#why must the internet be so cruel

[nenafirerose]

Today, I'm thinking about Roro-Chan and I really want to fucking kill someone but I can't. I want to get revenge for her but I can't, she reminds me of how truly cruel this internet is. But at the same time, how kind it could be.

Kindness is only reserved for the dead it seems, but yet the living also deserve that sweetness and kindness. Why must we only be treated oh so kindly when we're dead? Why can't people treat us as humans when we're alive?

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: NSFW, dubcon, bathroom sex, bullying, overall just really filthy smut, virgin insert, virginity loss, somewhat dom reader, somewhat bully reader, somewhat yandere reader

♡ FEM reader

You look like one of those girls that never smiles. Like, if he were to take that empty seat next to you in the lecture hall, you’d scowl with stink eyes and then proceed to fully ignore him. Yeah, a real bitch. That's what you look like—scary. He bets all your socials are filled with the same picture—the same deadpanned pouty face over and over, every single one with hundreds of likes and comments saying “Wow, babe!” followed by a dozen emojis from besties and horny admirers. Selfies in the mirror, showing off skin in your tight tops and short skirts—similar to the outfit you’re wearing now. Captions saying, “You can look, but you could never touch.” Yeah, he bets you’re a real attention whore. And the worst part is that you’re not even overselling, either. You’re gorgeous—even with that sour look on your face, he’d pay cold, hard-earned cash in exchange for a pair of your worn panties.

Yeah, there’s no way he’d dare sit next to you. He’s already sweating bullets just thinking about it. Even though you’re one in a million similar girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day, he's still one in a million loser incels who would do anything for it. And that’s the cold reality.

Even if he’d like to get just a whiff of your sweet perfume, he can’t. The status quo forbids it. He’s afraid the jocks will smell fresh blood in the water the moment he does, then swarm him in a matter of seconds, circling before tearing him to shreds. They’d beat him to a pulp in the bathroom, smash his head in over the sink—piss in the toilet, then flush it down with his bloodied face—and he’d have to walk reeking of it all the way home.

So, no—he really can’t sit next to you. 

But no other seats are available, and the lecture is starting soon… 

Why did absolutely everyone decide to show up today?

Oh fuck it, this isn’t high school. College bullies surely don’t bother with petty cases like this, right? They’re all about their frat initiations and rivalries to have enough spare time to beat him up over improper seating. Oh, but what if you’re one of their girlfriends—you’ll tell on him, and then he’ll definitely be beaten up, maybe even killed.

No. He’s overthinking—like always. No one is that mean. If you don’t like him sitting there, you’ll just tell him. And he’ll move. No harm done. Right? He’s not sitting in the stairwell when there’s a perfectly good and empty seat right there, right? Is he?

Yes. Yes, he is. 

“Hey, if you’re looking for a seat, this one’s empty,” a sweet voice calls out over his inner monologue, making him clutch the strap of his bookbag tighter with a flinch of his entire rigid body—his eyes peeled as he looked around to try and find the source of the sound even though he knew where it had come from. It’s as if the possibility of your voice sounding like anything aside from a she-demon was out of the question. But no, it is you. 

But there’s no way you’re talking to him, so he looks around again—there must be someone else in need of the seat aside from him. But then, why are you looking right at him? Are you pulling some type of prank? Are you really that cruel? You’re probably filming him or something—live-streaming—the chat’s blaring with ew, what a creep and omg, uggo alert right about now. He should just go home before the jocks, along with the rest of the internet, can get him.

“Are you okay?” you ask—but no, he must be hearing you wrong—there’s just no way, even though you’re looking right at him. “I think it’s starting soon—you should probably sit.”

It’s as if his fight or flight response is broken because he does the exact opposite of either—as if on autopilot, sitting down in a rush against his better judgment.

The lecture starts shortly, solidifying his choice, but he can’t pay attention. No, he needs to keep his guard up. Any second now, someone’s going to do a drive-by and throw a milkshake at him or something vile of the like, and you’ll have filmed it all even though he can’t spot you holding a phone—and then the entire hall would burst into laughter at his expense.

“Pst—” A soft whisper comes from next to him, from between the gloss of your pretty lips. You smell like candy and fruit, and it makes his gut tighten—both from anxiety and something more shameful. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a pen I could borrow? Mine’s all out’a ink.”

You give him an awkward smile, and he very nearly runs away. But no, he’s glued to the seat—with nervously wrecked hands shaking as he bends for his bag and unzips it, reaching for his pencil case painfully slow as if disarming some type of bomb. Redoing the same when he opens the case and rummages for a viable pen he could offer.

When he hands it to you, he’s almost sure you plan to stab him with it. But you do no such thing.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver!” You cheer instead, beaming with a much brighter smile than before. “I owe you!”

His ears ring with your praise. Blushing beat red as he rips away from your gaze—still unable to focus on what the professor is preaching—not when from out of the corner of his eye, he can see you sucking on his pen like a lollypop—or something else not so innocent.

Oh, he’d been so wrong.

So, so, so very wrong.

You do smile. You smile a lot, actually. You just have one of those faces that rests bitchy. But still, bubbly airhead or not, a girl like you still shouldn't be seen with a loser like him. It’s social suicide. And still, you’re on your knees before him in a dirty little bathroom stall—the same dirty bathroom stall he feared getting a swirlie, scraping the walls with his nails to try and thwart his assailants—only, now clutching the walls for a much different reason, holding on for his mortal soul as you seek to suck it out of his fat throbbing cock.

You want to repay him—you’d said—for the pencil. He hadn't understood why you’d winked at him before you’d all but dragged him off and flung him inside the men’s bathroom, having his very life flash before his eyes.

You both make the sloppiest sounds as you make an utter mess on and of him, making him cry on all fronts—cock weeping with thick pearly beads of pre while his eyes well up with tears down his flushed face, all sweaty with panic and bliss. 

The moans springing from his chest are virginal and raw and sweet music to your ears, panting for you like a puppy—you’re sure they can hear him out in the hallway when passing by. One of his hands clasps itself on top of his mouth, holding tightly to keep it all within—eyes shut and brows cinched. And yet, he makes no effort to shove you off—hips left jerking and jittering in response to your refined technique where you take him deeply, all the way down to the base, hallowing your cheeks, throttling him with your throat as your tongue wipes his creamy slit clean.

It’s painfully clear he’s never experienced anything like it, but that’s what turns you on the most. Sick as you are, you could suck him dry and savor every drop of him, knowing you’re the first ever to get a taste. But no, by now, your pussy’s so soaked you feel yourself dripping past the soggy lace of your panties, running down your soft thighs in waste.

He’s misty-eyed when you pull off with an ever-cruel pop—a sick mix of relief and sorrow warping his chest, feeling conflicted by the pulse making him think he’s on the verge of a heart attack if you continue—and another strumming his cock, making him think he’s going to keel over and die if you leave him unfinished.

Even so, he’s in a state of complete shell shock as you mount him on top of the toilet seat he’s melting against. Chest heaving, watching you as you lift your skirt up and peal your slick underwear to the side for him to lay his bleary swiveled eyes on your bared and dripping pussy.

“I love nice guys like you—” you moan, pouring the honeyed words down his throat as you ghost his parted lips with your spit-slicked ones, straddling his lap and shimmying ever closer until your tits squish against his chest. “They make me so wet, I lose all self-control.” 

He gulps in your shadow, looking up at you for mercy—cock twitching painfully between your thighs as your wrap your hand around his base real snug, giving him a nice tug as you line him up with your needy heat—making him all but squeal beneath you.

Your other hand makes its way into his hair, braiding your fingers within the locks to hold him steady—gently pulling his head back while leering down at him like caught prey. Playing with him just so, teasing him with your words, all in your sultry voice, making his head spin hot with a fever, “You’ll be a good boy and fuck me, won’t you? Pretty please?”

His breaths are heavy and wet, coming out shaky with his instant answer, “Y-yes—” all weak in a pathetic whimper that almost has you cum too soon.

“You’re so nice~ thank you,” you croon against his lips, kissing him sloppily with your tongue in his mouth as you shift your hips and start lowering your sopping cunt down upon his seeking length, taking him in with greedy ease, eagerly gripping his soft cockhead like a toy in a claw machine.

“Fhu—fuck—” he stutters under his breath, whinging before planting his teeth into his lip to keep it at bay—feeling like putty beneath you, sweaty and heavy and dumb, eagerly wanting all which you sought to give him—only more flushed at your mean undertones as you play with him like food on a silver platter.

You sling your arms around his neck and push your chest harder against him, moaning all too brazenly, “Oh! Fuck yes—that’s so good,” you sing while slowly taking him in further. “A nice guy with a big bad bully’s dick is the best!” 

He whines in return as his inches get eaten—each devoured one by one until his tip kneads into the mouth of your womb.

Sighing happily, you kiss his cheek and put your lips right at his ear with another wanton whimper, “You fill me up so so good.” Roosting on the size, thighs resting flush against his, feeling all giddy as it stretches you out oh-so-nicely. “Such a good toy-cock for me,” keening at the way it twitches inside you, pulsing in response to your tight walls, clenching it in ways it’s never before felt.

His eyes are already rolling back into his skull once you start lolling your hips—riding him, but keeping him deep at all times—lifting just enough for it to pull out only a little before sinking back down, making it settle into that perfect needy little spot inside you that makes your whole body shiver in delight.

“Mmh,” You suck his ear lobe, releasing it with a soft bite, before smiling down at him and his sweat-pilled expression. Cooing at him, “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

He can’t even answer with words anymore, only giving a dumb mewl as he nods his head. But, of course, you’re already well aware.

“Mmh—” your eyes gleam with delight, giving his lap a mean ride, leaving him all but breathless, before asking, “D’you like it, virgin boy? ‘You like my pussy? Like the way it milks your chubby cock for your cum?”

He nods again, even more eagerly this time—looking downright pathetic in every sense of the word.

“Do you want to?” you offer to his desperation, feeling as though he’s falling apart at your fingertips, needing you to hold him together. “I’ll let you since you’re such a sweet guy—” you tease while clenching his cock, making it impossible to want anything else no matter the consequence. “In exchange for a favor, of course.”

He couldn’t care less what the favor was—way beyond willing to pay any price you ask of him as he finally makes a move and grabs your hips with a strength you hadn’t thought he had the balls to perform, planting you down firmly and holding you with such need as his hips jitter and stutter—resting his cheek on your shoulder in drool and tears with a lovesick groan leaving him as he fills your pussy up with his creamy spend.

His whole body shakes—spasming in cute little aftershocks as he clutches onto your body, hugging you tightly.

You respond in kind, cuddling him and kissing the top of his head. “That was so warm and filling—what a good boy—you did so well,” you murmur ever-sweetly while petting his head, combing through his sweaty locks with your long glitter-pink nails—keeping your voice saccharine. “Did you enjoy yourself, hm? Your first time cumming in pussy instead of your dirty ol’ sock?”

You pick his face up—cupping his sloppy jaw in both palms—his eyes half-mast and glazed as you nose-kiss him with a smile on your face.

“You loved it, didn’t you? Silly virgin boy…”

Your cunt tingles at the sight of him—wrecked beauty, sweaty and undone. You feel his cock unswell inside you and decide to lift off and release him—letting it flop out and splat on his tummy in a puddle of slick.

“Look,” you fuss, holding his face in direction of it. “You made such a pretty mess—isn’t it lovely?”

Your pussy is left glistening and puffy, still wanting and waiting for its final hurrah. Your breath turns headier and so does your voice, now with a new darkness to it as  you whisper, “Time for that favor, sweet boy.” 

He blinks dumbly, impossibly hopeless, wrapped so tightly around your pinky it’s pitiful. Of course, you take advantage—guiding his head to level with your cunt. 

“Open wide, tongue out flat.”

He obeys wordlessly. And oh god it makes your gut stir viscously—watching his tongue loll free between parted lips.

Your voice flares with bliss at the sight, shy of unhinged, as you giggle breathily, “That’s right—taste the pretty mess you made.”

He’s pushed face-first, trapped between your thighs with his jaw like an open cup beneath you, tonguing the mixed slick from your slit and slurping it all up without shame.

And fuck—it feels so good, you lose even more of your mind while tugging him even closer—all but pulling him off the toilet seat, making him kneel down on the floor instead. And still, he makes no effort to escape, but the opposite—seeking to go deeper into your cunt, crying into you as he laps up every last drop of yours and his arousal—making your thighs quake around him, grinding down against his mouth, onto his eager tongue, having it pet your clit over and over until you also come to the same sudden stumbling halt.

“Yes—yes! Oh, fuck! I’m gonna—it’s coming—”

And there it goes, ripping along your loins, surging from your lower belly. With both your hands tangled harshly in his hair, he’s not going anywhere, lips locked with yours as it starts pouring.

You’re squirting on him—hot and hard—on his tongue, inside his mouth, down his throat, in his belly. You’re squirting on him and he’s drinking it, he realizes—but even so, he isn’t able to stop. Instead, he unwinds his jaw even wider, digs his tongue deeper, and accepts every drop of the warm stream as it drenches his face and splashes down his collar and shoulders, utterly soaking his shirt, making in see-through as it clings to his chest like a second skin.

You’ve closed your eyes and thrown your head back, basking in every last little twitch of your body as you relieve yourself all over his face.

Finally, after a moment, you let go of his hair and step back—feeling refreshed and happy with your work—seeing the poor loser sit before the toilet, all drenched and exhausted with his limp cock spent and messy, looking like a beautiful wreck.

You smile, pulling your panties back in place, and you skirt down again before unlocking the stall and opening the door, only looking back at him for a moment, tapping your nail at a few matching pink scribbles written on the wall. “Here’s my number and address if you wanna have more fun." And then you leave, just like that. "Bye-bye~”

♡ BNHA – Amajiki, Deku, Shigaraki, Shinso ♡ JJK – Yuuta, Choso, Nanami ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kenma ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Isagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[atlantis-just-drowned]

I thought I was unique and original but turns out there's a strip club that has the same name as me

[saerotonins]

biggest scandals they have faced

ft. actor!nanami kento, fushiguro toji x wife!reader (separated) 

content warnings: fluff, light angst, jjk actor au, celebrity issues, cheating allegations, divorce allegations, none of them are true, misogyny, mentions of infertility, just cruel stuff based on the issues i see online, slightly suggestive (making out), toji and wife call each other "ma" and "pa", mentions/hinting of sex, internet trolls, horrible people online, pls don't read if these issues are triggering to you, shitty article names lol

wc: 2052

note: this got too long, will do other parts for the other actors instead <33 happy holidays, everyone!

NANAMI KENTO:

Jujutsu Kaisen Star Nanami Kento Facing Trouble in Paradise: Leads to Divorce

to say he was irritated when he saw the headlines from the tabloids was an understatement, he is beyond livid. but the comments just made everything worse.

user_1: wow aren't they married for years already? maybe his wife can't conceive any babies? LOL

user_2: must be, or maybe nanami's just realized his wife is just using him for his actor money 

user_3: the wife doesn't know to make a sandwich i fear 

user_4: maybe he got tired of his wife's ugly face, no wonder he hides it from the internet hahaha

kento doesn't give a fuck if people were dragging his name left and right but god forbid it involves you, his loving wife who has been nothing but utterly supportive of his career. for someone who stuck by his side for years, it angers him that people immediately assume that you were the problem. he knows the news isn't true, he literally just cuddled with you last night, so to say that you were getting a divorce almost makes him laugh if it weren't how stupid this situation is. 

when his manager informed him about the situation, he immediately cancelled every schedule that he has for today, he will call the lawyers to settle this later but for now, his main focus is you. 

you are someone who is used to the privacy of your own space which is why you opted to keep your face off his socials and remain anonymous to the eyes of his fans. kento hates it that your peace is getting disturbed due to his stardom, so he is willing to drop everything just to go home to you and comfort you. no one knows who you really are but the way it made people talk like they do, makes him angry. no way his wife is going to be disrespected like this.

the moment kento opens the door the your shared home, he's panting, sweat evident in his forehead and worry present in his eyes as he looks at you across the living room, sitting on the couch with your phone in your hands. 

"shit," he thought, he knows you already saw the news, and worse the comments. he can tell just by your body language. your eyes sunken in sadness and your lips form a frown. he doesn't see it but he knows your heart is breaking too.

"honey," kento breathes out as he walks towards you. he knows you heard him, but you stay in your position, disbelief flooding your senses. suddenly, you came back to reality when you feel kento's warm embrace, his large and quick hands getting rid of your phone before placing it on your head and immediately feeling his chest against your head.

his breathing his ragged, unstable deep breaths as he tells you, "it's gonna be okay," and a thousand apologies to go with it. you nod instead, finding yourself difficult to talk. you opt to rub onto his arm, a silent reply to his comforting and kento seems to understand your gesture. he then kisses the crown of your head as he pulls you tighter in his embrace.

"am i holding you back, kento?" you asked, your voice quite muffled as you speak through his button down blouse.

"oh god, darling you will never hold me back, if anything, you keep me moving. don't listen to them, alright? i'm happy and contented to where we are right now, don't worry about it." he lets go of the embrace and cups your face with both of his hands. he looks at you with loving eyes as he brushes your lower lip with his thumb. you close your eyes as he leaned closer, then you finally felt his lips against yours. he gives a peck, another, and then a third one before he crashes his lips onto you for the last time as he takes his time to explore your mouth.

kento knows a lot of ways to apologize, and this is one of them. he is gentle, but his love is loud as he allows his tongue clash against yours, the wet squelch filling up the room as he allows himself to be drunk with your lips.

when kento lets go, his breathing is heavy but satisfied. "i'll take care of everything from then on, okay?" he says as he caresses your face and a smile creeps to his face when you lean towards his touch with a nod. "will you be releasing a statement?" you ask.

"yeah, i'll contact our lawyer about it and then we'll see what we can do." his answer earned a curt nod from you. kento noticed pursed your lips, obviously thinking about something.

"are you still bothered by the comments?"

"no, i mean, i'm a bit upset about how people were talking about me online but i'm just curious as to where all this came from." 

"hmm, yeah, we'll take care of that too, for now, just rest your pretty mind and always remember that i will never leave you. that okay?" his gentle voice makes your heart feel full, and that's you know that your husband will always be at your beck and call. "yeah." you answered as you give his lips a quick peck, "i love you," you added.

"i love you too."

not a even a day later, the JJK LABEL had released a statement and an article regarding the fake news that had surfaced.

Nanami Kento Slams Fake Divorce Article: "Don't project your problems in your love life through me and my wife."

"the article itself and the comments are horrible and people are stupid enough to believe something that came from a tabloid known to release fake news. maybe this just tells about how gullible and stupid people are for believing groundless rumors and not my relationship." the artist stated.

"to everyone involved in the release of this article, we will see you on court and i hope you have any evidence about your claim. to the people who threw disgusting comments about my wife, please worry how alone you are instead of snooping around our relationship." he adds.

that day, kento's fanbase rejoice as the tabloids finally got their karma when it was reported that their company was finally shut down.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

it was a normal day in the fushiguro household until megumi bursts in through the door with a loud and resounding—

"dad, what the fuck?" 

"megumi, language, please!" you warned him.

your word goes through megumi's ears and went to his dad who is currently lounging in the living room reading his script. he paid his son's words no mind and gave him a raised eyebrow, urging him to continue.

"your name is all over tabloids because of a forum post. look," megumi says as he faces his phone screen to toji's face. to say that he's horrified to what he just saw is an understatement. so, with a worry mind, you go behind toji's lounging chair and read what's on the screen.

Acting Veteran 'T' Caught in An Affair! 

At the night of Tuesday, Actor 'T' is caught leaving a hotel with a seemingly younger woman clinging on his arms. The two are being lovey-dovey in their Shibuya rendezvous. Actor 'T' is currently married with a child which makes everything even more scandalous. What would actor 'T'’s wife and child think about this? Seems like the man really took a liking towards sneaking away with younger women.

Actor 'T'’s identity will be released by [MM/DD/YY] so stay tuned! For now, let us know your thoughts below.

user_1: actor veteran and the code is T? must be toji then?

user_2: this is definitely toji lmfao he looks like someone who would fool a younger woman

user_3: his wife must be so rusty now so he's running to the younglings LOL

user_4: respect for having the balls to cheat on his wife after this long, ik his ass is itching

user_5: @user_4 LMFAO should've done it sooner! bet he doesn't want to pay child support so he's staying 😂

user_6: NOOOO the GOAT got caught damn we were rooting for u 👑

"what the fuck?" both you and toji's voice were erupting in the whole room. out of shock? anger? rage? megumi is not sure but there is one thing he's sure of, both of you are being scary right now and the red in both of you and husband's eyes are almost showing due to the high range of emotions you were both feeling right now.

despite knowing that toji is utterly in love with you and he was actually with you that day, it scares him that his father is facing this kind of scandal. people are horrible out there trying to ruin his father's career that he worked hard on and this is the proof.

toji might be used to having false rumors spread about him all over the years he is in the acting industry, but what he can't take is people talking shit about his wife and thinking less about her. the comments that he just read just woke up the rage inside of him.

"mom?" megumi had called you since it's been minutes when you had gone quiet. the sight before him broke his heart. 

your eyes are trying not to let your tears fall, but the comments are too hurtful to ignore, too cruel to set aside. even though you know that it's covered with a codename (barely), you exactly know it's your husband that they are talking about. you're hurt about the comments but you're most scared of your husband's career coming to a screeching halt.

you suddenly feel your husband hug you so tight and you let it all out. his shirt might get damped but toji doesn't care, comforting his wife comes first. he then tells megumi, "call our lawyer, tell him what we just saw, they'll know what to do," megumi frantically nods and gets out of the house to do what toji had said.

"come on, ma, let's go and get some rest." toji had urged you to go with him.

"pa, this is so ridiculous, i know you know how to deal with these but this is just too much, they're targeting our family now." the sadness in your voice and the tears that flow through face break toji's heart. you don't deserve this. these assholes needed to be taught a lesson, and he knows he won't be nice about it. "i'll take care of this, 'kay? i love you and megs so much, angel."

toji's voice somehow calmed your senses and you let yourself cry in his arms until you're left with no tears. "i'm sorry, i'm too old to cry like this." you said as you try to wipe the remnants of your tears from your face.

"no one's too old to cry, darling," toji coos, glad that you're finally able to calm down, and caresses the back of your head. then, a sly smirk forms on his lips, "you know what else we're not too old for?" 

genuinely curious, you look up to him, "what?" you asked. 

toji leaned down and whispered, "another child, think we can give megumi a sibling?" and gave you a mischievous look.

"toji!" you exclaimed as you smack his chest, flustered of his words. 

"gross, get a room, and is now really the time for this?" you suddenly let go of yourself from toji's grasp the moment you heard megumi back in the living room. toji chuckled, "i got it all covered, both of you rest up and i will deal with all of this." toji walked towards where megumi is standing and gives his head a gentle pat, "no one's gonna ruin us, alright?" 

the conviction in toji's voice made it clear to both of you and megumi that he already has a plan in mind, and you trust him enough to believe him. he has never let the both of you down, after all.

the next day, news break out the the person who posted the rumor on the online forum is caught with other criminal charges aside from the defamation he just attempted to do. the horrible comments also seem to magically disappear.

Fushiguro Toji Busts Down Anonymous User, Other Criminal Charges Involved

"I hope this serves as a lesson to everyone else. I'm not backing down until everyone gets what they deserve for ruining the names of the people I care about. I will not let go until every single horrible person who rises their tongue against my family is punished." Toji stated.

"Be careful what you read and comment online, please don't forget that the people you talk about are not just subjects, but real human beings." The veteran actor added.

the fake news spreader should have really known not to deal with a veteran who is powerful enough to protect the people he cherishes.

edit: i just noticed that i wasn't able to add the ending to toji's part 😭 my apologies, i fixed it now!

[leaentries]

through it all | luke hughes

summary: when the comments start getting to her, luke is there to show his girl he'll be there through it all.

warnings: rude comments, body shaming, fat shaming, angst (w/ a happy ending), swearing

wc: forgot to keep track but a lot

The constant ticking of the clock seemed to mock you, counting away the time wasted reading those insufferable words. You typically veered away from the comment section altogether, but something about the empty apartment weakened your resolve. 

Being away on a roadie, Luke didn’t understand the trouble that plagued your mind. He always made sure to make you feel like the only girl in the world, so why was it that as soon as he leaves, you fall apart? He didn’t understand how the words of others held so much power over you, how they held you hostage. 

You sat, legs tucked under you, holding your phone with shaky hands. Something in you had hoped for better. Maybe people changed their views about you and everything that came with. Maybe you could finally open social media without the constant fear of ridicule. Yet, you were proved wrong once again. The comments hadn’t changed and neither did the way your throat contracted in disgust and embarrassment.

User4562: still can’t believe luke would date someone like her

Fan93: get this whale outta here pls 

Hater365: luke is so much hotter then her?? shes not even pretty??

User67:  this is kinda embarrassing for her tbh

Fan42: girl needs to learn what the gym is asap

Hater6783: pretty sure her thighs are bigger than his…

User3421: comments did not disappoint💀

Hot tears filled your eyes as the negativity swarmed your senses. How could people be so cruel? Deep sobs wracked through your body as you let your phone fall to the couch. You grabbed the nearest pillow, pulling it into your chest.

You felt suffocated. The weight of being in the spotlight and the tense wave of hate was too much. You couldn’t fully understand why people were so bothered by your appearance or the fact that Luke had chosen you.

Though, in all fairness, you couldn’t grasp why Luke chose you, either. He had a roster of beautiful, fit women at his beck and call, yet he was bouncing his way home to you every night. No matter how many times he expressed his love, it was too big for you to comprehend.

So, there you sat, mascara running down your face, sobbing into a throw pillow because random people on the internet decided you weren’t good enough.

❥.

You must have fallen asleep at some point through your cries, because as your swollen eyes managed to peek open, you noticed the sunlight beginning to shine through your living room curtains. For a peaceful moment, you forgot the previous night’s turmoil. You let yourself fully wake up, slowly sitting to adjust to your surroundings.

Confusion plagued you as you realized you were on the couch. Your face fell with gloom as reality hit you like a truck. Swarms of comments flashed in your mind once more, diminishing any energy you had for the day.

Although, as you slumped back into the cushions, you heard the front door unlock.

Shit.

You grabbed your phone to check the time, only to be met with a black screen. Your phone must have died during the night, rendering your alarm to go pick up Luke, pointless. Standing from the couch, you rush to the kitchen to make yourself look busy.

Luke swung the door open, trudging in with all his bags.

“Hey angel, I thought you were picking me up?” He chuckled, “You’re lucky Dawson lives in our complex, or I would have been stranded.”

“Yeah-” You cleared your throat trying to will away the tightness, “Yeah, I’m sorry, Lukey. My phone died last night.”

Luke shook his head at your forgetfulness. He quickly set down his bags by the kitchen table, noticing the state of the living room.

His brows furrowed, “Did you sleep in the living room last night?”

Panic flooded deep in your stomach. You should have known Luke would get suspicious. After all, he knew how picky you were about where you slept.

Scrambling for a lie, you responded with a quick, “I was watching a movie and fell asleep.”

Luke walked over to where you busied yourself by cleaning the leftover dishes. You sucked in a breath, hoping you didn’t appear too disheveled. Ducking your head closer to your chest, you tried to look anywhere else but Luke’s face as he took to the spot next to you.

“Y/n?” Luke’s voice came in a soft whisper.

When he didn’t get a response, he gently reached to grab the faucet handle, turning it till the water trickled to a halt. Grabbing the dish towel nearby, he also helped dry your hands while you sat limply.

In truth, you were too afraid to speak, or move. You were afraid that if you looked into Luke’s sorrowful eyes, you’d crack. You’d finally show the version of yourself that the internet sees, the version that he’d hate.

Luke set down the towel, his eyes seeking your downcast face. “Y/n, baby? Please talk to me.”

You shook your head slightly, pulling away as his hand brushed up your arm.

“D-did I do something?” Luke began to worry, he’s never seen you act like this, “Was I gone too long? I thought we facetimed enough, but I can try to call you more.”

It broke your heart to hear him. The simple fact that he assumed it was himself and wanted to fix it. He was too good for you, the internet saw it, you saw it. So naturally, it was only a matter of time before he did too.

“No,” You let out a deep sigh, “It’s not you, Luke.”

He swallowed thickly, nerves beginning to take over his senses. “Then what is it, angel? Please, I just want to help you.”

Hot tears blurred in your eyes, he finally broke your resolve.

Luke immediately pulled you into his chest, his calloused hands moving to cradle the back of your head as you sobbed. He was at a loss. Not knowing what the correct thing to do was, he held you tighter. Luke was prepared to hold you forever if it meant you’d stop crying. He could swear a piece of his heart dies every time he sees you cry.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed as he stoked your hair, “Angel, it’s okay. I promise, I’m here.”

You gripped his hoodie, scared he’d disappear from under your fingertips.

The both of you remained in each other’s embrace until you found your breath regulating. Pulling away, you swore Luke winced when he saw your bloodshot, puffy eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go to the couch.” He guided you carefully, making sure to help you get comfortable enough to talk to him. Once you had settled into his side, he finally nudged you to start talking.

“If you’re ready, will you tell me what’s wrong, baby?”

Deciding to go against your gut will to hide the truth, you pulled out your phone, now freshly charged. You shakily opened up your social media, hitting into the comment section.

“Here,” You placed the phone into Luke’s hand, “Just scroll.”

Upon beginning to read the first few comments, you could see Luke’s face visibly grow stern and frustrated. He bit the inside of his cheek as angry tears welled in his eyes. Luke felt every muscle in his body tense with hatred and fury towards the lowlifes that would dare to say such vile things about his girlfriend.

He shut the phone off and tossed it away, not being able to handle reading another word of the electric slander on your screen.

It took a moment for Luke to compose himself, taking deep breaths and debating on how to approach the situation.

Now, of course Luke had grown used to people writing heavily opinionated articles and hate comments about him. Hell, he even got used to seeing it about his brothers. But something he never considered was the impact it would have on you.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes shot up at Luke’s apology.

Why is he apologizing?

He had his head down, fingers picking at each other. He looked guilty, as if, somehow, he caused all of this to happen.

“What?”

Luke wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is my fault.”

You shook your head sternly, “No it’s not, Luke. It’s mine” Your voice went quiet.

Luke slowly looked up to see fresh tears cascading in taunting rivers down your cheeks.

“It’s my fault for being not good enough.”

He tried to protest, but was only silenced by your words.

“It’s so hard trying to be perfect all the time. Especially when all I’m getting is ridicule for living my life. It’s not fair that I have to have my head on a constant swivel because some person decided my body wasn’t up to standard. It’s not fair that I have to wake up, everyday, worried you’ll realize you deserve so much more than me.”

Luke’s own tears rolled down his face at your confession. He couldn’t quite get a handle on how long you have felt this way.

His beautiful girl.

His heart shattered, “I- I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand, Luke.” You interrupted, “It’s just the way it is. People who look like you don’t love people who look like me.”

His face grew grim.

“No, Y/n. What I don’t understand is how you can think like that. I mean, fuck, don’t you realize you’re every thought I have before bed. And every breath of air I breathe when I wake up. I don’t know who these “people” are that you’re referring to, but I’m not one of them.”

Luke took your face in his hands, “You are my girl. And if I have to spend the rest of our lives proving that to you, then I will.”

There wasn’t much you could say through the thickness of emotion. You threw your arms around Luke, his own coming to dig into your plushy hips.

“Thank you, Lukey.” You mumbled into his neck.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“Always.”

Maybe you were enough for him.

[vhagarlovebot]

MAKE THE FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS, TAKE THE MOMENT AND TASTE IT | AEMOND TARGARYEN

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU summary: in wich aemond is not afraid to make his move. very, very publicly, making the whole internet go insane. pairings: actor!aemond x singer!reader content warnings: faceclaim is sabrina carpenter but you can imagine reader as you'd like, some cursing, taylor swift/travis kelce inspired plot, use of y/n because it is necessary!! if you don’t like it, sorry. note: omg i can't believe i'm doing this, hope you enjoy this piece little piece as much as i enjoyed making it! as i say; being delulu is the solulu. and here i am feeding into all out delusions. comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated! love you, mwah. 💋

TWITTER ‣ AUG 12, 2023.

INSTAGRAM ‣ AUG 12, 2023.

INSTAGRAM ‣ AUG 13, 2023.

Liked by taylorswift, aemondtargaryen, gracieabrams and 1,221,948 others

yourusername oldtown i couldn’t love you more. had the best first night with you and we still have three more to go! thanks so much to everyone there, i couldn't do this whout you. see you tonight for round 2? 🤍

view all 9,328 comments

user1 i can't believe i couldn't be there

zendaya had the best night with u!

yourusername thank u sm for coming, love you. 💗

user2 MOTHER IS MOTHERING

user3 i don't now if i wanna be her or if i wanna be with her

user4 I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT I SEE AEMOND TARGARYEN IN HER LIKES

user5 I THOUGHT IT WAS A MISTAKE AT FIRST user6 I mean he was at Oldtown night1 so... user7 HE WENT TO HER CONCERT? user8 BESTIE HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE PICS?

troyesivan see you 2night oldtown. ✌️

AEMOND TARGARYEN INTERVIEW ‣ AUG 25, 2023.

TWITTER ‣ AUG 25-26, 2023.

INSTAGRAM ‣ SEPT 21, 2023.

Liked by jace_velaryon, therhaenatarg and 891,648 others

fairyhelaena friends and family for the weekend @ highgarden. 💚🌺🪴🍃🕊️

view all 4,778 comments

lucerys03 looking 💯 as always.

baelatarg stop lying to yourself

user9 OH MY GOD IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS

user10 is that @yourusername in the second slide???

user11 yes!! she's in the fourth one too

yourusername 🤍🤍🤍

user12 it's impossible that she doesn't know about what aemond said, right? user13 knowing how jace is i'm sure she already knows. they probably were giving her a hard time lol

user14 Y/N hanging out with aemond's family but not him would never not make me laugh

user15 he's out there telling the world he likes her and she still hasn't say anything user16 and she doesn't have to. leave the poor girl alone user17 i mean she spent the whole weekend with aemond's sister and nephews, maybe he was there too user18 sorry to disappoint you but he's in king's landing user19 bro must be fuming, everyone in his family meeting his girl except for him

Liked by oliviarodrigo, nicholasgalitzine, aemondtargaryen and 955,899 others

yourusername took a couple of days off to hang out with some friends. see you in a bit for the second and final leg of the cruel summer tour! 💌

view all 11,565 comments

user20 she's glowing

user21 wait- i feel like i've seen that guy before

user22 that's because he's aemond's nephew and also an actor

fairyhelaena my pretty 🌟

user23 THAT'S LUKE VELARYON???????

user24 HE IS !!!!! user25 yes he is, she was with aemond's family during the weekend

user26 idk why but i have the feeling that aemond saw these pics and ran to call luke

user27 and was probably screaming at him for an hour lol user28 another reason for aemond to hate him user29 he doesn't hate him, he's family user28 you can hate family user30 stfu it is well known that they have had their differences but they're in good terms now user31 besides who are we to talk about it? that's private. there are comments under aemond's posts of them joking with each other lol user30 idk why she's talking shit.

user32 WHY IS SHE WITH HIS FAMILY BUT NOT WITH HIM?

user33 what world are we living in

iMESSAGE ‣ SEPT 31, 2023.

TWITTER ‣ OCT 10, 2023.

TWITTER ‣ OCT 28, 2023.

TWITTER ‣ DEC 04, 2023.

let me give you a kiss if you make it here! and let me know if you'd like a part 2 of this little smau. as i said comments & reblog are greatly appreciated!

[lizardsfromspace]

So I guess Film Twitter is apoplectic with rage over some people suggesting they have intermissions in long movies. Not over theaters adding one without the director's consent, but like, at the concept of them

...by which I mean, getting mad at disabled people daring to have complaints. There's a lot of "HAHA are you so STUPID you can't go beforehand? You can't HOLD it for three hours?" and implying you don't deserve to experience art if you can't

And, of course, because Film Twitter is a bunch of insular discourse-addled dipshits, they're tying this...to Marvel. Yes, people are only saying they have health conditions that make sitting still for a three hour movie is because...they're Marvel fans mad at Scorsese, or something?

Why is this complaint new? Well, bc runtimes are ballooning to the levels of the old epic filmmaking days of the 50s-70s. And those movies...had intermissions. Multi-act plays have intermissions. Bollywood films have intermissions. Intermissions were literally just abandoned so studios could cram in more screenings, not out of an artistic ideal. But anyone saying "this would make it easy for me to access this film I want to see" needs to be viciously shouted down and called a moronic, lazy child hating on Scorsese bc of "discourse"

I've seen that meme multiple times and Jesus, look at the bizarre disdain for your fellow human beings embedded in it. You dare still bodily exist during a Martin Scorsese movie? You have a disability I don't? Well, I have no problem just peeing beforehand and not buying popcorn or a soda (you should really just sit their quietly until it's done, when you can pull out your phone to log it on Letterboxd), so what's your problem?

Calling people who are into non-blockbuster films "film bros" is mostly untrue, but man, the hardcore Film Twitter types unambiguously check every box. They're certainly dismissive of anyone outside their little box; extremely insulting, in fact, of how anyone who disagrees with them even slightly must be a Marvel-addled hysterical artless moron. Because nothing says "artistic appreciation" like preemptively calling analysis of a movie's choices "discourse" ("Ugh, I can't believe the DISCOURSE about how a movie portraying a morbidly obese man portrays obese people" - what should they talk about, then, if the movie's subject is instantly off the table?) They think the idea that someone out there may have a disability that prevents them from sitting in one place for three and a half hours is a laughable thing made up by the internet; or when people pointed out that a movie only getting one or two screenings a city may be inaccessible to working people, and these bloggers and podcast hosts dunked on the idea that working class people may like art as a hilarious, made-up thing.

I don't know, maaaaaaybe classing the life experiences and complaints of anyone who isn't you as "discourse" and presuming it's made-up kvetching about nothing as a matter of course is bad, cruel nonsense, actually?

[p0orbaby]

For a Good Time, Call… (2)

summary: waking up groggy and confused in an unfamiliar house, you try to piece together the previous night's drunken events

warnings: alcohol consumption, suggestive themes

a/n: this took an age, i’m sorry

word count: 3k

part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue

-

There’s something so categorically degrading about waking up with a hangover.

Even on a basic level, it’s a pure, unadulterated betrayal. Your body, the very vessel you trust to carry you through life itself, turns into a traitor. You can almost hear it whispering, “Oh, you thought dancing on tables and singing karaoke off-key was a good idea? Well, here’s a headache and nausea combo for your troubles”.

Waking up is a gradual ascent from the fiery depths of hell. Satan himself has seemed to take a liking to pounding on the inside of your skull. You’re hot, you ache, and why is it so damn bright in here? You reach out a weak, shaky arm for the lamp, desperately craving the solace of darkness, only to be met with no lamp at all and curtains so wide open that the morning light shines an accusatory beam bright enough to burn your retinas.

Life is so cruel.

You drop your hand and groan at the effort of having moved for no reason. And you contemplate burying your face back into the pillows, but you opt against it when you feel how dry your mouth is. Water. You need water. So with the grace of a rudely awakened sloth, you peel your eyes open.

Well then, it appears you’ve been involuntarily thrust into a theatrical production of ‘Regret: The Morning After’. The decor around you doesn’t match your last memory of home, and unless your furniture recently acquired a taste for avant-garde minimalism, you must admit you are, in fact, not in your own flat.

The bed feels suddenly unfamiliar, and the sheets are the kind of thread count that screams someone else’s good decisions. You’d normally appreciate waking up in luxury, but the pounding in your head and the revelation that you’ve become an uninvited guest dampens the joy somewhat.

A quick survey reveals a room that’s both meticulously organised and lacking the warm chaos of your own living quarters. As your faculties slowly return from their hangover-induced sabbatical, some important questions arise: Whose residence are you dishonouring, and where exactly did you misplace your own good judgment last night?

Hesitantly you sit up, the sheets cascading down exposing not your anticipated nakedness but a fully clad form. The dignity you deemed lost and laying dead in a gutter now resurrects itself, a phoenix from the ashes, offering unexpected relief and a silent cheer for your redemption.

You don’t even care that you can’t find your phone. The contents of it will probably make you want to call your therapist anyway, and who needs that? Not you, that's for sure. You need water, asap. Because if you don’t get it soon you honestly think this random room in this random house will be the last thing you’ll ever see.

So, on legs as shaky as those of a newborn giraffe, you stand from the bed and stumble towards the door that’s keeping you safe from the rest of the house.

Your plan? Find the nearest water source, some footwear, and the exit. Preferably in that order. It should be simple enough, unless you’ve somehow made it all the way to Timbuktu throughout the course of the night. In that case getting home may be more of a struggle than originally anticipated. But at least Mali has water.

Dehydration is making you lose your marbles.

You open the door and three things happen in very quick succession. The smell first. Bacon. Your stomach rumbles automatically and you briefly wonder when the last time you ate was. Second, the sound of running water. And in your mind that only means one thing. But your brain is currently running at the same rate as Internet Explorer and has trouble realising that water doesn’t just run on its own accord within a household.

Revelation number three you ask? Hang in there, it's a kicker.

-

“What is wrong with you?”

“What? No, nothing. Nothing's wrong”

“You know you’re like, a super bad liar?”

“And you know you’re like, super weird following me into the toilet?”

Kyra just rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at you. She’s just like that. Immature, like a little sister, but way more annoying.

“So you’re the only one who’s allowed to piss now then?”. It was your turn to roll your eyes, locking your phone and tucking it back away into your bra. “You didn’t answer my question”

“I did. I said nothing’s wrong”

Kyra huffs, crossing her arms defiantly. “Well, your face says you’re constipated or something. Seriously, what’s up with the permanent frown”

You sighed, realising trying to get out of this was going to be more effort than it’s worth. “It’s just… life stuff, you know. Relationship problems”

“I didn’t think you were in a relationship” Kyra questions with a frown of her own.

“Exactly. It’s complicated”

Leah gave you the green light to reach out again, and yet, you find yourself stuck in a loop of doubt. The ball is in your court, and you’re juggling excuses instead of taking the shot.

She catches your eyes in training sometimes and shoots you a look as if to say, “come on, make a move already”, yet all you can do is stand and stare at her like a deer in headlights.

“Sounds it” by Kyra’s tone you can tell she’s not convinced by your answer, but she enters a cubicle and thankfully leaves it at that. “I think we should do shots,” she says through the door.

You sigh, because that’s the single best thing you’ve heard her say all evening.

-

“Laura”

Your breath catches when you see her emerge from the bathroom. At least you’ve laid eyes on someone you recognise.

“Hey! Good morning!”

Oh god, she was so nice. She wasn’t even out last night. How on earth have you dragged her into your mess?

“Hi- I. Do you-“

She looks you up and down and chuckles a little at your disheveled state. You don’t feel exposed or uncomfortable under her gaze, but you do feel disjointed. Untethered.

“Nice shorts”

“I-“ you choke on your words again and she stares at you expectantly. “I’ll wash them”

Her expression changes instantly. Her small smile makes way for a downward turn of her lips and a furrow of her brow.

“I’m sorry?”

“The shorts” you blurt out. “I’ll wash them for you. God knows what I’ve done to them”. She raises her eyebrows at your words and you panic. “Not that I’ve done anything bad, like piss in your bed or anything. I’ll wash that too. Your sheets, if I’ve pissed I mean. But the bed was dry when-“

“Jeepers, you did drink a lot last night didn’t you?”

“I’m so sorry”

You have no idea what you're apologising for. Everything perhaps. She’s not your mother, you don’t have to justify that you went out and had a good time.

“For what? It’s not my sheets you’ve ruined”

You blink at her in confusion. “You mean-. This isn’t your…”

“House? You think this is my place? Gosh, you must’ve drank the place dry”

Not for the first time this morning, you were completely lost. There were too many unanswered questions clunking around your throbbing head to even make sense of what was going on.

“Right, well I’m going to go. The bathroom is right there” she points dramatically at the room behind her, as if you couldn’t find your way five feet in front of you on your own. “I’d get yourself in front of a mirror before you head downstairs”

She gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze when she brushes past you. “Mirror, got it” you mumble as you shuffle towards the toilet with great effort.

Laura was spot on – a mirror was your morning lifeline before subjecting anyone else to the sight of you. You weren’t just rough around the edges; you were a walking exhibit on the brink of a hangover apocalypse. Death warmed up? More like the undead, straight out of a zombie flick.

Your hair. Well, it was doing its own thing. A rebellious, unruly dance that had nothing to do with your input. It screamed “I partied all night and regret nothing”

And your makeup? Let’s just say it was on a journey of crude self-discovery, smudging and migrating in stubborn ways around your eyes. Big, bold mascara smudges teaming up with the remnants of a night that involved more tossing and turning than beauty sleep.

“You’re a fucking mess” you tell your reflection. “Jesus Christ”

You run the tap, gather some water in your palms and sluse your face to try and salvage at least a smidge of self esteem. The water feels like heaven against your skin, and you almost cry when your tongue darts out to catch the drops running over your lips.

-

“We thought you fell in”. Katie says when the two of you find yourself back with the group. “We almost sent out a search party”

Without missing a beat, you shoot back, “We’re getting shots. They’ve got a deal on Sambuca”. A smirk plays on your lips when Caitlin’s eyes light up.

Katie folds her arms, giving you a look of disapproval. “No way. I don’t trust you. Not after last time”

Kyra, leaning against the side of the booth you’ve all acquired, chimes in, “come on. Y/N’s practically depressed. Shots are the only way she’ll stop moping into her phone”

“Yeah, Kyra’s right”. Sort of. “I need shots to cope with the existential crisis that is being caused by my tragic life”. You don't, but you need to play along if you’re going to get your way.

You want to get to that sweet spot of intoxication. Where everything feels like it’s in soft focus, and you’re floating through the night on a cloud of liquid courage. You've already had a cocktail, or three, so you’re certain a few doses of clear spirits will get you there.

Even in the dimmed light of the bar you could see Katie narrow her eyes. She was thinking about it. Weighing up the options. Last time you all did shots she, honestly you can’t quite remember what happened, but she turned up late to training with a bruise blooming over her left brow and limp.

“I’ll buy them! Please Katie, for me” you plead, pulling out your best puppy dog eyes.

You see her physically deflate when she comes to her decision. “Okay! Alright! But if I get another late fine, you’re paying it”

-

You followed the sound of music and the hiss of bacon hitting a hot pan. Unfamiliar territory, yet your feet led you to the kitchen, guided by a primal hunger for anything salty.

Confusion still lingered like a heavy fog in your hungover mind. Too many questions and not enough answers. Until you stepped into the morning glare of a sun beaming through patio doors, then a series of mental gears clicked steadily into place.

It started with the song. The one that floated through the house on the back of the crackle of bubbling fat. It’s one you’ve heard many times before. A pre match staple that you loathe due to it being horrifically overplayed by its lover. Country music was never a bandwagon you wanted to get on the back of.

Then the subtle recognition of the athletic back turned towards you. The way the muscles moved under the taut skin with each flip of food. A mental Rolodex of faces spun, landing on a particular blonde's distinctive silhouette.

“I can feel you staring”

Well, you were. It was hard no to when you're faced with a chiseled physique clad in only a sports bra and a pair of training shorts.

“Why am I here, Leah?” You croak out. Voice horse from its dryness despite the water you just guzzled from the bathroom tap.

“For breakfast, I presume. I made bacon”

You roll your eyes at the back of her head. She knows full well what you mean but she’s choosing to be aloof just because she could.

“Think about it” she says as she finally turns around.

And you would think, but your brain has short circuited.

Christ on a bike she’s hot. It’s nothing you hadn’t seen before, of course. Being teammates and sharing locker rooms and ice baths and physio slots. But that was a professional setting. The way your eyes lingered was for science. To improve yourself. A personal physical goal.

Abs

Biceps

Cleavage

Your eyes shoot to the ceiling in an attempt to be respectful.

“Why do you think you could be here, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard, you were torn. If she’s alluding to what you think she’s alluding to, then damn, you’re actually pretty annoyed at yourself for not remembering it.

Before you can say anything, she places a plate of steaming hot food on the kitchen island you're keeping yourself upright against. Maybe you were still a little drunk. Maybe your peanut brain was trying and failing to act composed around a pretty girl in her underwear.

“Eat up. Then I’ll drop you home”

-

Is it possible to miss your bed after just one night?

Yes. Yes it is.

Leaving the comfort of your own mattress, cozy blankets, and the reassuringly familiar creaks of your bed frame is a betrayal you wholeheartedly regret when you find yourself splayed against the duvet an hour or so later.

Suddenly, you’re grappling with the harsh reality that not all beds are created equal. No matter their feather count, there’s nothing like your own bed.

But you can’t help but let your mind wander to the one you woke up in. And whose house it was situated.

The car ride back felt charged. Lingering Stares at red lights and small touches when Leah changed gears, or grabbed something out of the glove box. Maybe she was just playing games. She didn’t actually say exclusively that you’d slept with each other. But why would she lie?

And why else would you be there?

Your mind was reeling, caught in the aftermath of a night that seemed to have shifted the dynamics of your relationship with Leah even further than before. But the ghost of something remained unanswered, and you don’t think you’ve got the energy to figure it out.

You’re about to resign yourself to ignoring the nagging feeling, ready to fall into a well deserved sleep when your phone finally flickers to life. It had been dead for god knows how long and charging it seemed like the responsible thing to do.

You regret it instantly when you reach for it and see the barrage of notifications and texts from your friends filling the screen.

-

Amidst the relentless beats and a dance floor resembling a disorganized chaos of limbs, your friends seemed to have vanished quicker than a magician’s assistant in a puff of smoke.

Fucking amateurs.

You supposed that's why your phone kept buzzing in its place within your bra. A customary ‘Lost in the crowd, where are you?’ Or ‘Wanted nuggets, get home safe’ text. Though unexpectedly, it was Leah’s name that illuminated the screen instead.

Brace yourself for a probable lecture about your irresponsible choice of extra curricular activities. Not everyone is as disciplined as you Williamson!

You unlocked your phone with liquor numb fingers, ready to clumsily type back a response about personal space. Yet what you laid your eyes upon was certainly not something you’d be writing a scathing review about.

To say you got an eyeful would be the understatement of the century. Not that you could complain, because you really couldn’t. Who would when a full frontal picture of an extremely hot woman in lingerie is gifted to them on a plate free of charge. Not you. Definitely not you.

You squinted at the screen, half-wondering if the club’s DJ had spiked your drink with a dash of hallucinogens. Especially when a written text follows.

‘My place?’

Oh, and a google maps pin to the address of her flat as well. How convenient.

Who would’ve guessed it? The England skipper herself, the picture of professionalism, delivering a bold invitation with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer through a window. Regardless, it had you weak in the damn knees.

As the relentless bass thumped around you, you found yourself pondering the options laid out before you like some bizarre choose-your-own-adventure. Should you head to Leah’s for a morning that could redefine interesting, or persist in your quest for the lost tribe of friends in the dark, clammy wilderness?

Fuck your friends, you wanted to get laid.

‘I’ll get an Uber, be there in 10’

Thank god for auto correct.

-

Your mouth goes dry and your stomach falls out of your ass.

It all starts to make sense now – the glances, the static atmosphere. You ditched your friends for a booty call, and the evidence is now uncomfortably displayed on your screen, a vivid reminder of the unexpected turn your night took.

Just as you’re contemplating each increasing level of chaos, a single fresh text lands itself serendipitously in your inbox.

One guess as to who it’s from.

You want to scream.

‘Afternoon slugger. If you’re reading this you’re probably having a panic attack whilst looking at my nipples. You’re welcome. I want to clear something up. Unfortunately for you, we didn’t sleep together. Necrophilia isn’t my thing. So, congrats on surviving the night with your dignity intact. Your move, baby. Impress me’

You stare at Leah’s message, your jaw threatening to set up a permanent residence on the floor.

She played you like a damn fiddle. She seized the opportunity to mess with your head while you were too fragile to navigate the situation yourself. A cunning move, you have to admit.

It sparked something in you. A realisation that not only did she reach out, but she thought about you enough to ask for a booty call. And she’s put the ball back in your court, probably out of impatience. The fire in your belly she left there the day in the gym gew even hotter.

You would play along. Maybe even bend the rules like she did.

There was nothing wrong with a little game of cat and mouse, after all.

[its-avalon-08]

Can I request something with Lando? With a plus-size reader, where the hate gets to her too much, and she breaks up with him because the internet is hatting on her and being with Lando. Lando is so confused until like Max or someone asks if he has seen the hate, and it makes Lando go crazy at everyone for the hate to his favourite girl, and he gets her back. Please, I'll sell my kidney.🙏

don't go breaking my heart (ln4)

( bubs u don't have to sell ur kidney, here it is! hope u like it )

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort, online hate, fatphobia

liked by landonorris, kellypiquet and others

y/nnnn seashells and splashes

200,456,446 comments

@landonorris : beautiful baby <3, so grateful you're mine ---> liked by author ❤️

@alexandrasaintmleux: stunner girl, ily <3 ---> liked by author ❤️

@hater123: I can't believe Lando is dating someone like her. Doesn't he have standards?

@trollqueen: Someone needs to hit the gym... hard. Yikes.

@f1fanatic: Lando deserves so much better. She’s just not on his level. or weight.

@bodyshamer: Wow, the beach really needs a 'no whales allowed' sign.

@toxicfan: I guess money can’t buy taste, huh, Lando?

@hatersunite: How can she even post these pictures without feeling embarrassed?

@jealousfan: Lando must be blind if he thinks she’s attractive.

@fatphobic: Imagine waking up next to that every day. Poor Lando.

@anonymoushater: Lando’s career is gonna go downhill with her dragging him down.

@judgy: Cover up, nobody wants to see that.

@meanperson: She should be ashamed of how she looks.

@bitterf1fan: Why is she even famous? Just because she’s dating Lando? Pathetic.

@envioushater: ewww, why would he even kiss her? Gross.

@bodyshamepolice: lando could do so much better than this blob.

@trollmaster: She’s just using him for fame. She doesn’t deserve him.

Y/N sat in the McLaren hospitality area, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She had been trying to ignore the hateful comments on her Instagram, but they were relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last. She scrolled through them again, her heart sinking with every cruel word.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she read the comments over and over. She had always been confident in her own skin, but the constant barrage of negativity was breaking her spirit.

Lily, Oscar Piastri's girlfriend, noticed Y/N's distress from across the room. She approached cautiously, her heart aching for her friend. "Hey, Y/N," she said softly, sitting down next to her. "Are you okay?"

Y/N didn't respond, her gaze fixed on her phone screen. Her silent sobs shook her body, and Lily could see the tears streaming down her face.

Lily gently took the phone from Y/N's hand and glanced at the screen, her own heart breaking at the sight of the hateful comments. She put the phone aside and wrapped her arms around Y/N, pulling her into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," she whispered, her voice filled with empathy. "They’re just jealous and cruel. You’re beautiful just the way you are."

Y/N buried her face in Lily's shoulder, her sobs growing louder. She felt so overwhelmed, so small in the face of such relentless hatred. "I can't do this anymore," she whispered through her tears. "I thought I was strong enough, but I’m not."

Lily held her tighter, her own eyes welling up with tears. "You are strong, Y/N. Don’t let them win. They don’t know you, they don’t know how amazing you are."

But Y/N could hardly hear Lily’s comforting words. The weight of the hate was too much, and she felt like she was drowning in it. She pulled away from Lily’s embrace, wiping her tears with shaking hands. "I need to go," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Y/N, please don’t leave like this," Lily pleaded, her concern growing. "Talk to Lando, let him help you."

But Y/N couldn’t face Lando, not now. She stood up, her legs feeling weak, and made her way to the exit. She walked out of the paddock, her heart heavy with the pain of the hateful comments, leaving behind the world she had once felt so at home in.

time skip

Lando entered their shared apartment, his usual cheerful demeanor dampened by a nagging sense of unease. The McLaren hospitality area had felt off after Y/N’s abrupt departure, and his concern had only grown since.

"Y/N?" he called out, his voice echoing through the quiet space. He spotted her in the living room, standing next to a pile of packed bags. His heart sank. "What’s going on?"

Y/N looked up, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Lando, I’m leaving."

His confusion deepened, worry etching lines into his face. "Leaving? Why? What happened?"

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I just… I think you’ll be happier without me."

Lando’s heart pounded in his chest. "What are you talking about? I’m happy with you, Y/N. Why are you doing this?"

Tears filled her eyes again, but she blinked them back. "You deserve someone better, Lando. Someone who won’t bring you down."

He stepped closer, desperation creeping into his voice. "Y/N, you’re not bringing me down. I love you. Please, just talk to me. Tell me what’s really going on."

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold herself together. "I can’t, Lando. It’s better this way."

"Better for who?" he demanded, his voice breaking. "Not for me. I don’t understand. Please, Y/N, don’t do this."

She finally looked up at him, her heart breaking at the sight of his pain. "You’ll be better off without me, Lando. Trust me."

Lando felt a surge of panic. He reached out, gently taking her hand. "Please, don’t go. We can get through anything together. Just tell me what’s wrong."

Y/N pulled her hand away, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "I’m sorry, Lando. I have to go."

She grabbed her bags and walked towards the door, her heart aching with every step. Lando followed her, his own tears blurring his vision. "Y/N, please…"

She paused at the door, looking back at him one last time. "Goodbye, Lando."

With that, she stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind her. Lando stood there in stunned silence, his heart shattered into pieces. He sank to the floor, his back against the door, unable to comprehend how everything had fallen apart so quickly. He had lost the woman he loved, and he didn’t even know why.

time skip

Lando sat on the floor of his apartment, his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. The apartment, once filled with love and laughter, now felt unbearably empty. He replayed Y/N’s words over and over in his mind, each time trying to understand where it all went wrong.

Lando couldn't, his grief consuming him. His teammates noticed his absence and his silence. It was Carlos Sainz who finally decided to check on him.

Carlos knocked on the door, his concern deepening when Lando didn’t answer immediately. "Lando, it’s Carlos. Please open up."

After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a disheveled and tear-streaked Lando. Carlos’s heart sank at the sight of his friend in such a state. "Mate, what happened?"

Lando let Carlos in, the two of them sitting on the couch. "She left me, Carlos," Lando said, his voice breaking. "She said I’d be better off without her. I don’t understand why."

Carlos looked at him sympathetically. "Have you seen what’s been happening online?"

Lando shook his head, confusion mingling with his grief. "What do you mean?"

Carlos pulled out his phone, showing Lando the vile comments, the hateful edits, and the mean-spirited articles directed at Y/N. Lando’s eyes widened with horror and fury as he read through them, his heartbreak turning into a white-hot rage.

"They did this to her," Carlos said quietly. "She left because she couldn’t handle the hate."

Lando’s hands trembled with anger as he continued to read. "How could they do this to her? She didn’t deserve any of this."

Carlos placed a hand on his shoulder. "You need to speak out, Lando. This isn’t right."

Lando nodded, his resolve hardening. "I’m not going to let them get away with this."

He grabbed his phone, his fingers shaking as he typed out a message on social media. His anger and pain poured into his words:

"To all my so-called 'fans' who have been spewing hate towards Y/N, this needs to stop. She didn’t deserve any of this. She is the most amazing person I have ever known, and your words have hurt her deeply. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. If you truly support me, you will stop this now. Hate has no place in this world. And to those companies and individuals who have written those hateful articles and made those disgusting edits, I am coming for you. You will be held accountable."

He hit post, his chest heaving with the intensity of his emotions. "I’m suing them," he said to Carlos, his voice filled with determination. "Every single one of them."

Carlos nodded in support. "I’m with you, mate. Whatever you need."

Lando wasted no time. He contacted his legal team, explaining the situation in detail. "I want to sue every company that published those hateful articles. I want to take down every website that allowed those comments. This has to stop."

His lawyers assured him they would take immediate action. Lando felt a flicker of hope amidst his anger and heartbreak. He couldn’t undo the pain that Y/N had suffered, but he could fight for her, stand up for her, and make sure that those responsible faced consequences.

As the days went by, Lando’s social media post garnered immense attention. Fans and fellow drivers rallied behind him, condemning the hate and expressing their support for Y/N. The companies that had published the hateful articles received a barrage of backlash, and legal notices were swiftly sent.

Lando’s heart remained heavy with the loss of Y/N, but he found strength in his fight for justice. He hoped that, somehow, Y/N would see that he was standing up for her, that he loved her deeply, and that he was determined to make things right.

time skip

Lando couldn’t wait any longer. The moment he finished speaking with his legal team, he grabbed his keys and raced out of his apartment. He needed to see Y/N, to make things right. His heart pounded as he drove to her place, his mind racing with thoughts of everything he wanted to say to her.

When he arrived at Y/N’s apartment, he didn’t hesitate. He knocked on the door, loud and urgent. "Y/N, it’s me, Lando. Please open the door."

There was no response, but he refused to give up. He knocked again, harder this time. "Y/N, please, I need to talk to you. I’m not leaving until you let me in."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Y/N stood there, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She looked exhausted, her face etched with pain and sadness.

"Lando, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer, his heart breaking at the sight of her. "Y/N, please let me in. I need to talk to you."

She hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside, allowing him to enter. He closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts.

"Y/N, I’m so sorry," he began, his voice filled with emotion. "I had no idea what you were going through. I didn’t see the hate, the comments, any of it. If I had known, I would have done something sooner."

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but she remained silent, letting him continue.

"You are the most incredible person I’ve ever met," he said, his voice trembling. "You are strong, beautiful, and kind. Those people who wrote those horrible things about you don’t know you at all. They’re just cowards hiding behind screens."

He took her hands in his, his eyes locked on hers. "You are perfect to me, Y/N. Every curve, every smile, every moment we’ve shared. I love you more than words can say. And I’m not going to let them win. I’m fighting back. I’ve already spoken out, and I’m suing the companies that published those hateful articles. I’m doing everything I can to make this right."

Her tears began to flow again, but this time they were tears of relief and love. "Lando, I was so scared. I didn’t want you to be dragged down by all the hate because of me."

He shook his head, his own eyes filling with tears. "You are worth everything to me, Y/N. I don’t care about the hate. I care about you. Please, don’t leave me. We’re stronger together. We can get through this, I promise."

She let out a sob, her walls finally crumbling. "I love you so much, Lando. I was just so afraid."

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "I love you too, Y/N. More than anything. We’re going to get through this together. I’m never letting you go."

They stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, their hearts beating in sync. Lando gently kissed her forehead, his love for her shining through his eyes. "You’re my everything, Y/N. We’ll face the world together, and nothing will ever tear us apart again."

She clung to him, feeling the warmth and safety of his embrace. "Thank you, Lando. I’m so sorry for everything."

He smiled softly, wiping away her tears. "You have nothing to be sorry for, love. We’re a team, and we’ll always be. I’ll protect you, I’ll stand by you, and I’ll love you with everything I have."

They shared a tender kiss, their love stronger than ever. As they held each other, they knew that no amount of hate could ever come between them. They had each other, and that was all they needed.

In that moment, all the pain and fear melted away, replaced by the warmth of their love and the strength of their bond. They were together, and together, they could conquer anything.

[depravitycentral]

Muzan Kibutsuji General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Muzan Kibutsuji x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, violence, graphic gore, mentions of cannibalism, verbal and physical abuse, murder, one brief mention of throwing up, brief mention of Muzan slutshaming you, mild sexism, verbal abuse, mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of low self esteem, fem reader, MNDI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10K

DARLING PROFILE:

Human

Muzan is not one to easily develop feelings for others in any positive context.

He’s a selfish, cruel being, utterly bent on his own self-preservation with no regard for the lives of others.

He’s self-centered to the extreme, and as such, if he develops feelings for someone (especially romantically), it takes a very, very long time and can only be achieved under specific circumstances.

His darling has to be someone intelligent, quick-thinking, perceptive, ambitious, charming, and a whole list of other things that are almost impossible to achieve.

And yet, the biggest, most glaring trait they must possess is their humanity.

It’s strange and a juxtaposition to Muzan’s own inhumanity, but there’s just something that draws him in about the idea that his darling is so very flawed by the very nature of their being and yet so alluring and tempting and intoxicating.

It enrages him, quite frankly, but his darling must be a human in order for these feelings to form. He initially only feels a mild curiosity towards them – mixed with irritation and contempt, of course, but there’s this nagging feeling urging him to learn more about them, to interact with them, to understand why his pulse picks up ever so slightly when they’re around.

He likes the fact that his darling is so weak; he’ll never tell them, of course, but it only reaffirms his own superiority complex, convincing him that he’s the strongest, and his darling is the weakest.

They’re a pet, in a lot of ways, but Muzan finds himself oddly intrigued – his human is so complex, the emotions they feel and their motivations something he’ll never fully understand, but as time passes he finds himself hating their presence less and less, sometimes even desiring to touch them – a notion that makes his skin crawl in both disgust and a strange, potent sense of desire.

It’s frustrating and confusing, but Muzan’s darling will be a human – though not for long.

Intelligent

It’s no surprise, really, that Muzan is absolutely incapable of handling a darling that doesn’t possess above average intelligence.

They don’t need to be a genius, but his darling must have a strong grasp of both academic and social intelligence.

Where these intelligences lie is flexible; he’s equally impressed by a darling that can recite complex physics formulas and one that can analyze some of the most classical literature ever written.

It doesn’t really matter where the smarts lay, but his darling must be able to showcase at least some level of critical thinking in their daily life; Muzan is enticed by someone who can come as close as possible to being his equal, and as a creature that views himself as smarter and superior to all others, his darling must be something special, too.

(Of course, his darling will never truly be an equal – he’s still the most magnificent, perfect creature, tireless in his search to become immune to human constraints like sickness and aging, but there’s something endearing about a darling that can entertain some of his conversation, who can at least follow some of his logic when he’s feeling generous enough to include them in his plans. Besides, and he’ll never admit to it, he’s fond of hearing his darling’s opinion – he’ll continue with what he thinks best, of course, but if his darling present sound reasoning, Muzan will often entertain the notion for a bit, distantly surprised if his darling has considered an idea he hasn’t yet, or if they present a line of argument that manages to stump him.)

And so, in order for Muzan’s interest to be piqued, his darling must be intelligent and must be unafraid to showcase this – but as his attention is initially fickle (it does not remain this way, however), they musn’t be too proud of their intelligence.

Pride is a sin only he can indulge in, not some lowly human.

Perceptive

Muzan is, unsurprisingly, easy to upset.

Being in his presence is akin to walking on eggshells, with the repercussions of a single step out of line costing a life. And while he won’t ever kill his darling, but it’s still very much in their best interest to learn his triggers and what makes him particularly angry or calm.

His darling must be able to analyze others and understand them quickly – a certain level of empathy is needed, and while he’ll never admit that his darling can read him like an open book, in order to survive they must be able to.

He’s attracted to the idea that his darling understands when to speak and when to stay silent, when to approach him and when to give him space, even when to refer to him as my Lord rather than his actual name.

(He always prefers his actual name, as the way the syllables sound rolling off his darling’s tongue is heaven and sends shivers down his spine, but he must maintain a certain level of control over them and forcing such a title is a good way to highlight the difference in power between them.)

And so, a darling that’s able to pick up on these silent cues and patterns is immensely attractive to him – he has very little patience for idiotic people, and he already harbors enough resentment towards his darling for catching his attention that they must be able to navigate the treacherous waters he places them in.

Besides, there’s something indescribably pleasing when his darling knows exactly what he wants, able to predict his desires often before he can express them or realize them himself.

It makes him feel good, his ego getting stroked and relaxation spreading throughout his entire body, and of course, it only makes his feelings for his darling grow, taking root in his gut and twisting and turning these roots until they’re wrapped so tightly around his heart it may strangle it.

And while Muzan likes to think he’d never let someone hold such a grip on him, he’s simply in denial of how truly dependent he is on his darling’s presence – he’s in much, much too deep.

Quiet

Muzan himself is not a particularly talkative man – even during his human years, his voice was reserved mostly for complaints, yells, with a scowl sprawled across those pale pink lips of his.

He’s not one for idle conversation, and while he can force a pleasant smile and white lies and it suits his purposes, he generally doesn’t desire being in the company of those who talk incessantly.

It’s annoying, frankly, and Muzan isn’t exactly understanding or patient once he’s deemed someone irritating.

And so, a darling who is naturally less talkative is incredibly attractive to him – he likes that they’re quiet, that they only really speak when they need to, if only because he enjoys silence.

A more selfish part of him also enjoys the knowledge that a less talkative darling means a significantly lower chance of them interacting with other men – they aren’t likely to strike up a conversation with a stranger on the street, barring them from potential danger and potential suitors.

His darling’s quietness is pleasing, yes, but there are times when Muzan becomes annoyed by this particular trait, however; his darling should be quiet but still talk to him, when he desires it. They should be silent around others, sure, but they should still respond eagerly and enthusiastically when he initiates a conversation with them.

He wants to see them smile at him and treat his every word as if it were gospel, as if it were something precious and important and cherished.

And so, while his darling should watch their tongue around others (and around him too, really), they should be actively engaged when speaking with him.

But not too much – Muzan can tell when they’re forcing themselves to be eager, and it bruises his ego a bit to know that his darling isn’t being totally honest when they compliment his latest strategy in finding the blue spider lily or the Ubuyashiki manor.

It makes a wave of insecurity settle in his gut, a feeling he resents possibly more than feeling weak – it infuriates him, so it’s best to avoid laying it on too thick.

Really, being his darling is just one big balancing act – they’ve got to keep him pleased and happy, a task that could quite literally result in life or death.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Possessive

In general, your existence absolutely infuriates Muzan.

It takes an incredibly long time for his feelings to form, and even then, he’s entirely unsure of why he even likes you – you’re plain, weak, boring, worthless compared to him. Why is he wasting his time with you? You’re simply one human in a sea of them, all doomed to slowly wither away and die some miserable death, inevitably suffering and growing weaker with every day. Why would he ever find himself even remotely interested in a creature with such a glaring flaw?

How could he allow himself to ever hold even a flicker of intrigue towards a being with such obvious limitations?

Centuries and growing power have left Muzan with such an extreme level of arrogance that he’s equal parts enraged and in denial of his interest in you – early on, he tries his best to simply pretend that you don’t exist. Perhaps he’s having to live in human society for whatever reason, and you’re a neighbor or a woman he occasionally sees near his home.

Regardless, he’s making a point to not speak to you, to not even look at you, fully not acknowledging your presence all in the hopes that the weird, scratching feeling in his heart will go away and he’ll no longer be plagued by this weird, horrible awareness of you.

Except, while he likes to think that it works, the moment he sees another man look at you or converse with you, his nails sharpen and veins sprout along his temples, a new kind of irritation coursing through him. He doesn’t like the way you make him feel, but he likes this even less – this man, this human, who’s standing so very close to you and has absolutely no reason to.

The feeling is strange – it’s envy, he thinks, something he’d felt often back in his human days, but this is different. There’s something else, something sharper, something that’s twisting and burning, something that makes him grit his teeth, that gets his feet moving before he can really even think about it. He’s quick to separate you and the stranger, physically separating you with his body between yours, his breathing a bit uneven and strained, those blinding red eyes of his trained directly at the stranger.

He has enough self-control to not immediately slaughter the man (you’re in far too public a setting – killing every human in the crowded plaza square wouldn’t be hard by any means, but it’d certainly be a hassle), but he’s only brought back to reality out of the angry trance he’d been placed into when he hears your small, irritating, alluring voice saying the human name he’d flippantly told you.

Immediately he’s scoffing, glaring at the man for a final moment before turning on his heel, quickly sauntering away from you while trying to figure out why the fuck he’d just unconsciously rushed to your location. He’s unsettled, quite honestly, and angry, of course, but more than that he’s worried – he'd done that without his control, his body not waiting for his permission to approach you, to interrupt whatever that human had been trying to do.

(He personally raids a small village that night, slaughtering every human he can find in ways that leave blood pooling across every floorboard, his pretty, pressed clothing stained red and feeling wet and heavy against his skin.)

And even once Muzan eventually realizes that what he’s feeling for you is attraction – and, dare he say it, fondness – this possessiveness doesn’t subside. If anything, it grows worse. Because now, rather than simply being uncomfortable and angry with other men (and women) approaching you, he’s angry because they’re approaching something that’s his – you’re his human, his woman, his plaything.

And why do these stupid, irrelevant humans think they have any right to look at you, to steal your time and attention, or god forbit touch you? He’s overwhelmingly possessive, and while there is some part of him that feels something loosely resembling love for you, his feelings akin you much more to a beloved object rather than his partner. You are not an equal with him – he is in charge, and he’s the one who decides your fate.

And even once he’s stolen you away this feeling persists – he’s not loving, and he doesn’t really make any attempts to hide how he views you. He’s not particularly expressive, so there’s a very good chance you won’t be aware of his romantic intentions towards you until later into your captivity, but you’ll know that you’re below him from day one. H

e’s constantly verbally reminding you that he’s superior, that any efforts you take to escape, disobey him, rebel, or call for help can and will be dealt with accordingly – often with a few lives lost. He’s possessive and selfish, genuinely believing that you have no reason to interact with another living thing on Earth besides himself – you’re his partner, his woman, and although you’ll never be an equal, he should be absolutely everything to you.

So, you’d better get good at acting.

Obsessive

While Muzan never fully comes to terms with the level of his obsession with you, his actions speak much, much louder than his words. He may speak to you like you mean nothing to him, but if you knew the extent to which he’d stalked you, watched you, and collected information about you prior to kidnapping you, you’d become even more terrified of the demon.

He’s not particularly subtle about his emotions, but he keeps a very strict barrier between the two of you. He holds every ounce of control in the relationship – he knows everything about you, but you know very little about him.

You only know his name (and only Muzan, not Kibutsuji), that he prefers the small home he keeps you in to be extremely clean, that he doesn’t enjoy physical touch (at least, you don’t think he does – if you knew the extent to which he imagines touching you or the things he’s imagined doing to you, you’d never enter the same room as him).

You don’t know a lot of basic information about him that you really, really wish you did – why did he kidnap you? What is he? Does he want to kill you? Questions swirl in your head constantly, but the same can’t be said of Muzan – at least, not in the sense that you’re a complete enigma to him.

On the contrary, he understands you almost scarily well – courtesy of the extent to which he watched you before kidnapping you. Because he was so angered at himself for developing an interest in a human woman, he found himself desperately hoping that by finding out more about you, all of his interest would fade and vanish, allowing him to simply kill you and continue on with his life.

And so, he took to watching you – you’re remarkably weak, he finds out. You live in a home that’s very, very easy to break into, the locks on your doors hardly putting up a fight before budging under his strength. He scoffs at this information, though it does make a small sense of envy eat away at him – has any other man done this before? How often do you get visitors in the night? Are you secretly whoring yourself out to other men?

He finds himself digging through every corner of your small, modest home – every drawer is opened and searched, every cabinet thoroughly analyzed, every closet and shelf picked over in extreme detail. He’s noting each and every thing he finds, his eyes narrowing or his eyebrow cocking up because wow, there is nothing even remotely remarkable about you.

You don’t have any particular wealth, nor do you have any supply of medicine, nor do you even have any particularly enjoyable artwork or cooking materials. He’s disappointed, but as he moves towards your bedroom and slowly slides open the door, his breath catches. You’re laying on your back, the small gap in the window letting in moonlight that shines across your face, your eyes dancing rapidly behind your eyelids.

He frowns, his nails digging into the wood of the door, irritation settling deep in his gut. You aren’t supposed to have this affect on him. He isn’t supposed to lose himself momentarily just from the sight of you – you, who has absolutely nothing to offer in the face of his power, wisdom, and resourcefulness.

 And yet, here he is – staring at you like some sort of lovesick fool, his eyes unable to stop detailing the curve of your nose, or looking at the very vague outline of your chest from underneath the blanket. He leaves, that first night, finding an innocent to slaughter and only feeling marginally better. He’d hoped that one visit would be enough, trying to focus his mind on the fact that you’re so painfully average, that there’s nothing remarkable about you – but for every negative thought he has, a glimpse of your voice or the sound of your voice overpowers it.

And eventually, he convinces himself to return to your humble home, this time going directly to the bedroom. You’re asleep again, this time on your side, with strands of hair framing your face. Your soft breaths make his brows crinkle, and a sudden, fleeting thought runs through his mind – you’re so vulnerable in this moment, he could kill you with very, very little effort.

And soon his nails have grown sharp, and his elbow is cocked, adrenaline surging through his veins because if he could just kill you, perhaps this whole stupid infatuation could be done with. But the elbow stays cocked, doesn’t move, even as his eyes stay staring at you, not blinking, every nerve in his body screaming at him to end your life.

He can’t.

And that realization is the most upsetting of all – he can’t bring himself to kill you. Him - Muzan Kibutsuji, the Demon King, can’t bring himself to murder a sweet little thing like you. It’s comical, really, and although it infuriates Muzan, it represents a turning point in his feelings for you.

After that night, he no longer tries to force himself into forgetting about you or ignoring you – instead, he pushes himself to learn more about you, becoming fascinated with understanding why you of all people have caught his attention.

And really, this is where his more obsessive traits come into play. Suddenly he’s making a point to watch you sleep every night, always staring and watching your chest rise and fall, marveling at what power something as weak as you has over him. He’ll thumb through your closet, pulling each article of clothing out and appraising it, deciding if he likes it or not.

(Those that he doesn’t like are taken away with him, thrown into the trash and discarded so that only what he chooses actually adorns your figure, just as it should be. Later on into your ‘relationship’ this will still be true – he’s choosing what clothing you wear around the cabin, even what undergarments you wear. He’s particularly fond of silk and satin, liking the luxury feeling of the texture on you and the way it feels against him when he’s pressed up against you.)

He’s following you every night, walking around as your shadow and keeping a watchful eye on you, noting with disdain when you stumble or when you spend too much money on a snack or when you aren’t aware of your surroundings.

He’s especially stuck as your shadow when your period comes about – he’s on you like fucking glue, even going so far as to carefully pull back the sheets and spread your legs as you sleep, kneeling between your knees and pressing his face a few inches away from your clothed cunt, letting his eyes flutter closed as he inhales, smelling you you you.

(Masturbating feels beneath him, but the first time he smelled you while you’re menstruating, he’d decided his pride was worth sullying if it meant getting the release his body was desperate for – desperate enough to have soaked a visible portion of his slacks with precum.)

So really, while he’s an arrogant, narcissistic creature, your presence is his one weakness, his one guilty pleasure that allows himself to indulge in – if only just understand how the hell someone like you managed to snag the attention of someone as powerful and important as him.

Controlling

Muzan doesn’t see you as an equal. You’re a possession of his, something that he has full control over and can dictate every part of their life. He’s so much stronger than you, literally able to kill you with just his pinky alone, and this power dynamic is certainly not a secret to you. You’ll be very, very aware of just how liable you are to what he wants.

Even before he kidnaps you, you’ll be aware of the presence of something in your life – to you, Muzan is simply a loose acquaintance. You don’t know each other well, but he always seems to show up at the strangest of times – with excuses of just passing by, wanting to catch up, or some other innocent, plausible explanation.

And so, when he’s telling you at the fruit stand that pears really aren’t the best for your health, consider apples instead, you simply nod and thank him for his insight. (Of course you don’t know that he wants you to eat the apples instead because he can’t stand the smell of pears, and to have you reeking of the fruit would be a serious deterrent his experience of watching you for the rest of the day.)

When you decide to be bold one day and wear the pretty, colorful kimono you own, Muzan happens to run into you and comments on it, telling you that you look so lovely in more neutral colors, don’t you think? (You don’t need to know that he wants you to be wearing less flashy things so that others won’t notice you as much, so that you won’t draw too many eyes, so that you won’t be lusted after and pined after by so many men – you wouldn’t their blood on your hands, now would you?)

He’s subtle about it, never making you believe that you’re being swayed one way or another, but that changes after he’s stolen you away. Once you’re in his clutches, you’ll become very, very aware of just how much Muzan inserts himself into your daily life.

He’s obviously chosen where you’re to live, forcing you stay with him and keep you isolated from everyone else on Earth, just so that your dependence on him will grow, just so that no one else can see you, just so that he becomes your entire fucking world, just as he should be. But he chooses more subtle things, too – things that border on uncomfortable, things that really should be solely your choice.

 He instructs you on which clothing to wear each day – giving you a specific outfit, telling you to style your hair in a particular way.

He’ll tell you whether to bathe that day, and the order with which you should clean yourself – always hair first, then arms, breasts (this is part that he’s most fervent about watching, claiming that you don’t do a good enough job and he must be present to ensure that you’re truly clean), stomach, back, legs, and between your thighs.

(He’ll allow you to privately clean yourself there at first, but as time passes he stops allowing you to turn your back to him, instead standing over the washing tub and scrutinizing your technique with his eyes, insisting that you haven’t thoroughly spread yourself, that you haven’t pressed inside yourself deeply enough. And, once you’ve begun having sexual relations, he’ll insist that you aren’t capable of being fully clean unless something else helps clean out inside of you, too – something clean and meticulous and cared for like what’s between his legs, of course. So let him settle into the bathing tub and seat yourself on him, allowing him to maneuver you to really, thoroughly clean you.)

He’s even instructing you on what order to eat your meals – vegetables first, then protein, then carbs, those watchful eyes of his like a hawk’s making sure that you follow his commands to a tee. It gives him a sense of control, like a palpable sense of superiority over you – sure, you make him feel emotions that he has no control over, making his body respond in ways he despises, but at least he controls you. It’s a weak ploy at maintaining his ego, but it’s effective – because as time passes, slowly you’ll forget what it was like to live a life where your every decision wasn’t made for you, and the thought will honestly scare you – how did you survive? How were you able to stomach the thought of so many small decisions, so many unknowns, so many things that could’ve gone wrong?

And Muzan will feed these delusions – commanding you with a firm, almost bored voice and following it up with an weak women like you shouldn’t be making too many choices, you’ll always choose incorrectly. You wouldn’t have survived without me, don’t you agree?

Which connects to another key aspect of his controlling tendencies – Muzan is extremely manipulative. He’s a selfish creature motivated by his own personal gain, and he is gifted at deceiving others in order to get what he wants. He’ll never explicitly lie to you, but Muzan has no qualms with warping your world perspective a bit, feeding you delusions, forcing you into believing that you truly are nothing without him, that you truly need him in the way he claims that you do.

And it’ll work – all those comments about you being beneath him and unable to take care of yourself will eventually become a mantra for you, and while you’ll still be terrified of the demon, you’ll start slowly depending on him.

You’ll start needing him in a way that makes Muzan smug – because now, he’s not the weak one, right? You need him much more than he needs you. (This isn’t true, but Muzan convinces himself of it – it has to be true.)

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Quite honestly, it’s rare that you find yourself in a situation where another physical person is around you aside from Muzan. He’s very, very possessive over you, treating you more akin to a pet or prized possession rather than a partner. And because of this, he’s able to easily control the people who interact with you – who they are, when they see you, how long they’re permitted to be in your presence, even what words they say to you.

Generally speaking, if he’s feeling kind, you’ll be permitted to see the Upper Moons, but even then it’s in extremely sparing quantities.

He doesn’t like the way Douma touches you, clinging onto you like some sort of leech and getting his filthy hands all over you.

He doesn’t like the way Akaza bends to you as if you have some sort of power over him, as if you were equal to Muzan himself – it makes some part of him smug to think that his underlings recognize that you’re his, but it still bristles his ego to think that you’re even remotely close to his status, even if you’re objectively higher than other demons.

He doesn’t like the way Hantengu sneaks glances at you that Muzan very much notices, just the mere act alone making him scowl and slice off the demon’s neck, sending him squealing and scampering away.

He doesn’t like the way Gyokko is always complimenting your beauty – you’re gorgeous, true, but only Muzan is allowed to admire you. Only he is allowed to take in the curves of your face and body, the softness of your skin, your alluring smell, the gentle lull of your voice. Besides, only Muzan is allowed to compliment you – even that alone is a huge, huge struggle for him, if only because positive affirmations of anyone aside from himself is a foreign concept, and he simply cannot have Gyokko undoing all the hard work Muzan has undergone to break down your confidence and build it back up himself.

He doesn’t like the way Daki insults you, because although Muzan doesn’t want anyone to compliment you, it’s almost more offensive to have an underling openly mock and ignore you – can’t she tell that you’re so, so much more important than she’ll ever be?

He doesn’t like the way Gyuutaro openly stares and leers at you, licking his lips like some sort of animal – as if he’d ever let such scum touch you. Your body is his to touch and fuck, and for the other demon to even briefly entertain the notion of being intimate with you makes bile rise up the back of his throat and his nails to sharpen without his permission.

The only demon Muzan is somewhat likely (emphasis on the somewhat, because he still rarely ever lets you interact with anyone besides himself) is Kokushibo, simply because Muzan knows that the Upper Rank 1 will keep both himself and you in line. He trusts that Kokushibo, ever loyal to his leader, will not entertain any inappropriate thoughts or actions towards you. He also trusts that Kokushibo won’t allow you to step out of line, his punishing hand swift as he ties you up and forces you to await Muzan, the one who will give you your real punishment for nervously playing with your fingers.

(That’s unwomanly of you, Kokushibo will tell you, all six of his eyes glaring down at you. A woman capable of standing beside Muzan should be regal and confident, you are not worthy of him.)

And so, you effectively will have no interaction with another soul aside from Muzan – but before his obsession pushes him to the extreme of stealing you away, he was certainly no stranger to envy or jealousy.

It's an innocent thing, really – the man in the gray kimono was just trying to keep you from falling. The lantern chain you were trying to hang on the ledge of your roof wasn’t too complex, but the stepstool you were precariously balancing on was another story. Reaching high over your head to attach the chain to the wooden beam was extending your limbs to their furthest ability, leaving you wobbly and liable to fall at all any moment.

And, of course, you did – suddenly you were falling backwards, the lanterns slipping out of your hands and a yelp slipping past your lips. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for impact on the hard ground below you, but the air is knocked out of your lungs by a pair of arms slipping underneath your legs and below your back rather than the cold Earth below. The man carefully helps you stand up, laughing sheepishly as you profusely thanked him, rubbing at the back of his neck.

You’re smiling, Muzan can see from his spot at the end of the street, his gaze fixed on you even over the buzz of life at the nighttime market.

Your shop is easily one hundred feet away, but he can still smell you clear as day, your scent alluring and musky and rich, only now tinged with the slightest bit of embarrassment, appreciation, and attraction.

Muzan scowls, his dark brows drawing inward so tightly that wrinkles were sure to form. His fist curls in on itself, sharp nails already slicing into his palms and letting blood drip onto the ground below him. Every muscle in his body clenches, taut with anger, anticipation and the uncontrollable urge to do something, veins standing out against the paleness of his neck and forehead.

That man was touching you.

Helping you.

You, who was stupid enough to get on a ladder and hang up those incessant lanterns – you, who was careless enough with your own miserable, misfortunate human life as to potentially throw it away for some measly lights. Anger clouds his every thought, but he forces himself to stay still, to not immediately jump onto the man and tear him to pieces bite by bite until he was screaming and sobbing and begging –

Soon the man is on his way, leaving you behind as you disappear into the depths of your shop, the man tucking his hands into his pockets with a smile curling on his lips that makes Muzan’s self-control snap, his legs finally pushing him into action.

It’s not hard to snatch the man by the throat, his claws digging against the soft, thin skin and dragging him away to a deserted back-alley.

It’s not hard to hold him in the air, his feet not touching the ground as desperate fingers clumsily grope at Muzan’s, unable to break the inhuman grip the demon has on his neck.

It’s not hard to watch the man’s face slowly turning purple, his actions getting weaker and weaker, and it’s only once the man is right on the verge of losing consciousness that Muzan lets go, throwing him to ground and hearing a sickening crunch noise as the man wheezes. Muzan’s lips curl, his eyebrows still furrowed, his expression looking halfway between pained and exhilarated.

You worthless human. His voice is full of disdain, hatred seeping into every word as he kicks the man in the stomach, the action causing him to cough up blood, more wheezes and desperate heaves filling the back-alley.

Who gave you permission to breath? Who gave you permission to touch her? Who gave you permission to touch what’s mine? He kicks him again, the curl of his lip deepening.

The man is curled up into a fetal position, blood flowing onto the dirt below him. Muzan scoffs. Pathetic. You must think you’ve done a very heroic deed, saving her from falling.

Muzan’s smile drops. You did nothing. You are just a weak, useless human. What could you offer her?

He waits for a moment, just to see if the writhing mess of a man before him wasn’t as pitiful as he appeared, and his brows cock up ever so slightly when his wheezing, strained voice asks, then why didn’t you save her?

And with that, Muzan slices his head clean off, only the smallest of whimpers ringing in his ears, followed by the dull thud of the now decapitated head falling to the ground. Muzan’s chest is heaving, his red eyes wide, a few curls knocked out of place at the exertion, and for a moment he’s frozen.

There’s genuine rage swimming through his veins, and the sheer amount of that man’s blood staining his clothing makes him pause. Why had his words effected him so? He’d quite literally lost control of his body once he heard the question – why didn’t he bother to save you? Why had he only watched, allowing this other man to step in and keep you from cracking your head open on the ground?

Muzan’s scowl deepens, and soon he’s turning back to the body, sharp nails ripping and slicing at the man until all that remains are scraps of clothing and a face so disfigured that identifying him would be impossible.

And even then, Muzan doesn’t feel the sense of satisfaction that killing someone who insulted him would normally bring – instead, the rage is calmed ever so slightly by a strange feeling that makes his fingers tremble, his throat feel swollen, and his heart race in his chest.

And when he returns to the busy streets of the night market, inhaling over and over and over, he’s quick to catch your scent, trailing behind you with those red eyes trained on your form.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because Muzan is in denial about his feelings for you for most of the beginning of his obsession with you, kidnapping you isn’t the first thing that comes to his mind. He tries to ignore you for as long as he can, holding out and believing that whatever it is that you’re making him feel will eventually go away if he doesn’t pay attention to it.

Except that it doesn’t, and as time passes he becomes more desperate to see you, to hear your voice and speak with you and be in your presence and – god forbid – touch you. And so, while not seriously considering stealing you away in the beginning, once Muzan comes to terms with the fact that his infatuation isn’t going to simply go away on its own he decides that keeping you by his side permanently is the only acceptable solution. It’s the only solution where he won’t lose his mind, honestly.

He grows so dependent on the idea of you that it starts affecting his daily tasks and life – he’s distracted, every moment he has to himself filled with idle thoughts of you and what you could be doing in that particular moment.

Are you eating enough? He knows humans have to eat more often than demons, and you have to be careful about balancing your nutrition and portion control – he’s sure he could a much better job at managing your dietary health than you can.

Are you sleeping enough? Demons don’t have to sleep, and as a result it’s been centuries since he’s had a full night’s rest, but he knows that you spend over a third of your day asleep – a massive waste of time, as far as he’s concerned.

(This doesn’t stop him from stopping by the measly apartment you call home, however, standing at the end of your bed with an unreadable expression on his face as he watches you sleep. Sometimes he’ll even get closer, kneeling beside you so that he can see your face better, perhaps even ghosting a few fingers over the curve of your cheek, your bedroom so silent he can hear his own breathing falling in time with yours.)

Are you with other people? Are you speaking with others? Are you wasting your time and energy on all of those ridiculous ‘hobbies’ of yours? Muzan wants to know – needs to know, and as time passes he simply can’t stand not knowing every single thing that you’re doing at all times.

And it’s not like kidnapping you would be hard – you’re practically defenseless, your reaction time not nearly fast enough to even pose the smallest fight against him. And so, it’s easy to scoop you up into his arms one night, picking you up out of your bed and taking a moment to lean down closer to your neck, his curls brushing against your jaw as he slowly, deeply inhales, the moment of vulnerability passing just as quickly as it occurred as he gulps and stares for a moment, only to immediately take off running towards the cabin he’s prepared to keep you in.

The cabin itself is in the middle of nowhere – in the countryside, at the base of a mountain, with tall trees and no trails leading anywhere. The cabin is wooden, with a fireplace and a meager dining area (only you’ll be using that dining space, of course, but Muzan grows fond of watching you eat – if only to comment on how pathetic it is that you need to sustain yourself with food so much more often than he does). A futon has been placed in the corner of the cabin – it’s big enough to fit two people, but thankfully he hasn’t tried to share it with you yet, not that you’re confident he will.

(You’ve woken to see him sitting beside you on it, however. He was still fully clothed, with an expression on his face that you’re not sure how to describe, but he’s never actually joined you in bed. Thank god.) t’s not horrible, per say, but your life within the cabin will far from idyllic.

Muzan is not a kind man. He’s not even a man – and this becomes apparent to you very quickly. It’s not unusual for him to return home from long periods of time away with blood staining his clothing, that familiar sour look on his face as he stares knowingly at you, expecting you to grovel at his feet and thank him for finally returning to you.

You’ve never seen him eat – he doesn’t touch the food he brings to you (and it’s good food, too – nutritious and surprisingly delicious, making you wonder exactly how he obtained it), and almost seems disgusted when he has to touch it.

You know there’s something wrong, but multiple things bar you from ever asking why his nails grow so long in such short intervals, or why he’s so inhumanely strong, or how he can be so silent when he moves – those things being the many silent, unspoken rules he has laid out for how you should act. He’s controlling in every sense, and although he doesn’t communicate exactly what he expects of you, you’ll quickly learn that he's picky, and he won’t settle for any behavior less than perfect.

Most of these rules revolve around the fact that you aren’t allowed to escape or disrespect him. Attempting escape is a rebellion against being his woman, and just as an owner does a dog, he will punish your ill behavior and pulling your metaphorical leash much, much further than you should.

Plus, your attempts to escape are a form of rejection in his eyes – he never makes it explicitly clear that he’s romantically interested in you, but he feels that you should just know this, and thus your insistence on getting away from him feels like a personal slight against him, like a slap in the face designed to hurt him in the most acute, intimate way possible.

Of course you don’t know this, but after each escape attempt, he’ll punish you, then promptly return to his office (a small, adjoining room in the cabin that you’re strictly forbidden from entering), sitting on his leather couch and letting his head sit in his hands, taking deep breaths and willing himself to stop letting such stupid, weak, human emotions affect him so.

The only thing that works, though, to calm his heart is to once again watch you as you sleep, allowing himself to get close to you, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent, perhaps even holding a shirt in his hands and imagining the way your skin would feel against the fabric. It’s a reminder that although you were disobedient and tried to leave him, you weren’t successful – you’re still here, with him, as you should be.

Disrespecting him is also, of course, a severe infringement of the unwritten code he expects you to follow. He has to maintain some sense of superiority over you, and the moment you disrespect him either with words or actions, this fragile hierarchy is threatened, and you come dangerously close to the uncomfortable truth – that despite all his grandiose talk about you being beneath him, he would be absolutely nothing now without you.

He would be a mess, unable to function, unable to find purpose in avoiding death and sickness, unsure of how to move forward with a life that now no longer seems worth continuing. And so, as long as you avoid those two major triggers, most of your time spent in the cabin will be passed with Muzan simply sitting in your presence, those red eyes watching you like a hawk and making you beyond nervous. He scares you – he’s a monster and you know it, he’s stolen you away from your life and forced you into some strange, pseudo-relationship of roommates, though his intentions are much more sinister than you can imagine.

The one silver lining of being stuck with Muzan is that his crippling fear of rejection bars him from making any sort of sexual advance on you. Of course, he very, very much wants to fuck you (thought the thought shames him, because you’re a human woman, and the idea of touching a human and being touched by a human makes his skin crawl), but the idea of you not being as passionately and needily engaged and eager as him is enough to stop him from attempting anything.

This has an unfortunate side effect though, which is that he channels this anger and fear of being rejected by you into meanness directly at you – comments of how you’re clumsy or loud or irritating slip past his lips. And although he doesn’t often mean them, the venom in his voice will get you shutting up, fearfully and self-consciously staring down at the floor.

He feels the smallest pang of guilt when this happens, because although he’s a sadistic creature, seeing you upset isn’t nearly as pleasing as he’d expected. But it’s a necessary evil in the larger scheme of things – he has to keep you in line, and by stealing you away so that he can keep constant surveillance on you and control your meal times (he decides when you eat, even if you’re not hungry or don’t want the meal he’s brought), how often you bathe yourself (often he’ll watch the process, those red eyes raking up and down your figure, making sure to wear loose bottoms so that you don’t see how the sight of you wet, soapy, and embarrassed effects him), and make sure you interact with no one, he’s ultimately fulfilling a self-serving goal: preserving you, and keeping you all locked up and safe for him to enjoy.

And only him.

PUNISHMENTS:

Despite Muzan’s strange fondness for you (or, more accurately, his dependence on your presence), he’s by no means a gentle lover. He’s cruel, demeaning, incredibly strict and harsh with you, with expectations that he never clearly communicates with you. It’ll leave you guessing in the dark, hoping and praying that your every action, word, and even thought won’t trigger some sort of negative response from him. He’s fickle, his mood changing quicker than you keep up with, and because of this, Muzan finds himself angry with you much more often than he’d care to admit.

He was resistant to developing feelings for you at first, embarrassed, disappointed and frustrated with himself for stooping so low as to develop an attraction with a weak human like you, but as time passes he finds himself growing less resentful and more desperate. He’s still angry with himself, ashamed that he’s allowed himself to let you become his one weakness, and because of this he’s a bit trigger-happy with punishing you.

He’s always looking for reasons to belittle you, to put you down in order to make himself feel better. He’s an egotistical, narcissistic creature, and just because you’ve managed to worm your way into his heart doesn’t mean that you are exempt from this aspect of his personality.

He’ll find ways to twist your words and actions into somehow being displeasing to him, whether by being disrespectful to him, or an attempt to escape.

You’re quiet and avoid speaking with him or looking at him? Sure, you’re scared, as you say, but this could also be an attempt lulling him into lowering his guard around you, like you’re waiting for the right opportunity to try and run or hurt him. (Just the thought along is laughable – as if you could ever do serious damage to him.)

So, he’ll force you into speaking simply by threatening any remaining family you have. That’ll get you spluttering and talking, he’s sure – your weak sensibilities and this absurd devotion to your family that you seem to possess is perfect to exploit. (Plus, it’ll get you to stop ignoring him, something that makes his heart feel like a knife is twisting inside him, making every part of him ache and bile rise in the back of his throat. But you don’t need to know that – he’ll never admit it.)

You’re refusing to eat the food he’s brought for you? You ungrateful thing – he’d gone so far as to get the best quality, fanciest food he could find for you – things that he could imagine himself stomaching back when he was a human. Things that – despite you being below him – you deserve as his pet. He’ll merely scoff, throwing the food off to the side, before returning a few hours later with something warm and wet and fresh – blood is dripping off the pretty white plate he’s dished the human heart on, his face carefully neutral aside from the smallest of smirks while he tells you to eat up, you wouldn’t want an ended life to be in vain, would you?

It’s cruel and it’s evil and it’s horrible, but pinning your compassion and disgust at him murdering innocent people because of your rebellions against you is the most successful and effective tool he could use to keep you in line. It works – every single time.

And Muzan has no qualms with using every possible resource at his disposal – sure, you may be angry at him, perhaps even hate him, but he’s confident that with time, you’ll realize that he’s all you have left. You’re weak and incapable and you’ll never, ever be rid of him, so why won’t you just obey him like you, as the inferior life form, should?

Your fingers are trembling as he nears you, that same unearthly silence to his steps that makes every muscle in your body stand at attention, your fight or flight instincts begging you to run as fast as you can away from the monster in front of you.

There’s nothing in his hands, but that doesn’t make you feel better – you know what he can do with those hands, and you curl up tighter against the corner you’ve sat yourself in.

Muzan’s got a half-smile on his face – it’s the closest he can get to a genuine smile, you think, but it still makes your skin crawl, unease and dread eating away at your gut. He stops in front of you, crouching down so that he’s at eye level with you. His curls sit around his face, the casual white dress-shirt he sports perfectly pressed and rolled up at the elbows.

Hello, how are you faring? He asks, and immediately you grow suspicious – this is unusual. He never directly asks you about yourself – he normally talks about himself, only occasionally dropping a comment or two about you that lets you know he recognizes your presence in the room.

What is he playing at? How do you respond?

I’m okay… you start, nervous that he’s looking for an answer that you don’t know. At your response, he makes no noticeable change, but instead stands once more. He’s still staring down at you, those red eyes feeling heavy and piercing.

Come with me.

And then he’s walking, and you’re scrambling behind him to keep up with his long strides. He settles down onto a leather couch in his study, and for the briefest moments you hesitate at the threshold, having never been allowed in this room.

He notices your resistance, and rolls his eyes slightly. Come here.

You do as you’re told, and carefully, tentatively sit down on the other end of the leather couch. It’s silent for a few moments, before Muzan breaks it, his voice a bit deeper than before. Come here.

Confusion settles over your features, but you slowly scoot over a bit, so that you’re an inch or so closer to him. Muzan’s still staring at you, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, and a frown sits on his lips.

You scoot over a bit more, continuing when he doesn’t say anything until there’s just the smallest sliver of space between your bodies. You can hear his breathing, having never been so close to him before. He’s still looking at you, but you focus your gaze on your hands in your lap, trying desperately to not visibly show your nerves.

Are you afraid of me?

His question startles you, and you stiffen up, peeking at him for just a moment. Unsure of how to respond, you merely nod, your voice small as you murmur yes. Muzan hums, and suddenly there’s a hand sitting on your thigh, his skin cold and dry, the weight feeling heavy. And although you try to stop yourself, knowing the consequences will be anything but pleasant, the unforeseen physical contact makes you jump, scooting away from him ever so slightly.

The room is still for a moment, before you hear his sharp inhale, literally seeing his face morph into one of rage. He’s breathing hard as he gets to his feet and practically storms out of the room, his steps still nearly silent. You’re still frozen, trying to process what you’ve just done – you rejected him.

Obviously you don’t want him, but this surely must be one of the unspoken rules you’re supposed to follow – surely such an arrogant man wouldn’t appreciate being you being so blatantly repulsed.

Unsure of what to do – does he want you to leave his study? Stay? – you stay in place, every part of your body shaking in fear and horrible anticipation at your punishment for such a grave offense.

You don’t have to wait for long – ten minutes later he’s barging through the door, dragging a woman by her hair into the space. She’s already stained with bits of blood, her hair matted with it and her pretty clothes darker than they should be.

Muzan’s staring at you, a wild look in his eye, his hair a bit messy and a few more buttons of the dress shirt undone. He throws the woman to the ground, and you notice how shallow her breathing is – she must be on the verge of death.

Muzan’s voice is deep, husky in a way that stills you to your very core as he growls out you will never, ever reject me. Do you understand? You have no place or authority to reject me. You are nothing. I am the only worthwhile thing in your life. Do you understand?

You nod, over and over, eyes flashing between his piercing gaze and the woman who’s slowly trying to get to her feet. Every time she gets close, Muzan pushes her back to the ground, the tears clouding your lashes just barely letting you make out the way her face twists up in pain.

You are nothing. You are nothing.

Muzan is repeating it to himself over and over again as he picks up the woman, forcing her to face you. Briefly, you’re shocked – you’ve never seen this woman in your life, but something about her seems oddly familiar, like you’re looking in a mirror.

Her hair is remarkably similar to yours – the same texture, the same color, just a different length.

Her nose is similar to yours, her skin color, even her eye color.

Her body is similar, too – a similar build, proportions, and suddenly you’re sick.

This woman is you.

Muzan’s still breathing hard, his face contorted into that ugly scowl, and without a word, his hands are tangled in the woman’s hair again, pulling and yanking upwards until a wet squelching noise fills the room, and suddenly her body falls backwards, limp, with her head still held in the air, his forearm flexing.

You can’t stop yourself from vomiting, the sight and sound too much for you to bear. Muzan watches with pursed lips, his eyes still wide and barely blinking. You look pitiful like this – shaking like some sort of scared mouse, staring at him like he's a monster, like he’s the Devil himself.

And as he stares down at you, something pleasant settles in his gut, because while he’d prefer your adoration, the way you’re looking at him now is good, too. Because you’re looking at him, giving him the attention he was craving earlier.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have tried to be kind in his approach at initiating physical contact with you. After all, it’s not as if you really have a choice – it’s such a strange, human desire to want to touch another, and really, isn’t it your fault that he’s feeling this urge?

(Isn’t it your influence and doing that he wants to touch you, to feel you, to be inside of you?)

He bares his teeth, an eyebrow cocking up. Do not reject my advances. Your death will not be as merciful as hers.

And to that, you simply nod.

OVERALL DANGER:

10/10

Muzan is, undoubtedly, a nightmare to have infatuated with you. He’s so deeply in denial in the beginning that he forces himself to stay away from you, only for that to make him crave you more, to realize that his feelings for you aren’t simply going to go away.

He’s possessive and controlling, seeing you as his in every sense of the word and feeling completely justified in taking over every aspect of your life.

He’s paranoid, always keeping an eye on you because being this emotionally tied to another living thing is incredibly nerve-wracking, your weak human body and disposition making him nervous that even the wind will send you knocking on death’s door.

And even then, he doesn’t express this worry in any healthy way – he’s not afraid to verbally degrade you, using harsh words as a shield so that you don’t see just how pathetically deep his obsession and attraction to you is.

It’s demoralizing, embarrassing to a degree that forces him to treat you like a pet of sorts – punishing you with threats, stealing you away to be stuck in some remote cabin in the woods where not a soul will dare near the home, smelling both him and the scent of death strongly in the air.

He’s so emotionally out of touch, and as a result your life with him will be a constant series of walking on eggshells around rules and expectations you don’t even know about. It’s difficult, and frankly you’re viable to find yourself quickly losing your sanity.

But don’t worry too much – Muzan may not act like it, but he does care about your health and safety, and you’ll be in capable hands to help reshape and remold you into the perfect little human partner.

Perhaps you’ll even become a demon – a very, very likely event, considering the fact that as a demon, you have to obey his every command.

(Just the thought of you completely obedient and submissive makes him smile, his eyes narrowing a bit and his nails tapping on the nearest surface, those slacks of his feeling a bit too tight.)

He wants you to be his, and a man as selfish as him knows no bounds. So really, get ready – you will be his, and will never escape him. Lucky you.

[bloggingboutburgers]

I think everyone will benefit from properly tagging posts. xreader fics abd ship fics ONLY include the relevent _x_ tags but none of the character's name on its own, allowing all the usual fanart, theories and such to stay on the main name tag and not be crowded out by horny fanfiction (I say this as someone who very much enjoys very horny, very smutty xreader fanfictions. I want to be able to search the fics I want directly without having to trawl through headcanon posts, fanart, unrelated ship posts, etc.).

No one really has a tailored experience on the internet (I'm glad tumblr is at least a little more user dictated than advertiser algorithm based), but I do get the frustration and discomfort that comes from the abundant hornyposting feeling inescapable.

It's tempting to take offence to persistent cries against xreader stuff. I like special POV episodes of shows for the same reason I like xreader fics. My favourite characters WERE the company I kept, my only real form of companionship (albeit simulated) for many many years. Not because I am allo, basically. I sought something to meet my social needs growing up where I was unable to find community or companionship in real life.

Unfortunately, because they are usually sexual in nature I just came to associate a need for human connection with sex (so am I allo or just conditioned to blend sexual, platonic and romantic feelings and actions together?). I was just happy to feel like I had someone to hang out with. I knew they weren't real and that I needed to find real people to connect with (not for lack of trying, kids are just cruel. Finally made friends as an adult, yay).

Didn't intend for any of that to be so sad or pathetic, but hopefully it gives context for the prevalence of xreader fics. Alongside the varied reasons people write / read them (no just blind allo horniness), especially in light of the widespread loneliness epidemic over the past decade.

It's still more than ok to not want anything to do with them either (be it due to being aroace or not - I know plenty of allos who find xreader fics cringe).

Something I need to clarify here – we get it. Well, we don't fundamentally get it, but trust me, we've been told time and time again why people would write/draw/be into xreader content (it's all part of the package of "aroaces MUST put themselves in allo people's shoes at all times"), and we know they're perfectly legitimate reasons, and we don't find it sad or pathetic, or cringe. At the very least I don't at all. That's not what it's about. It's not something as surface-level at that.

The thing is... The same kind of understanding effort is VERY rarely put forward in return for us. And the fact that we're perceived as naysayers is symptomatic of this. We're not crying against xreader content. People are free to do whatever they want. We just want it to be tagged to keep ourselves safe, and so we can appreciate some variety and find fandom content we can properly connect with with the identity we have.

The issue isn't that there is xreader content, or heck, that there's lots of it. It's that, as @kaoruko-han put it, "everyone is assumed to be into this", and that you can't express something as simple as "I'd rather read something else" without being finger-pointed as a villain.

Yeah, no one has a tailored experience online, but there's still a very clear lack of balance on what is acceptable to tailor to or not (and for us, that includes tumblr). And trying to find fan-content while being sex-repulsed? Bruh, you'd better pray on your lucky stars and be ready to trudge through an ocean of stuff that's loaded with the very thing that makes you scared, uncomfortable or downright triggers a feeling of sickness in you, because a lot of it ain't tagged. An alarming amount of people don't bother, because why would people like you exist, right? There's only ever them, and puritan bigots. It's that black and white in a lot of people's heads.

Here's the difference though: we, too, want people to be able to vibe to whatever fan content they want. We just wish "people" included us properly in this case. As it stands now, trying to find fan content that won't give you an uncomfortable feeling as a sex-repulsed person feels kinda like this (I'll try to illustrate that to the best of my ability as a vague comparison, please no one take that as a clear parallel, I'm literally just trying to explain how it feels in a way people who have no idea how it feels might understand): you're not into gore at all, you don't wanna look at it, but your streaming platform keeps recommending you those series that are loaded with gore. You try to filter it out, but no matter where you go, you keep being recommended those series. And no one ever gets your discomfort and you're being branded as nothing but a wet blanket for not wanting to see gore. It's kinda like that.

At this point I admire sex-repulsed or romance-repulsed people who still TRY to find anything at all in fandom spaces. I've stopped reading fanfic altogether and I've largely stopped engaging with the large majority of fandom spaces for those reasons. And that wasn't an easy choice, or one that I find fun because it feels incredibly lonely, but it's the result of years of exhaustion and strain on my mental health trying to navigate something that's so hostile to me at its core, even if it's unintentional.

So... Yeah. We know the reasons, just like the content itself, they're kinda impossible to ignore. But we are largely being ignored in this, and it's not just something at an "ick" or "picky" level ; for a sex-repulsed person, being spammed with sex entails much more than that. It's not even frustration anymore at this point, it's downright despair a lot of the time. So... Yeah, like you said, everyone would benefit from stuff being more properly tagged. For us it'd be so huge to know our safety is taken into account – that we're taken into account at all. Thing is, we're not, and we're so invisible in this and most other things that at this point, I don't have much hope. Sex-related controversies allo people can understand would sooner create a change than anything done for our sake.

[ckret2]

Chapter 36 of human Bill Cipher is on death row in the Mystery Shack and would rather not be, featuring: the author being pissed as hell after spending all day drawing eight pictures for a comic oh my god it really took all day, and then discovering that the Internet connection is so shitty the images won't upload, so y'all have to pretend that I included eight pictures here and cheer and clap and applaud for them.

Insert colorful pictures here. 💦 Use your imagination. 🚗 I'm so tired.

But more importantly: Mabel makes Bill do community service.

EDIT FEB 8: i finally got around to uploading the art lmao

I don't know why I thought all that effort was a good idea. Please appreciate the hell out of it.

####

Two blue- and orange-haired girls trailed after a pink-haired girl as she furiously stormed into the stark white control room. Each wore the same uniform—a skintight space suit with a pleated skirt and heart-shaped patches that matched their hair colors on their sleeves—but the pink-haired girl had taken off her helmet and ripped the patches off her sleeves. "Please, Momoko-chan," the blue-haired girl said, "don't do it. What if you make the director angry—?"

"That devil can't feel a human emotion like that," Momoko snapped, making the blue-haired girl gasp in horror. "I've made up my mind, Aoko-chan! Are you joining me or not?"

Aoko bit her lip, pressing one hand worriedly over her chest. "I can't."

"What about you, Orenjiko-chan?"

The orange-haired girl shook her head, her curly corkscrew locks bouncing inside her helmet.

"Fine! Then I'll just do it myself." Momoko stomped into the aisle between the computer consoles and looked up at a shadowy figure at a desk, overseeing the control center from a mezzanine level high above. "Hey, Director!" She threw her heart-shaped patches to the ground. "I quit!"

The shadowy figure didn't flinch. A cold, emotionless voice said, "Is that so."

"I've had enough of your lies! You told me my anger was just me tapping into the righteous fury I needed to protect humanity—but it isn't! These battles are... doing something to me!" She held her hands in front of her face, watching as they trembled. "Every time I'm on the battlefield, my berserker rage keeps getting stronger and stronger. The last time I lost control, I turned on my own friends and nearly killed..." She looked guiltily at the cast on Aoko's broken arm. "I won't do it again. I want out."

"It's too late for that." The director leaned forward into the light. A small floppy-eared albino bunny in a navy blue suit sat on the desk, the reflection on its sunglasses hiding its cruel pink eyes, its fuzzy white paws pressed together in front of its face. "We made a deal, Momoko-chan. I gave you your wish, and you gave us your heart." A wall lit up behind the bunny, displaying a dozen glass terrariums. Each one contained a live, beating human heart. "The battery we replaced your heart with must be running low. You'll need to recharge it, whether you want to or not."

Momoko flinched. She reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a heart-shaped crystal on a chain like she was retrieving a pocket watch. It faintly glowed a hot pink, but even as she looked at it, it faded closer and closer to black.

She frowned and stuffed the crystal back in her pocket. "Then I want to trade back."

"What?!"

"My heart for my wish."

"You can't," the bunny said. "That wish is the only thing protecting your friends! If I reverse it—"

"That's just it," Momoko said. "When I made that wish, I thought my friends needed me to protect them! But now, having fought alongside them..." She looked to Aoko, and then Orenjiko. "I know the truth. And it's that they never needed me to save them! They were always strong enough to save themselves. I just needed to have faith in them."

Aoko's eyes watered up. Orenjiko said, "Oh, Momoko-chan—"

The bunny pounded a soft paw on its desk, calling the girls' attention back. "When will you learn, child! Once you've made a choice, there's no way to undo it! None of your mistakes will ever be erased—and no matter how you grovel, God will not forgive you! So will you die in shame like a worm? Or will you shoulder the burden of your sins and carry on into the future?"

The bunny sat back and looked at a photo in a cracked picture frame on its desk. It showed another bunny in an apron with big golden hoop earrings, holding a tinier bunny that was sucking on a pacifier. A tear rolled down the bunny's fuzzy cheek, hidden from the girls behind its paws.

"We must all live with the consequences of our choices," the bunny said. "Now you must live with yours."

Aoko and Orenjiko frowned and looked away from the bunny, afraid to meet their director's steely gaze. Even Momoko's scowl wavered with doubt.

The bunny adjusted its sunglasses, reasserting its cool, detached demeanor. "The next angel attack will reach Retro Tokyo at midnight. And if I'm not mistaken, you have less than 24 hours until your batteries run dry. You'll need to be in your cockpits to recharge them. You might as well fight."

Aoko's shoulders sagged in defeat. Orenjiko murmured, "Yes, sir." They meekly crept out of the control center.

Only Momoko remained, glaring up at the director. It glared down, unmoved. Momoko grit her teeth and growled at it.

"Enough foolishness. You know what you have to do," the bunny said. "Get in the Fukuin robot, Momoko."

"Dang it!" She stamped her foot with an angry grunt and trudged out of the room.

The shot closed in on the bunny's face as it murmured, "Someday, you'll understand," and then the screen went black. The words Neon Crisis Revelations Angry Cute Girl: Annihilation! Episode 23: The Dark Heart of the White Rabbit! flashed on screen as the ending theme played.

Soos said, "If you ask me, that's one of this season's best episodes. It's often forgotten for the lack of spectacular mecha combat Annihilation is known for, but I find the emotionally-driven episodes give me more to think about later, and we couldn't have gotten this kind of character development out of Momoko in a more action-packed episode. Plus, it gave Director Bunbun some much-needed depth. It doesn't excuse its actions, but it explains them."

"This is exactly why Bunbun's my favorite character," Melody said. "It feels so bad for its mistakes, but all it knows how to do is double down on them. I just wanna give it a hug."

"As much as you want Bunbun to stand down, it's clear why it thinks it can't. It's a textbook example of the sunk cost fallacy," Ford said thoughtfully.

As the episode credits played, Fiddleford leaned over to whisper to Ford, "I think I might've figured out a way to synthesize that paradox element we're needing."

"Did you? Fiddleford, that's amazing—"

"Don't get too excited just yet, I only might've figured it. Usually, I'd want to run a lot more calculations to confirm it—but considering the dire circumstances, we might just need to run the experiment and see what happens."

Ford stared at him. "Skipping calculations? Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Heh! You hush. It ain't dangerous, I just don't know if it'll work. We'll have to pull a fast one on the universe."

Ford was dying to know what that meant; but before he could ask, the credits ended and Momoko's voice actor perkily announced, "Next time on Neon Crisis Revelations Angry Cute Girl: Annihilation!"

A school exploded. A bright orange combat mech as tall as a skyscraper exploded. A steel grey warship exploded.

Director Bunbun's voice said, "Remember, Momoko, your true enemy isn't the angels, but entropy itself. We are fighting to save the universe from a cold grave. If God wants to kill us, we'll just have to kill God first!"

A giant one-eyed mechanical angel spread out four white-hot arms and six wings with metal feathers like enormous knives. It threw back its inhuman head and trumpeted toward the heavens. And then it exploded.

Tate pointed at the exploding angel, pointed at his father, and said, "Don't even think about it, Dad."

"I wasn't! I ain't got enough beards to run all them arms." Between episodes, Fiddleford hissed to Ford, "I'll explain tomorrow. Come over with Stanley and Soos. I'll need all y'all's help to pull this off."

Ford nodded. He'd have to tell Stan in the morning. He just hoped whatever Fiddleford had in mind would work.

####

As soon as the vending machine opened, Ford could hear Mabel in the living room: "Checkmate! You owe me a soda."

"That's what yooou thiiink," Bill said, voice sing-song. "Congratulations on cornering my king's body double."

"Aw, man! I hate when you do that."

"Good luck finding him amongst all my pawns!"

They were up this early? Ford had thought he'd have to wake the kids. (He'd hoped he would get to them before Bill was up.) He leaned into the living room to see what they were up to.

Bill and Mabel were sitting at the table, playing chess. He recognized some of Mabel's "fairy chess" pieces on the board. They were obviously well into their current game; each had claimed about half the other's pieces.

(It was eerie how much more Bill looked like Bill these days; he'd somehow found a top hat to add to his ensemble, and now when Ford saw him from behind—yellow hair blending into his yellow hoodie, with the eye on his hood laying flat on his back—for a split second, he nearly looked like himself again.)

Mabel waved. "Good morning, Grunkle Ford!" (Bill glanced back at Ford over his shoulder, and the illusion was shattered.) "You're up early!"

"Good morning. So are you." He nodded toward Bill with a disapproving frown. "You do know he cheats, right?"

Mabel gushed, "I know! It's so fun!"

"She's a worse cheat than I am," Bill announced proudly.

"It's not cheating when I do it, I'm a senator!" Mabel leaned across the table, snatched the top hat off Bill's head, and proudly set it on her own. "I can legalize anything I want!"

"Well oh-kay, Miss Senator." Bill stole the hat back. "We're still monarchists on this side of the board."

Ford took a few steps closer to inspect their game more closely. "Why are there sandwich cookies on the chessboard?"

Bill said, "Mabel's got the knights all cozy in the horse stable," he pointed at the "nest" Mabel had made by folding the bottom of her sweater up, "so I'm trying to coax mine back out with delicious treats."

"It'll never work!" Mabel crowed. "The horses are too cozy!"

"I'll get them eventually! Even the loneliest monkey goes to Wire Mother to feed!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Ford said, "He's referring to an important psychology experiment where baby monkeys were..." He caught sight of Bill's face, looking right at him and grinning oh so brightly, and mumbled, "Never mind." He cleared his throat. "Anyway—Mabel, when you've finished your game, could you head downstairs? I need to discuss something with you."

"Oh. Okay, sure," Mabel said, giving him a questioning look.

"How come?" Bill's exposed eye was locked onto Ford like a laser. "Is it about the Mysteries?"

The what? Before Ford could ask, Mabel quickly said, "I haven't told Bill anything about the Mysteries, I promise!" She winked at Ford.

Hmm. Ford looked at Bill and said coolly, "I don't think the Mysteries are any of your business, Cipher." He had no idea what game he'd just been roped into, but he was gratified by how quickly Bill scowled.

"I'll be back downstairs in a few minutes," Ford said; and then left to pass the same message on to Dipper and Stan.

####

Ford woke Dipper; told him, like he'd told Stan, not to go through the living room to reach the elevator so Bill wouldn't notice how many people were congregating downstairs; and then headed back down. Stan was out of bed by now, drinking coffee and still in his underwear as he spectated the chess game from the doorway. Stan nodded, "Morning."

"Morning." Ford paused to watch alongside him.

Over thirty years ago, Ford's chess games with Bill had been minor acts of psychological torture. In their first meeting, after flattering the dickens out of Ford's intelligence, Bill had set up a game of "interdimensional" chess; Ford had quickly figured out from Bill's moves that some rules of interdimensional chess were different from Earth's chess; and then, afraid of looking ignorant in front of this strange, friendly muse, Ford had decided to try to pick up the rules of interdimensional chess based on what Bill did rather than ask for an explanation.

The challenge of figuring out the new rules might have been fun, if he hadn't lived in fear of making a fool of himself in front of an interstellar angel. As it was, though, he constantly fell into traps he didn't know were there ("Rookie mistake, by using your bishop to check me you activated my wormhole!"); he never seemed to remember all the things the pieces could do ("Sure, I upgraded my queen to ricochet off the edges squares—I'm surprised you haven't yet!"); and more often than not, when he tried to emulate Bill's moves, Bill gently "reminded" him that it wasn't the right time or place for Ford to do that; and Ford, humiliated and sheepish, had "corrected" his error. He won rarely, but not often.

It took years for Ford to learn there was no such devil as "interdimensional chess." Bill had used the name as a ruse to make up whatever rules he wanted. And on top of that, Ford had it from several reliable sources that Bill wasn't even that good at chess.

Now here Bill was pulling the same con on Mabel with "fairy chess"—and when he tried to tell her it didn't matter that she'd taken out his (disguised) king because the queen was co-regent, she told him that her pieces had democratized and Bill couldn't win until he'd defeated all of them. He not only allowed her this rule; he actually seemed thrilled. Proud.

It was so different from the cordial, half-interested way he'd played chess with Ford.

Ford was sure Bill had just decided this was the best way to keep Mabel's attention; she would have seen secret rules as an unfair imbalance rather than a mental challenge, she had no doubt asked Bill to explain how "fairy chess" worked rather than stupidly tried to guess herself, and if she noticed her opponent was disinterested she'd probably lose interest too rather than try harder. Obviously, Bill had to handle Mabel differently than Ford.

But a small part of Ford wondered: if he'd ever looked Bill dead in the eye, moved a rook like it was a bishop, and confidently informed him that the board had slipped into a mirror universe—would Bill have laughed in delight and congratulated him on figuring out the game?

Stan nudged Ford. "Hey. You look like you could bite through a chair leg," he murmured. "Are you alright?"

Ford snapped, "No, of course I'm not."

Stan gave him a surprised look. "What?"

"What?" Ford shook his head. "Sorry—I misheard you. I thought you asked if I was jealous. Of course I'm not jealous; and yes, I'm alright." He cleared his throat. "What was I—? The study. Right." He clasped his hands behind his back and marched across the living room, nodded to Mabel as he passed, ignored Bill, and swept into the gift shop.

Stan stared after him, stared into the living room trying to figure out what the heck Ford could possibly be jealous over—Bill and Mabel were cracking up over a rook Mabel had turned upside-down and debating the mechanics of a reverse-gravity chess variant—then shook his head and headed back to the kitchen.

Mabel took out one of Bill's bishops and snuck two sandwich cookies off the board to eat without him noticing. He was only half focusing on the game now, distracted by the sound of the most beautiful word in the English language ringing in his head: jealous, jealous, jealous.

####

Stan was the first down, followed by Mabel—"Grunkle Ford, just so you know, I told Bill you gave me that clear pyramid because you inducted me into the Mysteries! He's been going cuckoo trying to find out what that means!"—and then Dipper, hair still disheveled from sleep. Ford nodded. "Good. Everyone's here."

"Great," Stan said, "now what's going on? What's with the whole cloak-and-dagger act?"

"Yesterday, Fiddleford informed me that he may be on the verge of a scientific breakthrough—but he needs some assistance. Stanley, he specifically said it's crucial that both of us and Soos help."

Stan groaned, rolling his eyes. "If this is another one of his cockamamie giant robots..." (Mabel laughed, "Cockamamie.")

"It isn't," Ford said seriously. "Soos is already prepared to go. But if the three of us are at the Northwest estate..."

Stan nodded in comprehension. "And Mrs. Ramirez is out visiting family today." He looked at Dipper and Mabel. "So it'll be just the two of you in the shack with the demon today."

Mabel nodded. Dipper frowned; he'd had an investigation he wanted to go on today. "So, this scientific breakthrough—is it...?"

Ford paused. "Too soon to tell. But, if everything goes stupendously well... it could be, yes."

"What are the odds of it going that well?" Stan asked.

"At a loose, uneducated guess? 20%. But I'd give only 20% odds that it will end in complete failure, too. Far more likely, what we do today will just bring us one step closer to... to." He shrugged. "To the end of everything."

There was a split second too long of silence as everyone tried not to look at Mabel to see how she took that. But she just nodded again.

Ford took in a deep breath and nodded. "So. Dipper, Mabel, you've got Soos's number in case of emergency," he said. "I know you've dealt with Bill yourselves a few times, but—are you both confident you can handle him entirely alone today?"

Stan laughed, breaking some of the tension in the room. "Of course they can handle him! Have you seen 'em? Mabel's got that monster doing anything she says!"

"Oh, come on," Mabel said, waving off the compliment but grinning. "I just get how he thinks, that's all."

"Yeah, and that makes you the only one!"

Dipper gritted his teeth. It stung that only Mabel was getting a vote of confidence—what, did they not think he could handle Bill, too? But he supposed he couldn't argue with it. Mabel was the expert on Bill. Dipper couldn't even have a full conversation with him without getting tangled up in weird haunting metaphors about caves and shadows.

Ford nudged Stan. "But they still need to keep their guard up around him." To Dipper and Mabel, he said, "Do not tell him we're gone, so he can't try to take advantage of the adults being missing. And don't leave him unsupervised. We should be back by dinner."

"Got it," Dipper said.

Mabel snapped off a salute and said, "You can count on us!"

####

Mabel burst into the living room, made a beeline for Bill lying down on the couch, and flung herself across his stomach. "Hey Bill! If you don't tell anyone that I told you that the adults are gone, I'll take you outside to do something fun!"

Bill grinned and tossed aside the Gold Chains For Old Men issue he'd picked up. "Deal!"

####

"This is such a bad idea," Dipper told Mabel as she collected buckets and towels. "You don't trust him that much, do you?"

"It's fine. We have an understanding now," Mabel said. "We speak the same language!"

Dipper grimaced. "I don't really think..."

From the entryway, Bill called, "Found the bracelets! They were hanging on the coat rack." He ducked into the kitchen, already wearing one half of the enchanted bracelets. "Ready?"

"Ready!" Mabel grabbed her half as she ran by, and they were out the door.

Dipper reluctantly followed.

####

On Summerween, some kids had gone at Stan's car with eggs, toilet paper, and—by the looks of the damage—probably also several rocks, keys, and the scratchiest branches they could find. Stan had already washed off what damage he could; but there were still some bits of egg stuck in the seams of the car, and the paint job was a tragic scraped-up disaster, capped off by the giant phrase "TRICK-OR-CHEATER" scratched across the driver's side doors.

Mabel led them to the car and set down her buckets. "Wait here, I've gotta get the hose."

Bill studied the contents of the buckets—cleaning brushes, towels, various liquid soaps. "So, what are we doing?" He emptied one bucket's supplies. "Adding to the damage?" He lifted the metal bucket over his head, prepared to throw it down on the car's hood.

"NOOO! BILL!"

He laughed, "I'm messing with you!" He set the bucket back down.

Mabel returned with a running hose and started filling the buckets. "Grunkle Stan was complaining about how hard it is to repair a classic car like this," she said. "So, I thought we could surprise him by fixing it while he's gone. And you can show everyone how much nicer you're getting by helping!"

"Aw, what?" Bill planted his hands on his hips. "You took me outside to do community service?"

"Bill." Mabel grabbed his arms. "I think it's really important that you show everyone how much nicer you're getting. Really."

Bill swallowed down the urge to scoff. "Sure—but by doing chores for Stan? I'll be nice, but I won't be boring."

"We can play with the hose, too!"

Bill thought that over. "Okay, I'm in." It was an opportunity to get some sunshine, at least.

"Good!" Mabel grinned evilly, lifted the hose, and sprayed it at Bill's face.

He ducked just in time for the stream to miss his head and knock off his hat (which Mabel had generously permitted Bill to hold onto, since she'd forgotten she owned it). He snatched up a brush and a towel like a sword and shield and backed away from Mabel. "Ha! You'll have to do better than that, kid! I can see every possible future branching out from this moment—you'll never land a surprise attack on me!"

"You can see the future, but can you see... this?" Mabel yanked on the hose. It pulled taut behind Bill's ankles.

He tripped, yelped, and landed on his back. "No," he said, staring at the sky. "Apparently I can't."

Mabel sprayed the hose in his face.

Within a couple of minutes, they were on opposite sides of the car, lobbing soggy soapy sponges and towels back and forth at each other—and, in the process, accidentally managing to get the car a tiny bit cleaner as their projectiles drizzled soap over it. Bill had thus far successfully dodged nearly all of Mabel's projectiles—his lower legs and sleeves were more soaked than the rest of him, and mainly from preparing his attacks—while Mabel was quickly drenched and accusing Bill of cheating. Waddles, who had been allowed outside (and, Bill noted, not required to wear a leash), elected not to join the battle, but was quite content to bask in the mud puddle expanding around the car.

And Dipper, meanwhile, sat on the porch, his journal open and ignored in his lap, glaring at Bill and Mabel, disapproving of this scene as hard as he could.

"Okay, truce!" Mabel shouted. "Time out! Pause! Sto—" A soaked towel landed on her face as Bill cackled. She pulled it off. "My bucket's empty, I've gotta refill it."

"You think I'd show mercy just for that?"

"Seriously, Bill!" She ran over to the porch with her bucket and hose.

"Coward!" Bill called; and then, bereft of any targets to attack, entertained himself by picking up a sponge and actually starting to clean the car.

Dipper leaned over toward Mabel. "This is such a bad idea," he muttered.

"No it's not, it's great. Look, he's already helping."

"I'm serious. His aim's getting too good, he could throw a bucket over the top of the car and knock you out or something—"

"But he won't," Mabel insisted.

"How do you know?"

"Because..." Mabel attempted to convey her knowledge by swinging her arms emphatically. "Because he won't, okay? Bill's gonna do community service today and nothing's gonna go wrong!"

Dipper glared toward Bill—just to see that he was looking straight at them, not even trying to hide that he was listening in. He flipped up his eye patch to wink at Dipper.

"Fine." Dipper slammed his journal shut and got to his feet. "But I'm not sticking around."

Mabel gave him a surprised look. "Dipper? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Just Mabel thinking washing a car would make Bill worthy of coming off of death row—which meant she wasn't taking the threat he posed seriously. Which apparently she didn't need to, because she understood him so well—everyone said so—while Dipper, official junior paranormal investigator, somehow wasn't the one who understood the alien demon, and now Mabel kept spending all her free time around Bill because they got each other so well—but Dipper didn't care. Why would he care? There was like a 20% chance Bill could be dead by the end of the day. Which wasn't big, but it was something. "I just don't wanna sit around watching you wash the car, okay?"

"Oh," Mabel said, shifting awkwardly. "You could help out?"

"No he can't!" Bill yelled.

Dipper ground his teeth and tried to ignore him. "I've got other stuff to do. I have a paranormal investigation to go on. It's what I wanted to do today until we got stuck on triangle-sitting duty. So if you're so sure you've got the situation under control, I can just go ahead and do that anyway." Under his breath, he muttered, "I thought we could do it together, but if you'd rather hang out with Bill..."

Mabel bristled. "Well—fine, then! I do have it under control. Thanks for noticing." A tad guardedly, she asked, "So... what's today's big investigation?"

Dipper hesitated, trying to decide how irritated he really was; but if Mabel had extended an olive branch, so should he. He flipped through his journal. "You know about all the recent nighttime burglaries?" He showed Mabel a page where he'd glued a printed-out photo of a long-legged, armless, ghostlike creature, and next to it paperclipped an article cut out from the Gravity Falls Gossiper. "Something's been stealing jeans from every clothing store in town. Based on the surveillance footage, I bet that it's a mysterious, little-known creature called—"

"The Fremont Nightwigglers?" Bill cut in. "Yeah, this is about the time of year their migratory route should take them through Oregon. You oughta check the dumpsters in town. They flock in parking lots at night, but during the day they tend to nest together in half-empty dumpsters."

Dipper stared at Bill.

"You're welcome!" Bill said.

Dipper couldn't even enjoy a good old-fashioned monster hunt without Bill stealing half the thrill of discovery. "Great," Dipper grumbled. He'd better get out of here—before Bill also spoiled what planet the Nightwigglers were from. "I'll see you later, Mabel." He trudged off to find his bike, angrily kicking a patch of grass as he went.

Mabel watched him go, half considering chasing after him.

And then Bill very carefully lobbed a soaking sponge straight at the back of her head.

Mabel squealed—"Bill!"—and charged back into battle.

####

It took them the better part of the morning to finish washing the car—in part because the growing mud puddle kept undoing their work. When they were done, Mabel stepped back and announced, "Okay, great work! Now it's time for... part two! Covering up the scratches." She whipped out two aerosol cans, "With spray paint!" She rattled the cans like underwhelming maracas. 

"Whoa, and you didn't even bring me safety goggles?"

Mabel stared at him. "Since when do you use safety anything?"

"I'm just saying. I'm not sure I trust you wielding spray paint near me."

Mabel thought it was still too soon to be cracking jokes about anything that happened in the Fearamid; but she punched his arm and said, "You'll be fine as long as you don't try to kill me. Here!" She handed him a third can.

He accepted it and shook it up. (Mabel felt like he was just doing it to hear the little ball rattling, too.) "So what's the plan?"

"Grunkle Stan said usually, car dents are... hammered out? Somehow?"

Bill nodded. "Intriguingly counterintuitive."

"But I don't know how to do that," Mabel said. "But! I saw this great makeup tutorial that explains contouring! You use makeup a little lighter and darker than your skin to make fake shadows so your face looks like a different shape!" She held up her cans next to Bill's; his was as near to the same color as the car as Mabel could find, while the other two were a bit lighter and darker. "So I thought, maybe we can use different shades of red to contour the dents and make them disappear? If we spray the shadowy parts with light red and spray the pokey-outie parts with dark red?"

Bill looked at the car thoughtfully. "Yeah, that makes perfect sense! I mean, what's 'three-dimensional' vision anyway?" He set his can on the ground so he could hold his arms out, forming a rectangle between his thumbs and forefingers, framing the car in between like it was a picture. "It's just a two-dimensional view that you take on faith is three-dimensional, because your mind's learned that highlights and shadows are the curvature being revealed by sunlight!"

Mabel had never considered that her vision of the world was a 2D view that looked 3D; but she had taken a lot of art classes, and the first lesson of a new art class was always drawing a circle and carefully shading it in pencil so that it looked like shadows being cast on a ball, so she kinda sorta figured she got it. "Yeah! Exactly like that."

"So you're absolutely right: shadowing the highlights and highlighting the shadows will just cancel out that curvature and make it look perfectly flat," Bill said. "You're an art genius, Shooting Star. We'll have this car looking good as new in no time."

####

Thirty minutes later, they had a scratched, dented car covered in terrible-looking mismatched blobs of red. They actually made the dents stand out more.

Mabel and Bill surveyed their masterpiece silently.

"I've figured out our problem," Bill said. "We forgot to account for Earth's rotation. As the planet turns, the sun casts shadows at different angles, so the dents' shadows will look slightly different."

"Ah. Yeah," Mabel said. "That's gotta be it."

"When I take over this town again, I'll freeze time and we can paint this thing properly."

Mabel wondered if there was a way to briefly freeze time with the time tape they'd confiscated, before quickly remembering exactly what she'd been trying to do when she'd started Weirdmageddon in the first place. "Let's come up with a plan that doesn't involve messing with the fabric of spacetime."

"Hm." Bill planted his hands on his hips thoughtfully. "I have a great idea. What if we cover up the dents with something cooler. Like—flames. Or lightning—"

Mabel gasped, "Or a wizard!"

Bill gave her a puzzled look. "Where are we going to find a wizard—? Oh, right, painting a wizard."

"Bill, that's perfect. We could give Grunkle Stan the airbrushed wizard van of his dreams!"

"Oooh. Oh yeah. I love that." Bill nodded appreciatively. "I've always thought Stanley was more of an 'airbrushed hot babe' guy, though."

"We can put a hot wizard babe on the other side," Mabel said. "And the wizard could be fighting a unicorn! Because that's awesome! And the unicorn probably deserves it. Grunkle Stan would totally fight a unicorn if he ever met one."

"I think we've got a plan."

They retrieved a wider variety of spray paint cans from inside the shack. Mabel took over the majority of the art duties—she was the only one of the two of them who could draw wizards or unicorns—and she left the little details (stars and lasers and so forth) to Bill. He got sidetracked several times drawing multiple copies of his own face around the battle scene, until Mabel pointed out Stan would get arrested driving around with those so they'd just have to cover them up.

Mabel had finished the first mural and was working on the hot wizard babe (it was riding a dolphin) when Bill called from the other side of the car, "Head's up, we're out of orange."

"That's the fourth color you've run out of. What are you doing?" Mabel circled around to the other side of the car to see his work. He'd added some graffiti across the windows in an alien alphabet—Mabel recognized some of the letters from when he'd left coded messages in Dipper's journal—and between the wizard and the unicorn...

Mabel wrinkled her nose. There was an immense multicolored blob stretching between the two figures, scribbled over multiple times in random patterns with every color they had. Well, now she knew why Bill was running out of colors. "Bill, what is that?"

"It's the wizard's magic rainbow laser! The one he's shooting at the unicorn."

"It's too many colors," Mabel said.

Bill gave her a shocked, deeply offended look. "Too many—? Who are you and what did you do with the real Mabel?"

"You can't use every color. For a laser like this, it's gotta be three or four colors."

"Unbelievable."

"And they need to be straight! If it's scribbled like that, it looks like a blob."

"It's more realistic that way! Wild magical powers don't go in a straight line—the more powerful it is, the more chaotic it gets!" Bill gestured insistently at the blob. "I'm doing a perspective thing, here—the colors layering over each other shows how they're all weaving together and wrapping around each other! See?"

Mabel studied the blob more closely. She shook her head. "Sorry Bill. It's just a mess."

Bill threw the empty orange can on the ground and flung his hands in the air. "I can't believe you of all people don't appreciate my art."

"The stars look nice," Mabel said. "And the alien text. It looks like magic wizard runes."

Bill grunted.

Maybe they needed a break. "I think we need to buy some replacement colors before we can finish," Mabel said.

"Yeah, sure," Bill said. "Pop open the car door for me, I can drive us to the hardware store—"

"Nope!" Mabel didn't trust him that much. "You're staying here. We'd get in too much trouble if anyone finds out I let you drive."

"You worry too much about getting in trouble," Bill said; but now that the conversation had moved on from the blob, he already sounded less irritated.

"Sorry, but you've gotta wait here while I get supplies. I'll just bike to the hardware store." She pointed at the house. "Back inside!"

Bill considered the command like he thought he had a choice in it; then nodded in approval. "Fine. Just help me get lunch outta the fridge before you go."

Surely he could find some way to entertain himself, all alone in the Mystery Shack, completely unsupervised.

####

(This chapter was a nonstop train of the most ridiculous scenes I could think of, I hope y'all enjoyed. If you did, I'd love a comment—some of my favorite jokes and character moments so far are in this chapter and I wanna know what y'all liked. Also after spending 9 hours on a comic my internet is too shitty for me to post I could really use some nice comments, thank you, I suffer so much for my art)

[kingconia]

Hellooo I'M kinda asking for angstyy but Imaginee Gn reader does a break up prank on the Dormleaders 😶‼️(idk if this was already done??)

TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS WHEN THEIR S/O IS TRYING TO PRANK THEM BY BREAKING UP

cw: Of course, some angst ensues.

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— Riddle is having a hard time with understanding even common humour, so, of course, he has not a single idea what is going on;

— He takes your words very seriously, to the point you can see his eyes watering slightly as he turns away from you;

— An instant regret! That is too much, you realise. An attempt to fix everything apparently goes even worse. Riddle is glad that you are not breaking up, but he is clearly offended by what you had done.

•

”I am so, so sorry,” you murmur, taking his cold hands in yours. ”I didn't think that—”

”You didn't think at all,” Riddle cuts you, voice despite being cold, wavering slightly. ”It seems like you don't respect my feelings enough, do you? Someone, who loves you wouldn't do that.”

It is hard not to feel ashamed already, but the way Riddle speaks, yielding his words as swords, hurt even more. You know of his streak to be more passive aggressive when he feels offended, so you are not surprised. But it still unpleasant to hear.

”No, I do,” you kiss his knuckles softly, looking straight in his eyes. ”I will make up for you, alright?”

Riddle nods, but an expression on his face is a gloom one. It definitely will take some time to deserve his forgiveness.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Leona takes some time to process what he had heard. He is fighting the urge to say that it must be a joke, but your acting is too realistic, so he trusts you with being honest;

— Leona is tired from this urge to fight for love and acceptance, when others get it so easily. So, he is not planning to talk with you about all of it; he will merely give up. And despite his heart aching painfully at your words, Leona will only shrug it off. He doesn't want you to he aware of his true feelings;

— When you stop him by telling that it is a joke, Leona feels something between a relief and irritation. He tries not to show it, too—it will only make you understand that he, in fact, was hurt by yours words. But he fails anyway.

•

”Stupid,” Leona spats out, turning his head away from you.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, either trying to keep him out from leaving or comforting him like this. In retrospection, you can see how cruel your joke was—Leona is a neglected kid, and, perhaps, you overdone yourself by triggering it.

”I am sorry once again, and...” Your eyes widen. ”L-leona, are you crying?”

”Like fuck I am,” he denies right away, a free hand coming to rub his eyes. ”Fuck off.”

Now, you feel even worse. It is rare to see Leona so vulnerable, after all.

”Oh, Leona,” you murmur, crashing in him with a hug. ”Please, I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear...”

And that is how you settle with agreement—Leona forgets your poor idea of a prank, and you pretend that you had never seen him crying. It works for both of you well, surprisingly. And, at least, he is not mad at you.

Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵

— Azul is panicking as soon as he hears your speech, but he will never show it to you. Instead, he bluffs, saying that you will not do that;

— When you ask him why he thinks that, Azul very nervously tries to prove you that you love him, mentioning all of your recent actions and words addressed to him;

— He only relaxes, when you offer him a smile, nodding at his words, explaining how it was a popular joke on the internet. And, let me tell you this, Azul had never been so happy of being correct.

•

”You are too smart for your own good,” you sigh, sitting down on his lap, a light pout appearing on your face. ”How I supposed to prank you, when you are like this?”

Azul wraps arms around your waist, hiding face in your shoulder blades. As a deep sigh leaves his lips, you are suddenly feel like something is really wrong with him.

”Hey... You okay?”

Azul raises his head for a second, so he can kiss your bare nape, but then again, falls into same position. His answer is rather a reluctant one.

”I am just tired after lessons, that's it.”

”Ah, sorry... I probably took your time with my stupid jokes.”

”That's fine, angelfish.”

You definitely sleep better in the nights with not knowing that you are the one, who exhausted Azul today...

Kalim Al-Asim. 🧡

— Just as Riddle, Kalim is a little bit dense when it comes to pranks, so your breaking up suggestion is treated with absolute seriousness;

— Kalim is speechless for a few moments, and when he finally gains ability to speak again, he merely asks if he wronged you somehow, if he hurt you;

— He looks so lost, so genuinely concerned, that you are rushing to say him that it is a prank. However, Jamil is quicker.

•

”Ah, excuse me?” Kalim scratches his head, looking between you and Jamil, who suddenly materialised in the room, almost out of nowhere.

”It is a prank that runs around school,” Jalim says, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. ”They are not breaking up with you. It is a joke.”

”That's right,” you nod eagerly, watching at Kalim with an unhidden regret. ”Sorry, Kalim.”

His eyes instantly flare with relief and happiness as he smiles widely at you. He is clearly not mad. If anything, he is in high spirits!

”Ha! I see! Then, let's break up, Y/n!” Kalim winks at you radiantly.

You smile in return, ignoring annoyed look on Jamil's face. It is good to know that Kalim had some fun out of it, too.

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Vil is a very mature person, so he naturally treats your break up with him with an utter respect. And, he tries to talk out everything with you;

— He sats you down, brings some water, and offers to tell him your reasonings to do so. Is it his tight schedule? Is he neglecting you? Do you feel like something is wrong? Or, perhaps, you have a mental health problems? Talk with him! Even if your decision is final, Vil is still your friend. He wants to be aware of your feelings;

— When you are telling him the truth, Vil is annoyed. He is genuinely worried about you all the time, can't you not worsen it, potato?

•

”You are telling me, that I was frowning a five minutes over nothing,” Vil deadpans tiredly, folding arms on his chest.

You smile awkwardly, and move forward to smooth a wrinkle between his brows.

”First of all, you still do that,” Vil tries to relax his face instantly. ”And, second of all... Sorry. But you handled it so well, so I don't feel that bad.”

Vil rolls his eyes, and as he catches you hand in both of his, he kisses it softly. You blush under his closer look. Now, that's unfair.

”...But I am glad that you are still mine,” he murmurs quietly.

”What did you say?”

”I am not going to repeat myself,” he snaps.

You laugh quietly at how annoyed he looks.

You don't consider a prank to be a failure. More like another proof that you had chosen a perfect lover to yourself!

Idia Shroud. 💙

— I am quite sure that no one will agree with me on this one, but... Idia tries this prank on you faster. Yes, I think he can be quite mischievous when he feels safe enough, and, he is the kid of the internet just as you, so...

— You stare at him all the time as he ”breaks up” with you, and the fact that you planned to do this prank just today, makes every even worse;

— When you explain to him that you know it is a prank, and you were meaning to do the same, Idia can't help but laugh quietly. It is, indeed, stupid.

•

”That is just ridiculous,” you murmur, hiding face in your hands.

Idia puts his chin on the top of your head, arms wrapping around your stomach as he hums.

”Geniuses are always sharing the same unique thoughts.”

”Yes,” you glare at him. ”And idiots, too. So, what it makes us?”

Idia lowers his eyes as well, exchanging amused looks with you. Smiling crookedly, he offers a good compromise.

”Soulmates?”

And, well, he is not wrong.

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— Just like Riddle, Malleus knows nothing about pranks of this sorts, so he assumes that you are genuinely breaking up with him;

— An instant regret x2. There is so much sorrow in his eyes! Much like Leona, he doesn't want to be seen emotional, let alone pathetic, so he mutters incoherent apologises and scrambles to leave the room;

— Gladly, you trap him in hug faster, yelling that it is just a joke. Malleus, however, has a very mixed feelings about this one...

•

”I... See,” Malleus averts an eye contact desperately as he examines the floor. ”I apologise for not understanding it earlier.”

You sigh, feeling shame creeping on you for such an awful and disrespectful attitude. After all, you know how Malleus is mostly unaware about all humanly stuff.

”No, no... It is me, who should apologise!” Your lips are shutting in a thin line. ”Would you accept it? That is not a mistake I will repeat, I swear.”

Malleus is quick to look at you again, probably sensing a deep regret in your words. Very carefully, he smiles at you.

”Of course,” he kisses you on the forehead hastily. ”I am not mad at you, child of men.”

Ah. You are so lucky that Malleus loves you this much. Yet, it is clear as day that it will take some time to assure him that you love him, after all...

[nights-at-crystarium]

You know what, I assume that people always read my pinned, or notice the pointer "new reader? start here" in every new Fragments' episode. I might be deluding myself. So hi hello lemme TALK ABOUT MY COMIC.

Before I get too rambly (and I mean RAMBLY), here's a quick intro. Fragments is a comic focused on feels and slice of life, made by a queer guy, aiming to ~character study~ the main cast (Vivi, Raha, Alisaie, Feo Ul) and fill in the gaps in canon (or linger in canon moments that needed more air imo), the tone ranging from angst to fluff to meme. Good punches require a good windup, so please don't expect angst anytime soon :3c

The story's segmented (fragmented, heh) into episodes. Episodes 1-11 take place in ARR, you can enjoy them with no worry about spoilers. Episode 12 onward is ShB, with all the spoilers and lorebending.

My storytelling style assumes you haven't only played through ShB, but know it like the back of your hand, i.e. it's for nerds and thinkers. Of course there's plenty of silly moments that don't require any deep knowledge, but the overarching story does. Often I skip canon events, only hinting that they took place, simply because I don't wanna retell the msq 1:1, I've got plenty of original scenes waiting to be drawn. You're in for a treat if you like obsessing over emotional and moral implications of things. And, yes, this's a story about a morally grey mc. Don't expect to be spoon-fed "and this's why that thing's bad, kids".

Currently I've outlined all the main story beats up until post EW, so it's like, not being winged as I go. Yes I refine things here and there, but I know where I'm going. I'm going ham!!!! With the lorebending post ShB. Initially I didn't plan to, but the more I learned about Vivi and personally grew as a writer, the more courage I got to "divorce" from canon. The general xiv story may still be good wherever it's headed, but it's not suited for an established wolgraha, so I'm making food for myself.

Everyone imagines the lil scenes from their wol's life, I'm taking that a tiiiiiny step further. Fragments tells a cohesive story that's looking to be the longest project at least in our corner. I can and will hyperfixate on this for years.

I started out just like many others, being hit with ShB like a truck, I wanted to put a catboy under a microscope and rotate him forever. Although I'd already been drawing for decades, I didn't have the comic-making skills yet, or eloquence to write the dialogue, so I spent the first half of 2022 self-studying, just because I needed a mouth to be able to scream about my ship.

Vivi didn't exist prior to my obsession with Exarch. He was made for this, he started out as a reagent (or a foil, now that I know fancy writing terms) for a rich and fun chemistry, and keep myself entertained for years, first and foremost.

Me, a fool: okay let's make a guy that falls in love with Exarch in this particular moment, what kinda life must he have led to- Me: ....oh no

The chemistry quickly bubbled up and exploded in my face, involving not only Exarch, but other characters (first as a means to subtly tell about Vivi, then they also demanded their own screentime), and here I am, sitting with a massive script on my hands, drawing my blorbos every day. Thanks for enabling that btw.

I care about characters a lot. I ask a lot of whys and hows. I'm critical-minded and burned on many bad stories that did their characters dirty, and I wanna be an opposing example. What I'm doing is extremely ambitious and risky, yes, but I can only invite you to tag along and see if I stick to my word.

The internet's a cruel and unforgiving place nowadays, and here I am, pitting my passion against what feels like decaying humanity. I'm making this comic to keep myself happy above all else, being sincere and cringe because life's too short to be anything else.

Thanks for reading this, and if you haven't yet, read Fragments here!

[sweetprfct]

Midnight Rain

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: The glitz and glamour of Hollywood isn't always what it seems. When Joe had started working with you in a movie, he had started wondering as to why you, the famous Hollywood starlet, has been acting out lately. Was there some dark secret behind all the angry spoiled façade? And why was he so fascinated about it?

Author's Note: Okay, I decided that this series will only have 5 parts but who knows, I might come back with a volume 2 since I really like this one.

Disclaimer: 18+

Wordcount: 3.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Did he go mad? Probably. 

Was he slowly going insane? Maybe. 

After a long day of doing press interviews, Joe had found himself in his hotel room late afternoon. He had been sitting at his small dining table, his eyes staring into the laptop screen and googling just about anything he could find about you. After your little panic attack this morning, Joe couldn’t help but be more interested in you. 

The real you. 

He wanted to know what was going on, and there must be a reason why you were acting like this. He couldn’t help but look back at the way your team ignored you this morning when you were clearly having a panic attack. Why would they just leave you like that? Why would they just not care? Sure, Joe understood they were all probably frustrated with you because of the attitude that you would give them, but it was a panic attack. 

If someone was that bad or cruel to him, Joe would still help them. He couldn’t let anyone just suffer like that. He knew how it felt like to be in that situation, and he never wanted anyone to feel that way even if they were rude to him. It was a medical situation. Something worse could have happened to you if he didn't help you. So now, here he was chronically googling you all afternoon and night trying to figure out what happened. Trying to figure out who you really were and what made you act like this. 

Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t find those answers through Google. The only articles he could find were a bunch of different websites with the same headline, which was how you went crazy for the last two years. Articles about how you disappeared for months, and no one was able to locate you at all. Articles about how bad your attitude was on set that crew members and Directors refused to work with you anymore. Joe couldn’t understand because he never saw you act that way on set. Maybe to your manager, and maybe the fact that you were always late but not once had he seen you treat a crew member badly. It was weird…

All of these articles were all negative. 

He couldn’t find one positive thing about you on the internet. If there was ever one, he was sure it was all covered by all these horrible articles that they kept writing about. 

Then, he had gone to Youtube to watch more interviews of you and found the older, happier ones. He couldn’t help but smile and laugh towards your jokes all the time. You seemed so bubbly and a very loud, outgoing woman in a good way. He enjoyed every interview of yours when you were still happier. You were always very interactive, and he kept thinking how your laugh was always so contagious. The joke might not always be that funny, but your laugh always made it funnier, and Joe loved every second of it. Now, all he saw was this woman who could barely get through a thirty minute interview without taking ten breaks. A woman who could barely laugh or smile. In fact, as he thought about it, Joe had never seen you smile or laugh at all. You were always so stiff and serious. When you laugh or smile, it was always fake. 

Forced. 

It was never real like the way you would before. Leaning back against his chair, Joe exhaled a sharp breath and ran his fingers down his face. He couldn’t stop questioning himself as to why he was doing this in the first place. You weren’t even his friend. Just like Alex said, you have your own team to deal with whatever you were going through but after today, it seemed like they didn’t care as much about you. Maybe that was why he was so interested. He wanted to help you, and he saw the real you earlier after your panic attack. Even if it was just for a second, he saw it. He knew you were still in there behind that façade. 

With the way Google hasn’t given him any answers at all, he knew asking you would be the only way, but how? You didn’t even talk to him. You could barely acknowledge him at all. His mind replayed what happened this morning again and the look in your eyes before you walked away. You seemed such an amazing woman, but he couldn’t seem to see all of it because you kept it hidden away.

But why? 

Feeling the frustration coming up in his emotions, he sighed and closed his laptop. He looked at the time and realized it was getting late, and he hadn't even eaten dinner yet. When did the time go by so fast? Stretching his arms out, Joe grabbed his coat and walked out of his hotel suite. After staring at the laptop screen for so long, he could feel his eyes sting, and his vision adjusting from the lights. He needed some fresh air after all of that, and he definitely needed some dinner. 

He didn’t even realize that he was hungry until he stepped out of the hotel building and walked down the streets of Paris. The night air was crisp, and he could see the stars sparkled above him as he gazed up at the sky and enjoyed the new environment he was in at the moment. Maybe clearing his mind and eating something could help him right now. He kept wondering all day if you were okay after you left the studio. He kept wondering if you really didn’t feel well because of your panic attack or because you just didn’t want to do any of the interviews. Either way, Joe kept thinking about you. 

As he continued down the street, he cursed the Universe for reading his mind too well because the moment he passed by one of the restaurants, he froze in his tracks when he saw you through the window. You were eating alone, and he could see the melancholy in your eyes. For a moment, he looked like a creep just standing there and watching you eat until you gazed up and saw him staring at you through the window. Joe saw your brows raised at him as he felt reluctant to do or react to anything. His feet were glued to the ground, and he told himself to do something before he could look even more creepier in front of you. 

Finally letting his feet lead him, he walked inside the restaurant and walked towards your table with a small shy smile tugging on his lips.

“Hi.” Joe murmured. 

You leaned back against your chair, your eyes studying him. 

“Joe.”

His name slipping from your lips sent an unfamiliar good feeling down his spine. He couldn’t explain it, but he loved the sound of his name from your lips. He still couldn’t believe that you knew his name all this time and still kept calling him John. 

What was up with that? 

“Are you stalking me?” You asked, snapping Joe out from his thoughts. 

His eyes widened, cheeks flushed as you watched him all of a sudden got all flustered in front of you. You couldn’t help but hold in your smile. He looked adorable all flustered like that. 

“What?” His voice was defensive. “No, no.”

“I know.” You said, your voice in a serious tone. “I’m kidding.”

“Oh.” Joe’s tensed shoulders dropped.

Your eyes studied him for a moment, thinking he looked captivating under the dim light of the restaurant. He was just awkwardly standing there, and you didn’t know if he wanted to talk or he just wanted to say hi. The awkward silence was killing you, and you hated it. 

“So, are you just going to stand there?” You asked, shifting your eyes at the empty chair across from you. 

“Oh. I—” Joe stuttered as he gazed down at the empty chair in front of him. 

Of course, you expected this. 

There was no way he would like to have dinner with you, especially after what you have been treating him. When were you ever nice to him? When did you ever acknowledge him? And you expected him to just sit here and join you? 

Pathetic and embarrassing. 

“I’m sorry,” A small chuckle escaped from you, shaking your head. “You must have other plans.”

Joe’s chocolate button eyes widened as he shook his head and pulled up the empty chair to sit on. 

“No,” He said. “No, I don’t.”

A rush of warm feeling spread through your body as he sat across from you. You didn’t expect him to actually stay but the fact that he decided to, it sort of made you feel elated on the inside. You watched as the server came by and handed him a menu, and it didn’t take a minute for him to pick what he wanted. He was really nice and a gentleman to the server, and you have never seen someone like that, especially in this industry. He seemed more genuine and real. 

“Are you okay?” Joe asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You nodded your head, looking down at your food. “Yeah, thanks for earlier even if it was sort of… embarrassing.”

Joe chuckled softly, “It’s not embarrassing. I’ve been in that situation.” He pouted his lips, his lashes fluttering as he shook his head. “Not fun.”

You bit your lower lip, holding in your smile. What was it about him that you found so winsome? You couldn’t put your finger on it, but he was a very interesting person to talk to besides the fact that he was sweet and a gentleman. He seemed honest. You never noticed it before when you were working with him on set. Maybe because you were always too busy and stuck in your own head, but was he always like this? Did he treat other people like this too? 

Your thoughts started spiraling again as he continued to talk about how he also felt anxious in these kinds of events. His voice, however, was starting to sound distorted because of the fact that you couldn’t seem to put your finger towards the idea as to why he was being nice? No one was ever this nice to you, especially these last couple of years. 

So, why was he?

“I actually play with this ring.” He showed the ring that was in his middle finger. “Sometimes it helps me when I feel anxious on stage or in interviews. Maybe there’s something that could help you—”

“Why are you being nice to me?” You asked, cutting his sentence off.

Joe stared at you for a moment, a bit startled from the question you just asked him. He tilted his head and knitted his brows, his eyes blinking. 

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Why… Why did you help me?” 

Joe smiled softly, his eyes glinting at you. “I think I would help anyone who’s having a panic attack.”

You nodded your head in understanding. Of course, he would. Did you really have the audacity to think that you were someone special? Eating your dinner, you didn’t utter another word. Your mind continued to spiral out, thinking of other reasons as to why he was sitting here in front of you right now. Why did he join you for dinner in the first place? You knitted your brows together, drinking your wine. 

“Is this some kind of PR that I don’t know about?” You asked, this time your voice sounded frustrated. “Is there something my team isn’t letting me know?”

Joe looked at you confused, wondering as to why you kept asking him these questions. 

“No, I just… I just wanted to help.” Joe replied.

You set your wine glass down on the table, scoffing. “You could tell me, you know? I don’t care if you sign a NDA or something. I won’t tell anyone. I just want to know what I’m getting into.”

“There’s no NDA or PR.” Joe explained. “You were having a panic attack. I wanted to help. That was all.”

For some reason, you couldn’t seem to believe his words. Although at the same time, you could tell he was telling the truth but who knows these days? Some people around you always acted like they care, but they would end up backstabbing you. So, how sure were you that Joe wasn’t doing the same thing? How sure were you that he was telling you the truth? You exhaled a sharp breath, grabbed your glass of wine and drank it again. 

Joe’s eyes studied your reaction, and he could tell that you felt sort of uncomfortable and frustrated. 

“Do people around you usually don’t help you with that?” Joe asked.

You shrugged, “Couldn’t blame them.”

You took another sip of your wine as Joe said, “Then, you surround yourself with some pretty shitty people.”

You couldn’t help but snort the wine that you were drinking, laughing softly. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand as you laughed and shook your head. Joe grinned widely the moment he heard you laugh.

There it was.

He couldn’t believe that he was hearing this right now. You were actually laughing. Smiling with teeth and everything. Joe sat there and just watched you laugh. It was like the façade that you have built just shattered and the real you had unraveled without you realizing it. 

You were beautiful.

Stunning, actually. Joe couldn’t help but think. 

Your eyes sparkled as Joe laughed with you. Your eyes twinkled in happiness, and your laugh was infectious just like the way Joe remembered when watching your old interviews. He didn’t think his comment could make you unravel in front of him like this, but he was glad that he was able to. He was glad to see you like this. 

Your laughter slowly died down, shaking your head at his comment. “I guess you got a point.” 

You would never say it out loud, but you agreed with what Joe had just said. You did surround yourself with shitty people, and you couldn’t help but laugh at it because what the fuck was wrong with you? It was a shitty thing, but you couldn’t help but find humor in it. 

Maybe you were slowly losing your mind at this point. 

“Do they… Do they not care?” Joe asked after the both of you had calmed down. 

You shrugged your shoulders again, “I don’t know. They said they do, but it feels fake… Like the friends I thought I had.”

Joe remembered reading an article about that earlier. Something about how you had a close knit of friends for a while, and everyone always loved the friendship that you all had until it slowly shattered the last couple of years. Most of the girls in the group blamed you for the split up because you were apparently always having drama, and they didn’t want to deal with that anymore. 

Joe couldn’t help but wonder if that was true or just a rumor.

“Like I said, I couldn’t blame them.” You added, letting out a soft sigh.

Using your fork, you gently played with the food in front of you. Joe saw how you suddenly looked crestfallen in front of him when the subject came up. He could see the melancholy washing over you again, the sparkle in your eyes dimming again.

“I could be your friend.” Joe suggested, a small soft smile tugging on his lips. 

You gazed up at him, dumbfounded at the suggestion he gave to you. “Why?”

“Why not?” Joe shrugged. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You argued, drinking your wine again.

“I wanna be your friend. A real friend. Not someone who takes advantage of you or someone who would leave you when things get rough.” 

“You have no idea what you’re getting into, you know that?” You scoffed, shaking your head.

Why was he doing this? Why was he wasting his time on you? 

You didn’t get it.

Everyone was done with you. Everyone didn’t want to make any more effort with you, so why was he wasting his energy on someone like you? Joe would just end up being disappointed.

“Well, that’s what friends are for, right? Be there for you through rough times and guide you and accept you.” Joe pressed the subject even more.

Your lips parted in disbelief, while your heart was beating a thousand miles per second the moment you heard those words escaped from Joe’s lips. 

Maybe you were wrong.

Maybe he really was genuine. Maybe he really just wanted to be your friend, and you were just having trust issues because of the experience you had before. You couldn’t trust him fully yet but there was no harm in giving him a chance, right? 

“Thank you.” You murmured, your voice was almost a whisper. 

A small genuine smile tugged on your lips and for a moment, Joe saw the real you again. The smile was tiny, but he could tell that this time, it was real and sincere. He saw it in your eyes, and he could feel the energy that was radiating out of you. 

Walking back to the hotel later that night, Joe had lost count on how many times you had smiled at his little jokes. He had lost count on how many times you laughed softly at them and shook your head at it. The rush of that good warm feeling in his stomach had washed over his body every time he listened to you laugh. Joe wondered if you ever had a good laugh in a long time. If not, he was glad that he was able to make you. 

“Well, thanks for tonight.” You said the moment you both entered the hotel lobby. 

Joe nodded his head, “Hey.”

His fingers softly grazing over your arm, reluctant to touch you. Your eyes shifted towards his fingers, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s okay.” You murmured. “Forget what I said last night.”

Joe smiled, taking your hand in his. “I meant what I said earlier.”

You hitched a breath, squeezing his hand softly and another small smile tugged on your lips.

“Thank you.” You slipped your hand away from his. “Goodnight, Joe.”

“Goodnight.” 

Entering your room later that night, you could still feel your heart beating hard in your chest. You leaned against the door as soon as you entered your suite. The words that Joe told you at dinner kept repeating in your head, and you couldn’t help but smile. You exhaled a sharp breath and headed to freshen yourself up and get ready for bed. 

This morning didn’t really start off well but at least, you had a good time at dinner with Joe. For the first time, you felt something inside of you again. For the first time, you had a conversation with someone that seemed sincere. Sliding yourself under your covers that night, you grabbed your phone on the bedside table and scrolled through social media. 

The moment you opened the app, you saw your name trending. Your heart raced as soon as you clicked on it and saw an article that was posted about you. A headline about you sleeping with the Director of this movie was in big letters and suddenly, you felt your heart drop in your stomach again. Reading the article, you felt tears welled up in your eyes. The article wrote that the only reason you had received the role was because you slept with the Director and the reason as to why there was a sequel was because you continued to sleep with him. 

Your hands trembled as you exited the article, your phone slipping from your hands. You couldn’t believe someone would write something about that. In fact, you couldn’t believe that someone would think you would do something like that. You were always honest with your job, but no one seemed to believe that. Clamping your hand over your mouth, you let out a sob as tears streamed down your face. 

You just wanted this feeling of torture and pain to be over.

You just wanted everything to be over. 

*********

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @munsonluvrr @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot @josephquinnsfreckles @readergf

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Hype Train!

F! Streamer Reader x M!Yandere Streamer OC

Part 1~

His Info: 📹✨

Part: 1 2

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: lots of boring tech talk(sorry i nerd out sometimes and i wanted to show his thought process for his intro) yandere, f!reader, use of she/her when referring to reader, reader has a vagina, stalking, internet stalking, lewd comments not from ML, edit: sorry! i forgot to tag NONCON EXHIBITION!!! omg that’s probably huge. i am so sorry!!!

He is always looking for smaller streamers to raid, to bring in his moderately sized and very active audience to someone who may often only get about 5-10 people.

Today, he picked you. Your cute little VTuber model already having captivated him. He looks up your sinsta first, and sees your selfies. You somehow look just like your tuber!

You’re so cute.

He clicks “raid now”, and says to shower you in love!

As soon as the alert goes off for the raid, so does a long line of follower alerts. “Wh-what?! OMG! Thank you so much!!! Welcome to my stream! how was yours? if you have to raid and run, go eat and sleep pleasantly!”

Oh goodness, you sound cute. You even cared about him without knowing him, sure he knows it’s just polite for streamers to say those things. But coming to him in your adorably sugary voice, he instantly believes you really care.

While he’s watching the swaying of your adorable little avatar on screen, he’s imagining the movements in your actual face behind the camera.

“Oh my! im so sorry, uh-” Your mic picks up your ferocious typing, and your sudden shock snap him back to the moment,“I forgot to shout you out, Jasper!”

His name rolling off your tongue sounds so perfect, as if he’s been waiting to hear it that way his entire life.

He springs into action, realizing you have no mods, lithe fingers dancing across keys swiftly and with new purpose, “No worries! Tysm for the SO!! also, i can mod for you, if you want!😊”

You beam behind your screen, “Oh! i could never ask that of you! maybe if you’re here again next time!”

Of course he will be. You don’t know that though.

“O-m-gee! Thank you all soooo much for the hype train!!! level 5?! i’ve never even had a level three!! this is crazy!”

God you’re cute when you’re so excited.

He has your selfies from sinsta pulled up in front of him as he listens deeply to you speak.

You’re so thankful, and so, so sweet…

You must be so innocent.

You’re at the very least naive, and he’d hate to just leave you to be eaten up by this cruel, cruel world…

He must get to you first.

Your stream ends a few hours later, his followers stayed the whole time to shower you in love.

He knows he’s got a lot of simps… They’d do anything he tells them to.

You though, you’ve had the most fun streaming that you’ve ever had so far! And that payout this month is really gonna help, they gave so much!

On your dipcord you see a new friend request, it’s him! You add him without a second thought, always looking for more streamer friends.

within seconds you receive a dm from him, “Want to VC?”

“Sure!” you respond, full of excitement. Something in your gut roils, you feel so nervous but your excitement overrules your body’s initial warning.

When you shouted him out you saw his own Vtuber, and heard his melodic voice, your face warms at the thought.

He calls and you answer after long seconds that feel like minutes of deep breathing, and hyping yourself up.

“How are you feeling, Y/Username, you had a pretty productive stream,” Jasper’s voice is even softer than in his clip, your stomach turns to a fluttering tangle of knots.

“Oh! haha,” you giggle, “only thanks to you!”

His heart melts in response.

“You were why the viewers stayed, don’t sell yourself short,” as he speaks he’s sifting through your public scocials.

He has noticed one older woman with her real name as her username that follows you on every single account. He continues down this path through the web. She has pictures with you, confirming that she’s your mother in the descriptions. she has her state tagged on flapbook.

That narrows it down as long as you didn’t move too far.

On your own socials you often have pictures of flowering trees near red bricks. And in one Selfie a street sign is reflected in your dark shades…

He floogle maps it, then goes into street veiw, there’s a couple red brick houses, but there’s also a red brick apartment complex right around the corner with magnolia trees…

He smiles as his fingers find his lips idly zoning out slightly.

You’re only a few hours flight away from him there…

“Jasper?” Your timid voice pulls him back.

“Yes, pretty,” He says in a low groan, “Can I follow your private?”

You blush fiercely, “Ye-Yeah! o-of course,” you’re so glad he can’t see you right now, your face completely buried in your hands.

You open your phone and go to sinstagram, he sent you a follow request and already followed your public streaming account.

You smile to yourself bashfully, tucking stray strands behind your warming ears.

He sees there are a few live cameras connected in the apartment buildings.

“Hey, this is a random question, but do you have a cat cam? i do, and i saw you have a cat on your public…” He asks, hoping to sound inconspicuous.

“Y-yeah! i do, wanna exchange kitten pics?” you laugh feeling more comfortable, he’s got a cat too! You can’t help but love cat dads…

“Always! and do you have protection on it?” he can already see that only a couple of the cameras don’t have any sort of blocker on them in these buildings. He’s almost disappointed.

There… “How cute…” He finds the one with live footage of your cat just as pictured sleeping on it’s giant plant shaped cat tree across the room.

“You mean like the warranty? Y-yeah! I paid for the 2 year…” You try to keep calm…

He sees a few creeps are already connected to your cam.

He easily follows their trail, typing away on his loud mechanical keyboard. The sound of it soothes you, you end up closing your eyes for a second.

“Oh no- You paid?” he sighs in frustration, not at you though. At whatever store took advantage of you. “This brand comes with a free two year when you buy it…” Shit. he misspoke. He isn’t supposed to know the brand.

You don’t consciously notice.

“For real?! I had no idea!!” You’re almost as frustrated. That was like thirty bucks you didn’t even have to spend.

He can’t help the small enamored smile that creeps across his face.

“Next time you want to buy something techy lemme know. I’ll make sure you get the most for what ya pay an all that… But, back to my question- I meant what kind of firewalls do you have on your router, do you use two-factor authentication on the camera?” He knows you don’t have either, but he’ll tell you what to do to start protecting yourself from these animals.

One of the connected IPs is a live cam website that nobody signs up to be on…

The comments on you from just walking in front of it sometimes are lewd and disgust him.

“I hope she walks by today, sigh…”

“She’s so hot… I wish she’d take those panties off more often though…”

“I saw the side of her ass again yesterday. looks so good, god i want to taste her…”

“I’d fuck her so good, better than whoever that ugly fucker is that comes over sometimes…”

“That guy’s so lucky…”

His face is twists in a deeper and deeper disgusted scowl the more he reads, he almost ignored the comments about a guy visiting you.

Almost.

His blood boils.

“I-I didn’t know you need stuff like that… I mean it just faces my cat’s tree anyway! hah…” You giggle more nervously again, feeling a little creeped out by the thought of someone accessing it. Do you walk by sometimes? You realize you do…

“Lemme help you.” He says almost too eagerly. Save it, he thinks quickly. “I-, I like to make sure the people around me are safe at least.”

“That’s so nice of you!! but, I don’t want to ask too much of you, I’m sure i could floogle how to myself!” You sound determined, it’s adorable, and his face softens immediately.

“Nah, it’s seriously no problem, we’re already talkin’ righ’now, an it’ll just take one sec. Promise.” You can hear the smile in his soft voice and feel more at ease again.

“Okay! if you say so, thanks so much, Jasper!”

“Mm,” He can’t help the quiet groan from hearing his name exit your lips, “‘course” He begins the process with you, and makes sure you check the “log out of all other locations” box. of course his doesn’t disconnect though.“I’ll keep you safe from now on.” His words carry a weight that you can feel. Your heart pounds.

“Thank you. I feel better already knowing my cat’s safe!”

You’re more worried about your cat than yourself.

You’re so pure

“Like i said, ‘s no problem. Come to me for whatever you need technologically.” God he hopes you do. He continues typing, working on sending his homemade virus to all these sickos that have gotten to see more of you than they deserve. “I’ll protect you from now on…”

“You-uh- S-sound like you work a lot!” You try and change the topic, your heart flipping over inside you.

“Hmm?” His rumbling voice keeps sending chills throughout your body.

“Oh! sorry, I can hear you typing on your keyboard, what are those? lubed yellows? They sound so nice…” Your face warms, a little embarrassed.

“Mhmm,” He practically moans again, you shiver, “glad you know your switches. They’re my favorite.”

“Could you show me how to lube mine sometime?”

Now it’s his turn with a warm, reddening face, hearing your voice say lube is making him think of anything but keyboards. He idly plays with his lip again, tugging it up with his teeth.

“how ‘bought I do it with you,” You shudder, not knowing, but directly feeling his hidden implications.

You sigh through your nose hoping he doesn’t hear.

He does.

He smiles, ecstatic with the knowledge that you got what he meant.

“Hey, Y/username, I have a little bit of work to do righ’now, can I call you t’morrow?”

“Of course! and it’s Y/N”

He beams, “have a nice evening, Y/N” His voice smooths even more than it already was. He’s barelyy above a whisper speaking into his mic, and straight into your ears.

The effect it has is… A little bit maddening.

“You too,” you speak up with a soft and shaky voice, “see ya later, Jasper” he can tell you’re at least a little aroused by him.

He bites his lip, feeling the tug on his snake bites.

After you hang up, he doesn’t have to wait even a second before the next call is answered:

“Sup Jazzy,” he’s used to hearing his own voice, but it’s always weird coming from another “person”.

“Sup Devvy, how’re you an Issac?”