#you can see it bleed over to the way they interact with other fans and ESPECIALLY with non-Japanese staff and devs

[snail-speed]

There’s a lot of people who are bizarrely defensive about every single decision SEGA of Japan does with Sonic (and honestly, Japanese companies as a whole), and IDK man, to me it feels like fans with internalized xenophobia.

It’s especially ironic with Sonic specifically because it’s clear to see Japan doesn’t appreciate him nearly as much as the rest of the world does. Y’all are simping for a company with higher ups that don’t like neither you nor the blue hedgehog.

[rollercoasterwords]

the tiktokification of ao3

or: some of you fundamentally misunderstand ao3 and it really, really shows

i was talking about this with a friend a few days ago and since then i've seen multiple posts of various sorts that have just made me think about it more, so. here is me breaking down a disconnect i see particularly with younger members of the marauders fandom (i say marauders specifically just bc that's the only one i'm plugged into):

okay, so i've seen many (usually younger) marauders fans either talking online about how they wish ao3 was more like social media (specifically regarding algorithms) OR talking about ao3/fanfiction/fanfic writers as if they are operating under the same etiquette/guidelines/assumptions they would bring into social media platforms. this ranges from being mildly irritating to genuinely harmful, and i want to talk abt why.

first - you have to understand that social media, in this day and age, exists in a profit economy. and when i say social media here, i'm referring to platforms like tiktok, twitter, instagram, etc. all of these platforms exist in a profit economy where content is a product that can be monetized. this leads to a few important distinctions:

people posting on these social media platforms are generally posting with the intent to get their content seen by as many people as possible, as quickly as possible

they post with this intent because once their content is consumed by enough people, it becomes a product that they can monetize

therefore, if that content gets popular enough, these people can become influencers, where content creation is an actual job and their audience are, in a sort of vague and obscured way, similar to consumers purchasing a product

because of the profit economy surrounding social media, there are certain assumptions + forms of interaction that bleed across almost all social media platforms. the ones relevant to this little essay include:

operating under the assumption that anyone posting anything on the internet wants to go viral, ie. be seen by as many people as possible as quickly as possible in order to grow an "audience"

these influencers are creating content for us, their audience, so they should want to please us. they should also be trying to appeal to the broadest possible audience. therefore, if we dislike their content, we have a right to make that very, very clear.

in that same vein, we have a general right to critique content creators, as they are making a profit and we are the consumers purchasing their product--much like you might feel entitled to a certain standard of service in a restaurant where you are paying for the food.

when you carry these assumptions over to a platform like ao3, it creates problems. why? in a nutshell: because ao3 exists outside the profit economy

ao3 is a non-profit. it does not have an algorithm because it is not trying to sell you anything. this means that the writers posting their work on ao3 are not making a profit. we are not influencers. we are not creating monetized content to sell to a consumer-audience. where consuming content on other social media platforms might be comparable to eating at a restaurant, reading fanfiction on ao3 is more like coming over to someone's house and eating cookies that they made for free. you are in their house. the cookies are free, given as a gift. so what happens when those assumptions outlined above start to bleed over from other social media?

assuming that anyone posting fanfiction online wants their work to go viral -- i've seen this with popular fic writers getting questions like, "are you worried x isn't going to be as popular as y?" those questions are usually not ill-intended, but they demonstrate a fundamental lack of understanding about why writers post work on ao3. it's not to go viral. it's not to build any sort of online following. most of us who post on ao3 have jobs or schoolwork or other commitments, and writing fanfiction is something done for fun, out of a love for writing. those sharing their work online might be seeking community, but that is fundamentally different from seeking an audience, and in no way involves internet virality. if someone is posting fanfic on ao3 with the hope that it'll "go viral," then they likely either won't continue writing fanfic for long or will reach a point where they have to re-evalute their motivations, because seeking joy and validation by turning your art into a product for consumption just isn't very sustainable.

influencers are creating content for us, so we have a right to let them know if we don't like it -- nope!! fic writers are not influencers. yes, even the popular ones. no matter how much other people might blow their work up on social media, fic writers are still outside the profit economy. they are not creating content for an audience. they are not creating content for you. they are writing because they love it, and they are generously sharing it. if you don't like it, don't interact with it. you are never entitled to loudly and publicly proclaim how much you dislike a fic. i talk about this more here

we have a general right to critique fic writers, the same way we do with content creators/influencers -- again, no. you should not be treating fic writers the way you would treat an influencer on another social media platform, no matter how popular they may be. this is not to say fic writers are beyond all reproach; rather, it is a call-in to check your entitlement. fic writers are not little jesters entertaining in your court. they are not subject to your whims. they do not have to do things for you. they do not have to write things you like. in that post i linked on point 2, i talk about what etiquette might look like if you're really concerned that a fic writer is doing something harmful, but that is not what i'm talking about here. i am talking about the proliferation of negativity i have seen, especially on twitter and tiktok, where people essentially just talk shit about fics or fic writers as though they are entitled to have those fic writers working to please them. this is gross, and it needs to stop. you wouldn't go over to someone's house, eat the cookies they baked to share, and then spit those cookies back in their face and start shouting about what a shitty baker they are. or maybe you would--in which case, congratulations! you are Not A Good Person.

anyway, at the end of the day, a lot of this can be boiled down to: Because ao3 exists outside the profit economy, fic writers are not influencers, and you should never be treating them as though they are. i think i see this disconnect largely with younger people just because they've maybe only ever really understood social media within this sort of influencer-consumer-culture economy, and genuinely don't understand how to interact differently with the internet. so, consider this post a call-in to reevaluate the way you interact with fic writers and the etiquette you use when it comes to engaging with fanfic on ao3! i promise that ao3 being different from social media is a very, very good thing, and also a very, very rare thing, so let's treasure it and focus on fostering community rather than trying to morph it to fit the mould of influencer-audience dynamics that we see almost everywhere else <3

[loaksky]

— 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 | 𝒂. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏

emt!abby x clumsy fem!reader, fluff / angst / smut (mdni!), wc: 8.8k (abby makes me ill).

synopsis: abby’s recuperating from a rocky relationship. tending to you more than once has gotta be fate.

content warnings: language, 18+ content (MDNI!): fingering (abby & reader receiving), oral (abby receiving), standard emotional constipation, non-graphic depictions of injuries / blood. let me know if i miss anything! not proofread well!

tagging those who interacted with my interest post! @eden-nox , @feeeeebbb , @thecowardwrites , @dawn-bunni , @dykefromstatefarm , @kingofcrabs17 , @deadliebalboa , @caitlinisfruity , @matchabxba , @abbysidechick

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

THE FIRST TIME ABBY TENDS TO YOU is an embarrassing circumstance all its own. And not necessarily because you’d hurt yourself, but because of one meddling little sibling in particular.

It’s nearly 2am in the morning, a little brisk outside of the apartment complex, and Abby’s trailing behind her rotation partners up three rickety flights of stairs.

“Seattle EMS!”

The door’s flying open and a frantic girl no older than fifteen is ushering the trio in the apartment.

“It’s my sister,” she says quickly. “She cut her hand with a knife. Won’t stop bleeding.”

Abby’s observing her surroundings, eyes flitting around the space as they file quickly down the hallway, walls neatly littered with polaroids, picture frames, and various other decorations and knickknacks.

As they spill into the living room, Abby’s eyes settle on you, sitting on the coffee table in nothing but an oversized tee and some boyshorts.

There are tiny smears of red across your thighs, right hand applying pressure to your left palm with a wad of paper towels. One look at your face shows draining color and Abby’s setting the duffel on the floor.

“Need her rate and blood pressure,” one of her partners says. “Anderson, can you assess the damage?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Abby says, kneeling in front of you.

She swears she feels a jolt of electricity pass through her nitrile gloves when her fingertips brush your skin. You’re shaky, eyes droopy because you’ve never been great with blood.

“I’m gonna take a look,” Abby says softly, coaxing the paper towels away from you. “That okay?”

You nod, hair falling into your face as she turns your palm over to analyze the wound.

“Sheesh,” she whispers. “What’d you do?”

When you’re silent for a moment, warmth momentarily returning to your cheeks as embarrassment floods your system, Abby’s eyes swing to your younger sister who’s seemingly clocked the considerable tension between you and the hot EMT.

“We were making brownies,” she fills in helpfully. “Big sis was chopping up the nuts.”

One of Abby’s partners chuckles, the one filling out the paperwork, and Abby glances at you again, something niggling in the pit of her stomach when she sees the flustered way you bite your lip.

“Personally not a fan of nuts in my brownies, but that’s a hill I’ll die on.”

Abby’s trying to distract you, take your mind away from a the gnarly gash cut deep in your palm line. It works, she thinks, when you crack a small smile.

“Me neither,” you agree, and it’s the first words you say all night.

Your voice has a sweet rasp, one that makes Abby’s gut twist.

“Guess this means nuts really are a no go,” you say, hissing momentarily when Abby makes start with cleaning your wound.

For a moment she forgets you’re talking about brownies and your little sister’s searing gaze should be confirmation enough, but after gathering all of your important information and spending the next forty-five minutes cleaning you up, Abby’s being stopped in her tracks as they file out of the cramped living room.

Your little sister catches her as the two other techs swing into the third floor hallway.

“My big sis is gay, FYI,” she giggles mischievously. “Like real gay.”

You call her name, absolutely horrified.

Abby can’t help the smile that splits her face.

“Mmm, good to know.”

You’d barely recovered from that moment, still reeling nearly a week later after your failed sleepover party with your little sister that ended in the hottest tech seeing you in the worst condition possible.

And while you thank every force above that Abby hadn’t seemed too perturbed by your sibling’s antics, it’s still something that makes you rub the heel of your palms into your eyes and kick your feet in annoyance before bed.

But just when you think you’re finally getting over it, you cross paths again.

Fate has a cruel way of flexing its humor because you’re turning an especially crowded corner in the freezer section of Whole Foods when your toe catches the corner display.

“Shit!” you hiss, basket clattering to the floor.

Your jar of extra garlic-y marinara is rolling away and a few of your lemons are scattering between avoidant feet.

“Hey, you alright?”

And you’ve heard that voice before, familiar hum haunting your dreams for the past week and a half.

You look up just as the body associated with the voice crouches in front of you, pasta sauce in one hand and trio of lemons in the other.

Of course it’s Abby in all of her glory. Her hair is loosened from her braid, falling over her broad shoulders as she searches your face. She’s in her work polo, few buttons undone and belt somewhat loosened.

Something akin to recognition flashes over her features as she takes you in.

“Thanks,” you whisper when she rights your basket and carefully sets the runaway items inside.

“You’re always hurting yourself,” she teases, standing to her full height before offering her hand out to you.

For a moment you were caught up, so engrossed in seeing Abby again like a direct manifestation of your very fears (and a wet dream or two), that you hadn’t noticed that people were staring.

Your face is hot as your fingers brush her palm and she’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. When you shift your weight to the foot you’d tripped on, your face screws up in discomfort.

Abby’s scarily perceptive, equal parts because it comes with the job even when she’s off duty, and also because it’s you. She doesn’t know what’s so different about you, especially because she hasn’t bat an eye at another girl in the past seven months since her previous break-up, but she can’t take her eyes off of you. She’s certain her pupils are blown wide by now.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, steadying you with warm hands.

Abby has to force herself to glance up at you when she happens to notice the way your chest hitches, pendant on the dainty chain that rests between the divot of your collarbones glinting under the fluorescents.

“A little,” you admit.

Abby doesn’t hesitate to take your basket alongside hers and offers you a perfectly sculpted arm.

God you could actually combust, not only because you’re beyond embarrassed but because Abby’s too fucking hot for her own good.

“Easy,” she tells you as you move through the aisles slowly.

She’s guiding you to a quiet corner in the foodcourt, setting you gently against the bench before plopping down next to you.

Your lips part to thank her, tell her that you’ll just rest here for a moment before going about your day, but she’s lifting your leg into her lap and undoing the strap of your sandal wordlessly.

“Oh—”

Her gaze swings to yours.

“Gotta get a better look,” she tells you with an easy smile, fingers gentle around your ankle.

She starts rolling, testing your range of motion. When your expression pinches, she’s rummaging through her basket, only to produce a frozen bag of peas a few moments later.

“Doesn’t look like any bruising is forming and you’ve got your full range of motion,” she observes. “Just a rolled ankle. Nothing some ice won’t fix.”

You stare at her unblinking, nodding stupidly as she applies a slight amount of pressure with the frozen vegetables.

“I, ah—” you let out a low hiss and Abby shouldn’t lick her lips, but her mouth’s dry and the skin of your legs are like butter. “I think I’ll be okay.”

The concern that shades Abby’s features makes you squirm on the bench, ankle still propped in her lap.

“Did you drive?” Abby presses, and she knows that this is a bad idea.

The two of you could be on your way, paths officially untangling, but something inside of her is compelled, tugged hard at the sight of you.

“No…” you trail off sheepishly. “I walked.”

Abby’s lips part, words escaping her before she can stop and think twice.

“I’ll walk you home,” she offers.

“Oh, Abby, you don’t have to do that,” you say gently.

It’s like someone squeezes the air from her lungs at the sound of her name leaving your lips in a rasped hum, makes her wet her lips again because her mouth’s gone dry.

“You’re probably really busy, I don’t want to be a bother,” you add with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t be,” she assures you. “Just wanna make sure you make it home safe.”

And it’s such a sweet sentiment, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest and your tummy. But there’s a dull ache, a squeeze that makes your thighs involuntarily press together. It’s barely perceptible and you hope to whatever’s in the universe that Abby’s not keen when it comes to body language.

The planes of her face are serious, bump on the bridge of her nose pronounced as you watch the set of her jaw. Fuck, did you want her bad, feel embarrassment creeping because if anyone nearby could intercept your brain, they’d find a slew of less than appropriate thoughts accompanying the more tame.

Without another word, Abby’s hooking your sandal back on, patting your shin gently before setting you right and gathering the combination of your groceries and hers.

You make a move to follow her, but she levels you with a warning glare.

“Stay put,” she urges. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But, Abby—” you splutter.

Your name is stern on her lips and another dull ache ebbs as she stands over you in her uniform, muscles stretching the fabric taut.

She’s off a moment later and after what seems like an eternity waiting almost helplessly, Abby returns with a few paper bags. She’s stuffing the receipt in her pocket and your expression shifts, lips pursing.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask as soon as she offers her elbow to you.

“Don’t worry about it,” she quips, body tensing in the slightest as she acclimates all over again to the feeling of you clinging to her. “Now let’s get you home.”

“Abby!” you whine, drawing her name out petulantly.

It’s so domestic, all of it. Carrying your groceries with your arms looped through hers and the two of you strolling down the sidewalk to accommodate your hurt foot.

“What?” she mocks, and you can’t help but smile.

“You’ll be late for work,” you say softly, unable to stop the passing observation of how sturdy she feels against you.

“I’m off.”

And something like relief, excitement, jolts at the thought. Makes you hush the rest of the way to your apartment building like the courage is still brewing.

The middle-aged woman that sits at her desk in the lobby and plays Candy Crush half of shift pauses to spare the two of you a passing glance as you walk in, eyebrows raising and lips twitching.

“Afternoon, Marianne,” you greet sheepishly.

“Good afternoon,” she parrots, rolling her lips to hide the amused grin threatening to spread.

Abby is none-the-wiser as her eyes flit around the lobby in search for the elevators.

The ride up ends up being shrouded in total silence save for the whirring of the lift’s gears and your shallow breaths. For a moment, Abby wonders if she’s overstepped. If she’s made you uncomfortable and read all the signs wrong.

As the two of you approach your door, the very one her and her coworkers had banged on a little over a week ago, she’s trying to come up with the words to apologize, tell you that she really just wanted to make sure you were okay.

(Even though she’ll only ever admit to herself that perhaps part of it was self-indulgent and the softness of your skin was like a high).

But you’re beating her to it, untangling to shift your weight to your uninjured foot and turning to face her.

“Do you…” You swallow and blink once, then twice, gathering the rest of your courage. “Do you wanna come in?”

Oh— Abby hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been expecting you to fumble with your groceries and close the door in her face for good. But now you’re looking up at her through thick lashes and a shy grin and all she can think to herself in this moment is that she’s a goner.

“I’m making dinner,” you add. “If you’d like to stay.”

Another slice of domesticity that has Abby’s wires crossing.

“Sure,” she agrees easily, and it takes everything inside of her not to teem with too much excitement when you turn to slot your key into the lock and the door springs open.

Your apartment is just how she remembers it from the little details she’d picked up the last time she was here. That same scent of lemons and what she thinks could be incense. Though it’d felt a little out of line, unprofessional to be too engrossed in her surroundings the first time, especially when her eyes caught a particularly suggestive photo among the wall hosting polaroids.

You’re with a group of girl friends, bent over in a too short skirt so that the swell of your ass is pressed to the girl in the center’s front. The shot gives a perfect eyeful of your cleavage in a tiny little triangle bikini top and the cherry on top is the pair of red cat-eye glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you wink at whoever is behind the camera.

You pause at the end of the hallway when you notice Abby’s no longer close behind.

“Looks like somebody knows how to have a good time,” she observes jokingly, but her cheeks are so incredibly warm because christ you’re beautiful.

You’re sheepish.

“Definitely retired from that life,” you tell her, and she notes that the neat sharpie dates back nearly six summers ago. “Now I like to bake with my little sister and injure myself.”

Abby can’t help the smile when you start gazing at all the other polaroids tacked into a heart formation on the crisp white walls.

“You seem like the life of the party,” Abby says, eyes lingering on another polaroid of you in what seems to be a dorm room with a joint pinched between your fingers, sporting a feather boa, a paper crown that says ‘birthday girl’ and those same red sunglasses.

You huff out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t say that...”

She wonders if she’ll see that side of you. So far you seem so quiet, reserved. It makes her want to peel away the layers and learn you.

The thought makes her blink hard.

“Kitchen’s this way,” you say after a few moments pass, turning on your heel to pad down the hall and swing left.

Light pours from where you flip the switch to the kitchen’s fluorescents.

Abby finds that the living room and kitchen is far tidier than the last time she’d been here, obviously cleaned after the entire baking debacle with your little sister.

My big sis is gay, like real gay. The words were like a subtle push. One that made Abby weigh the potential.

She’s setting the paper bags on the counter, making a move to go through the bags to help you put the groceries away, but your hands close over hers, slightly smaller and warm as you halt her movements.

“You’ve done enough for me,” you say, smile crooked. “Make yourself at home.”

And the household phrase is so cliche, but makes a split second reel of what making herself fully at home entails. She’d never admit it out loud, but part of it is bending you over the kitchen island.

She swallows the lump in her throat as you limp around the kitchen.

“You should rest your foot,” she says.

Your smile widens.

“I’m okay,” you assure her.

She leans against the counter, watching as you file everything in its rightful place. The muscles in her face involuntarily twitch when you stand up on your tip toes to throw a box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Your ass looks absolutely edible in your jeans and the low cut of your top shows the way your shoulder blades contract.

Definitely doesn’t help her blooming kitchen fantasies.

“You want something to drink?” you offer.

“Just water, please,” Abby clears her throat, gaze snapping up to meet the gaze you throw over your shoulder.

And she has to use the cute little glass you give her as a lifeline, nearly crushing the frosted green glass to bits multiple times over the course of you prepping dinner and the actual thing.

Because not only are you wickedly witty in a way that’s easily overlooked, but you’re phenomenal in the kitchen. Nearly drools watching you cut through your produce while chattering happily about growing up on the west coast and your college years.

You work through the building heat to set a painted ceramic dish piled high with pasta that Abby absolutely devours with nearly as much fervor as she likes to think she would you.

“Good?” you ask hopefully, leaning forward on your elbows.

“Better than good,” Abby says eagerly. “Great, fantastic.”

“Yay,” you cheer pure-heartedly and she could melt. Especially when she polishes off the plate and you sit up straight. “More?”

She easily agrees just for the sake of watching you.

“You should, uh—” You scratch the back of your neck nervously as she continues eating. “You should stop by again. If you, y’know, wanna…I cook a lot and there’s usually a lot left over.”

Abby could scream in excitement. She’s one intrusive thought away from reaching over the island to squish your cheeks and tell you that there’s literally nothing else in the world she’d wanna do than to see you again. Instead she forces her composure with an easy smile.

“I’d really like that.”

And the way she sits back in her seat, legs obviously spreading under the surface to stretch has you wiggling uncomfortably. The last few buttons of her polo have come undone, exposing a freckled expanse of skin that you’d love to sink your teeth into, and somehow, sometime while your back had been turned, she’d opted for undoing the rest of her loosening braid to throw it into a topknot.

The tension is palpable, thick enough to choke, and at times, as the two of you chat over the kitchen island, it has you stumbling over your words.

Even more so when you walk her to the door at half past ten. She’s leaning against the doorframe like she doesn’t want to leave, and truthfully, you don’t want her to. Want to spend as much time as you can caught up.

“I’ll call you?” you bite the bullet despite the tremor in your fingertips.

Abby nods, arm banded around her paper bag of groceries, a tupperware of leftovers nestled on the top.

“Yeah, please,” she hums.

And there’s one final moment of tension that clings between the two of you as she kicks off the doorframe and you close the door, back pressed against the wood.

After that night, the lines you dance blur impossibly. Always a will she, won’t she that seems to equally frustrate the two of you for vastly different reasons unbeknownst to the other.

You because you can’t get a read on Abby, always teetering over a steep edge trying to get her to bite your advances. But you know, know that there’s something there. Abby because she’s given more and more reason to fall into you with every passing moment, but can’t seem to take the plunge, entirely too freshly single to think about another commitment that could fail and leave her already mending heart beyond repair.

And she knows it isn’t fair, especially when the tension both romantic and sexual is absolutely brimming. You’re nothing like the partners she’s been with before, especially not her last girlfriend who was practically your polar opposite. You were gentle, sweet, funny. Good at practically anything you could get your hands on.

But something stalls her, keeps her from diving headfirst despite late nights laying on your living room floor talking about things both minute and infinite, cooking with you in the snugness of your tiny kitchen, even inviting you to outings with friends and vice versa.

So you take the plunge instead, one Saturday evening weeks after your first meeting, after spending long swathes of time tangled in each other’s presence.

You’re at a bar with her and her friends, slight buzz giving you the smallest nudge of confidence to cling to her arm. And god does Abby look good tonight, especially so, in a dark button up and fitted pants. She’s got her hair down, tickles your cheek when you nuzzle against her shoulder.

Her friends’ eyes are inquisitive, curious because touches between the two of you rarely linger for longer than a few moments, but you’ve been glued to her side all night. She doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t shrug you off, even wraps an arm around your shoulder when you return from the restroom.

So with a few more drinks and a little more liquid courage, you’re toeing a little over the line. You’ve pushed her hair over her shoulders, pressing your lips experimentally to the skin behind her ear. It’s a sensation that has her freezing up almost imperceptibly, but you can tell with the way her muscles grow taut under your fingers.

“What’re you doing, angel?” Abby asks quietly, span of her large palm gripping your thigh.

“Nothin’,” you hum, nose bumping her ear.

She breathes out a hollow laugh, tries to turn her attention to her friends who are obviously trying to ignore your displays of affection. But then your lips are brushing with more force against her collar and she’s sliding out of the stuffy booth to get some air.

Her resolve is obviously crumbling, even more so when she stands at the bar waiting for the next round of drinks and your arm bands around her waist, the other flattening below her belly button. When your pinkie slides beneath her belt buckle, she’s pushing off the counter.

And for a moment you think you’ve upset her when she gathers all the stout glasses and winds through the crowd to return to the booth you’d previously occupied.

You barely make it to the back of the bar when she’s emerging from the bodies and grabbing you roughly by the bicep.

“Abby—”

Her lips are slotting yours before you can apologize, and she tastes like cherries and liquor. Her arms wind around your waist, one hand on the small of your back, the other grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Abs,” you whisper breathlessly, unable to feel any embarrassment for taking up a high traffic aisle as she bites your bottom lip.

“Your place or mine?” she asks, voice gravelly. “Because you started something that I’m gonna need you to finish, princess.”

And your knees are jelly the entire trek to your apartment, insides liquid and tummy fluttering because a warmth has begun to pool in your panties. The way Abby can’t keep her hands off you through the elevator ride up makes it all the worse.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease, y’know that?” she hisses in your ear as you miss the keyhole a few times. “For the last six weeks all you’ve done is toy with me and—”

Her breath hitches when she presses her front to your back and slides her hand up the skirt of your backless sundress to feel the stickiness forming between the plush of your thighs.

When you finally force the door open, Abby’s kicking off her shoes and her fingers are making work of her top buttons. You’re quick to swivel on your heel, shoving her roughly against the front door to push up on your tiptoes and pepper kisses over the curve of her jaw.

“Me?” you huff petulantly, an uncharacteristic gleam in your eye as your fingers are deft on her belt buckle. You unbutton her dress pants. “You waltz in here all the time looking so…so…fuckable.”

Abby nearly chokes on her breath.

“And you try to play coy, but I see right through you, Abby,” you say in such a gooey tone. She throws her head back and moans. “I see the way you look at me. The little things you do. You’re not subtle Anderson.”

And that’s new. Calling her by her last name.

Your hand’s down the front of her pants, under her boxers and you feel it. How wet she is. Feel the slick between her folds as you circle her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, lips parted as she takes the sight of you in.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you sigh, biting your bottom lip as you stare up at her.

She nods eagerly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hum.

Her hands come up to cup your cheeks, leaning down to steal a few kisses before her hand’s wrapping around your wrist and pulling you from her heat.

“Open,” she barks, guiding your fingers to your lips.

You do so without argument, the taste of Abby making your eyes hood.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, and Abby’s walking you back towards your bedroom.

“You wanna make me feel good?” she asks, back of her knees hitting the edge of your mattress. She’s got you situated between her legs, shucking off her top and shimmying her trousers and boxers off in one go. “Then get to work.”

She’s spreading her legs, gaze locked as you lower until you’re eye level with her cunt. The pale moonlight that filters the window making it absolutely glisten.

You’re kissing the skin of her inner thighs, hands on her knees as you glance up at her, only find her with her bottom lip tucked harshly between pearly teeth.

“Want you bad,” you admit breathily, biting the taut skin before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

All you receive is a shaky breath, seemingly knocking the words straight from her lips.

“Nothing?” you taunt, biting the other side.

Abby’s opening her mouth to say something snarky, but your lips are on her clit and your middle finger’s sliding in with ease.

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers breathlessly.

And you’re smug as you eat her out, vibration of your moans rumbling through her core when she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs ‘til the tension in your scalp stings deliciously.

“Shitshitshit,” she chokes when you add another finger.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be embarrassed when her body locks up and her legs shake after what seems like only mere moments, but after she comes down and the fog clears, she’s wiping that smirk off your pretty face.

The sight is one to see, Abby leaned against your headboard with your back plastered to her front. The skirt of your dress is scrunched around your waist, flimsy straps knocked from your shoulders.

She’s merciless, thick fingers plugging you full.

“Ah, Abby,” you hiss, hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Can’t get over how tight you are.” She bites your earlobe. “You can barely take two.”

As testament, she stuffs you deeper. The squelch is downright filthy, your arousal pooling down your slit and onto the sheets. For a moment Abby’s pulling her digits from your heat, spreading her fingers in front of your face to show you the stringy strands of clear that web her knuckles.

“See that, princess? See how wet you are?” she teases, other hand taking a palmful of your tits while her mouth maps each blemish and mark with kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” she husks. “Wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You throw your head back, chest heaving as her fingers curl inside the spongy walls of your cunt and applies such a toe-curling pressure against the spot that has you seeing stars. It makes your back arch, knees twitching against the legs that Abby uses to keep your thighs spread.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” she whispers, blowing air against the shell of your ear as her ministrations grow sloppy.

You nod quickly, body tensing.

“M’gonna fuckin’ cum,” you whimper, “Please, Abs, don’t stop. I’m—”

Abby could cum all over again when your chest pushes forward into her hold, head lolling back against her shoulder as you let out a pitched whine that sounds a lot like her name.

“Fuck!” you swallow, falling slack against her sticky skin as you gush.

Her other hand drops to your clit, lazy circles making your pussy clench around the fingers still stuffed inside.

“That’s right, princess,” she huffs. “Cream all over my fingers.”

Your breaths stutter, pussy clenching as you let out a needy little moan.

“So good,” she praises. “Such a good girl.”

And you’re absolutely boneless, head knocking gently against hers as you push further into her chest. You feel her weight shift as she reaches, then the gentle feeling of her cleaning you up despite sleepy overstimulated protests.

It’s warm in your room as Abby slinks down the pillows and pulls the covers up. Her chin rests on top of your head as you cozy up to her, mumbling about how much you like her and how you’ve waited for such a moment.

You don’t remember the last thing you say before you doze off.

Abby does, though.

It keeps her up the entire night. Has her eyes blown wide as she stares up at the ceiling and the weight of the evening dawns on her.

Always wanna be with you. You’re my person.

And she doesn’t know how it’d gotten to this point. How did she let herself get so entangled with you? She’d always been aware that there’d been something there, that she was crushing and was almost a hundred percent sure you reciprocated, but this was far more than she’d anticipated.

It’s a step away from the ‘l’ word, and she’s not so sure it’s something she’s willing to fall into.

So Abby does what she does when she’s scared and she’s running. She’s replacing herself with your pillow as the sun comes up, heart squeezing when your cheek nuzzles against the fabric and your lips part to blow a breath.

She’s dressing as she makes her way to the front door, takes a final look at the polaroid wall that stares back at her as she tugs her shoes on, and slips out of the apartment building into the chilly Seattle air.

You’d been prepared for a lot of things growing up and into yourself. Had learned to swallow the bitter side of sweet, but nothing could have prepared you for the splintering feeling of Abby’s absence.

You wake up a few hours after she leaves, naked and hugging one of your pillows. The apartment is eerily silent as you wait in stillness for any signs that she’s just an early riser.

There’s no shower running, no clattering in the kitchen, no shuffling in the hall. And when you survey your surroundings, comforter wrapped around your shoulders, you suck in a deep breath.

Maybe she has work.

It’s a futile attempt to rationalize the situation, but you know Abby. Know that she’d leave a note, maybe a text, or—

You scramble for your phone, but deflate when you find a notification to water your virtual plant. For good measure, you open her text thread, but all that stares back at you is the confirmation that she was picking you up the night prior.

“Oh, Abby,” you whisper to yourself, something like sickness making your stomach twist.

The cursor blinks, keyboard clicking as you type and retype anything that’ll confirm that maybe you’re just being paranoid, reading into things too much.

So you settle on good morning 💘.

It’s almost instantaneous.

Read at 7:47am.

It takes a little under two weeks for Abby to surface again. Not without ample prodding. You’re a communicator, she realizes, as she sits outside of Jo’s Coffee and stares down at the string of texts from you over the past week and a half.

pretty girl: good morning 💘

pretty girl: have a good day at work

pretty girl: i made dinner if you wanna stop by

pretty girl: can i swing by the station with lunch?

pretty girl: just want you to know that i’m thinking of you

pretty girl: meet for coffee? wanna see you.

pretty girl: text me whenever you’re comfortable, i’ll leave you alone til you’re ready 💗

That final text is what makes her crack. Makes the guilt eat away at her. So she messages you when her shift is over.

me: jo’s at 4

pretty girl liked ‘jo’s at 4’

She looks up when the chair across from her scrapes against the concrete. You drop into the seat, fresh-faced and obviously newly showered. But she can see it in your eyes, the bags that puff like you’ve been crying.

And you have, even if you won’t admit it, because Abby’s the closest thing you’ve felt to what love could be like and these past two weeks have been agonizing as you try to pick apart every single facet of your situationship with her.

“How are you?” you ask, giving her a weak smile over the table.

“Good,” Abby lies, but you don’t see through her poker face and it stings, thinking that she’d been so unaffected by all of this.

You nod, fiddling with the fake leaves of the center piece.

“I missed you,” you admit shakily.

And fuck, did Abby miss you too, but she can’t find it in herself to face her fears head on. So she just nods, biting the inside of her lip.

“Didn’t miss me?” you tease, trying to make light of the situation.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Abby cuts to the chase, words leaving her lips like a shot that echos in the night.

It makes your ears ring, your brows furrowing as your lips twitch into a frown. Abby braces herself, knows what a brewing argument feels like. It’s sick to say that it’s familiarity, that sharp words and hoarse voices are a norm.

But you just shrink in your seat.

“Why?” you whisper.

Abby sucks in a deep breath.

“You don’t remember what you told me?” she asks like an accusation.

You blink.

“You told me that you wanted to be with me. That I’m your person,” she says.

And you wonder what’s so wrong with that. Especially when you’ve spent two months glued, when you were so sure it was mutual.

“I do,” you affirm softly. “You are.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head.

“I’m not—” She clears her throat. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t need the distraction. Especially not now with work and my personal life.”

Ouch. That had hurt, Abby calling her time with you and any subsequent moments nothing more a distraction.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know why your response frustrates her, makes annoyance pinch the back of her brain as she takes you in, but it does. Full force.

“We’re better off as friends,” Abby says. “It’s easier, it’s—”

“Friends don’t fuck each other, Abby,” you say simply, and the calmness in your tone makes her upset.

She’s used to the shouting, to the arguing and being at each other’s throats in conversations like these. But you never fail to amaze her as you keep your composure.

“I have no intention of sleeping with you again,” she says stonily. “That night was mistake. I hadn’t been with someone in months and you were giving me attention and—”

In her frustration with the entire conversation, she hadn’t realized that tears were pooling in your eyes. That you were trying not to cry.

Her face softens when she notices.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You what?” you murmur. “What were these past three months, Abby?”

“I dunno,” Abby sighs in annoyance. “Two people enjoying each other’s company? We were drunk and—"

You simply nod, knuckling away the brimming tears before shrugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Abby sighs when you stand.

“Home,” you answer quietly. “Whatever. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened.”

She grabs your arm over the table, opening her mouth to apologize again, but you’re shaking her off.

“Take care of yourself,” you tell her.

The days blur like the edges of a muddy watercolor.

You start to think that things could look up, that maybe Abby was put in your life for some reason you’ll uncover in the future. But the universe can be so cruel sometimes, knows exactly what to do to shatter the broken pieces you’d tried so hard to glue together.

It comes in the form of a night out nearly a month after you’d last seen Abby. She made no additional efforts, just left you wondering if you’d imagined it all, and your friends are especially tired of your moping.

It’s a surprise!

And you’re not really one for surprises. Especially not now, but they’re dragging you out, carting you across town. Your stomach sinks to your ass when you see the familiar neon lights. Feel your chest tighten on the trek up the stairs to the same bar that preluded your spiral.

You could throw up when you’re situated in a booth with your friends and you glance at the bar by chance.

Abby’s leaned against the counter top, looking as good as ever, but she’s not alone. There’s a girl that hangs off her shoulder, skin umber and eyes warm. She makes no moves to distance herself and you don’t know why you feel the anger begin to sizzle. Abby hadn’t been yours in the first place.

“What do you wanna drink?” one of your friends asks.

“Nothing,” you answer stiffly.

She follows your gaze to the countertop, sees the way your eyes burn.

You’d kept your situation with Abby private, didn’t want to jeopardize such a potentially good thing with your well-meaning meddling friends at such a fresh stage. But now that it’s soured, you stare openly.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asks, and your avoidance is answer enough. “C’mon, let’s show her what she missed out on.”

As it turns out, it doesn’t seem like much. Because she doesn’t even blink when you sidle up to the counter with your friend, three patrons between the two of you.

You’d always thought the two if you had a sixth sense for the other, but Abby’s oblivious to her surroundings, too engrossed in her drink and the pretty brunette hanging off her shoulder.

One of the bartenders goes up, asks what he can get for the two beautiful ladies, and your ears perk when her voice sounds. Nearly throw up the empty contents of your stomach all over the bar top when you see the way she slings her arm over the girl’s shoulders.

“Another vodka soda for my girl.”

She’s buzzed, you can hear it, but it’s the most sound declaration you’ve heard from her in the time you’ve known her.

You break away from the bar, and you run.

Abby feels like a shell of herself.

She’d gone out over the weekend, celebrating a visit from a close friend from the east coast. And it’d done a good job of numbing the pain for a little while, of taking her mind off of you.

But it’s Tuesday, the first day of her rotation this week and she hates that this feels worse than her previous break-up despite the unlabeled status of your relationship. You hadn’t even put up a fight, just took her rejection in stride.

It makes her feel infinitely worse, knowing you didn’t have it in you.

She doesn’t even realize she’s spaced out in front of the drink coolers of the convenience store after her shift when a voice snaps her out of it.

“S’cuse me.”

And she knows that voice. It’d been her greenlight all those nights ago.

Your little sister is brushing past her, going straight for the Body Armors and Gatorade. She must feel the way Abby stares because she’s side-eyeing the older girl from her post.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, turning her nose up in the air.

Abby swallows.

“Hey to you too,” she says hesitantly.

Your little sister humphs, snatching the golden berry flavor and a yellow Gatorade. Abby takes a moment to glance at her basket, sees fever medicine and Tylenol among other things like instant ramen and Vitamin C gummies.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

Your little sister’s face screws up in annoyance.

“No, but my big sis is,” she says matter-of-factly.

That information makes Abby’s heart sink.

“She alright?” she asks carefully.

“She’s seen better days no thanks to you.”

And on a normal day, Abby would laugh because your little sister is witty, just like you. Can see where she gets it from. But right now, all she can imagine is you bed ridden and coughing up a lung.

“I can take a look at her,” Abby offers suddenly. “I—”

“Yeah fucking right,” your sibling scoffs.

Her language stuns Abby and this time she really can’t help but chuckle.

“You think this is funny?” she gripes. “You broke my sister’s heart. She’s been so fuckin’ sad because of you and you’re laughing.”

Abby sobers up quick, shakes her head.

“No, no, that’s not—,” she splitters urgently. “I– I’m laughing ‘cuz you’re just like her.”

Your little sister doesn’t look convinced, uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose as she levels Abby with an unrelenting stare.

“You suck, y’know that?”

“Yeah,” Abby sighs, hands flailing in defeat. “Trust me, I know.”

“And you’re a pussy,” your little sister adds childishly. “I know you really like my sister.”

Abby doesn’t even bother denying it, just stands there with a prepackaged sandwich that pales in comparison to your cooking and a diet soda.

“I do,” she affirms quietly.

“Then do something about it,” she says surprisingly. “My sister’s a catch, the coolest person I know. You’d be the biggest fucking dumbass if you don’t lock her down.”

And her candidness makes Abby crack a smile.

They stand there for a few moments in silence before your little sister is shoving the basket in Abby’s arms and prancing down the aisle.

As soon as Abby’s paid, black plastic bag in her grasp, she finds that your little sister has lingered outside of the convenience store.

She’s shoving a key in her hands.

“She’s too tired to open the door,” she says. “She likes extra lime in her ramen and runny eggs. Also hates swallowing pills so you’ll probably have to crush it up and put it in her water or something.”

“Who’s the EMT here?” Abby grumbles.

Your little sister pins her with a narrowed look.

“Don’t fuck this up Anderson,” she warns. “If Big Sis asks, I took a train to the mall to meet up with my friends.”

And just like that, she flounces away.

You’re asleep when she sneaks into your apartment.

She kicks her shoes off, sets the bag of convenience store goods on the kitchen island before padding through the living room to peek into your room.

Buried under a mound of blankets, just your eyebrows and forehead peek from the top as you snore softly. When she peels the covers away, she not only finds that you’re sweaty and your cheeks are flushed, but you’re wearing her favorite hoodie.

She hadn’t realized she left it here, but seeing you in it has her sinking to her knees by your bedside, chin resting on her bent arm.

“Hi, angel,” she whispers quietly, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Missed you.”

You don’t budge, cheek smushed in your pillow as you snooze peacefully. And maybe she shouldn’t have come here, because all it’ll take is you asking her to stay.

She tucks the blanket to your chin, leans forward to press a kiss against your temple.

In the kitchen, she’s only reminded of how much she misses you. Misses this. She’d spent nearly everyday here during your time together. Brushed shoulders with you while you guys cooked together, leaned against the counter while you took extra care plating her food despite her protests of ‘we’re gonna eat it anyways’. You guys frequently laid out on the living room floor, snacking while watching movies, flipping through coffee table books or getting existential.

She’d made so many memories here, made a home out of you.

The thought stirs something emotional inside of her, makes tears prick the corner of her eyes as she rips open the packet of ramen and digs the seasoning sachet out.

Frustration wells as she goes through the motions in your kitchen by herself. Wonders why you had to go and be so fucking wonderful and make her fall for you.

She’s halfway through and angrily brushing her tears away when she hears your door creak open and your voice croak your little sister’s name in question.

When you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, her name is falling from your lips.

“Abby?”

You rub your eyes momentarily and Abby feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet as you stand there with the hood of her pullover on, Christmas pajama pants and some crew socks.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, bewildered eyes bouncing around the kitchen as you take in your surroundings. The bags under your eyes are swollen, your lips chapped as you fidget in the archway.

“I ran into your sister at the convenience store,” she admits. “She said you were sick.”

“And?” It’s like you can’t fathom the fact that Abby would have any concern for you. Something like anger bubbles at the idea.

“What do you mean and?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick and I… I care about you.”

There’s that normalcy again, that familiar feeling of emotions beginning to reach its boiling point. But she’s not angry at you. Could never be when all you’ve been is perfect to her. And perhaps in the back of her mind that plays the tiniest role, because you’re everything she could ever want, need, but she steady fucks it up every go around.

“Do you?” you whisper.

You look small, defeated, unable to meet her eyes.

“Of course I do, what are—”

“You really hurt me, you know that?” Your breath hitches. “You came into my life like fate, over and over again. Still do apparently. And you— You made me like you more than I’ve ever liked someone in my life. You let me see you, let me fuck you, let me… let me…”

It’s your first real display of heightened emotion. You don’t bother trying to hide your tears, or hide the way Abby’s built you up and ruined you these past four months.

“And then you just left.”

The lump in her throat nearly chokes her breathless.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, y’know?” you continue and Abby’s hands tremble. “That maybe you really just needed the time for yourself, but then I saw you, and—”

“Saw me what?” Abby interjects. “Where?”

“At the bar,” you squeak. “She’s really fucking pretty, and I hope she makes you—”

“What are you talking about?” Abby grills, taking a step towards you.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, if you didn’t feel the way I felt about you, you could have just said that,” you whimper, dashing the tears away in embarrassment. “You didn’t have to make an excuse about not wanting a distraction.”

“I’m so lost right now,” Abby says. “I—”

“I saw you at the bar this weekend,” you tell her straight. “You were with a girl, called her yours.”

And that floors her. She’s almost a hundred percent certain she would’ve felt your presence a mile away, But as you reveal that you’d only been meters away from her, the closest you’ve gotten in weeks, it makes her gut pinch.

She wracks her brain, tries to recall that weekend, tries to think of any woman who’d give you the idea that she’d choose anyone but you.

She draws a blank at first, but then she remembers the bartender’s passing comment.

You and the birthday girl are too sweet.

Abby had fake retched and Nora’d drawn out an exaggerated ewwww as the bartender set the vodka soda before them.

She’d been far too engrossed to realize that you’d been in the vicinity. But she’s not so sure she would’ve done much to take advantage of your presence if she had.

This is her first act of courage in months and she’s falling head first as she crosses the berth between the two of you.

When she stands a few inches away, you look up at her, thick lashes wet and nose snotty. You look like a mess, but Abby’s always thought you were beautiful.

“Nora’s not my girlfriend,” is the first thing she says.

You think you should feel relief, some semblance of hope flickering, but this feels a lot like uncertainty and you hate the limbo.

You don’t say anything, just wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers, hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, corners of your mouth turning down in that telltale sign that you’re not done crying yet.

“C’mon, angel, stop crying,” Abby says weakly and the nickname makes your stupid heart flutter.

Her thumbs are brushing underneath your eyes, over the puff of your eyebags before she’s crushing you to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other winding around your shoulders to keep you anchored.

Your arms wrap around her waist, taking in the scent of her pine body wash and the softness of her detergent.

“I hate you,” comes your muffled hiccup.

Abby only hugs you harder.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

And perhaps she deserves that, but you’re pushing your face further into her chest and she barely hears you.

“I missed you,” you admit a second later, back of her work shirt fisted between nimble fingers.

A shuddering breath leaves her at the admission, makes her body relax as the two of you stand at the edge of your kitchen.

“Missed you,” she murmurs, savoring the way your body feels melding against hers for the first time in weeks. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“You’ll stay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” she assures you. “I gotta go home and get some stuff, but of course I’ll stay.”

Your hold tightens and your head shakes.

“I mean stay, Abby,” you clarify. “With me. Don’t…don’t run away anymore.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a new onslaught of tears choking her as she nods fervently.

“Yeah,” she croaks, kissing the top of your head. “M’not going anywhere.”

BONUS

You don’t know where the time goes. It all seems to blur together in the moments you spend with Abby, and before you can wrap your mind around the fact, a full year has passed the two of you by.

“You look so pretty,” Abby comments, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs spread.

She’s watching you through the mirror, blue eyes piercing and unblinking.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way she always seems to make you warm.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to hide the smile that twitches while you screw the cap back onto your lipgloss to take one final look at yourself.

“Not gonna say it back?” Abby feigns annoyance, pushing up from her seat to wrap around you, one hand bracing against the dresser as her chin drops to your neck.

“Then it’d be insincere,” you deadpan, head tilting to rest against hers.

She humphs under her breath, shamelessly sliding a hand up your dress.

You stop her fingers in their tracks, pushing off from the drawers to create space between the two of you and alleviate the warmth beginning to bloom behind your navel.

“We’re gonna be late for Nora’s birthday,” you quip, fingertips barely brushing the doorknob before Abby’s hands are gripping your waist.

She’s hoisting you to throw you against the mattress playfully.

“She’ll survive if we’re ten minutes late,” Abby assures you wolfishly, climbing over you to cage your body between her thick thighs.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair,” you whine, pushing at her shoulder.

Abby captures your wrists in one hand, other tilting your chin up to slot her lips between yours. The taste of the fresh coat of lipgloss you’d just applied makes her smile against your mouth.

She relaxes a fraction when you reciprocate, tongue languid. A noise of approval rumbles from her chest when you nudge her onto her back and bite down on her bottom lip. With a wicked glint in her eyes, she’s pulling away, hands resting against the curve of your ass.

Now you’re straddling her, manicured hands mapping from her waist to her shoulders to feel the ripple of taut muscles underneath. She’s tense, obviously waiting for your next move with bated breath and kiss bitten lips.

But then you shift teasingly over her zipper.

“Let’s go,” you hum, pressing a final kiss to her jaw before climbing off of her anticipating figure. “No dessert before dinner.”

neng © 2023

[amoscontorta]

No way out, revised

I thought that MC was too mean to Sylus in his 4 star No Way Out card, and I didn't like it, so I fixed it. I mean, I rewrote how it went like a proper rabid fan. Summary: Sylus shows up injured near MC's place, MC tends to his injuries, and he takes advantage of the situation like a vampire and secures himself an open invitation into MC's home whenever he 'needs' it.

Reader POV, Second person POV, gender neutral reader CWs: blood, injury, Sylus is hurt and bleeds a lot, foul language, cursing, MC has a dangerously messy apartment and how do you live like this??, Sylus is manipulative (just a little) to get what he wants. I see a lot of people putting minors do not interact and 18+ and whatnot warnings on their fics. Anything I write isn't intended for children, but I'm not your mom, read what you want. SFW in terms of sex, except for MC's barely contained thotiness in the face of Sylus's scent and sharp teeth

ao3 link here

You can’t bring yourself to apologize to Sylus, properly. With words. After everything that happened when you first met him. First, because part of you feels like words will never be sufficient to make up for how gravely unfair it had been for you to blame him for … well. For everything. To the point of actually wanting to kill him. And another part of you thinks that if you ever do say the words out loud, and admit how terribly wrong you were about him, that the smug look on his face as a result would make you want to kill him all over again.

No, no, better not to risk it. Even when you try, the words just won’t choke their way out of your throat. So you resolve yourself to show him in other ways, with action. And though you don’t know him very well yet, you’re pretty sure that Sylus is the kind of man that appreciates action far more than pretty words (later, you will learn how wrong you are. Sylus is the decadent embodiment of “Why not both?”).

After you left the N109 zone, you didn’t expect to see him anytime soon, so you have no idea when you’ll be able to wipe the ledger clean on what you owe him, but when the opportunity presents itself, you’ll repay this debt to him, no questions asked. And then you’ll be free again. Free to return to your predictable, comparatively safe existence in Linkon City.

Of course, nothing about Sylus is predictable, so when you receive an alert on your hunter watch that a citizen is in distress near your flat, you almost can’t believe your eyes as you sprint down the sidewalk, careen around the corner of your favorite neighborhood place to get iced lattes, and skid to a stop in front of a very big, very hurt Sylus. Elbows on knees, head hanging low, and blood visibly dripping down one of his wrists from under the cuff of his beaten up black leather jacket.

“The fuck, Sylus?” You stand in front of him awkwardly, suppressing the bizarre instinct to get on your knees in front of him, to lift his face and check for the source of injury.

“Now that’s not the most professional greeting to a citizen in need from one of Linkon City’s most heroic hunters, is it?” He sounds almost normal, the deep grind of his voice steady, except for an almost imperceptible hitch when he lifts his head. From that alone, you can tell that he is in a lot of pain.

Part of you is really worried—you’ve seen how quickly he heals, how seemingly indestructible he is. To be sitting out here, exposed in the twilight, clearly vulnerable, must mean that he is pretty desperate. And another part of you is relieved: finally, you can repay your debt, show him that despite all of your previous misconceptions, you’re sorry for thinking so poorly of him, for trying to stab him in the face and then kind of shooting him through the heart. To be fair, he did pull the trigger, but you didn’t try very hard to stop him. And then once you’ve helped him and gotten him on his way, hopefully you can stop thinking about him altogether.

“Can you get up?” you finally ask, taking a step closer. He looks up into your face, and you see how pale he is.

In response, he leans forward in preparation of standing, but grunts and sits abruptly back down.

“I might need some of that famous hunter assistance,” he says, wincing. “I’m afraid a wanderer got the better of me.”

You sit down next to him on his uninjured side, feeling the heat radiate from his thigh and shoulder, and smell sour sweat under his already-familiar scent—warm skin, gun oil, and strangely, oranges.

“I’m going to put your arm over my shoulder and help you lift up, ok?” He nods quickly, and lets you lift his meaty arm over your shoulders without complaint, just another hitch in his breath as you haul him up.

“Don't tell me I'm too heavy for Linkon City's finest hunter,” he tries to tease, but leans on you even more heavily.

“I can deadlift you, Sylus. This is nothing.” Ok, maybe you’re exaggerating. But if his weight presented a problem for you, you’d be a pretty piss-poor hunter. You pause for a moment, readjusting his arm around your neck. “I’m assuming you want to avoid hospitals and paperwork,” you state, trying not to be overwhelmed by how good he smells even covered in blood and stress-sweating under his edgy leather outfit.

“That would be a correct assumption, yes,” he breathes, and you hate the way that even in this messy state his breath is warm and welcome drifting across your cheek.

“Can you use your evol to transport us to one of your safe houses?” You’ve never confirmed with him that he actually is routinely in enough danger to require a safe house, let alone multiple, but you’re not surprised when he murmurs “Too drained right now,” acknowledging their existence.

Ok. You have no other option. You aren't prepared to let him into your space, to have the memory of his overwhelming presence in the only safe place left to you since your grandmother’s house was destroyed. But if this is the price you must pay to finally be free of your debt, of him, you’ll pay it.

“Fine. My flat is a short walk from here. Let’s go.” He says nothing, but takes heavy steps with you as you slowly make your way across the clean and even sidewalk of your city block, so different from the cracked, weed ridden paths winding through the N109 zone, when one is lucky enough to have a sidewalk to walk on at all.

Sylus isn’t the only one sweating now, as you haul him into your flat’s elevator. You’re relieved that Xavier is out of town, on one of his secretive missions doing who knows what, so you there’s no chance you’ll be asked to explain the presence of this bleeding stranger leaving a mess all over the pristine elevator floor. You make a mental note to come back as quickly as possible to clean it up, after you’ve dealt with the more urgent, hulking issue draped across your shoulders.

Sylus isn’t even looking around, just leaning more and more heavily into your body. His head tipped toward yours, soft hair drifting along your cheek, nose buried in your neck. You tell yourself he's just breathing heavily because of the pain--he can't possibly be inhaling your scent. You resist the urge to sniff your own armpit to make sure you did, of course you did, put on deodorant this morning.

You hesitate for only a moment outside your door, but take a deep breath and open it, hauling him into your foyer where you try as gently as possible to lower him to the ground and catch your breath. He grunts as his ass hits the floor, and you wince. “Sorry,” you offer (why is it easy to say it for this, but not for the biggest reason looming between the two of you?).

“I’m going to knock a star off your rating when I write my review on the Hunter’s Association feedback form,” he sighs, gingerly leaning back on his hands, wincing, and then putting all his weight onto his uninjured arm, ridiculously long legs stretched in front of him. His blood drips onto your foyer floor now, and you are mesmerized by it for a moment. It really does match the color of his eyes, and you’ve never thought blood beautiful until this moment.

“I suppose I’ll have to live with the consequences,” you say, trying to shake your head to free yourself of these weird thoughts. You kneel at his feet, and try as efficiently as possible to remove the boots with the stupid chains around the heels from his giant feet. “You can bleed on my floor, but I draw the line at you keeping your shoes on. Lift.” You tap his other foot, and he lifts it minutely so you can drag it off. “I’m going to get my first aid kit. Don't go anywhere,” you can’t help but snark, knowing that he isn’t in any position to move. You make your way through your flat, trying not to look at it through a new perspective, hyper-aware that he’ll soon be taking it in, evaluating your space, making judgments, gathering intel that he’ll file away to try to exploit another day.

You resist the urge to grab discarded clothing along the way, to tidy the bathroom sink and wipe down the mirror. You’re busy as fuck, not home nearly enough to fully relax most days, and certainly do not possess the energy to clean up often. If he has a problem with it, he should have found somewhere else to bleed out. You’re sorry for the circumstances of your first meeting, but you’re not going to apologize for the way you manage to live your life. You snap the cabinet closed and head back to the foyer.

Only to find this big motherfucker sitting on your couch, his jacket folded neatly on the seat under his hand so he doesn’t bleed onto the fabric underneath. How thoughtful, you think, seething.

You stop in the doorway and level him with a look that you hope conveys the disgust coursing through you at the moment. “Too injured to walk unassisted, huh?”

“Your support on the way here was invaluable in allowing me to catch my breath so that I could make my own way into your… uniquely charming home,” he rasps in response, completely unapologetic. His eyes leisurely drift around your living room and kitchen area, taking in the old take-out containers on the island counter, the guns and ammo scattered on the couch’s side table, the plants spilling over every other available surface. He nudges a plushie that has made its way from the armchair next to the couch to the floor with his sock-covered foot, and it squeaks, startling you out of your irritation. You move to his side on the couch and sit next to him, sweeping the magazines about distant, peaceful travel destinations that you’ll likely never see from the coffee table to the floor to make room for the first aid kit.

“I can take it from here,” he offers, watching as you pull out medical pincers, gauze, and disinfectant. “I don’t want to give you nightmares.”

You scoff softly, batting away his hand reaching for the supplies. “Despite your best efforts, you’re not scary enough to compete with the nightmares I already have,” you say, grasping his wrist and gently lowering it to rest on his knee. As you carefully roll up the sleeve of his shirt to examine the first wound, you realize just how much you have just revealed, for free, in that statement. You suppress a wince, overly conscious of his bright eyes drifting from your face to his arm and back again.

In the corner of your eye, you see his jaw clench as you reveal the bullet hole gaping in the round meat of his deltoid underneath his ruined sleeve.

“Wanderer got you, huh?” You sigh. “Since when do wanderers wield .38 caliber pistols?”

“Humans have been known to wander, from time to time,” Sylus deadpans, utterly shameless, glancing pointedly at your scattered travel magazines.

“You should have been a lawyer instead of a crime lord,” you sniff, resigning yourself to the task ahead.

You do your best to be gentle, offering him something to sink his teeth into as you dig into both the bullet hole in his shoulder and the one in the side of his left pectoral, uncomfortably close to where your own bullet ripped through him not so long ago. You know what to do, because you’ve been on the other side of this predicament with Zayne more times than you can count, and Zayne is a good, patient teacher. Sylus is panting and uncharacteristically quiet, and you hate yourself for the insane image that intrudes into your thoughts as you imagine his teeth sinking into something else, as you have to pointedly ignore the unblemished expanse of his exposed torso that heaves with each breath, the softness of pale, sweat-slicked skin under your calloused fingertips.

Finally, the last bullet drops onto the pile of extra gauze on the coffee table with a muffled thunk, and Sylus hisses as you generously pour disinfectant over the hole you just dragged it out of.

“Who is the kitten now, hiss boy?” you tease, trying to distract him from how much pain this is obviously causing him.

“Hiss … boy?” he narrows his eyes. “I’m rather certain that in contrast to the normal company you keep, there is nothing ‘boyish’ about me,” he responds smoothly, unruffled. So much for trying to get a rise out of him.

“Opinions differ,” you retort, beginning to wrap bandages tightly around his chest. You try again. “Ironic, that you’ve suffered injury from your own merchandise, don’t you think? Has it made you reconsider your line of work?”

“How are you so sure that I was shot with one of the guns I sell? This could be the result of the use of a legally registered firearm issued to one of your colleagues,” he says, watching you carefully. Your hands pause. You sit, gazing at the bandages you’ve just wrapped around his big shoulder, his broad chest, these parts of him that despite all their strength, their ability to knit themselves back together, are still just fragile flesh and blood, easily flayed open by a speeding bullet or the slash of a blade. You realize in an uncomfortable moment of self-awareness that it doesn’t matter if he was shot by one of his underworld counterparts with a grudge, or by one of your own colleagues. You just don’t want him to be hurt at all.

You move your hands again, snipping the end of the bandage you’ve just finished wrapping around his chest and using butterfly pins to secure it with a decisive snap. “There. Now you can begin to heal properly.”

You say this with a finality that you hope he can hear. It is done. You’ve cared for him to the best of your ability, at a time he needed it, and you hope that with each careful touch you offered, he heard the message loud and clear that you were sorry for what had previously happened between you, that you now owe each other nothing. Life can return to normal. It won’t matter anymore that you don’t want him to be in pain, that you want to protect his body from harm. You won’t be seeing him again.

“Still too drained to heal myself,” he murmurs, leaning back on your couch and closing his eyes as if he owns the place.

“Sylus—” you start, because he can’t stay here. You can’t handle him here, the silken fall of his ivory hair in stark contrast to the deep maroon of your couch, his legs manspreading, taking up more than his fair share of the cushions, his breath, scent, presence threatening to overwhelm your sense of space and boundaries. He doesn’t belong here, in this modest little flat, amongst yesterday’s take-out cartons and the light from the street lamps outside filtering in through your unwashed windows to illuminate the regal line of his nose. It’s like having a jaguar in a petting zoo, and you need him to leave. Now.

“If you’re so impatient to be rid of me, then resonate with me. That will expedite things significantly,” he interrupts your growing panic, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Do you not remember last time? We were chained together, and we still don’t know what broke the connection.”

“Mmm, is that what happened?” he murmurs drowsily.

“Oh, having trouble recalling? You kindly offered to cut off my hand to speed up the process—does that jog your memory?” you snap, frustration building again at the memory.

“How are we sure that the link happened because we resonated? Maybe it was just a coincidence.”

“What?” You can’t believe your ears. It’s so obvious that the successful resonance caused the uncomfortable link that chained you together for an unbearable amount of time.

“Correlation is not causation,” he enunciates slowly, as if you’re hard of hearing. Which ok, you have permanent tinnitus due to the almost constant gunfire involved in your occupation, but still! “The only way to confirm your theory is to resonate with me again.”

“You are not going to goad me into resonating with you again, Sylus.” You take a deep breath, breathe it out again. A smirk drifts across his face, which incidentally has regained some of the color that was missing when you first found him. You’ve paid your debt. He needs to go. You move to stand, but his voice stops you.

“Did you know? I had to increase my credit limit because of your little shopping spree at the auction,” he says wistfully.

“What?” You turn to look at him again. His eyes, glittering like rubies, are open now, amusement written all over him.

“Does the Hunter’s Association offer a hearing package in their health insurance policy? You might want to get your hearing tested, Sweetie.”

“What do you mean you had to increase your credit limit because of me?” you demand, ignoring his jab and annoying nickname. “I don’t believe that for a second!”

“My, my, have we learned to be less gullible after the little handcuff and smoke pistol incident?” he drawls, clearly steadily feeling better. “I should give Kieran and Luke a raise for what they did; it was a fun little interlude for me, and they taught you the very valuable lesson of recognizing bullshit when you hear it. They’ve given me one less thing to worry about.”

All you can do is stare at him, frustrated with how tongue tied this man often leaves you. Finally, you manage: “There is too much to unpack there so I’m not even going to touch it. Are you trying to tell me that I owe you something?”

“Well,” he draws out the word, producing a coin from… somewhere? Up his sleeve? Like the true cartoon villain he is, he begins flipping it with the hand of his uninjured side. “Naturally I don’t have a credit limit, because everyone knows that I’m good for my debts. But you did put a … dent in my bank balance with your little spending escapade at the auction, and I think the scale between us is a little unevenly tipped, don’t you? I mean, an honorable, fiscally responsible Linkon citizen such as yourself should be able to recognize when they’ve run up a fortune on someone else’s tab, and would feel compelled to make things square. Right?”

You can’t believe this. Here you were, from the very beginning, doing your best to wipe the ledger clean, repay your debt, treat this motherfucker with kindness, thinking about how you wanted to protect him from pain and injury, and this stingy asshole is pointing out that you, while following his directions, spent more of his money than you manage to make in…. multiple years, in one night, and he expects to be repaid. He’s right, though. Unlike him, you are honorable. Unlike him, you are fair, and believe in justice, and your spiteful doubling of what he said you should offer on that first protocore… and subsequent purchase of the entire inventory… maybe was… childish.

You look up at your ceiling, hands hanging at your sides. You try to remember not to let this man get under your skin like he has done from the very moment he melodramatically swooped down from an absurdly ringing bell tower and re-materialized in a whoosh of ridiculous crow feathers, sauntering towards you as if you should know who the fuck he is and simper accordingly.

Still staring at the ceiling, you hear yourself ask, “What would make us square, Sylus?”

You’re met with silence, long enough that you give in and glance down into his satisfied face.

“Because I’m a generous man, I’ll give you a choice: resonate with me now, or…”

“Or?” You take the bait.

“Let me use your place as a safe house if something like this happens again. I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t have one in this area, and I have a feeling I’ll be passing through more often now.”

“What? Why?”

“Which one will it be?” He smoothly ignores your questions, not even bothering to inquire about the state of your hearing. “Tick tock, I know you’re eager to be rid of me right now.”

Dimly, you’re aware, somewhere in the back of your mind, that Sylus can’t force you to make this choice at all. You don’t actually have to go along with him, be pulled into his slip stream as he moves who knows how many steps ahead of you towards a goal you can’t see. You know that this so-called lingering debt is a pretext, and that he doesn’t actually  want to balance the scales. He wants something else. You just can’t figure out what the fuck that something else is.

The more you interact with him, the more you have to begrudgingly admit that the little cat he sees when he looks at you might not be as far from the truth as you’d insist if ever asked. Your curiosity, your hyper-awareness of his every movement, every twitch of his lips and fingers and the labyrinthine twists of his sharp, sharp mind have you mesmerized like a cat in front of a drifting feather.

You can’t help it. You know that you can’t handle resonating with him right now. You recall all too vividly the feeling of his power coursing through your body, the hunger, the starvation, finally sated, and the subsequent addiction that had already begun to form from the first moment your respective evols locked into their feedback loop, enabling each other, intertwining until one was indistinguishable from the other. You could lose yourself in this man and never find your way back to yourself if you’re not careful.

So. The safest option here, in this bargain that Sylus is offering you in exchange for the debt you apparently (doubtfully) still owe: “You can use my place when you need it.”

You don’t think he realizes it, but you can see the way his shoulders relax, his big body melting deeper into your couch. His face is serious; for some reason, he’s resisting his impulse to insult you by letting the satisfied grin spread over his face. He just breathes deeply, once, and watches you through half-lidded eyes.

“Deal,” he huffs after the silence drags almost unbearably long, heavily hauling himself to his feet. “I’ll get out of your hair for now.” He slowly, carefully picks his way through articles of clothing on the floor to reach the foyer again.

“I’ll make a spare key for you when I get the chance,” you mutter, already regretting your decision. All you had to do was resonate with him one more time, thereby wildly reducing the chances of ever running into him again. Maybe you should have gone with that option, the idea of him showing up at your place unannounced fills you with too much dread (anticipation), and you open your mouth to let him know you’ve changed your mind—

“No need,” Sylus finally smiles, his sharp canines glinting under the automatic hall light. “I’ll be seeing you, Kitten,” he promises, and promptly vanishes in a cloud of stupid, fucking feathers. Feathers that you have to later pick out of the bloody mess he left in your foyer, on your hands and knees.

[vnti-vntiety-recs]

Can I please request a Yeosang x reader smut where she runs into him after the concert and send off and she's a virgin. But he notices her lost and asks her to come back to his hotel room since she didn't know the area. Seeing her in her concert fit he asks if she wants to take a bath and he'll give her some spare clothes. Noticing she been in there for a while he enters to make sure she's ok to notice her getting out and she gets so embarrassed but he is staring at her body. Then makes a move. That's when she tells him she's a virgin and he teaches her and creamiest her. She bleeds and he comforts her. Etc?

I got some Yeosang lovers in my inbox ooh lala~ He was my bias before Yunho wreaked me keke. But here you go hope you like it.

Unprotected sex. Mature. MDNI

You run into Yeosang after the concert and he takes you back to his hotel (M) ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You were still buzzing with excitement after the concert, hardly able to keep still. The performance had shaken you to your core, and you were grateful that the send-off was still ahead. You longed to see them just one more time; the thought was exhilarating.

As you lined up for the send-off, the anticipation made your hands tremble. Getting close enough to see the members face-to-face felt so personal, and you couldn't help but check your makeup and outfit one last time. Suddenly, cheers and screams erupted from the far end of the line—the members were making their way down the hall! You tiptoed as best you could, trying to peek over the heads of other fans, but you could only catch glimpses here and there. Soon, the section of the line you were in buzzed with energy as the members drew nearer. They paused to wave and take pictures with fans, and you called out in hope for a little interaction.

When Hongjoon turned to wave at you, he pointed to your outfit and gave you a thumbs up. You felt your heart explode with joy. Then Mingi approached, and your excitement peaked.

“Mingi! Mingi!” you called out, surprised when he turned to wave. You held up your phone, recording the moment, and he noticed. With a quick flip, he turned the camera to face himself.

“Hii, I like your smile,” he said playfully into the lens before handing the phone back with a wink.

You thought you might faint—two interactions already! You could hardly believe it.

As other members passed, waving and smiling pleasantly, your heart raced and then you spotted Yeosang. He was your ultimate bias, and suddenly you were starstruck. You fumbled to express your excitement.

“I love you, Yeosang!” you yelled, the phrase tumbling out in a rush. It was all you could think to say, and you mentally facepalmed at your awkwardness.

Yeosang had been interacting with another fan but turned at the sound of your voice. He flashed a warm smile into the crowd and replied, “I love you too.” Though he didn’t see who had called out, you were certain those words were meant for you.

In that moment, you felt like you’d died and gone to heaven.

As the crowd gradually thinned and the members began to leave, you felt an overwhelming sense of happiness. All you could do was smile, replaying every precious moment in your head. Yeosang had said he loved you! You couldn’t contain your excitement and let out a little squeal. Clinging to the bliss of that evening, you lingered outside the venue, not ready to leave just yet. You wanted to savor this moment for as long as possible.

Watching fans depart one by one, you decided it would be easier for your Uber to find you once the crowd had thinned out. You took a seat on the steps, relishing the warmth of the memories you made tonight. Finally, when it felt like enough time had passed, you pulled out your phone to call for an Uber, only to be met with the horror of a dead battery. You sucked in a sharp breath. This couldn’t be happening!

Looking around, you realized you were completely alone. The evening had grown late, and the area felt less inviting. You didn’t feel safe just hanging around by yourself, so you decided to walk until you found a café or store where you could sit inside. 

The streets felt eerily dark, and the cool night air cut through your earlier elation. While you had loved your bright and cute outfit during the concert, now, walking alone, you felt exposed and vulnerable. You had no idea where you were, and without your phone, you felt increasingly uneasy. You wandered for what felt like an eternity, unsure of how long you had been walking, until you finally spotted a restaurant that was still open. The neon sign read “Ssong Korean Hotpot,” and you sighed with relief as you entered.

You took a seat at an empty table, and a sweet older lady approached to take your order. 

“What can I start you with?” she asked kindly.

“I’m sorry, nothing for now,” you replied, feeling embarrassed. You hadn’t brought your wallet along because you typically relied on tap-to-pay methods. The lady smiled reassuringly and moved on to the next table.

Once alone again, the tears you had been fighting off began to flow. You had tried so hard to maintain a positive attitude, but the stress of your situation weighed too heavily. You cried quietly in your booth, wiping your eyes quickly when you heard rustling from the booth in front of you. You didn't want anyone to see you crying.

Two figures stood up to leave—a middle-aged Korean man and a figure behind him that made your breath catch. 

It was Yeosang.

Quickly realizing the other person must have been his manager, your heart raced at the sheer coincidence. After a performance as electrifying as the one he had just delivered, it made sense that he would want to go out for a late meal. You held your breath, your heart fluttering with the unexpected turn of events, hoping this wasn’t just a figment of your imagination.

You catch his eye, and a spark of recognition flares in his expression. "Oh, are you an Ateez fan?" he asks sweetly, his voice warm and inviting. "I saw you earlier"

You nod silently, unable to trust your voice as you fight back fresh tears. The last thing you wanted was for Yeosang to see you at your lowest. But the weight of exhaustion and anxiety threatens to overwhelm you, and tears begin to spill over.

"Hey, don't cry," he says, concern etching his features. He quickly turns and exchanges a few words with his manager, who gives a nod before leaving the restaurant. Yeosang then scoots into your booth, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, genuine worry in his eyes.

You take a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. “I… I just got lost, and my phone died. I didn’t want to make a scene... I’m okay, really!” you stammer through your tears, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.

Yeosang leans in, his gaze warm and understanding. “It’s really late, and I can imagine how scary that must be,” he reassures you. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Do you want to head back with me? We can figure it out on the way.”

“No, I don’t want to be a bother, really,” you protest.

“You’re my fan; it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe. Not to mention Hongjoon would kill me if he found out something happened to an Atiny,” he says with a comforting laugh that makes you feel a little lighter.

Finally, you decide to give in. He leads you outside to where his manager is waiting by the van. He helps you inside, and the three of you head back to his hotel.

During the ride, you engage in small talk, and slowly but surely, the tension eases. When you arrive, you thank his manager as you exit the van and follow Yeosang up to his hotel room.

As you step inside, your breath catches at the luxury of the space. It’s a beautiful suite, and it seems like he has it all to himself.

“I have a charger here; you can use it,” he says, plugging it into an outlet. You nod and pull your phone from your purse, handing it to him. “You must be tired. Do you want to take a shower? I can lend you some extra clothes. I know that after a long day, the first thing I want to do is wash up and take my makeup off,” he adds.

He was right—your makeup was probably smudged from crying, and your clothes were starting to feel uncomfortable. 

“I don’t mean to impose, but if you don’t mind, I would love to freshen up,” you say, your voice meek.

“Head into the bathroom; I’ll bring you some extra clothes and makeup wipes.”

Following his command, you make your way to the attached bathroom. If his hotel room was grand, the bathroom was even more stunning. This was going to be the most relaxing shower you’d ever taken. 

There was a large soaking tub and a separate shower room with two showerheads. Your heart fluttered; this had to be a dream. You turn on the water and begin to undress. 

You enjoy the complimentary soap losing yourself in the steam and the soothing sensation of the warm water cascading over you. Every muscle in your body begins to relax, the heat seeping into your bones as you let the dual showerheads create a gentle rain that felt like a tropical oasis. Time passes unnoticed until you finally decide to step out.

As you turn off the water and search for a towel, a sudden noise startles you. The door swings open, and Yeosang walks in. 

“I’m sorry! I was just bringing extra clothes and some makeup wipes if you still needed them,” he says apologetically, his face flushing a deep red when he sees you. “You had been in here a while, and I was just checking to make sure you were okay.” 

You scramble to cover yourself with your hands, awkwardly realizing the towel is on the other side of the room.

“It’s okay; you can just leave the clothes there,” you squeak out, embarrassed.

A beat of silence passes. “You’re beautiful,” he calls out.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you can’t help the flutter in your heart at his compliment. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, trying to regain some composure.

He sets the clothes down on the counter but doesn’t leave right away. “I want to see all of you. Are you okay with that?” He asks, his tone straightforward and sincere.

You look up in surprise at his boldness, your heart racing. The room grows quiet, and you feel the intensity of his gaze, making it hard to think straight. The inviting atmosphere seems to pulse with unspoken possibilities, and you find yourself at a crossroads, unsure of how to respond.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you meet Yeosang's gaze. The sincerity in his eyes is both exhilarating and terrifying, and your heart races as you process his bold invitation. You’ve admired him from afar, and now here he is, right in front of you, making you feel seen in a way you never expected.

“I… um,” you stammer, unsure of what to say. You could feel your pulse quickening, the air thick with a heady mixture of nervousness and excitement. Your instincts tell you to retreat, but your heart whispers something different.

“I know this is sudden,” he says softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be afraid. I just want you to feel comfortable. You’ve had a long day, and I want to make it better for you.”

His words wash over you, and the sincerity in his voice starts to dissolve your anxiety. 

“Okay,” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m okay with that.”

A smile spreads across Yeosang’s face, relief and amusement lighting up his expression. “Really?” he asks.

“Yeah, really,” you confirm, a mixture of pride and vulnerability swelling within you.

Yeosang steps back into the room, and you follow him inside. He sits on the bed, and you walk over to position yourself between his legs as he gazes up at you. His warm hands glide along your sides, and he leans in, placing a tender kiss on your stomach.

You're so soft," he says with a smile, leaving a few more kisses on your skin before pulling you into his lap, encouraging you to straddle his waist.

"Yeosang," you call out nervously.

"Hmm?" he replies sweetly, showering your face with gentle kisses.

"I don't quite know how to put this, but... I'm a virgin," your voice trails off as uncertainty washes over you, unsure of how to continue.

He pauses his gentle exploration and leans back, looking into your eyes. His hands stay on your hips, tracing soothing circles into your skin, offering comfort. “Do you want to stop?” he asks softly, making sure you feel safe and comfortable in this moment. His concern for your feelings is clear, and you can sense his genuine care.

“No! No, it’s just…” you rush out, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I don’t really know what to do,” you admit shyly, looking down for a moment.

He smiles reassuringly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to do anything, baby. I’ll take care of you,” he says warmly, his voice steady and calming.

You nod your head, feeling the tension melt away as you relax against his touch again. “Okay, then I’m ready,” you say, a hint of determination in your voice as you meet his gaze.

He sends you a comforting smile and lays you down against the bed before stripping of his own clothes

You lay down and watch him as he exposes himself to you, you drink in the sight in front of you. “Spread your legs for me,” he commands

You do as he says and he perches himself on the space next to you, “Touch yourself, show me how wet you are,” and you trail a shaky hand down to your core. You play with yourself, spreading your juices and coaxing a moan from your lips. “Just like that,” he praises

Your shy under his gaze but you dont stop as you watch him lay down between your legs and grip your thighs. He presses a few kisses on your inner thighs  before licking at your core. Your hand falls to your side as you let him take over. He presses two fingers into you, stretching you open. He takes his time with you, making sure you are completely relaxed and enjoying yourself as he eats you out. He finally lets up and kisses you with his slick-covered lips and you can't help but moan at your own taste. 

You feel him line up against you, nudging his tip against your entrance and you whine for more. “Tell me what you want,” he says with the sweetest eyes you have ever seen. He was such a tease, looking so pretty while making you say such dirty things.

“I need to feel you”

“You are,” he corrects

“You know what I mean,” you whine embarrassed

“Use your words, or you get nothing”

“I want you inside of me,” you say

He smiles and reconnects your lips.

He pushes inside of you and you cringe at the feeling. It's an uncomfortable fit at first but he coaxes the pain away as he peppers your shoulders and face in kisses. He moves his hips slowly, gauging your reaction, and gradually, the initial discomfort begins to transform. The way his body presses against yours, the way he stretches you open, the sharp jolt of his hips as he fucks into you—it was all too much. The hungry way he had eaten you out had already had you close to the edge and now with the way he thrust into you, you were even closer. He breathes hotly against your neck, groans sounding throughout the room as he enjoys your body. You came after a particularly deep thrust that made your toes curl. He leans back at the way you convulse around his length and drives into you a little more desperately until hes pulling out and coming on your stomach.

It isn't until you catch your breath that you notice the blood on his tip and you sit up quickly and look between your legs and your heart crumples up in embarrassment as you notice the spot of blood on the covers.

Yeosang notices your distrss and reaches for you, “It's ok, its normal. Don't be scared. Ill get you cleaned up” He moves into the bathroom, cleans himself up and comes out with a damp towel and your spare clothes. He wipes you down and you get dressed. 

“Thank you,” you respond, still feeling a touch of embarrassment.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he assures you with a warm smile. “How about you stay the night? You can head out in the morning.”

You stifle a yawn, relieved by the invitation. Before you settle in, he changes the sheets, making everything fresh and comfortable. 

Once everything is ready, he slips in beside you. As you drift to sleep, a soft prayer escapes your lips—a hope that when morning comes, it won’t have just been a dream.

[maoam]

Male fans say sns holding hands with blood is not romance because it is the unison symbol.

*rolls my eyes*

First of all, it's not "just" anything because the whole point is that Naruto and Sasuke can hold hands even when they don't have hands. And their blood surely makes it look like they are fully encircling their hands.

But more importantly. Look at what Kishi wrote.

He made Naruto falter due to Neji's death, then have Hinata give him a long speech/pep talk about Neji and ninja way which made Naruto stand up and fight again. But. Not long after, he was struggling again due to many people dying and Shikamaru being near death, and Sasuke picked him up with just TWO LINES. No long speech needed. These are similar on purpose. People dying, Obito taunting Naruto, Naruto losing it, and then a pep talk.

Naruto's thoughts just kept coming after Sasuke's two lines. Sasuke was of course pleased with how much hold he has over Naruto. But yes, do you see how Kishi made two similar scenes to show how special Sasuke is to Naruto? He had to give some crumb to NH, but he didn't want to be too nice about it.

Even better: Naruto holding Hinata's hand to share the kyuubi chakra with her was the last scene of them interacting with each other. NH fans hold this scene in high regard and proof of their romance. But Kishimoto really went and cut the hand Naruto used when holding Hinata’s hand and made Naruto hold hands with Sasuke without his hand. He was saying, they don't have hands, but that's mere inconvenience, they are truly connected, they don't need hands to hold hands! Not to mention, with Hinata Naruto looks like he's being held at gunpoint (how Kishi surely felt drawing this scene), while with Sasuke he looks content, at peace, despite the fact his arm has been cut off and is bleeding.

Kishi has done this before the war arc too.

Hinata confesses her feelings to Naruto in Pain arc, how because of him she didn't go down the wrong path, how she wanted to be by his side, how she kept chasing after him, and then saying she's not afraid to die for him. Naruto tells Sasuke in the next arc how because of Sasuke he finally had a bond and didn't go down the wrong path, how he wanted to be around Sasuke, how he kept chasing after him, and then saying he's ready to die with Sasuke and reunite in the next world.

And while Naruto ignored Hinata's confession, Sasuke kept Naruto's words to him and thought about them even during the war arc. He also thought about their vow. Again, Kishi showing his preference, what truly is his otp.

Of course, SS/NH will say, well just because it's romantic in NH doesn't mean it's romantic in NS! Because they're homophobic. Because their modest intellect can't make them understand Kishi wrote these moments very close to each other, and that he's the writer, and that this was obviously all intended and calculated. Funny how the manga is riddled with countless "coincidences", it's almost like they aren't coincidences... lol.

[onlylove4louis]

This scene! This scene is STILL at the forefront of my mind... "Like a parrot, or an organ monkey... or a BUFFOON!"

The way I absolutely ascended during this scene 🙌🏽

As a longtime hardcore book fan/nerd, this entire interaction was so utterly satisfying... it's definitely wearing the crown, for my all time favorite scene of this entire season. So far.

But other than Santiago learning what it means to 'fuck around and find out' with Mr. Du Lac, AND Armands power flex

There are so many things that went on here, that I want to talk about...

First, I want to point out that this is one of those moments that shows, pretty blatantly, that Louis doesn't interact with this coven, for Armand.

It's Claudia that has him here. He's here for Claudia, to spend time with Claudia. And this moment, regardless of how it's erased by certain viewers, other than to make the claim that Claudia is "mocking" Louis here, humoring him like you would a child (okay Jan 🙄)... this little snapshot moment between them, is really wholesome. And shows that regardless of the circumstance they're still family, they still love eachother, they still enjoy eachothers company. But back to the beginning, if Claudia wasn't here, Louis would not be here. This gorgeous woman right here, the apple of his eye, is why Louis is here at all:

So Louis and Claudia are huddled together at the end of the table, on the literal corner of it. And Louis is excitedly telling Claudia about the art, artist, his photography, etc. Basically telling her about his engagement in human affairs. He's clearly not interacting with this coven at all, and even is turned to just Claudia.

Which segways right into my next few parts of this, that I noticed/paid attention too... First, I can't for the life of me understand why they're all even here. They're all just sitting around this table basically in contempt and disdain, with only drinks in front of them that no one is really touching, because they can't enjoy it like humans can. They're not really talking to eachother, other than the catty 'mean girls' huddled together in the other corner. They only really even engage with Armand to tattle on eachother and fight like children. They're barely even moving. Like statues...

And then you have Louis over there at the corner, talking and laughing and smiling, with Claudia. Exclaiming and moving with his words, using his hands and body to articulate the emotion he feels. Passionate and alive. Being a perfect juxtaposition for the vast difference between Vampires and Humans. The humanity that he still retains just bleeds out of him, leaving him to perfectly blend into their surroundings while the other Vampires sit at the same table, just horribly out of place here. And it's exactly why, this is happening:

Because among so many other things that this man, and this coven is jealous of, when it comes to Louis. It's that he is simply not "one of" them. He is 'other', he is too different. Unrecognizable to them and therefore unacceptable by them. It's the case of the ugly duckling. He was only "ugly" because he was surrounded by those who were not the same as him. Too different to be "beautiful" to them, to different to be allowed to just BE.

And Claudia is not innocent in this either. It's the distain she carries towards his photographs, the insult and mockery she levies at him any time she brings up his camera or his photography. The previous anger she expressed at him "carrying on" with the humans in Europe... completely oblivious to why it may matter to him. Why he's so comfortable around them, why he fits in so well with them.

To different to be allowed, to just BE. Too human to be one of them.

Which falls right into the next thing I noticed and both laughed at then immediately hurt my feelings about... Armand, is not having a good time at all here. Just not at all. And seeing as how this is some time after he again tried to plead, pressure and finally manipulate Louis into coming "around" more. Me thinks this may have been Armands demand of the coven in an attempt to do something that would put Louis more at ease, in order to get him to attend. Just be there. In a space that Armand also doesn't want to be, but has to be.

'You won't come to the theatre and watch these disturbing ass "weird" plays, you wont join in on blood sabbath. You won't hunt with us... so maybe, if we do something more human you'll come'. And it works, except... only Louis comes for Claudia, not Armand. He sits next to Claudia, not Armand. He engages and opens up, and shares passionately with Claudia, not Armand. So Armand won the time and the effort, but not the presence or attention.

But I could be totally wrong, and this could just be something they do every once and awhile, just as a coven.

But what I'm wanting to point out or focus on is that as they're all regarding Louis with annoyance, disgust, disdain, resentment, jealousy, etc. Armand is sitting there falling in love. Being drawn in by the light and life that's just pulsing out of this man. He's actively trying to be part of this engagement, this interaction, while still being left so out of it. He's watching Louis, and minutely reacting to what Louis' saying, almost as if he's pretending Louis is talking to him instead. Even smiles adoringly at him, when he manages to catch Louis' eye. But when Louis doesn't return the smile, Armands drops as well... And it's like he realizes he's standing out in the cold rain, looking in through the window at a blazing fireplace with warm light. While a loving family sits around a table to eat and enjoy eachothers company. Life and light, that he simply can't access.

This is a visualization of what Assad was referring to, when he says that Armand sees a "light" in Louis, he doesn't know what it is but he wants it. I think it's also a visualization of Louis humanity, his human heart. When watered and fed, and given the space to BREATHE, it just comes out of him, and infects everything around it. Something that I think typically dies in Vampires when they're turned. Either immediately or overtime. (side note: because again I always hurt my own feelings... I think it's what died in Claudia when Charlie burned. And it's also something that can't be extinguished in Lestat)

One last thing I want to point out here, because there's so many things you can talk about. But I'm trying not to write a novel every single time I post about this show 😅... But I think it's this moment, experiencing Armands power firsthand, that Claudia realizes how foolish it was, to think Armand was "safe" simply because he wasn't white. After Armand scolds them both for this; "If you want to act like fledglings do it in darkness", then he lets go of everyone's mind, and Louis storms out completely ignoring Armand and anyone else entirely. But he stops at Claudia, and Claudia only, asks if she's "okay". And only when she nods, does he snatch up his shit and leave. Claudia is clearly shook to her core, terrified, doesn't know what the fuck just happened. It had to have been like a cup of cold water to the face. Like woman please WAKE UP you're in DANGER here. But it's the fact that he actually stopped to ask her if she was okay, literally giving her yet another chance at an OUT (at least of that situation) when he hadn't a care in the world to check in on anyone else there. Even Armand.

There are so many times when I wish Claudia would just say "you were right, lets get the hell out of here" or "I changed my mind, I don't want to be here anymore", or literally any other version of it. But she doesn't. At this moment I had to hit pause and just scream in frustration (not literally, it was 4 in the morning, or 6... I can't remember. But it was too early to be actually screaming). Because I don't care what anyone says, if she actually said "No. Get me out of here" or "No, I want to leave too". They 100% would have left that restaurant together. Because while she subjected herself to the governing will/rule of this coven master, via becoming an official member of his coven. And therefore would not be as free to leave, Louis did not. And if she left with him, Armand would not have done a thing about it. Just like he didn't do anything about Louis completely ignoring his command and walking out. Armand wouldn't have picked that battle right there, in front of the coven, with Louis. I just wish she said "no" took his hand, and they both just walked out of there. Even if it was just for this singular occasion.

[christinarowie332]

life of the party

(sturniolo triplets x oc fan-series)

chapter 1

“college will be different”

—————

————

starting college was a fresh start for mackenzie , one that she needed . growing up as the quiet grungy girl with messy eyeliner and outlandish style didn’t get her very high on the popularity chain . what it did get her was fans , and an amazing musical taste . in high school she preformed gigs in downtown Boston , her peers from Revere didn’t manage to find her in the dirty bars downtown so she was able to blow off the steam by screaming into a mic and ripping the guitar to a crowd . slowly , she grew an instagram following of 100k , then followed the stares of people in high school , then the names . “yo that’s the famous chick” “yo can u shout me out” “who even is she ? is she new?” . anybody else would probably get an ego from this but god did she hate it . thank god college would be different.

the journey to boston was one she knew like the back of her hand , getting to college alone however … this was not something she preplanned . with her guitar on her back , along with her backpack filled to the brim , getting onto a train was quite literally impossible, the busy carriage filled with sweaty bodies and anxious freshmen is enough to give anybody a headache . so mac did what any sane person would do ? blast deftones full blast .

with her music ,the journey was quick , and in what felt like seconds she found her way infront of saint auburn itself . it’s only until she sees the large sign it hits her . she made it . the summer heat in the train carriage made her brown locks stick to the sweat on her neck . so after taking off the leather jacket , and folding it over her arm , she takes the large claw clip from her bag and twists the messy strands together , fastening it away from her face . her slight heeled boots click against the pavement as she makes her way through her new home , passing the people playing live music down the hallway , or the kids making out against the elevator.

“excuse me?” she says quietly , looking towards the blonde boy with his tongue down another shorter boys throat , gripping his neck as he leans against the metal doors . she gets no answer , the loud strums of guitars and muffled bass from the classrooms near drown out her voice . she purses her lips and turns on her heels , looking around the busy hallway for a second elevator , or possibly some stairs , not wanting to get into an awkward interaction with the two behind her .

she finds no other way up to her dorm , so she turns back around , swallowing her pride and accepting that she was going to have to have a conversation with them .

turning around she was met with just the blonde boy looking at her . she blinked a few times at the surprise , noticing his sharp cheekbones and jawline , his fluffy bleached hair falling over his blue eyes . “can i help you?” his voice was emotionless , a stark difference to his face displaying a very openly annoyed expression.

“sorry, i’m just trying to get to the elevator….” she replies , nodding to the elevator behind him . his eyebrows furrow and he double looked behind him ,realising what she’s talking about . “oh fuck my bad dude , i thought u were just being a weirdo i didn’t even notice sorry!” his face lights up as he talks , kindness literally bleeding from his words , mac can’t help but smile as he defends himself and rambles ….. still not moving ….. “shit sorry ! yeah” he continues, pressing the button and getting into the elevator gesturing her to follow .

“thanks” she says as she makes it in the cold metal box , sending him a tight lipped smile and adjusting the guitar and bag on her back . “sorry about that , i got carried away . do u play ?” the blonde boy asks , pointing towards said guitar . “uh yeah i play bass , do you ?” the girl replies pressing the button for her floor .

“uh yeah i do , we’ll not bass but i dabble” he shrugs his shoulders , smiling at him own words . “i’m nick by the way” he continues .

“mac , or mackenzie”

“nice to meet u mac” nick replies as the elevator door opens .

college will be different .

——

boring chapter but i am literally writing chapter 2 rn , this was just a cute lil intro and i want nick to be a big part in this story .

taglistttttt:

@mangosrar @soursturniolo @biimpanicking @querenciasturniolo @ermdontmindthisaccount @recklesssturniolo @tackycrown @udonotknowme @urmyslxt @iheart2021chris @its-jennarose @oversturn @paper-crab @strniohoeee @slut4chr1s @daddyslilchickenfingers @freshlovehacker @flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @kvtie444 @loveesiren @lustfulslxt @lunarsturniolo @lovingsturniolo @chrisenthusiast @bluesturniolo333 @nickenthusiast @mattslolita @mattsbratt @chrisolivia4l @fredswh0re @rac00ns-are-c00l4

[g-xix]

Can you do a headcanon for dating zerkaa? 🫶🏼

Dating Zerkaa Headcannons

Uhm hello YAS ofc u can get that bc Josh has been in his FINE ARC RECENTLY!!! Bro looks so hot... proof:

Ugh, gorg. Now time for the headcannons:

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

-Date night merchant -Organises date nights every fortnight -Prefers to stay in than go out -Favourite date nights are little indoor activities like movie nights and painting experimenting -You always ask whether you should plan the next date but he always says no -Loves making fun little plans and surprising you with them, esp when he knows you absolutely love them

-Often uses the Sidemen card to plan out extravagant holidays for the Sidemen videos, and brings you as well -Just has you come on the journey on his "neutral" team and explains all the bait he's laid whilst you're on the way to the good hotel... You're shocked the entire time by how intricately he's planned this -You always joke you're just one date away from being put on a bad team and shipped off to the shitty hotel -He uses the good holiday as a holiday for you two- he sets the other sidemen off in their tasks and takes you to all the tourist destinations you've always wanted to go -Fans always comment about how wholesome it is that he brings his gf on the trip -Fans also made a compilation of all your reactions to Josh explaining his evil mastermind plan for the bad team... Video is basically just eight minutes of you just smacking a hand to your mouth with wide eyes...

-Gets the BEST holiday pics of you- you don't even need to ask, he's already saying "look over there-" and taking the best pics of you -All your Instagram pics have Josh tagged for picture creds -Josh comments on every post with heart eyes emojis and commenting that he's just too lucky to have you -Fans absolutely love you, went feral when the two of you posted a kiss pic - edits absolutely flooded your tagged section, and you liked every single one

-Likes kissing whilst you have lipstick on -Gets slewed by his boys when he shows up to Sidemen shoots with lipstick-reddened lips, having been unable to wipe your lip tints off -On nights out you two are massive on PDA when you have a few drinks down -He has so many lipstick kisses all over his face at the end of a night out because of how frequently you just lean over and kiss anywhere on his face when you're on your happy-intoxicated-high -Took a picture of him with kiss marks all over his face + he put it on his insta story.... The fans never recovered. 

-Feel like he'd play fight sm -Starts as play fighting, ends with having to truce before one of you seriously hurt one another -Both of you prefer the right side of the bed, so when you get to the hotel room it often becomes a pillow fight whilst clambering onto the bed and fighting for the favoured side -Joke about the fact Josh only wins because his head's so big no matter what velocity at which you pillow-slam him he's never affected -One time he got too goofy and jokingly went to bite you -He literally bit into your arm. -The two of you kinda paused in shock-horror-confusion-wtf -Examined and realised Josh litr left bite marks on your skin -Were bleeding slightly from where his canine teeth imprinted your skin -Didn't rly hurt and you couldn't tell whether to laugh or just be genuinely concerned as Josh profusely apologised despite his laughs -In the end it never matters who won the fight for the right side of the bed anyways, bc you sleep sprawled over Josh's chest on top of him.

Your songs (songs you listen to together and play with one another): Collard Greens, ScHoolboy Q + Kendrick Lamar Jimmy Cooks, Drake + 21 Savage Rich Flex, Drake + 21 Savage Do You Realize??, The Flaming Lips Ladbroke Grove, AJ Tracey Man Don't Care, JME + Giggs She, Tyler the Creator

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Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read

[autistictaylorhebert]

See, if wildbow did join tumblr (and was active here) i don't think he'd get "bullied off" the platform, but I also don't think he'd "win" and get the interaction he wanted out of the community. No one would win, and no one would change anyone's opinion.

The most likely possibility by far is that he would just create dividing lines within the fanbase on tumblr, and/or intensify the dividing lines that were already there.

He'd get into arguments, people would make fun of him and defend him, people would block each other, and he'd probably end up with a group of blogs he could have Neil Gaiman-esque interactions with. A bunch of other people would go on with him blocked/ignored, and a good chunk of people would deactivate or just stop posting.

But crucially, fundamentally, this wouldn't give wildbow what he wants. He would still get takes on his dashboard that he hates, as well as art he doesn't like. There would be well meaning fans who ask questions or interact with him in ways he isn't comfortable with. There would continually be new controversies and clumsy fan interactions, especially with new blogs who had just discovered his writing.

I know this, because this is how /r/parahumans already works.

There's the main subreddit/community, and then there are offshoot groups that have been somewhat alienated and separated. Examples of this include the spacebattles fanfiction scene, wormblr itself, and to a lesser extent places like /r/wormmemes, /r/occultmagiconline, and various discords.

These places obviously aren't monolithic and or divided from each other in a meaningful sense, but there are big differences in prevailing sentiment and opinion from place to place.

This is kind of deliberate on wildbow's part, he has made a deliberate effort to moderate the subreddit and limit specific things people want to talk about there.

The thing is, again, this doesn't work out how he wants it to:

For one thing, over time, those differences in sentiment between websites have become more extreme and fermented, as a direct result of the fact those sentiments and ideas were limited in the platforms wildbow moderates. You can't really talk about fanfiction on /r/parahumans, so /r/wormfanfic and spacebattles became more insular. Criticisms of representation and similar are looked down upon in the subreddit, so parts of wormblr got more focussed on this criticism (even if this is often balanced by other, more positive posts).

Additionally, wildbow isn't able to consistently keep those sentiments (or ways of responding to his writing) away from the subreddit. There's still bleed over (it's just more extreme than it otherwise would have been), and there are always new fans who haven't really read the room yet.

You still get posts from fanfiction readers asking about jumpchain or quests or shipping. You still get people trying to talk about the bad gay representation (or just wholesale linking tumblr posts without the bloggers' permission). You still get people on the subreddit surprised about ward!Amy and similar things...

...and it results in continuous, intermittent discourse.

It's a pattern that we've seen happen over and over again, and it would probably play out the same way on here as well.

Finally, recently, wildbow has been making these kind of lamenting comments about how the fandom was toxic to him, or how someone crossed boundaries, or someone made fanart he didn't like, etc.

On one level I think he's telling the truth about some of the more toxic or parasocial instances he talks about, and those things are a real shame.

But at the same time, I think there's this undercurrent of wildbow having all these expectations about how much he can control or direct the response to his work, and then getting frustrated when he comes up against the fact these expectations are largely unrealistic.

[cloud-somersault]

Your fic "The constellations within us" was so perfect, and exactly what I wanted and needed for since I joined the fandom. I wish I had eloquent words but english is not my native language, and I'm struggling with the translator now, but this fic is probably one of the most high quality ones I’ve ever read so i've finally worked up the energy to leave a solid comment.

I love your prose, the descriptions and internal monologues are so immersive and emotional that I need to reread over and over again. The worldbuilding scratches my brain real nice, all contribute to make a really cohesive image that canon still doesn't quite achieve in my opinion. And you did a good job capturing the mood and humor of the show with every little detail but at the same time you’ve added a whole new dimension to the plot and characters. Keep cooking, I beg you but also have mercy on me. I imagine you saying something like: I am going to create an situation that is so emotionally fucked up before writing any chapter.

I really love the way shadowpeach interact in this story. From trying to kill each other to sharing the food. It's kinda crazy that people genuinely thought shadowpeach was a one sided crush until s4.

To be honest, I'm not a fan how the fandom treats shadowpeach but you have successfully kept the characterization of mystical monkeys to perfection while setting up a realistic shadowpeach plotline. I read this quote in another fic but it applies very well to them: "They really embody the pain/comfort thing, except that comfort is understanding and trust."

Sun Wukong is canonically a latent danger that not even the most powerful entities in celestial realm or underworld could subdue him, but he has no self preservation skills whatsoever. He's a bleeding heart. He's the one who sacrifices everything possible to protect the few he loves because, god, he has lost so much. The immortality he achieved with peaches, wine, pills, among many other things, may have made him indestructible on the outside, but inside they made him emotionally vulnerable, lonely and afraid of attachment. This monkey can fit so much trauma and he's holding a lot close to his chest even from the audience. The fandom villainizes him unfairly, but sometimes they also put him on some kind of pedestal, which is also incorrect.

The same happens with Macaque. He's the walking mystery who may or may not realize how much of a prickly capricious hypocrite he is in some things. For example, he feels an apparent resentment at being relegated to being a mere shadow of someone much brighter, but at the same time he seems unwilling to step out of that role. In s1 and s3, he clings so much to the past that he pushes Wukong, the only constant of him in a modern world after his resurrection, to be the version he remembered. Where Wukong advanced, Macaque retreated.

Nonetheless, the motives behind every action of his are more nuanced than him just being evil. He did once he was free from LBD's control was immediately start helping everyone even until s4, as if it were a tacit way of apologizing because he was just trapped under incredibly shitty circumstances, let's remember the part where LBD said she'd kill him if he didn't do what she wanted. Although I don't think he didn’t have fun knocking everyone around a bit (to his ex-husband especially).

It's little funny because I consider that before the perigranation trip, Wukong is a self-proclaimed hero with destructive or villainous tendencies (depending on which side you look at, celestial Realm definitely sees it that way still) while in the current timeline, Macaque is a self-proclaimed villain with heroic tendencies.

I wont keep rambling, but thank you again for pouring your time and talent into this beautifully painful read. I can't wait to chew on the next chapter like a hungry dog ​​with a good steak and also I'll be keeping an eye out for your future works, in case you continue writing about queer monkeys with emotional constipation, but if not, it's such a treat to read what you've already gifted us. Have a good week! and sorry for any translation errors again.

AAAAAH i'm sorry i've taken so long to respond to this. this ask is SO SWEET and i loved just rereading it over and over to suck all the serotonin out of it. Filled me with gleee!!

Thank you so much for taking the time to translate and write out this message! There weren't any errors, it's okay! I'm so glad you liked my story sm and read it and ENJOYED IT YAAAAAY!!!

honestly, I only cackle evilly before posting chapters sometimes. Only sometimes, when I remember. I usually cackle while writing, but then, by the time I've posted it, I've read it so much, it doesn't have that emotional impact on me anymore LOL

I think that's a great way to sum up shadowpeach! It's about understanding and trust. No matter what, that trust has to be rebuilt, and that process is so painful and hard and time-consuming that...it takes such a great amount of effort on both their parts. It's the choice to persevere in spite of that amount of hardship that makes them beautiful, even if what they create together isn't inherently beautiful. What's beautiful is that, in spite of tragedy, these two monkeys want to be together in whatever way they can.

I think with any fandom, people are going to misinterpret characters. I've kind of gotten used to it, but there's definitely a lot of missed nuance and character depth that the fandom chooses to not see or doesn't except. Maybe they like to keep it surface level, but i think critically thinking about the plot and characters is where you can find depth or make depth of your own that's not present in the show.

Wukong is either a trickster villain or a precious soul who has done no wrong and needs to be protected. Macaque is usually a mustache-twirling villain or a sweet, bashful monkey who was just pretending all that time! and has never done anything bad.

A lot of the fandom sees things in a clear black and white way, which is dangerous for several reasons, but it means that their interpretations lack that depth or understanding that people crave. Because no one is black and white. The world doesn't work that way, so it's kind of worrying that they think that's...normal. It's not normal. I see it as a lack of life experience and maturity, but I also don't know these people. Maybe they like their fictional worlds to be black and white, I dunno.

Aaaanyway, you're not the first person to speak about this topic with shadowpeach and how, through constellations, they found some understanding or were pleased with how shadowpeach interacted. and to that I say, thanks! I just like some realism and three dimensional...ness to my characters, please and thanks. Don't even get me started on MK.

But wow! Yes! I'm so honored you'll keep reading whatever I write next. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing, and I'm just smashing my dolls together, but I'm happy to have you here in Constellations AU land! Welcome! Enjoy your stay 💕

[anulithots]

The Great dynamics showdown

Ankh and Anuli have been eliminated! (Because they have no interactions yet so that's funny.)

Now for the quest to see what is the best Land of the Fallen Fairies dynamics!

This really makes it sound like Kamari tis the main character. (Fae isn't... but fae should be /half joking)

If you vote, please tell me why you voted for your choice! (I must have answeerrrrrssssss.)

AND NOW PROPAGANDA:

VOTE FOR ANKH AND KAMARI:

Kamari raised faer head in what fae hoped seemed dignified. "And how do you propose I help you?"

The fairy shook faer head. "Not 'help'... assist," fae looked to Kamari, "You must accompany me to my tree and see for yourself what my status is. See if that matches the life they promised me."

Kamari flicked faer ears. It should match. By the fates, the future Ankh got should match the life the elders promised faer. If it didn't... the High Protector wouldn't know what to do with faerself.

Kamari nodded. "I agree to help yo-"

"Assist."

"I agree to," Kamari hissed as fae walked on faer injured foot, "help you. But I expect to return before sunset."

"Not now"

Kamari burried a whine. "For what reason?"

"You're bleeding," the fairy tilted faer head, "And you didn't treat your wounds from before."

"And that's none of your concern. We can leave now."

"No."

Kamari sighed. Fae needed the next two days to earn the elder's good graces. "I'll feel better when we leave so can we please-"

"They'll get infected."

"And you're worried about this because....?"

The fairy downturned faer ears as if the answer was obvious. "Infections could kill you."

That explained nothing. "Then I can stay here, and you won't get your confirmation. We're leaving now or not at all."

VOTE FOR ANULI AND KAMARI

"And so, the fluffs existed in all forms, prevalent on even the smallest ant's antennae-"

"Prevalent. How fancy."

"And yet, their wonders and horrors, greatest peaks and lowest failures, they only existed in the off chance of sunlight shinning in a particular way."

Kamari hummed. "Tragic."

"Isn't it? You can only see them when the shadows grow. And when they do, I STILL have to stare for a LONG time."

"Maybe you're catching them at a bad time, and they have to prepare their act."

I gasped. "An ACT?? That's the antithesis of this story!"

"You caught them by surprise."

"I-Wha-" I twirled my antennae, in and out in a spiral.

.......

I shook my ears. "PLOT TWIST!"

Kamari giggled. "Oh no, let me mentally prepare."

"No no - this isn't like the last mass character death. This time there's...."

"There's?"

"I'm pausing for dramatic effect."

"Oh. Sorry." Fae twirled faer hand, "Cary on."

I bounced on my toes. "Wind crept along the horizon - closer and closer until -" I fanned out my hands. "WHIRLWIND EXPLOSION AND EVERYONE CRASHES INTO EACH OTHER - their stories still untold - IN A MASSIVE, GLORIOUS...."

Wait.

"Another dramatic pause?"

"I may have accidentally committed mass character death."

Kamari laughed. "Maybe they can dance instead? So they don't crash into each other?"

I blinked. "Feasible solution to the plot hole... but I don't know how fluffs could dance."

Kamari stood, ears downturned.

Fae took a deep breath, in, out.

Did I not find a proper solution? Did Kamari not like my indecent use for over-the-top character development?

Kamari lept.

And bounced.

Flapping faer ears and swirling faer arms in wild gestures.

(Just imagine the most ridiculous dance that a sophisticated character can do.)

Fae flicked faer antennae. "Like this?"

My breath caught, all my words fading on my tongue.

Before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

"No! It's more like-" I buzzed my wings and kicked my feet in a swirling mess.

Kamari gasped. "Anuli. And I thought you were smart, it's obviously-" Fae outstretched faer wings and shook them in random spurts.

I laughed so hard my stomach stung.

Place of Tethers, the cut on my neck, all villainy and nefarious plans, left to be washed away by laughter.

And it was, wonderous.

@waitingforthesunrise @sm-writes-chaos @holdmyteaplease @full-on-sam @awleeofficial @clearcloudlesssky @gummybugg

Let me know if you wish to be added/removed to the tag list <3

[pinkpruneclodwolf]

For the Malleus thing: it's overexposure on my answer. Malleus is a main staple character that has a lot of fans compared to say: Cater or Kalim. Of course, Octavinelle matches in turn for numbers with Malleus but Malleus also has a dedicated shipping fandom that are so attached to him that they cause... problems.

Shipping is fine in moderation but when I see enough people start fighting that this fictional character is "their" man and not someone else's OC, I know Malleus has had too much time in their head or something warped him. I like shopping and run a sort famous /Reader blog for all genders, and that gives me insight into who people kinda want on that side and Malleus is very famous. Shipping aside, Malleus also has such diehard fans that... they forget his CHARACTER!

Malleus' fandom is the same as Octavinelle (woobifying/creeps flooding in) and now bleeding in Savanaclaw (creeps flooding in/racism against dark skinned OC's): the story is revealing that Malleus isn't gap moe and is an actual character that can do wrong, and hurt people... and they HATE that. I've seen four people drop Malleus like a hat because he was didn't understand what he was doing wrong in the Dorm Uniform. Malleus has had a rigid set of understanding of creatures and it's very straightforward instead of nuanced, and even Malleus admits that he wants to try and projects that his advancement on human understanding will only take 100 years. That's fair considering he's been in the human world for 3 FREAKING YEARS, guys. I believe if we were given how long it took Lilia to understand a human customs outside of Silver experience, it'd not do anything to people's opinions. Because to them, it's not about him learning. He doesn't know so he's obviously a BAD CHARACTER, that must be it! "He's a jerk and now I'm going to do a 180° on my own Malleus opinion that is all over my blog and gave my followers whiplash, starting a bashing war by actually not doing a proper review of his character!" No. That's unfair. Why?

Malleus is an interesting character and I'm so sad that he's gone so far into the fandom that he's been woobified and there is no self warn anything: no disclaimer that this is a more romantic Malleus compared to the canon one, or people admitting that Malleus might be OOC as his character reads so incomplete because they write him so... wrong? I think my real problem is the tail end of fandoms that radicalize and throw Malleus around as something he isn't, and that's okay to a certain degree (my /Reader blog acknowledged that Malleus is a canon as I can do without just being Readers buddy, which he's more likely to be in canon). It's just... people are too radical, I think.

I fear the wars this man will create when Chapter 7, Part 3 shows he's got more flaws then he does. I can see a Rook Chapter 5 happening. :(

But I'm not all pessimistic, I know the right fandom should be encouraged and the minority should be ignored, so I know whatever Yana/Aniplex gives us: I support. I know common artists, writer's, editors are all doing fine and I interact normally, but I hate the "drop him" culture these games have in the EN side.

Oh no I get you.

Malleus by himself is an interesting character in his own right, without needing to be steeped in fanon.

I do think that because he was left to stew on his own with pieces of content to hold Mallelikers over, people ended up turning him into their own character to fit their own needs.

And in some ways it's kinda meta because that was something he was trying to escape his whole life so that he could be welcomed by those around him.

I'm usually not as steeped in the fandom as I used to be what w college and stuff creeping up but I'm genuinely sorry that everyone has experienced some form of harassment from both sides of the fence bc one hc didn't fit the other's or the argument of whether his character is good enough or not.

It's disheartening to see others get jumped because of how strongly they feel towards a character and its horrible that you have to endure that on your page anon.

I'm honestly praying Malleus doesn't go through what Rook went thru because that moment is still be felt to this day due to how decisive it was 😭😭😭.

And it's funny bc Rook not choosing Vil was supposed to give Vil growth, who was so hard pressed on winning to the point that he'd contemplated killing his opponent and subsequently Overblotted. The point was that Vil wasn't supposed to win because it'd feed into him. It was a lesson.

With Malleus' Dorm Vignette, I'd argue that him summoning the other dorm leaders was a long time coming considering they weren't doing any affirmative actions to ensure that Malleus could attend. He brought them to him because it was the only thing he could think of; he's not good with technology, time is a construct to him, and no student is willing to approach him for the fun of it unless it's to get smth out of it. It was mostly an act of burning the village to feel its warmth tho it wasn't out of malicious intent.

In the end I can reason he was still partially wrong, he only considered brainstorming with Lilia [and Lilia, a jokester that he is, encouraged him.] Instead of talking to Crowley.

But I do think that Malleus being the poster boy has led to him being so oversaturated in the fandom that a lot of his personality is lost in translation once more.

I liken it to Ace Trappola. Fanon!Ace played up his worst traits to the max without allowing the nuance of his character growth to shine thru. Luckily, Ace is in the recovery period but the same cannot be said for Floyd 😭😭😭.

My most basic observation is that popularity takes the nuance out of characters and I'm hoping against hope that Chapter 7 shows a new side of Malleus that sets the record straight bc as someone who loves character studies watching Malleus get chopped and screwed is 🥶🥶🥶.

[vasito-de-leche]

What are your general headcanons of SAYU?

;NSR SAYU - General Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons and analysis about Sayu (+ the "Sayu Team") and other related things.

just a heads up! I don't see sayu as an AI even if the wiki lists her as such (the wiki also lists the sayu team as her creators which isnt. true???). to me, she's literally just tila's vtuber rig, so this post won't focus much on sayu as a "person" like the DJSS post!

I do have some in-depth HCs about it and stuff, but yeah! this was just the warning for ppl who don't like this specific portrayal of sayu

All of the marketing related to Sayu is meant to blur the line between fiction and reality.

Okay, okay bear with me for a second! This is gonna be a long one just to explain a single HC.

Sayu is meant to be an obvious homage to digital idols like Hatsune Miku, but whereas Hatsune Miku can be easily described as a voicebank and a very malleable character to play with when creating songs and different versions of her, Sayu doesn't have this advantage within NSR, since she originates from a videogame instead.

This means that while Miku can be a blank slate for people to do as they wish with her, it's harder to do with Sayu because she has an established, solid lore and personality within the game she comes from.

I like to think that, as rock (not just the music genre, but that specific mindset and all the subcultures and aesthetics that came with rock) began to fade out from Vinyl City, it was inevitably overshadowed by the complete opposite - cutesy, colorful and starry-eyed characters.

Doki Doki Mermaid Club was released during this transitional period within Vinyl City, and because it was brand new and so very different from what people knew, it became a hit. Like Kul Fyra, the citizens of Vinyl City became tired and their passion fizzled out. Instead of rock and its mentality of addressing serious issues, speaking against injustice, being loud, brash and so on, people were now drawn to the more chill, soft and pastel vibe this new genre brought.

And I like to think that NSR, specifically Tatiana, noticed that there was a lot of potential within parasocial relationships between idols and fans. But because Sayu was still tied to a game, they had to slowly force her out of it so she could go from "Sayu, from DDMC" to "Sayu, NSR's Megastar", if that makes sense.

This process would include buying the company behind the game and allowing it to simply disappear from the public's memory while Sayu's fame continued on growing. The rest of the characters were used to prop Sayu, as a way to profit from nostalgia, but once they outlived their usefulness, they were forgotten. The same thing that happened to Ex-Jay and all other rock bands prior EDM.

"But why would NSR go so far as buying a company just to let it die?" They canonically did that with smaller companies - in Akusuka, you can interact with Sayu Snacks and this dialogue confirms the lengths NSR is willing to go for success:

MAYDAY: I remember the day they bought over the tiny Vinyl City factory that made these. The mom-and-pop couple was so happy, but I kinda miss the packaging for Sheriff Bob's Barley Shots. ZUKE: Sayu-brand snacks… does Sayu even eat these? She's completely digital, right?

With this context, it makes sense to me that once Sayu established herself as a popular character, NSR would risk it all and hire a bunch of teenagers to ensure she continues being relevant.

This ensures Sayu's existence as an alleged "AI", she's as real as you and she's promoting your favorite snacks! She's cute and she lives in a huge tower where she hosts her concerts! She's Sayu and she loves you and she's also your internet provider! She's real because you can take pictures with her! She's REAL because her influence bleeds into every aspect of Akusuka.

MAYDAY: Hey! It's one of those picture booths I've heard so much about! This one even lets me pretend to take pictures with Sayu! Wait, why would I want that? ZUKE: I heard these things were once all the rage, but now, they've been relegated to only the Akusuka district...I guess we have Sayu to thank for that.

By allowing people to believe in Sayu as a person, NSR also makes sure to protect the identity of the unseen team behind her. It's two birds one stone, really. It's not unlike the way 1010 operates, with Neon J behind it all as a manager. Both of them profit from the exact same thing: allowing fans to obsess over made-up personas.

That's why implying Sayu isn't real is such a taboo within Akusuka - it destroys everything NSR worked so hard to build. But in the end, Sayu is still four people acting and keeping up with the façade because of their love for the character. That's why her mural in Tatiana's office only pictures her without the Sayu Team, unlike 1010's which has Neon J in the dead center.

The idea of turning Sayu into a proper, independent AI in order make better use of assets and resources hasn't been entirely shelved, however. But given Vinyl City's history with AI - that is to say, the fake background memories given to warbots - I think NSR would want to wait a little more to polish that plan before putting it into action, as a fully conscious and independent Sayu wouldn't be able to properly care for a whole district, and having her team of teenagers take the lead in administration would also be pretty fucked up.

And that leads me to my next headcanon!

Similar to Yinu, the Sayu Team has little to no power when it comes to managing Akusuka. They do, however, have full control over Sayu and how she's portrayed.

The reasons are the same as mentioned above - they're too young, lack knowledge and NSR would prefer to be the ones running the whole thing instead from the shadows, etc, etc. It's the same situation as Yinu.

But! To balance things out, though, the Sayu Team was given full creative control over Sayu - her design, her personality, the types of ads she'll be involved with, etc etc. This ensures that Sayu continues being relevant and "hip" with the newer generations, hence her popularity with younger kids and teens. The only reason she hasn't strayed much from her original conception is because all four members are very careful to respect Sayu's roots, being their favorite character and all.

I like to think Remi is the most protective when it comes to Sayu's image, his designs are always in-character for her and all potential collabs/crossovers with other franchises or whatever must go through him first to ensure she doesn't break too much character. I'd even argue that he could be the leader (or at the very least, the much more organized member) of the group, just based on that little moment of him staying calm and planning how to win against B2J while everyone else was panicking.

Tila and Dodo, while they both trust Remi's judgement, believe that broadening their horizons could be fun and better for them on the long run - Tila, as the heart of the group and the voice of Sayu, loves engaging as much as she can with fans, and Dodo just thinks it would be very cool to have Sayu in different media, like fighting games (though it's more of an excuse to show off his motion capture skills).

Sofa and Remi are also the members who care the most about the other mermaids from Doki Doki Mermaid Club. And while Sofa often insists for them to bring them all back somehow, Remi understands that their contract is most likely against it, so he's content just doing fanart for the group.

Since all of them are young and their designs are meant to represent introverted and geeky students, plus taking into consideration their demographic, I could see them use Sayu to speak a lot about important issues like bullying and mental health!

All four members are very close, obviously. But they're also very close to Yinu and her Mama!

This is partially because all adults agree that Yinu should interact with people her age - the thing is, the closest people to her age are the Sayu Team.

I like to think they've become sibling figures to her, and that they're all often lumped together during NSR events. There is also something to be said about Mama and how she just immediately takes the Sayu Team under her wing, since they don't have their parents around 24/7 to support them like Yinu does. Maternal instincts and all.

It's very surprising for citizens of Vinyl City to see Yinu and Sayu doing collabs together, as Sayu is often paired with 1010 due to their similar status as idols, but because of the team's friendship with Yinu, it never feels out of place. The Sayu Team did attempt to keep the myth of Sayu being a real AI, but Yinu was much too perceptive to even fall for it. Besides, she has much more fun composing and coming up with ideas with them than talking to a hologram.

When it comes to their dynamics with other Megastars, I'd say all of them are intimidated by Eve's strong presence - though Remi really looks up to her from an artist's point of view, and Tila admires her confidence. Dodo is a fan of Neon J and practices his dance moves in secret, something that all the other members tease him for. As for Sofa, I can see him asking DJSS about his creative process. The guy runs a club with sick effects, he wants to know how DJSS does it!

All four of them also like 1010, but are in different levels of denial about it, with Dodo openly gushing about his favorite bias (it's Purl-hew, he LOVES Purl-hew) and Remi seething, screaming and crying whenever someone notices that his drawing tablet has 1010 stickers on the back. Sofa and Tila are more in the middle, being casual fans but getting flustered and a little ashamed whenever someone brings it up face to face - they promise they're not like those deranged fans!

You know, like those teens who are into things that the media has deemed cringe and whatnot, so they feel they have to be a liiittle detached and mean about their tastes to avoid being criticized.

Regarding their backgrounds, I like to think that Remi and Tila didn't meet each other face to face until it was time to sign their NSR contract, while Dodo and Sofa went to the same highschool and are childhood friends who made amateur action movies together. It just clicks very nicely to me!

Aspects of the Sayu Team bleed into Sayu and viceversa.

It's small details, like Sayu's dominant hand perhaps being the same as Remi's, or Sayu's casual speech patterns during streams being somewhat similar to Tila's. Maybe her typical gestures are also things that Dodo is known for, and so on. All of it helps make Sayu feel more real to fans.

In turn, there are times in which the Sayu Team find themselves adding Sayu's popular catchphrases into their vocabulary entirely on accident, their wardrobes now full of clothes she would wear. I can also imagine Sofa and Remi having trouble separating their work screens from reality - you know, like when digital artists try to press ctrl+z when doing traditional art. Dodo's is the funniest by far, since he straight up has an idle animation taken from Sayu, but I'd argue that he's a very physical person and needs to be constantly moving somehow. Another contender for funniest slip up is Remi, who will just end up screaming "Pyun!" really loud when excited.

While fans only see the final product, the NSR staff can see all the love and effort that goes into Sayu just by looking at her team! Even Tatiana respects the way they've turned Sayu into their very own personal project, with that initial giddy energy that every content creator feels when starting out and seeing their work pay off.

Should Sayu ever become her own independent AI, I can see every Megastar come together to design a proper body for her.

The Sayu Team are, at the end of the day, a bunch of kids with a dream - their design is the priority, of course, but Neon J and DJSS would be the ones to tweak and work around it, doing their best to ensure proper mobility - both on land and within her streaming hub - and to add all necessary safety equipment. Neon J specifically would be the one to work on her AI, I'd say.

Yinu and Eve would ensure that the aesthetics aren't lost during the building process, finding ways of allowing Sayu to still be recognized by fans but with enough room for changes, should she require them for concerts or events.

I feel like the Sayu Team would prefer for Sayu to only have a single body, instead of endless ones to be replaced like 1010, and they would keep a back-up of her AI in a little pendrive (a nod to Monika from DDLC!). It just makes her feel more real!

And with Sayu being an actual, sentient AI working as a Megastar, I imagine this would pave the way for all the other robots who are fully sentient in Vinyl City to be acknowledged by everyone. So really, it's a win-win!

[pikahlua]

As a fellow Bakugo fan I must ask, are you not even a little bit mad that Hori jobbed Bakugo (as well as others) so bad to make Deku look good? As a Bakugo fan who doesn't really like Deku, I'm considering droping the manga and I'm sad about it because I've been reading the manga for 3 years. I know that Bakugo will probably rise and do something but I still find the entire thing distasteful

Given how many asks I keep receiving to this effect, let me make this one thing perfectly, utterly, ear-ringingly clear.

[looks straight into the camera and leans in to place my lips directly on the microphone]

No. I ain’t even mad, bro.

1. I have not been holding back my disappointment or refraining from criticizing Horikoshi out of politeness. I genuinely enjoy what’s been going on with Katsuki in the manga 100% since the beginning of this arc. I don’t think anyone should or shouldn’t enjoy the arc just because they’re a fan of Katsuki. I don’t think it means anything about you as a Katsuki fan if you like or dislike it. The fact of the matter is, I am a giant Katsuki fan, and I like this arc--and it’s clearly because I see what’s going on in the manga differently from the people who don’t like it. It’s as simple as that.

2. The notion that Horikoshi “jobbed” Katsuki to “make Deku look good” is just, like, your opinion, man. I don’t see it. I see the heavy implication that we’re maybe supposed to think that for like a few chapters, but Horikoshi has signaled SO. FUCKING. LOUDLY. how this is a ploy that I can’t even be mad at how my ear drums are bleeding from the volume. I don’t know how many times I gotta say it: when a character SAYS THE TROPE OUT LOUD (e.g. AFO vs Jirou), you just know the trope’s about to be subverted. But to subvert the trope, you first must play with it.

3. Look, it’s easy to forget the big picture when you’re reading such short chapters like this with only one or two major plot beats per chapter each week. If you’re genuinely not enjoying the manga at this pace, I’d advise you to change it. Read a few chapters at a time. Don’t read weekly. I can only explain my own enjoyment by pointing out that I’ve very consistently followed along with the plot beats while demonstrating that I absolutely vibe with Horikoshi.

Remember that time I was the only one who realized THIS WAS LEADING TO SOME BAD SHIT?

That happened in chapter 344. February. Katsuki wouldn’t get bodied until chapter 362 in August. Did it seem like I was despairing over this premonition for half-a-year? (Well, I mean “despairing” in a bad way that implies I wasn’t enjoying myself.)

But this is what I mean when I say don’t take plot beats at face value, because we have to let the story resolve each situation at its own natural pace. Katsuki is supposed to look like he’s been “jobbed” for Izuku’s sake, and for that to affect us properly, we have to sit with it for a while.

The fact that the above interaction exists gives me all the comfort in the world that what you’re describing isn’t actually happening in earnest in the story. Horikoshi is well aware of what the fuck things look like. He’s reveling in the fact that you’re falling for it. With any luck, the resolution will be that much sweeter for you when he finally gets to it.

(Depicted above is Horikoshi lampshading the point even harder.)

If you don’t want to go through heartache to get to the sweet reward, if that’s not to your taste, then that’s cool. Do your thing. I’m gonna keep doing mine, and I’m having a blast with what we’ve got.

And what we’ve got is a plethora of Katsuki at every turn.

We keep joking about how I can make anything about Katsuki whether or not it’s merited, but at this point I’m convinced I’m supposed to be doing that. I haven’t written fusion theory yet because I’ve been so sleep deprived today, but chapter 369 really nailed home the fact that I’m supposed to be seeing all the characters in each other. AFO is Katsuki Bakugou. Katsuki Bakugou is Izuku Midoriya. Shouto and Iida are Izuku, and Dabi and Tomura are Katsuki, and everyone is All Might, and I could slot anyone’s names in any part of this formula and it will all work fine. The characters are converging on a singularity. So when I see any character do anything, including Izuku doing his thing right now, I am perfectly justified in seeing Katsuki Bakugou alive and well (although I do also get a certain smug satisfaction out of seeing his corpse on the ground like Horikoshi is winking at me each time he draws it).

(Like am I even supposed to be mad that he’s dead? When we’ve got so many other reanimated dead people walking around it might even be construed as a theme?)

Everything is Katsuki Bakugou and vice versa change my mind.

[gwyns]

tbh with you after finishing acosf and the bonus chapter for the first time, all I knew was I didn't want Elain and Azriel to end up together. I wasn't remotely passionate about Gwynriel and Elucien but I definitely knew E/riel isn't going to happen.

Mainly bc through out the whole series even if 3.5 books of it was from Feyre's pov and first person I didn't felt any spark between them. between Nesta and Cassian? NO DOUBT I new they were mates. as casual reader you can feel they're mate material. but even that rescuing scene everyone keep talking about that it's the main reason they're going to end up together fell falt for me!! bc Lucien wasn't there and I'm sure if he was... no one could've stopped him.

like acosf was the last nail in their coffin! sjm could've made me believe that they're endgame specially when it's 3rd person but she didn't even try lmao. but still I was like well... she made me like Nesta! she made me fell in love with her and understand her in a way it felt personal. she made me fall in love with Nessian and Feysand so she can definitely write E/riel that I might change my mind about them... but I was unsure and I was trying to convince myself lol (the way I kept telling myself that it's gonna be okay lmao)

but then I read the bc and it was over... I was done! the way Azriel thought about Elain made me cringe multiple times. the way Elain felt so small in that scene made me uncomfortable and the way he questioned Cauldron as he has some claim on her? oh all I could see was red!!! so that's why I was sure E/riel won't happen and even if it does I was done with this series I'm not even kidding...

so yes this was my experience with the book! and I brought this up bc I saw one of the E/riels say that if they didn't join the fandom they would've known people shipped Az and Gwyn and their irl friends also didn't know that...

honey sorry to break it to you but you need to raise you standards. bc if you didn't notice how toxic that interaction was... I feel sorry for you</3

e/riel has always felt boring to me. like yeah they have some cute moments but where are the moments that make me grin, stop reading and squeal for a second because the chemistry is making me go insane? sjm knows how to write this very well so her not including it is a choice she made and it's a very telling choice

like even sjm ships i don't particularly care for have these moments, i'm not a huge manorian fan but that "i'll bleed whatever color you want me to" line is SO. GOOD. like it stops me in my tracks everytime i remember it exists. tell me, does e/riel have even one comparable line together? i can't think of any that aren't said by other characters. all the conversations they've shared (and that's not a lot btw) don't have anything with that kinda spark in it

that's something i don't see people bring up much... lucien wasn't present when elain was kidnapped. feyre wouldn't need to find a volunteer if he were there because you can bet your ass he'd do anything to help elain and feyre if we're being honest. the fact that az had to be goaded into even helping is hilarious, the only reason that man went was because nesta bruised his ego and he wanted to prove he was good enough to do it. that and, as i've seen others point out recently, it was somewhat of a culmination of feyre's arc with him. he taught her to fly therefore he was there when she first flew. that makes much more sense narratively than whatever garbage e/riels throw around

az has a lot to make up for in my opinion. his behavior in that chapter was... gross, to say the least. i was annoyed with him beforehand because of that side of the fandom, but his chapter was the first time i truly felt disappointed. it was there somewhat when he attacked eris at the high lord's meeting and made mor so uncomfortable but... idk his chapter was on another level. i felt so disgusting reading his parts with elain and rhys. his parts with gwyn tho? brought out the best in him and made me remember why i liked him so much in the first place. sjm wrote that chapter very deliberately and those who refuse to see it are just upset their predictions aren't happening

it's funny they say that when it's quite literally the opposite. my best friend who i've mentioned before is a very casual fan, didn't even see how elain and az could be shipped because in her words, "elain and lucien are mates". she's read a total of two and a half sjm books and already knows her formula lol