimes people are doing things for more reasons than they know, and sometimes people are not on top of their own motivations. And that’s a very exciting place for a character to be because there’s a tension between what a character is saying and what their body is doing. A character is revealing themselves in ways they’re not intending. And I was just as surprised by all of that as I was writing it, as I think people watching it probably are. That was really at that point in the movie, I was trusting the characters to go where they wanted to go. So, yeah, I think I like that you said that she is doing it some respect out of love for Art. Because I do think there is a real part of Tashi that is genuinely trying to make this marriage work for her. And she knows herself well enough to know that if he gives up right now, if she has to watch him completely give up on his career and on his potential and resign himself to being done before he’s forced to by time for instance, that she will not be able to love him. She won’t be able to be there for that. So there’s that. There’s also the fact that Art is the person through whom Tashi has been playing tennis for 10 years or however long it’s been. And so she knows that the moment that Art’s tennis career is over, that’s the end of her tennis career, and she’s not ready to give that up. So she needs that. And at the same time, she probably really, there’s a part of her that really wants to see Patrick and really wants to get into that car, and she wants to jolt Patrick out of his slump and out of his self pity and out of his bullshit. So I’m not sure she knows at the moment that what she’s really after is what ends up happening at the end of the movie, where everybody’s cards are out on the table and they’re all pushing each other to in some ways be the best selves and in some ways be their most naked selves. I don’t know if she’s got enough of a handle on the situation to have a fully planned to that’s where she’s trying to lead everything. But I think she’s got a lot of different competing stories that she’s telling herself about why she’s in the car.

And Patrick is the kind of guy that goes, you do want to fuck me, you’re here because you want to fuck me and you’re so full of shit, you won’t admit it to yourself. And that says everything about why she feels the way she does about Patrick, both good and bad.

Tashi has easily become one of my favorite characters and it’s nice to hear when your interpretations are similar to the writer and actress’s interpretations. It feels like I’m not just spitballing lol.

Justin also talked about how the signal was something that was always there and he was writing towards it. Also shoutout to pega on Ao3, Justin said if Art wasn’t playing tennis, he’d be in medical school. You cooked on that one. He also talked Luca mentioning the corners of the love triangle literally touching and how important it was to include a scene where all 3 of them have a moment of togetherness and it being a major thing that the 3 of them are trying to get that feeling back again.