#i know the reason why you act the way you do why don’t you know my favorite color

[usedpidemo]

Too many nights ((G)I-dle Yuqi)

The way you see it, even if the signs were right in front of you all along—written in bright, colorful signposts with the largest text imaginable—you’d still be hurling yourself off that cliff. 

Yuqi knows this too—you think she does.

At the very least, she looks convincing enough that she feigns innocence on the matter, and she is. It's mainly a you problem. She doesn’t know you much other than being the sweet, quiet guy who was her roommate in college and nothing else.

And that’s probably the reason why she’s standing in front of your newly minted apartment on a random Monday.

—————

You’re waiting for her to pick her bags off the floor and leave. You told her to leave three times. Threaten to call security on her. She doesn’t budge. Instead, she stares. Stubborn, obstinate, unyielding.

“Please, give me one opportunity. Please let me explain myself.” Yuqi finally breaks her silence, eyes wide, glinting with tears, pleading.

“Shoot.”

She looks down, unable to see you eye to eye, her hands running through the pockets of her skirt. “You’re right. I’ve taken your kindness for granted, and I’m sorry. I really am.” 

Pausing, you’ve never heard her sound this quiet, this personal. “I never truly appreciated you till I was home with my parents. I should have focused more on studying than going out and having fun. Now look. They’re pissed that I’m being a bum at home instead of working, so they kicked me out.”

She proves your theory to be true. She has no reason to be here unless you bail her out of trouble again.

“But I can’t find one job that I like. Working a 9-5 or any regular cashier job seems so boring, you know what I mean? Doesn’t feel like my type of thing to do,” she continues, lightly kicking the suitcases with her feet. “My friends are all busy, so I had no one to lean on. Then I remembered you! So here I am.”

At least it was nice seeing Yuqi act mature for at least three minutes before reverting to her usual spry, childlike personality. 

“Okay? Well that’s on you for being lazy, and I can’t help with that. Sorry to hear you got kicked out, but I have nothing to offer you. It was great seeing you, though. Good luck with that job.” 

You try closing the door, but she stops it with her foot. Peeking through the narrow space, you find Yuqi persistent, unrelenting. “Wait. Hear me out for a second, I said I didn’t wanna be your roommate.”

“No, Yuqi. Just go—”

“I really need you right now. I’ve already applied to like five different companies on public wifi, it’s so fucking slow and I doubt they even got my email. I just need a place to stay for like a month. Trust me, I’ll get a job and when I get paid, I’ll spend it on finding my own apartment! Just give me this one time.”

You swear you’ve never heard Yuqi this desperate, this loud. Your neighbors are probably ringing up security right now, maybe the owner too.

“Okay, okay. Just calm down for a minute, will you? Our neighbors are listening.” You open the door lightly and Yuqi’s eyes light up. You didn’t even say yes, but it might as well be a confirmation to her.

“You promise? You’re actually working on a job application?” you ask, doubtful about her claim.

“Of course.” Yuqi shows her phone, presents pdf files of multiple application letters to the very places she doesn’t want to work. Some fastfood chains, at convenience stores, and mall outlets. “None of them have replied back, so—I’m still trying to apply to more places, but I’m almost out of data on my plan and I don’t wanna spend another night inside my car. Just give me this one thing? Okay?”

Seeing the evidence firsthand, you can’t help but be impressed. If you had any spine, you’d contemplate the proposal more, give it some time to mellow out, maybe let her elaborate some terms of agreement. But in a moment of weakness, you yield right away. What’s one month of Yuqi gonna do to you?

“All right, fine. I’ll let you stay—”

“I owe you one, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Yuqi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when she brings her suitcases into your apartment at record speed. She gives you a peck on the cheek in appreciation twice, one for each pair of suitcases she shuffles in.

You can only sigh in response before closing the door.

—————

Before Yuqi gets comfortable in her new place, you sit her down on the living room couch to discuss house rules. This isn’t like college, where you share a dorm together, split the bill and have personal spaces. While you don’t own the apartment, you make one thing very clear: she’s bound to you and whatever rules you impose on her.

“Let’s make one thing and one thing clear: you break any of my rules, you’re outta here. I don’t care if you explain yourself, you’re gone. Understood?”

“Right.” Yuqi’s trembling with excitement and impatience, nodding erratically, kicking her legs up, goading you into rushing through everything so she can lay on an actual bed. 

You take a moment to analyze her suitcases in the middle of the room. Facing her, you ask cautiously, “Tell me you didn’t bring your—”

“Yep!” She responds almost immediately, thrilled to answer your question, as if it were muscle memory. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”

And there goes your supposed rule one. Of course she brought her entire dorm room decor along. Knowing her, they’re likely encompassing two of her suitcases.

“Yeah, no. My landlord is quite strict about decor, so you can’t put them up,” you tell her bluntly; there’s no getting around his rule, even if your roles were swapped.

She frowns, visibly devastated, probably more hurt than being kicked out by her family. It’s the end of the world, but she won’t give in. If there’s even a slight possibility she can have her way, she will force herself through. “Please? Even just my room—”

“Not a chance. It’s just a general rule here, sorry.” You make sure to shut her down immediately. “I didn’t make that rule, anyway. Blame the owner.”

Yuqi acquiesces. She groans with displeasure, crossing her arms, acting bratty. No act can convince you to change your mind.

“Right. Now actual ground rules. This isn’t a dorm so you can’t just freeload as much as you want. Now I understand you're still working on that job application, so all I’m asking is just for you not to be completely messy, got it? So don’t eat my leftovers without asking, don’t go out to clubs and ask me to drive you home when you’re drunk, none of that. If you’re drunk, sleep outside the room. I don’t want to clean up vomit on the carpets.”

Surprisingly, Yuqi agrees without complaint. You’re unsure whether she’s nodding so she can settle in, or if she actually understood every single word.

“I seriously hope you’re working on that job—”

“Don’t worry! Just give me the wifi password and I’ll be set.” Yuqi can’t help but interrupt you every single time, and to her credit, it’s effective. She does seem dead set on taking this opportunity to redeem herself, and it’s a convincing act. As insufferable as she can be at times, you want to see her succeed. You want to see her win.

You jot down the wifi password on an extremely thin sheet of paper and place it on the table before her. Before walking away, you ask her, “You need me to help with your belongings? I’ll get the guest room ready while you make yourself comfort—”

“Nah, it’s fine!” Yuqi’s typing on her phone, not even shooting you a look in your direction. “I’ll get it sorted out, don’t worry! Just pretend I’m not here.”

To her credit, she does get her belongings sorted out. By evening, she moves into a cleared out storage room that’s now her designated bedroom. Words are hardly exchanged other than simple pleasantries and greetings. You ask her if she had dinner, she says yes. She doesn’t take anything from the fridge other than some water. There’s a knock on the door; she answers and comes back with a package of chinese food. She offers to share some, but you modestly decline.

You never ate together when you shared a dorm in college. She would eat her inside her bedroom or after you already cleaned up. At times, she’d come back to the dorm late and you wouldn’t see her till the following day. You share the same space but you have vastly different lives. The feeling is familiar, but the setting is new: having dinner under the low light, uncertain about your futures. 

This feels like your first day together all over again.

—————

The first night with Yuqi is a quiet affair. There’s hardly any commotion. An unusual scene. She finishes her food ahead of you then retreats into her bedroom without uttering a single word. 

When you wake up the next morning, Yuqi is already at the dining table. Browsing her laptop, coffee in hand, seemingly focused on that next job application. She doesn’t even greet you or acknowledge your existence; she’s in her own world, but in a good way. 

“Morning,” you quietly say, trying to grab her attention, but it falls on deaf ears. 

“You off to work?” she asks, preceded by a mouse click while you pour onto your mug. Her attention remains glued to the screen, paying you no heed.

“Kind of?” You take a seat opposite Yuqi’s side on the table. “I work here. Or should I say: this is my workplace.” 

“Wow. I wish I could work from home. Would be nice,” she replies between mouse clicks and keyboard taps.

You take a light sip of your coffee. “What course did you take again?” 

“Umm—” Yuqi slumps back in her chair, “I think it was medicine? I wanted to become a guitarist and have my own band, but my parents wanted me to become a doctor. And I don’t wanna ruin my handwriting, so—” 

“Don’t you have a band with your friends? The one with—”

“Yeah that dream died two years ago.” Yuqi’s eyes squint, brows furrowing, running through every word slightly faster than normal. “And I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Not even a little—”

“No.” She faces you with a surprisingly cold glare, a sight you’ve never seen before. “They can just fuck off—those goddamn bitches.” 

You find yourself unable to move the conversation forward after her abrupt turn. It’s probably for the best; you hardly paid any attention to Yuqi’s life to be entitled to a substantial explanation. 

The rest of the hour goes by in deafening, awkward silence. Here’s Yuqi, this ball of energy whose life primarily revolves around partying and getting rowdy, calmly clicking on the touchpad and typing a few words every now and then in search of a way to fund her addiction. You can tell from her sullen expression just how deprived she is of that high—how incomplete she feels without the rush of adrenaline, ecstasy, and alcohol flowing through her veins. It’s impressive how it takes someone to hit rock bottom to turn their life around, how all this could have been avoided with a few decisions.

Still, it’s never too late for someone like her, and as long as she holds up her end of the deal, i.e. leave you for good after this, you’ll actively root for her success.

—————

“Fucking hell, dude,” sighs Yuqi, slamming the panel of her laptop hard, her fist narrowing missing the edge of the table. While you’ve made yourself comfortable at your usual workplace, a spacious office desk on the other side of the living room, you’re preoccupied scanning through numerous documents and emails your boss sent you. A look at the bottom right of the screen tells you it’s half past lunch. Then your stomach grumbles, as if the clock wasn’t enough of a reminder.

“Gonna make lunch,” you say to a vexed Yuqi, who’s stretching her legs against the table and her arms to the ceiling, body likely aching from her hunched position. “You good?”

“Yep.” Her tone perfectly toes the line between sincerity and sarcasm. “Got three rejections—no, four, actually. The last one was sent minutes ago.”

You’re not sure how to respond.

“Oof.” 

You couldn’t relate to her even if you tried. Of the two applications you sent, your current job is the one that gave you the freedom and flexibility to work from home, even if it paid less than the other. That was six months ago; finding job opportunities has become way harder, or so you’ve heard from your other unemployed peers from college.

“Finding a job sucks,” says Yuqi, stating the obvious. She finally gets up from her chair, brings her laptop back into her bedroom to charge before reemerging with a hairpin wrapped around her knuckles, tying it around her loose red hair. “So, what’s for lunch?”

“Meatloaf and eggs,” you reply, firing up the stove as you grab pans from beneath the sink. “Not sure if you’ll like it, though.”

She lifts her eyebrows, intrigued, but mostly unbothered. She’ll eat anything as long as it isn’t fast food or from the convenience store, and she doesn’t have the gall to complain, anyway, as your roommate. 

—————

“So, how’s the job hunting going?” you ask her right as the sun descends over your apartment windows. You have your schedule down to a science, finishing all intended projects and goals when neighboring buildings’ lights open. Weekdays can’t be anymore mundane and monotonous, but you get the job done, you’re paid handsomely, and you have time for your other hobbies.

Meanwhile, Yuqi looks like she doesn’t want to stare at a computer screen for a week, maybe a month. She looks worse off than she did in the morning. It’s evident in her clothes, her hair, her face: frazzled and messy. A perfect representation of her state.

“What do you think?” she replies, never sounding so heated, so frustrated. A look at her screen shows a new rejection letter, piled between several others, already read. Each one with different reasons, different ways to hurt, but with the same intent: we appreciate your interest, but we have chosen a different candidate from a very competitive pool—we don’t think you fulfill our qualifications—we’re looking for someone with more experience—we wish you the best in your future endeavors. You’ve noticed she tends to click back and forth between each letter, as if to torture herself further.

“I think you should put that laptop away. Try again tomorrow,” you tell her, closing the panel while she’s scrolling, stealing her attention. She readjusts her glasses, blinking rapidly, annoyed at your little intervention. “I’m going for a walk. You should join me.”

“And what if I don’t?” she asks, threatening to pull her laptop away from your fingers. 

“Good luck going out when I have the room key then.”

“I don’t have my running shoes,” she replies, and she’s telling the truth; she only brought one pair of slippers with her, the rest being colorful sets of boots and expensive high heels.

“Then grab some from my closet and wash up. You’ll look stupid if you go out in those silly boots.”

—————

At first, you believe she had declined the offer; you had already left the building when Yuqi caught up to you moments later, huffing and puffing from exhaustion. Hey, maybe she could have been a great track and field athlete if she put her mind to it.

You can’t help but make a little comment. “Thought you weren’t going to go out.”

That was for all the times she’d make similar remarks to you back in college. They never really bothered you; you were never a man of high morals and upstanding, but at least you had your priorities sorted out, unlike Yuqi. 

Yuqi playfully counters your rib, shooting you a disparaging stare. “Dude. I’m doing you a favor by doing this.”

“Elaborate.” You laugh.

“You never went out whenever I asked you. You always said no to parties.”

“And for good reason. Look at us now.” 

If you wanted to, you’d be harsher. You have years of dirty laundry and grievances to air out, but this is as concise and as restrained as you can express them without getting accused of attempted murder. Besides, you can’t keep a straight face the longer you look at her. She clearly stands out in a rather dreary and dull crowd, and it isn’t the red hair as bright as the sun, it's her look—or lack thereof. Your oversized hoodie, your running shoes mixed with her pajamas, the lack of bra—it’s obvious she only did the bare minimum to look decent in a public setting, and yet she fits in all of them like a glove.

“Where are we going, anyway? Can it be a bar? I hope it’s a bar.” 

The first thing she wants to look for once outside is a place to drink. Of course. It’s hardly a surprise to you or anyone at this point.

“Where’s your car anyway?” you question back. 

“I dunno. Could be in the carpark, could have been impounded. I don’t remember, and I don’t really care. It smells like dogshit, anyway, cause I’ve been living in it for the past three weeks.” 

Yuqi talks with a fine blend of fast and sardonic, evidently scarred from all her ordeals with that car. She’s never experienced living outside her glass castle until now, and it shows. She’s dragging her feet with every step following you close behind, trying to soak in the scenery around her. Street lights, joggers, buskers, friends, and partners of every sort, people that you actually know and recognize. It’s all foreign in her eyes. All she knows are strobe lights, loud music, drinks, and rowdy crowds. 

“So, like, do you just go on a walk every single day or you only do this because I’m your roommate?” she wonders, her gaze lingering at a passing woman jogger that catches her eye. Jumping to conclusions, she adds, “Are you telling me to touch grass? As if I hadn’t been doing that for weeks?”

You turn around and notice her distant stare, still fixated on that woman, ruminating the prospect of leaving you for her instead. “I don’t think getting blacked out drunk and vomiting in your car counts as touching grass.”

“How do you even know that?” Yuqi faces you, provoked by your comment, pouting. “You hardly attend parties, even when I invited you. You always turned them down.”

“Word gets around fast. I thought you already knew that.” 

If she could, she’d grab you by the throat and strangle you to death or rip you in half. It stings. She questions whether your blunt, matter-of-fact delivery makes the statement ten times more scathing. Then she wonders if she made a mistake, dressing up and going after you, when you’ll just be making her regret her life decisions like her parents did. You hardly cared back then, so why now?

“Can we just go to a bar? You’re being annoying.” Yuqi stares into the distance, intentionally averting her gaze away from you.

“If you have the money, then sure, let’s go for it.” You know she has no leverage or power; she can only afford fast food and a month’s worth of groceries and daily necessities. It pains her to make a willing decision to pass on alcohol and avoid bars and parties. She’s down horrendously, but she won’t directly confess her own fatal flaw. 

It takes everything within her not to slap you square in the face. 

And you can play this game all night long until she folds. You can stand there, argue, and debate with Yuqi till she runs out of excuses and complaints. Four years of pent up material to unload onto her, make a scene in public and turn her into an example about not wasting one’s life away. You can go further, you promise. 

Instead, you both settle down in a cafe on the other side of the park as a compromise.

The place is more suited to Yuqi’s style: lively crowd, comfortable ambience, all the caffeine and sugar as a proxy to her raging alcohol addiction. Most importantly, she won’t pay for shit. You don’t even end up drinking your own order; she does it on your behalf. You settle for a tiny cup of tap water instead. In a way, she’s acting like a needy dog, desperate for attention without concern for anything else that doesn’t involve her.

“Fucking hell, I never knew I needed this,” she echoes, sipping up the last quarter of your coffee, glancing at the menu over the counter, itching for another. She’s keen on paying from her pocket this time; she recognizes you won’t give her another freebie. “This shit tastes so good.”

You can only shake your head, not even remotely trying to hide your frustration toward her. Her obliviousness is kind of cute in a way, making her look a bit sympathetic. 

“Maybe I should just work here,” she says, her eyes moving in every direction, her attention taken by something shiny every five seconds. Plenty of action happens at night: groups entering and exiting, the pervasive scent of fresh coffee brewing in real time, and plenty of girls to ogle at. In particular, there’s a waitress with a cherry tattoo on her neck that’s captured her interest. She can’t help but point her out to you, grinning widely at her. “See that waitress? She’s kinda cute.”

“Uh-huh.” You’re not really paying attention; you’re there mainly for the free wifi and a snack, not to flirt. Luckily for you both, the waitress is preoccupied with meeting high customer demands to notice. “Good idea, maybe you should apply here.”

The longer you stay inside the cafe premises, the more Yuqi becomes less inclined to leave. You end up having dinner, a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches from the snack menu. On her end, four cups of coffee strewn on the table, all drank by her. If this was some ploy to make you pay for free drinks, it worked to a tee. Anything to avoid engaging you in a serious conversation.

The opportunity never presents itself. Soon, the cafe becomes dimmer and muted. Staff are closing off sections, clearing trays, and cleaning up empty tables. Since you entered the cafe, she has not made a move on the waitress at all, even when you’ve tried pushing her over the cliff numerous times. Her shift is close to done, ready to check out for the day. One more opening. Still, Yuqi watches her intently, but can’t find the strength to stand, let alone pull the trigger.

“Well? I thought you were gonna ask her out or something.” You take a look around and come to a grim realization: that you’re the only two customers left.

“I—I don’t think I wanna do it now.” Yuqi turns around, playfully grinning, but rushing through her words. “Maybe when I get the job here. Maybe.”

You can only react in quiet disbelief to how this was all just a huge waste of time—and money.

“Fucking—” you sputter before masking the rest of your response, groaning as you rise from your seat, leaving.

After two days, your main observation is that Yuqi hasn’t changed much. If at all.

—————

The rest of the week follows a similar structure. It’s comforting; it’s the kind of monotony you’ve acquainted yourself in ever since having your own apartment. Yuqi’s always up before you, an hour in advance, she’ll tell you. At her usual spot around the dining table, on her laptop, coffee in hand. You stop asking for updates after the third day; you’re certain she’ll figure things out. Your mindfulness and curiosity get the better of you, peeking through the screen on occasion, only to find the same thing. One rejection after another, mixed in with a new application letter in between. From the outside looking in, it’s as if some divine force doesn’t want her to get that job.

In the evenings, you go for your usual walks. Yuqi joins you out of the apartment building, but instead of following, she separates and heads the other way. She’s wearing her own earphones and your hoodie, something she’ll end up keeping. The few times you run across each other, she's holding some drink in her hand, usually the coffee from the cafe you spent time with her in, her hoodie pooling with sweat all over. No pleasantries, you mind your own business till you return home.

It isn’t until two weeks after she’s moved in that you extend an invitation: a visit to a newly opened lounge on the other side of town. You preface the invite saying you only knew about the place because it had opened a month ago, and had mostly forgotten about it until you remembered her. She’s doing well for herself, so you might as well reward her for her efforts, even if it hasn’t gone anywhere. And it isn’t Yuqi without asking for some kind of favor; in this case, taking a ride in your car because hers has been impounded by the police. You’re not even surprised that she’s too lazy to reclaim it herself.

Your friend says the lounge is newly opened, but once inside, you’re uncertain about her claim. Whether it's by design or her being a complete liar, grimy, poorly lit, in the vein of all those underground clubs you had seen in action movies where a shootout or police raid occurs. Simply put, there isn’t anywhere pretty to look at, and you feel icky just by being here.

To Yuqi, it’s a fantasyland: it’s where she’s meant to be all along. She’s so overjoyed to be there. 

“It’s you!” calls a familiar voice; you turn and find a friendly face over the counter waving to you. You quietly leave Yuqi to herself and approach the bartender, who just so happens to be the owner. “I never thought you’d come and visit! It’s great to see you.”

“Only doing this for a friend, Minnie,” you silently tell her, pointing your finger at your invited guest, the sole reason you’d ever be here. She recognizes her immediately and understands.

“Yuqi, huh?” She looks intrigued, her gaze lingering at the girl. A subtle grin is forming on her face. “Never thought the two of you would be an item like that, considering she’s a party animal and you’re—”

“No—no—don’t get it twisted,” you interrupt, frantically trying to clear up any presumption. There’s no chance in hell you will ever find yourself attached to Yuqi romantically, not even a little. “It’s—a long story.”

“Do tell.” Minnie smirks, teasing, alluring. She looks the part of a bar owner, all right; dark eyelashes and shadowy lipstick matching her pitch black hair. Not to mention her slim dress perfectly hugging her tight frame, showing enough cleavage to draw attention. As a friendly gesture, she gives you a wine glass and pours a drink on it. “We’ve got all the time in the world and all the drinks you need. All in house since you’re a friend.”

So you oblige yourself to a tiny sip. The place is surprisingly quiet and empty, even though it’s the weekend, with lo-fi music playing through the speakers as the only form of background noise. Minnie doesn’t have much on her plate. She can lean on the desk and listen to you all night long.

“So, two weeks ago, Yuqi moved into my place trying to look for a job,” you tell Minnie before taking another sip. Both of you take quick glances at Yuqi, seemingly having the time of her life, scaring off the sole patron by the billiards table. “And I was wondering if you can get her a job here. She’s been rejected from every company she applied for. I know she doesn’t want to work a nine-to-five, and I suddenly remembered this place.”

Minnie raises a curious eyebrow, brushing small strands of hair covering her ear. “I see.” Looking past you, she notices Yuqi, now at the karaoke, amused by her voice and energy. You follow along and watch too, wincing at her talent, caught completely by surprise. You can feel the passion and emotion from her rather honeyed, deep singing voice, as well as her natural charisma while performing. 

“Damn. She sounds really good. Borderline natural at it.” Minnie’s in awe of Yuqi’s abilities, the sort of reaction that pushes buttons, steals the show. “Wasn’t she in a band? I know she played guitar.”

“She said it doesn’t exist anymore, won’t tell me what happened.” 

Even in the midst of conversation, Yuqi’s voice manages to snatch away your focus. She’s an extremely powerful singer—a natural, as Minnie said. Her voice is overpowering the background music with little difficulty. There’s little need to watch when her vocals can easily capture your attention all the same. 

Facing you again, Minnie replies, clasping her hands together, “How about she perform by herself?” she suggests. 

You meet her eye to eye at the drop of the notion, curious.

“What do you mean?” You take another sip.

“We have an open mic night next weekend, and we could use talent to liven up the place. She sounds perfect for that kind of gig. Who knows? Maybe she can be a resident singer if the cards are right.” Minnie smiles through every word, recognizing Yuqi’s talent and the untapped potential she has. All she needs is a platform to showcase her skill properly. And taking another glance at her, you see that too. She has the passion and the vocals to croon a live audience.

“I’ll tell her,” you say, turning to Minnie again. Yuqi has finished performing and is on her way over to the bar. Your conversation breaks off as the two women greet each other with an exchange of kisses on the cheek. 

“Great place you got here girl,” Yuqi tells Minnie, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll be popping by often if you don’t mind.”

“Thanks. I could use some company on the weekdays, if I’m being honest.” Minnie hands Yuqi her own wine-filled glass, as well as a complimentary bottle. She makes sure not to “Take it, it’s on the house.”

“God, this is why I love you so fucking much.” Yuqi drinks up the whole glass in one swig, and immediately pours some from the complimentary bottle. Minnie can’t help but shake her head with a little smile, knowing this is still the same Yuqi she’s acquainted with since college. A rose-tinted view of days gone by. 

The two women spend the rest of the time catching up. With how much they talk, it would be a safe assumption to think that these are two long lost friends who haven’t spoken in years. Then the conversation goes on and on, revealing more details than you should probably know: exchanged  private messages as recent as last night, Yuqi’s intentions to visit the lounge sooner before present circumstances got in the way, and how she ended up in your apartment. As a listener and side character in her story, it’s a part you quite frankly never wanted, let alone be involved in under any capacity. You make sure to add your point of view in the narrative and clear every question. Whenever you chime in, they laugh heartily. It’s a mess, and they’re unapologetically quirky, never failing to make fun of you at times.

Despite everything, the topic is never brought up: the upcoming open mic night, her performance, her natural talent. You were planning to shoehorn the idea, but one too many drinks later, the conversation and opportunity eventually slips away. Again. 

Yuqi can hardly stand on her own two feet when she finally decides it's time to leave. It’s two in the morning when you guide her back to your car, with her drunk out of her mind and slipping into unconsciousness. Minnie assists you, making it even more embarrassing. Even when she’s so inebriated that she can barely move a muscle, she says she wants another round, slipping back into her old ways.

You escort Yuqi back to your apartment, setting her down on her bed and promising yourself that you’ll tell her about Minnie’s offer when she’s sober in the morning. 

Except it’s the one fucking day in the month where your job calls you into an actual office for a meeting. Despite that, Yuqi is not at her usual spot in the living room the next morning (unsurprisingly), so you leave food on the table for when she eventually wakes up.

—————

Returning late in the afternoon, you find a note from Yuqi on the outside door of your apartment, stamped by strawberry lipstick, simply reading:

> Not gonna be around till tomorrow. Have something urgent to attend to - XOXO, song yuqi

Sure enough, one brief tour of the apartment and Yuqi is nowhere to be seen. Her room remains untouched: the same, colorful space it’s always been, with most of her clothes and belongings still strewn everywhere on the floor. You don’t even mind the stickers and posters plastered all over the walls; she was gonna break that rule regardless. Typical, but expected. At least you know she hasn’t completely left yet.

Deep down, it’s the first time in a while that your apartment feels a lot smaller—and lonelier. It’s not that you have any sentimental attachment to Yuqi—not in the slightest—but her presence clearly livens up the place. The difference without her around is night and day. Even when your interactions are limited to a minimum, the brief moments you interact make living by yourself a bit more tolerable. 

So you preoccupy your mind with your usual schedule: a walk in the park, then dinner by yourself. But these intrusive thoughts grow worse and worse. You’re not in your pajamas at the usual hour, her absence is keeping you up at night, and waiting for her to walk through that door is about as brutal as federal punishment.

You end up driving to Minnie’s bar, inquiring about Yuqi’s whereabouts. She says she hasn’t been around, and she hasn’t exchanged messages with her since last night. Then she asks about open mic night; you tell her about the inconvenience, about the note on your door, which is why you’re there. Good effort, but she ultimately gives you nothing.

“You should stay here a while, who knows? I can message Yuqi you’ve been looking for her,” says Minnie, her smile as welcoming as it’s ever been. “Why not have a drink in the meantime?”

“Hmm.” You entertain the thought, but she promised to return tomorrow, and perhaps you’re overthinking it; you just have to let it play out. “No thanks.” As a distraction you’re watching another girl at the karaoke machine. She has distinctively pink hair, has similar energy and passion for singing, except her voice is much higher, more nasally. All she does is remind you of Yuqi, but she’s nowhere close—in appearance and in ability. “She promised to be back tomorrow. Maybe I should take her word for it and go home.”

A pour of wine on the glass is followed by her siren-like whisper. With her hand caressing your shoulder, she mutters, “So—you like her. You like Song Yuqi.”

You raise an eyebrow, taken aback by her statement. Facing Minnie, you reply, “What? No way. I don’t like Yuqi at all. I’m just concerned she might have disappeared, that’s all.”

“Cap.” Minnie smirks, murmurs to your other ear. “You like her. Actually, you love her. You just won’t admit it.”

“And what makes you say that?” 

“The fact you look so distressed wondering where she is. I mean—just look at you.” Her voice is slow, delicate, each word delivered with profound emphasis. She flickers a lighter, then directs the cigarette in her mouth for a puff. “Would someone who doesn’t like her worry like this?”

“I mean—I’m just trying to help her get back on her feet,” you tell her, and Minnie can only chuckle in response. Puff more smoke. In her eyes, you’re not doing yourself any favors. Your words have no weight to them. It’s the same old same old most women like her hear dozens of times. I’m not into her, says the guy who’s showing an alarming level of concern towards said girl. Something she’s all too familiar with. “You know? Just looking out for a friend, that kinda thing.”

Minnie wishes she can hold up a mirror against you now to prove her point. In a place meant for everyone to relax and ease themselves, you look tumid, on the verge of a historical crash out. She smirks into her next smoke, shaking her head, scrolling through her phone. “Sure. I believe you,” she remarks, and there’s no effort made to hide the sarcasm in any capacity.

That piece of cigar looks quite appealing right now. She sells smoking like she sells the off shoulder dress draping her defined figure: exceptionally well, like she’s meant for it.

Later in the night—you’re unsure whether it’s still today or tomorrow—Minnie suddenly approaches you with a shift in enthusiasm, as seen through her grin: “You should probably head home. Unless you want to stay the night waiting for someone who won’t be here in the morning.”

“She’s back already?” You manage to decipher the hint right away.

She nods, can’t help herself from beaming continuously. No effort to lie or maintain the mystery further. “I guess you’re not as stupid as I thought you’d be.”

Running up the stairs in a hurry, you respond to her little jab with a shout, “And you owe me one for that. Actually—no, I owe you one!” 

Unknowingly, Yuqi’s little mannerisms are starting to reflect in you, too.

Sure enough, you’re home within a matter of minutes. Empty streets, dead nightlife on a weekday, the loudest thing heard for miles is the roar of your car’s engine and the elevator headed up to your apartment floor. Any other time you’d burst through that door like an officer with an arrest warrant, but it’s almost three in the morning, and the last thing you want to be is apprehended yourself after a noise complaint. 

The place remains as unchanged as you had left it: completely dark, save for one light over the kitchen. It’s quiet, eerily silent—until you hear airy, soft noises in the distance. Room by room, you carefully inspect where the sound is coming from, only to find nothing at all. 

There’s only one place left to check, and it happens to be the Yuqi’s bedroom. A room you remember being empty. As you approach the sole unopened door, you notice the faint sound growing in pitch. Hushed words from a familiar tone.

“Fuck—oh fuck—”

You press an ear against the door frame. She sounds clearer.  Way more explicit. Vivid.

“So—so—good—fuck yes—”

There’s a subtle creaking sound that accompanies her singsong tone almost perfectly. Nothing is left open for interpretation; Yuqi is feeling herself. Feeling a satisfaction that only comes from something slick, something rough, something good. 

As much as you want to respect her space, her moment in the dark, you can’t help yourself. She sounds so good, so gratifying to the ears, it’s making you a little hot and flustered, much to your own guilt and shame. You don’t care about the consequences; you’ll allow yourself one little look then pretend it never happened. At best, she’s too preoccupied with her own bliss to notice, and at worst, it’ll be one awkward conversation starter in the morning.

“Oh, oh God—you feel really good baby—just like that—”

It’s as if she’s reading your mind, understanding your intentions. The way she moans your name like an invitation—something you never thought you would hear or even consider—how it’s naturally delivered from her sweet, intoxicating voice. You’re doing yourself a disservice by listening through the door.

There’s no better opportunity than now.

With your heart racing against your chest, every nerve in your muscles tense up as it desperately opens the door, slowly and as quietly as humanly possible. Miraculously, you go completely unnoticed. Even as light from the living room slowly penetrates through Yuqi’s bedroom, it fails to cover what really matters: the bed and Yuqi herself. 

Nevertheless, the sight that welcomes you is one to behold, one worth looking at with complete awe.

Yuqi’s body is splayed out on the bed. Her legs are spread wide, a couple of her fingers aggressively rubbing against her exposed clit, and there’s a glossy sheen coating the sheets before her soaking wet core. Her clothes are, unsurprisingly, scattered all over the floor, along with a pair of consumed alcohol bottles. She’s completely bare for your eyes to see. Nothing is left to your imagination. More importantly, she looks so fucking hot. Your heart is racing like never before, and the scene has your pants in a twist.

Her other hand runs up and down her lithe frame, then squeezes her own breast. She lets out this sharp mewl, grinding her hips against air. Her jaw slacks wide. Her eyes shut tight. Her back arches. Waves of self-induced pleasure send shockwaves through every fiber of her being, her moans growing more and more erratic.

“Fucking give it to me—I love this cock so fucking much—”

It’s about as pornographic and explicit as it gets. It riles you up in an uncomfortable way; you end up unzipping your pants to free your growing erection, but nothing happens beyond that. It feels wrong. It is wrong, but you can’t muster up the strength to look away, let alone walk away. You want to see how it ends. How she cums.

She wraps a hand around her own throat, while her knees are planted upright with her feet firmly gripped on the sheets. There's a noticeable tone change in her whines, as if simulating the act. Yet, the words flow from her lips seamlessly. “I’m so close—so, so close—”

The cackle she makes after is mortifying. Here’s this girl, who you had zero attraction prior to tonight, shamelessly declaring how she’s going to cum, how good your cock feels inside her—without either of the two even happening to begin with. The fact she likes you is the least shocking revelation in itself. A reminder: you only had three meaningful conversations with her since she moved in—two if you consider how blackout drunk she was the night before, and even if you go all the way back to your college days, you can count them with your fingers alone.

“Fucking—cumming—oh my God—”

Yuqi strains her knees and loosens her grip on the sheets as she lets the pleasure wash over. Clear liquid gushes past her throbbing, relentless fingers and spills onto the linen. A guttural, deep moan fills the bedroom as she slumps her body flat on the mattress, her energy completely depleted, her thoughts filled with nothing but orgasmic bliss. Her coated hands rest on her bare waist, her tummy, leaving viscous sheen on her creamy pale skin.

When she isn’t screaming your name or touching herself to the thought of you, Yuqi, at her barest, looks so gorgeous like this. Flaws and all.

Albeit brief, it’s quite the show to more than satisfy your thirst for her. You remember your uninvited presence in this room and where you stand in this relationship. That she’s only a tenant—an acquaintance at best—and nothing more. Any other person and situation would already send you damning to hell. 

So you quietly leave, gather your bearings, hoping her haze doesn’t clear before she is made aware of your presence, but you hear a faint whisper right as you close the door, clearer than any whine of pleasure:

“Hey.”

Part of you wants to ignore her, pretend this is all a huge misunderstanding and feign ignorance. Then you hear her soft, alluring voice calling your name and it’s what ultimately folds you:

“W-what time is it?”

Again, you consider the choice of entertaining her question or leaving her dry. She’ll probably fall asleep shortly after and forget these few moments. You tell her it’s three in the morning, hoping she dozes off.

She doesn’t.

“Shit. Can you come inside? I mean—come in.”

She’s still thinking about you, and it’s admittedly cute. You love how unabashedly blunt—and lewd—she is when she’s drunk. You give her the benefit of the doubt and reenter the room.

Yuqi realizes the messy state she and her bedroom are in when you turn on the lights. Cheeks puffed and red from embarrassment, she tries to hop off the mattress, only to stumble to the floor on her fours. 

“I’m so, so, sorry. I didn’t think you’d—” 

“Hey hey, it’s fine.” You grab her off the floor and sit her on the bed. “Don’t apologize. I’ll get some water; stay here and rest.”

Your eyes are meeting, hers twinkling. In those few, crucial moments, right when you’re about to leave, you feel an irresistible tug pulling you closer to each other.

Suddenly, Yuqi pulls you in by the shirt for a deep, passionate kiss. Her lips taste like actual whisky and vodka, indicating what she drank earlier that night. Yet they feel so lush, so sweet, filled with so much passion. You don’t bother trying; you fold to your lust, submit to her desire. You sink onto the bed together, never breaking apart, even for a second. Next thing you know, her hands are all over your body, roaming your chest, coiled around your neck, removing the shirt over your head to be tossed aside and completely forgotten.

Yet there’s still some resistance. Despite making the first move, she pulls back, and you do so in return. You’re hovering on top of her—an unexpected but welcome position to be in. 

“I didn’t know what got me there. I’m sorry. I just felt this sudden need to kiss you and—”

You shut her up by diving in and kissing her again, pinning Yuqi down to the mattress—the very thing that got you into this position to begin with. With you all over her, she’s able to shed the rest of your clothes: first the slacks, followed by your boxers. She mewls at the sensation of your hard cock pressed against her slit, and it’s beyond what her imagination can describe. It’s electrifying. And God, you know you’re no better than her, but you just want to fuck her right then and there, give her everything she wants without a second thought. 

Grabbing you by the scalp, she rips your lips off her chin as you’re making your way down her neck. “Not yet. Nuh uh.” She pulls you into yet another kiss, as if you’re oxygen—and in a way, it’s appropriate: you’re breathing new life into her. “Did I ever tell you that you were a good kisser?”

“Not at all,” you tell her, gently shaking your head. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

“Half bad?” Yuqi raises a sharp eyebrow, seemingly offended by your backhanded compliment. A dangerous smirk forms on her lips. “Says the one who was watching me the entire time—”

“You knew?” There’s a heightened sense of panic in your voice. “I thought  you were—”

“Shhh.” She kisses you, pulls you into a warm cuddle atop her. Slender legs wrapped around your hips, she follows: “Less talk, more lovemaking.”

And more lovemaking you do. You grow more easily acquainted with her lips than with her personality, and you barely know them: it’s only been a few minutes. Even though it’s a Thursday, the weekend feels like a lifetime away. You should be up five hours from now; you have the alarm preset and everything. But Yuqi’s getting in your way again, as she always has, and this won’t certainly be the last. She’s so hypnotic, so alluring, you find yourself unable to slip away, no matter how hard you try.

You find that it’s easier to give in than to struggle aimlessly. 

It’s effortless to get your fingers pressed inside her sopping core, brushing along sensitive, wet ridges of skin, where thoughts of you manifested into thin, delicate strokes. Her moans ring against your ears in varying pitches, each with a distinct, pulsing plea of satisfaction. Keep going, she tells you, and you follow without complaint. All this while you leave a soft path of bite marks down her neck and collarbones, until you reach her petite chest.

And fuck, you just go down on Yuqi. Sucking on her breasts like you’re in the middle of an oasis in the desert. She goes wild. Tossing, turning, trembling. You can feel her body close on you, wanting to take you in and suffocate you. The bed is creaking, growing strikingly more intense, turbulent. All this spurring you on, making you more reckless, more daring with her. 

“Mmmmm—fuck!” She lets out a hum of desperation, her hot, shaky breath fogging on your skin. You become an intertwined labyrinth of limbs that fit together, where you have no idea where it begins and where it ends. Your fingers vanish between her legs, still working tirelessly, perfectly snug around her pussy even when crushed between the weight of her thighs.

Eventually, you find yourself staring aimlessly at Yuqi. She’s so beautiful, and you’re punching yourself mentally, wondering why it took so long to come to this conclusion. Even when she’s not rocking the trendy hair color of the week and her face is a canvas for every conceivable makeup and filter, she’s naturally pretty. Especially now, completely bare—and with nothing but an exasperated, satisfied look of inebriated, lust filled bliss.

You find the light peeking from the living room, casting a shadow between your tangled legs. She’s dripping at her core, showering your fingers with a fresh flow of sheen, messing up the sheets even further if that’s even possible. They’re beyond saving at this point, and so are you. 

Rolling to her side, Yuqi wraps her arm around you, as if enticing you to stay. You shouldn’t have done this, but it’s too late: there’s no going back. You’re too lazy to close the door, and you have the girl you previously never gave a second look rubbing lazy circles on your stomach with her coated nails. Her hair draped all over your arm and shoulder, her eyes looking up at yours, acting all soft and innocent—

Until she starts talking again. “It wouldn’t be complete unless you cum inside me, wouldn’t it?”

The difference between her body language and her lips is night and day. Right then and there, you immediately recognize that there’s no other way this night will end. How your body moves at her will, how you immediately roll on top of her, as if it’s programmed to follow her every command. You have her legs pressed up and spread wide, her knees bent, lining your aching cock against the wet slit of her cunt. All while her features twist into a sickening, slimy grin in the slim shape of a lip bite. The fire, the desire—it’s still as bright as ever. 

And to make sure you aren’t second guessing the idea, her arms are coiled around your neck, her hands grabbing at your hair, pressing on your nape. Yuqi wants you—needs you—to fuck her silly; it’s the only way she can be satiated.

You watch Yuqi’s expression contort from anxious to messy, and the feeling is mutual. You slip in, slow and delicate, going against her instruction, and you almost lose it at the first stroke. The deep, guttural moan you make echoes throughout the entire apartment, while her firm walls pulse against your cock. It’s hot, it’s tense, it’s suffocating. 

“Shit, shit, shit—” you mutter, gently trying to pull back, but the fiery sensation burns, scratches away at your psyche, at your loins. “So—fucking—tight—Yuqi—fuck.”

“C’mon. Fuck me. Fuck me now.” She kisses your ear, her legs pounding against your hips, demanding you to move. There’s some serious intent behind her tone, a seamless blend of demand and impatience. “Use that big cock—mmm!”

You can only groan in response as you thrust back in deep, her grip on your body tighter than ever. And it’s more than just her cunt; she’s clinging onto you for dear life.

It hardly matters when you’re leaving sore, red marks on her skin or ripping through the blankets. It hardly matters when Yuqi can barely breathe. It hardly matters when you’re so loud that everyone can hear you. What’s important is you’re fucking her—and you’re fucking her hard. You both love the filthiness to it. There’s no rhythm, no pace, no flow; it’s one slow deep thrust, followed by a fast pump into her tight, inviting cunt. You become comfortable; you take her like she’s meant to be used.

And Yuqi takes your cock so fucking well. Bounces against every stroke with ease, as if the feeling is second nature to her. Knowing her, she’s probably been in this position more than you’d want to know or hear. You don’t really care about that for now. Even after what seems to be an endless cascade of orgasms, she’s still keening, still needy, still soaking wet that it’s alarming. Her back arches, melts deep into the cushion. She still wants more.

“So—fucking—good—more—need—fuck—”

The only noise you need is the mesh of your flesh slapping against hers, bouncing against her sharp cries of pain and pleasure. Reaching into the deepest, most sensitive parts of her pussy with your cock, this violent shudder rocks both you and Yuqi to your core. With each drag, more of her slick coats your shaft, and the easier you get access to her smothering heat. You can’t find the will to stop, not that you ever want to; she feels so warm, so inviting, so sloppy sounding to the ears that it’s driving you just as crazy as her.

It’s also driving you wild why it took you this long to fuck her—use her—like this. If you had known, you would have cared sooner. You’d have some leverage when it came to negotiations. A body like hers is too good not to have on speed dial.

Right now, it’s the least of your concerns. Not when you’re pounding a tight body like Yuqi’s so freely, hearing her demand to fuck her harder, like your life’s depending on it. Better late than never.

And it’s for the best that the moment happens later rather than sooner. She cums. Cums again. Eventually you’ve stopped counting, because there’s no point. The mere thought of you restarts the cycle, and your touch accelerates the process. The clutch of her cunt is too overwhelming to avoid at this point; it’s all but directly telling you to fill her, to unload all that pent up tension and need into her. The thought never bubbled up in your head even once; the idea of you and Yuqi with a child together. You never really questioned it. She goes out often, probably gets fucked multiple times in one night if she’s with willing company. She probably knew you’d walk in on her; hell, she’s probably got this whole thing planned out and Minnie is one of her accomplices. Maybe the entire time, she’s been yearning for you, because you’ve never heard her this passionate, this loud, this filthy in your life, even at her most inebriated.

“Inside me. Please cum inside me. I’m safe, don’t worry,” she whispers, as if she’s reading through your mind, reassuring you from your doubts. Her hand is palming your back, as if to line you straight so your cock directly hits her sweet spot. She sounds so pretty, it’s almost impossible to resist.

“Gonna cum,” you tell her, voice going hoarse, rasp, and she nods immediately in return, reinforcing the notion. She’s focused her effort on holding on, her legs tightly wrapped around your waist, her arms coiled around your neck, subtly pushing you against her hips. 

“This—pussy—so—fucking—God,” you mindlessly utter, averting her doe eyed gaze, desperate to cling to the last of your resolve as it quickly dissolves with each thrust. You’re on borrowed time and it’s quickly slipping away. Yuqi is tilting your face down to her, to her airy breaths, to her fluttering eyelids, to her passionate expression as you fuck her, pushing you over the edge. “Holy fuck, Yuqi—”

Yuqi’s lips part like a flower in bloom, and it’s a pretty sight. Yet it’s not enough of a distraction to keep everything from falling into place.

And God, it fucking burns. 

You swallow hard, but are unable to keep that groan suppressed. Your hips meet her halfway, your cock comfortably buried deep in her heat, and that’s where you come undone. Yuqi digs deep into your skin as it fills her—your cum—and she goes frozen at that moment. It’s a quiet, tense flash of silence. Afterward, she finally breaks. Cries out this deafening whine, her grip all over you loosening, time eventually catching up to her. 

She lays beneath you, completely limp, but her body remains trembling, shaking, seizing. You don’t find the strength to drag your cock from her heat; the feeling lingers. Endless ropes of cum gushing into her womb, emptying yourself, just as she wanted. Then you pull out, agonizingly slow, and more viscous slick gushes from her core. 

You feel guilty for that poor patch of soaked linen between her legs. It’s about as ruined as a collapsed power plant.

There’s little need for Yuqi to beg you to stay. The climax saps whatever energy you had left. You end up slumping flat on your belly beside her, both of you bathed in the afterglow of sex, exhausted from an already long day, too worn out to make another sound. And when you’re tired, any bed, no matter how messy it may be, is a comfortable bed.

—————

You already expected the scene at the breakfast table to be awkward.

And it was.

It isn’t until Yuqi calls you out standing at the doorway of her room that you realize you’ve been shooting a thousand yard stare the whole time. She waves at you, her cheeks red, flustered, chuckling. “Good morning to you, I guess. Put something on. I don’t wanna drink coffee while looking at someone’s dick. It’s gross.”

This time you’re the one unbecoming, completely in the nude while she got herself into some pajamas. Despite that, you hardly feel any guilt or shame, like this is a normal occurrence in the household. So you scramble to your room and get appropriately dressed. A look at the time and it’s already 15 past ten in the morning, an hour later than when you normally start work. Even more unusual is the absence of the laptop. It’s just Yuqi and her coffee.

Sitting opposite Yuqi, today seems a bit more tense than normal, and you can guess the reason why. She knows it, too. Neither of you are willing to break the ice, only shooting occasional glares at each other while sipping on coffee and scrolling through your phones.

“So, Yuqi.”

The words slip from your mouth, accidental, nearly silent. They follow the mild screech of the chair she sits on. When you meet eye to eye, she asks what’s up. What's on your mind? There’s a sudden barrier in your throat. You have a vague idea of what to say, but not the power to speak them. 

“About last night—”

Her lack of response is unnerving. The visible curiosity, the probable apathy. You and her possibly sharing the same sentiment: a feeling of regret. 

“I—I just wanted to say sorry. For last night. I should have just—”

“Sorry for what?”

You suddenly stop. This is not the expected reaction; it’s the complete opposite. A moment where you face the consequences of your actions.

Yuqi stands up and walks over to your side, beaming from ear to ear. “What we did last night was—fucking amazing. Don’t feel bad. If anything, I should feel bad because I didn’t tip you off sooner. We could have done so much more.”

You don’t pick up on the implication right away. It’s all strange, uncharted territory. Your previous flings were simple one-and-dones: a night of reckless, frivolous fun. Short, but fun nonetheless. They would disappear in the morning, never to be seen again.

“I didn’t think you’d walk through that door, especially since it was three in the morning,” says Yuqi, casual, running her fingers through your hair. “I got a bit too silly, as usual, but there’s a good reason for it.”

“And that is?”

“I got a job!” Yuqi’s gripping to your shoulder, the only thing keeping her from jumping for joy. “I got a job at the cafe with the pretty lady. I start on Monday.”

It’s certainly a cause for celebration. You can’t help but root and smile for her, caressing her hands. “Well, damn. Congratulations.”

“Yeah!” Yuqi’s wrapped you in a rather heartwarming embrace that you willingly fold into. “I had the interview yesterday, so I needed to lock in. Needed to be alone. Then I got accepted after, so I went and bought some drinks to celebrate.”

That doesn’t surprise you one bit. You’re just thrilled that she’s finally getting somewhere.

“So—does that mean I can kick you out once you get your first paycheck?” you ask her.

“I guess so. But—” Yuqi pauses, tilts your chin on an incline. She’s warm, radiant, pretty. She doesn’t care that you’ve worded yourself poorly and you’re taking it back; she’s still riding off the high from yesterday. You’re already counting the days before she leaves, and admittedly, you’ll miss that sight. “I’m gonna miss staying with you. Thanks for having my back when I needed it. I honestly don’t know how I will ever repay you.”

She tops it up with a quick peck on your lips. It’s all over your face, etched completely in red. The devilish grin. 

“I think I know exactly how.”

And that’s all that needed to be said.

Before you know it, you’re right back at square one: clothes scattered everywhere on the floor, her body pressed on the mattress, flat on her belly, your cock stretching her pussy out as you fuck her mindlessly from behind. This time in the comfort of your own bedroom.

All the more reason for you two to stay together.

—————

(A/N: fucksorryforgoingonanotherhiatusfuckfuckfuck—)

(Okay, but I really do wanna apologize for going on yet another unannounced hiatus. Final weeks of the semester were hell, then I was on vacation the week I promised this fic would be released (I'm basically the LeBron James of K-smut when it comes to lying at this point), not to mention a health scare courtesy of my mother. Some very hard times have hit me lately, so my mind wasn't 100%. Nevertheless, I am still standing (shoutout Elton John). Lots of free time throughout June and July, so hopefully nothing bad happens ISTG lemme have some peace for once and let me fucking write goddammit—)

(In non-personal news, Yuqi's solo was very fun and she's getting on that Yena level of bias where she's the perfect blend of cute and hot. Then she went pink recently and that made me :pphurt: Sort of a feel out fic before I *finally* finish these commissions over the coming weeks, thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #gidle #yuqi #song yuqi

[imsosleepyofyourbull]

I firmly believe that Kabru is autistic but masks so hard that he’s convinced himself and (almost) everyone around him that he’s neurotypical.

That man’s special interest is people and how they work, but he just thinks it’s him Being So Good At Socializing — like he doesn’t spend 95% of his time people watching and adjusting his personality in response to the traits he witnesses and obsessing over the intricacies of human interaction while mapping an ever growing relationship chart in his head. For fun. He even admits it in the manga!

Like, look at him!!!

It’s such a shame that — because he’s the narrative foil to Laios and his interest is generally considered more “socially acceptable” in both their world and our own — more people don’t realize this about him. He’s constantly misinterpreted as a horribly manipulative person who only acts the way he does to use the people around him, when that’s explicitly shown to not be the case at all. Kabru is naturally empathetic and is almost always thinking about other people, regardless of whether or not they’re right there with him or a thousand miles away.

I mean, his most defining motivation is his desire to do everything he can to avoid another tragedy like the one at Utaya. Someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t have a goal like that, and they most certainly wouldn’t go about it the way he does. He’s constantly working to help people who can help everyone else and tries so hard to make sure that anyone who seems like a threat is actually someone he needs to worry about before doing anything about it. His supposed aversion to Laios is only because of the ridiculous trolley problem he’s set up in his own head.

Outside of that, he (rather justifiably) hates monsters but is desperate to understand Laios’ love for them and his apparently most selfish goal in getting close to the guy was literally just to become friends with him.

When he’s interacting with the canaries and they imply that they’re going to take him and all of his friends to the West, his first thought is of Rin and how much she’d hate to be stuck in the place that gave her so many bad memories.

He helps Kuro learn Common when Mickbell is asleep and firmly looks forward to the day that the half-foot and Kuro can communicate properly so that their relationship can get properly started without any miscommunication.

And he understands Mithrun with only a handful of weeks AT BEST interacting with him, getting enraged when the elf seems to give up and immediately trying to help him find a new motivation for life.

I’m excited just thinking about the day that Kabru starts unmasking more and more around his friends — both new and old — because if being with my current friend group has taught me anything, it’s that hanging out with anyone so unabashedly themselves is bound to make you more comfortable with yourself too. It’s part of the reason why I like Labru so much! There’s something nice about imagining them hanging out in the throne room or laying in the grass outside and talking for hours on end about their special interests. They might not strictly understand what the other finds so fascinating about monsters or people, but they can grasp that shared feeling of love.

They probably influence each other in really good ways too, with Kabru helping Laios figure out what people are thinking even when it doesn’t make sense or Laios helping Kabru understand that not everyone and everything needs to be analyzed a thousand times over. They both get to learn that there are people like them and people who will love them without them ever having to change a thing about themselves. They deserve to know that they’re fine the way they are.

#I have so many more thoughts about these two #like how Laios is actually the one who couldn’t really care about people outside of his immediate friends and family #that his love is the one that would burn down the world if it meant the people he cared about got to be as safe and happy as they should be #always as themselves #never as the corrupted versions of them in their nightmares or by the winged lions distortions #which is how Kabru would learn to be more selfish and needy #encouraged to act on his own desires and help other people at the same time #these two have ruined me #especially Kabru #because I’m predictable and my other two favorite characters are Tachihara Michizou and Nara Shikamaru #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi kabru #kabru of utaya #dungeon meshi laios #laios touden #dungeon meshi rin #rinsha fana #dungeon meshi mickbell #mickbell #dungeon meshi kuro #kuro #dungeon meshi mithrun #mithrun #labru

[monstersflashlight]

Thinking about your take on (any) monster eating an aphrodisiac candy on accident or like an accidental aphrodisiac pollen ingestion (from like just sniffing around scavenging/hunting) - if that makes sense? Just imagine them losing a bit of control, being so needy, and only wanting “it” to go away yet it feels too good to not be inside the reader… yea I’m totally normal about this.

I can’t wait to see what you come up with this and take your the time, make sure you are well rested and taking care of yourself! 💙

Hi anon! Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm trying to be kinder to myself and it's always nice to have a reminder. That said, I hope you like his little story I came up with. I went overboard with this. I don’t know where this came from but dang if it wasn’t fun. Hope you enjoy! <3

Wrong candy, right hole

Werewolf x fem!witch || dub-con, accidental drug ingestion, size kink, oral sex, knotting, breeding, squirting, lowkey somnophilia || tw: there’s mentions of anxiety and a panic attack

“I’m so fucking hungry, are you done?” He pushed his face against the side of your head, almost bent in half to do so, looking over your shoulder. When he pressed against your space so closely, you felt so tiny. Fucking werewolves being as big as a refrigerator.

“Wait a lil bit, dude. I need to finish this so I can send it today.” You told him, pushing his snot away from you. You were trying to pack the last products of the day before going for dinner. You told him that at least three times already, but he was so damn impatient. You kinda loved him for it, he was always so eager for everything you did together, it was charming in a way.

“But I’m hungry…” He whined, making you bite your lip to hide a smile. Your best friend was so cute when he was acting all puppy like. You though werewolves would be more dominant or something, but he was just a big furry himbo. And you had a bit of a crush on him, but you weren’t going to sexualize him that way. You knew part of the reason you had a crush was because of how big and imposing he was, how furry his body was… You had a bit of a monster kink, and well, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so you didn’t say anything about it.

You pointed at the counter and told him: “Eat some candy, they are over the counter.” He let out a happy sound as he marched to get them. You turned around in time to see him eating some of your last shipping products. Oh fuck.

“Uh, oh,” you mustered. This was bad, really bad.

“What?” He asked, opening his mouth wide, candy crumbs falling off. Gross.

You look at him with what you hoped was a sorry face. “You shouldn’t have taken that.” He didn’t eat the candies you were pointing to, he ate the ones your client specially asked for.

His face fell instantly, the worry in your tone not as hidden as you thought. “What? Why not?” You could see the gears in his brain turning, thinking about all the bad possibilities.

“It’s not candy,” you mustered, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but calculating how much time you had before it started to make an effect on him. Fuck, you didn’t know if it was going to be enough, it should be fast. Fuck.

“What?! You said I could take one.” He yelled at you, his voice growly and sexy, you tried not to think about that last part. Your lady parts would have to wait.

“The other ones, damn it. Now I have to make a new batch.” You tried not to sound annoyed about it, but those took so much effort to make… Damn it.

He looked at you like you were dumb and asked: “What were those, then?”

“Aphrodisiac candies,” you confessed slowly. The clock was ticking and you didn’t know how he would react, you normally provided them for other species, never for wolves.

“What?! WHY DID YOU HAVE THEM THERE?” He asked, starting to panic. You tried to calm him down by touching his chest, making him match your breathing. He complied, but with great effort. The clock was still ticking.

“It was an order. I was gonna pack them! But you ate them.” You kept breathing slowly, his big furry paw now on your chest, trying to breathe together. You learned about that when he had a panic attack the second time you two meet, and it had been helpful so many other times.

“What do I do? Give me the antidote,” he asked. You looked up at him with what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I- There’s none.” You tried to stop him from getting away, but he pushed you lightly and stepped back, his paws going through his head, frustration and anxiety very present on his features.

“What?!” He exclaimed. “I need to go. I need to get home, get my fleshlight. I don’t know. What do I do?” He sounded more panicked by the minute. You felt very sorry for him and even worse because it was technically your fault.

And then a light bulb turned on your head. “Or I could… I could help you,” you told him, looking to the ground, suddenly shy. You just offered your best friend to have sex with him to ride out the aphrodisiac he accidentally ate. Your brain wasn’t in the best place, but you couldn’t avoid the wetness between your thighs thinking about fucking him.

He turned to face you completely, his eyes so big it looked comical. “What?”

“Just… Just if you want to,” you muttered. Each second that passed it seemed like a bad idea. He was your best friend, he didn’t see you like that.

And then he deadpanned: “Are you saying you want me to knot you?” You blushed from your toes to your hair, hearing him talk about knotting made your pussy twitch and juices flow, you could feel the wetness on your panties growing uncomfortable.

“Dude when you say it like that.” You looked at him intently expecting him to say something else, but when he didn’t, you answered truthfully: “Yes, okay. Yes! I want you to knot me.”

“Am I taking advantage of you if we do this?” He asked, his tone worried. That made you confirm your choices. Of course you would do that for him, he was your best friend and the best werewolf you knew. He was better than any man, human, warlock or any other species you knew. He was just… him.

“No, I want this. I… I might have a bit of a monster kink…” You blushed again, and he smiled at you smugly. “Am I taking advantage of you?” You asked, matching his worried tone.

“No. I… I’ve had a crush on you since forever.” You looked at him perplexed, completely shook, what the fuck? “Your fucking candy also has some truth serum or what?” He asked and you remembered that yes, it did, fuck.

“Maybe… It’s to make the communication between partners better,” you explained. It sounded bad to your own ears, like a silly excuse for what was just happening, but you didn’t care. He had a crush on you. On you!

“Good lord, I’m never eating anything you give me ever again.” You chuckled at that, and he followed. But it was short lived. His laugh broke with a whine: “Fuck, it hurts.” He was palming his cock through the fabric of his pants and you could feel saliva pooling at your mouth. Dang you wanted to suck him off badly.

“Shit. Yeah, it should be starting to make effect.” He looked back at you with full on puppy eyes, making your heart constrict and your pussy get wetter. You pushed him backwards, and he let you guide him to the back room. You had a mattress there for when your long potions had to be made, so you could take a nap. You thanked the Goddess and pushed him on it. “Does this work?” You asked, sitting on his lap, you could see the outline of his dick and you wanted to explore every inch of him. He nodded eagerly, his paws grabbing your hips to grind your covered pussy against his dick. He whined and let out a long groan, a wet patch forming in his pants. “Did you just come?” The smile on your face was so big it hurt your cheeks.

He looked at you embarrassed. “Yes, fuck. What did you give me?” His hands kept moving your hips to grind against his dick and you were starting to lose your mind. The friction was so good you were close yourself.

You groaned and told him: “You ate it yourself. It’s… It’s supposed to make your sex experiences extremely pleasurable. And maybe… Maybe improve your stamina?” It wasn’t a question, it did improve stamina greatly, that’s why you never gave it to wolves or other species with already good stamina, their partners couldn’t hold that much time.

“I’m a werewolf, I already had enough stamina!” His words agreed with your inner turmoil. Fuck, his clothed dick against your wet panties felt wonderful. “Take off your clothes or I’ll rip them.” His low growl made you groan and more juices pooled on your panties. “Fuck, I can smell you. I can smell how wet you are.” You got up from his lap and started to get your clothes off. You were being too slow because he growled and tried to grab you. You stepped back and took care of the rest rapidly.

The second your clothes were off you, he was launching himself at you, his face going directly for your pussy. You felt his long tongue inside of you, so long and so inhuman that it was hitting every single place inside of you that made your toes curl. You kept cursing as your hands found his fur, you pulled and groaned as he ate you out like a desperate animal. You could see his hips grinding against the bed, he was probably making a mess. In your foggy brain, the pleasure hit a max level and you exploded, coming against his face as he licked every single inch of you.

He pulled back, his face contorted in what you only could describe as feral grin. He ripped off his own clothes, the sound of tearing fabric excited you. And then you saw his dick, and you twitched. He was so fucking big, his tip was red and big, leaking so much it looked shiny. But what scared you the most was the knot at the base, so big it was almost like your whole fist. Dang. You weren’t sure that was going to fit inside of you.

“I’m not sure that’s….” You tried to push away on the bed, but he grabbed your legs and pulled, positioning yourself perfectly for him. Your pussy on display and your legs over his shoulders.

“It will fit. I’ll make it fit.” His voice had an edge of danger and you shivered.

Your pussy was sensitive after the orgasm he just gave you, so when he pushed inside of you in one hard thrust you almost lost it. You arched your back and screamed at the top of your lungs. His mouth found yours, and he started kissing you, more teeth than lips. He didn’t wait, he didn’t let you warm up, he started fucking you hard and fast, your whole body moving when he pushed inside. When he bottomed out, you could feel his knot against your entrance, trying to slip inside, an insistent pressure driving you wild. He grabbed your hips and pulled them up, the perfect angle to hit your G-spot with every thrust. You were seeing stars as he grunted and growled against your open mouth. You weren’t kissing anymore, he was just licking the inside of your open mouth as you lost your body to pleasure.

He came inside you. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe even four, you stopped feeling it when it started to be too much. You could feel his cum moving inside of you with each thrust. But he kept fucking you, using you like a toy for his pleasure, and you couldn’t even blame him for being rough because you were enjoying it a lot more than you should. You did that to him, but good lord if it didn’t feel like paradise. You lost count of how many orgasms you had as he pounded you, your body at his mercy.

When you thought it was impossible to feel more pleasure, you felt him slow down, pressing and pressing, and pushing and trying to stretch you impossibly wide. You thrashed under him, there was no way, but he didn’t mind your struggling as he forced his knot inside of you. You let out a cry as it fitted inside, you felt like he was breaking you apart in the best possible way. You didn’t know it could feel like that, you didn’t know it could feel so good. Your voice gave out before your body did, your scream turned silent as he bit and licked your neck, probably leaving a line of hickeys there. You didn’t care. It felt so good. Too good.

And then he pushed on your lower abdomen, making you feel so full and so weird, but it was so hot. You had so much cum in you, a bump in your lower abdomen indicating he came so many times you were knocked up for sure. You would need to make contraceptive potions tomorrow, but for now you could enjoy the feel of his cum inside of you. So much, so hot. It felt like molten lava was melting your insides as you came and came. And he came and came.

He moved his knot against your G-spot over and over, making you want to cry because of the pleasure. And then you felt the telltale sign that you were going to squirt. It only happened a couple times before, never with somebody else, but when you tried to alert him, your arms and legs wouldn’t respond. You could just lay there in silence as he took his pleasure on you, off you. You squirted, soaking his fur and making him stop for a second, surprised. His answering growl was so feral you felt it in your whole body. He came again. And again. And again.

At some point you passed out. Your body gave out. But you guessed he kept fucking you, the candy was supposed to last for hours. Well… You trusted him, he could fuck your asleep body as much as he wanted.

#monster #monster fucker #monster imagine #monster x human #teratophillia #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #terato #request #werewolf #werewolf x witch #werewolf smut #werewolf x reader #witch #aphrodisiac #exophelia

[charliemwrites]

Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #cod krueger #sebastian krueger #konig #konig cod #cod nikto #polyamory #bad neighbours #men at work

[yanderenightmare]

TW: angst, toxic traits, somewhat bullying, breakup

fem reader

You’re his first girlfriend. He’d never bothered with anything serious before—it seemed too messy to trifle with. He doesn’t know why he suddenly decided. Suppose he’d been feeling a little bored, and something within him saw you as a fool-proof opportunity.

It wasn’t because you were anything special. Actually, it was more the opposite. You didn’t seem like too big of a risk. You were just a normal, honest, nice person—a bit of a loser, too, if he was being honest. He could do a lot better and pick someone of the same caliber as him, someone with a cooler style and presence, but then he’d only get caught up in the competition.

You were more to his appetite—a dorky, blushy lil’ nerd who giggled nervously at everything he said. In other words, no competition at all. You’d never dare break his heart because you frankly couldn’t afford it. And he found solace in that imbalance—knowing he held all the cards and that you could only be grateful he’d chosen you.

At least, that had been what he’d thought. But then, here you are, holding his hands from across the table in a cute little sundae café, telling him how this just can’t work anymore.

He’s confused for a whole minute before it sinks in.

You’re breaking up with him.

He’s confused afterward, too.

You’re breaking up with him?

That can’t be right. You must be joking. He almost laughs, almost cackles, but ends up staying completely silent. Something about that pitiful look in your eye makes his throat tight, and he almost thinks he’s going to cry instead. 

You’re breaking up with him. You, with him. His foot starts to tap. Have you hit your head or something? You’re dressed in a hoodie, for crying out loud, with not an ounce of make-up on—effortless, as if his perception of you wasn’t any of your concern while you’re fucking breaking up with him.

No way. There’s just no way. You must be confused about something, is all. There’s absolutely no way you’re doing this.

“What are you talking about?” It comes angry. Louder than he’d intended, enough to make you jolt in your seat. A couple of heads even turn your way. You wait for them to turn back before answering.

“I just think we’re a bit too different. And… I don’t know…” You were trying to find ways of telling him you weren’t in love with him but ended up deciding it was unnecessary—it wasn’t exactly something he needed to hear even though you had a lot you could say.

You’re rude and arrogant and treat me like some rescue pet you’ve nurtured back to health. You act like you’re embarrassed to be with me even though you’re the one without any friends. You’re selfish and spoiled and—

“If you don’t know, then there’s nothing to talk about. Quit being silly.” He has a furrow between his brows as he picks up the pink menu between the two of you, scanning the different types of milkshakes you could share and forget all about it. After all, you weren’t breaking up with him—that would just be absurd. “Let’s get strawberry.”

“No—”

“Guess we could get mango if you want that instead—”

“I’m not sharing drinks with you—”

“What? You tryna lose weight or something? Not like anyone but me is gonna see you when all you wear are those baggy hoodies all the time. Speaking of which, you should wear mine instead, they’d suit you better—”

“Listen.” You stop his rambling. “I’m not sharing drinks, and I’m not wearing your clothes. I’m not being silly, either. I’m being serious. It’s over—”

“No, it’s not.” His fist bangs against the table—the look in his eye on edge and twitchy. “I asked you why, and you had no good reason—so it’s not, not until you convince me.”

You had wanted to avoid it, but it seems he wouldn’t allow you the grace to spare him. That being said, you hadn’t meant to be so brutally honest…

“You’re a narcissist. You don’t treat me like a girlfriend. I’m more like a charity case or some type of experiment to you. Half the time, it feels as though you’re just playing a game with everyone in your life like pawns for you to shuffle around the board as you see fit.” You’re the one with the furrowed brows now, unable to bite your tongue as you’d kept it in all this time. “I think you should seek help and get your controlling tendencies straightened out before having any type of relationship. Or don’t. In any case, I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.”

There’s a silence. The chatter of the café seems distant. You feel half inclined to apologize as you look at him and stare down the glassy tabletop as if trying to find his reflection for comfort—but then he beats you to the punch.

“You’re right…” he starts softly, mustering the words, and you’re almost proud to see him take it so well, but then there’s a viscousness to his next words. “You’re not the right girl for me.”

When he looks up again, his face is warped—callous and seemingly disgusted by the sight of you. Something about it even seems to lash out at you, seeking revenge.

“I can’t believe I thought I saw something in you,” he sighs. “Turns out you’re exactly what everyone warned me you would be—just a plane-boring old Jane. What a joke—wasting so much time on something so worthless. Forget breaking up with me, I should have broken up with you a long time ago.”

He gets up in a rush and bears over the table, both palms laid flat upon the surface.

“Charity case?” he seethes, then conjures a fake laugh and an even faker grin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Enjoy sitting here alone like the loser you are.”

And even though you’re the one watching him walk away while ordering a chocolate sundae for yourself, you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy… 

That had been the most emotion you’d ever witnessed come from him.

Obviously, he doesn’t take it very well, stumbling through the café before bursting out the door, but even he’s surprised by how disheveled it had made him. He’s hyperventilating when the fresh air hits him, almost sprinting to his car so that he can lock himself inside it.

But the car only makes it worse as he’s far from alone in there. You’re everywhere. On the hood, waiting for him with a smile. In the rearview mirror, waving at him. In the seat next to him with a pout, asking if you can stay over. In the backseat, naked with a coy twinkle in your eye.

He knows! He has some of your underwear at home—he’ll threaten to pass them around campus unless you beg him to take you back. No, what’s he thinking!? You’ll never come back to him that way. Fuck, what can he do, what’s he supposed to do!? He just called you worthless—what that fuck was he thinking?!

The tears startle him as they drip down and splash upon his whitening knuckles, where he grips the wheel for dear life even as the car stays completely still—safe and sound in the same plot.

There’s a light pink lip balm on the dash. Yours. You must have left it there—maybe on purpose? No… you don’t play games like that. You’d been honest in the café. The fact terrifies him—his heart seems to want to reject it at all costs, the way it tears in his chest.

He picks the slim pink stick up and rolls it around in his hand, which can’t seem to stop shaking. You’d sat on his lap in this very seat, laughing at something dumb he’d said while applying the very same balm on his lip—kissing his forehead while saying something sweet. He knows it wasn’t, but he imagines you’d whispered that you loved him.

When he smears the balm around his lips this time, he imagines kissing you and your soft lips and that everpresent smile he never bothered telling you was pretty.

He’s such an idiot. The birds in the parking lot take flight at the jostling of his car, but no one hears the roar.

And as he sits there in the following silence, wallowing in his own self-pity and regret, he can’t help but feel like the lead of some angsty teen romance.

And like the lead in an angsty teen romance, he swears… whatever it takes… he will win you back.

You will be his again.

BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks

JJK – Gojo, Naoya, some young type of Sukuna or Toji

HQ – Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins

BLLK – Reo

AOT – Eren

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #smut #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia smut #mha smut #yandere mha #yandere bnha #my hero smut #my hero academia smut #bnha smut #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #yandere boyfriend #boyfriend #boyfriend scenarios

[vigilskeep]

thoughts on Gregoire kinlock hold? I can't decide if my mage warden would have been silently afraid of him, and it feels like while it's not hate he doesn't like the warden? (And his 'finally you know you're place' after u refuse Duncan's offer and say you'll face the consequences is crazy)

greagoir’s an interesting one! i think it’s important to remember he is presented as “the model templar” and can in many ways be taken as a standard. from a templar perspective including his own, he can be considered “one of the good ones”, an honour-driven man running one of the supposedly better and more lenient circles (as always, yikes!) with a considerable amount of grudging respect for his first enchanter counterpart

i don’t think greagoir hates mages, it’s not that passionate, and he would certainly object to the accusation. i do think that mages, to greagoir, are largely an inconvenience in the way of him performing his duty, especially the young ones who haven’t “settled down” into circle life, or refuse to. and that frustration can reach a little more of a boiling point with irving’s favourites, who i suspect he thinks take far too many liberties, especially with the recent history of anders’ various debacles. while he isn’t sure how, during the mage origin he definitely recognises that in some way irving has outplayed him, and he would certainly have punished irving’s student to see that balance restored. (arguably, just as irving wanted to see lily punished. this is a game of lives they’ve been playing for a long time, though the stakes for irving are naturally much higher and more personal.)

Sten: "This is why we cut the tongues from mages, in Par Vollen."

Greagoir: "I will admit to agreeing with your companion. Maker knows the Qunari would not have gotten themselves into this position."

greagoir wouldn’t start cutting tongues from every mage—he is a lawful man who acts according to the chantry’s will. he also wouldn’t vindictively want to start cutting tongues from every mage—he considers himself a reasonable man doing his duty, purposeful not cruel, and that would be monstrous. but what he does think is that it would be a practical solution to the problem he faces

i think a lot about his line, “it is the innocent folk of ferelden who matter. i would lay down my life, and the life of any mage, to protect them.” i take that as a very genuine assertion of his principles. it’s also an admission that the mages, from the children to the eldest, are fundamentally not “innocent folk”, whether because they are by nature “guilty” or because they are not quite people

as the arbiter of templar “justice”, i think it makes sense for a mage warden to fear him. i also think he’s someone who a different warden might be accustomed to being around and arguing with irving all their life, almost a secondary father figure, and not have learned to truly fear him. a third warden might be grateful to him for curbing other templars’ more vindictive or sinister impulses, and a fourth might firmly believe that fear of a disciplined templar is unnecessary as long as they follow all the rules, and a fifth might be a casually rebellious kid confident in the belief that he’s powerless and their first enchanter mentor will always protect them from him, and a sixth might bitterly resent him for punished or tranquil friends, etc. etc.

#greagoir #sorry for taking a minute to answer this! busy few days

[seancekitsch]

Vox from Hazbin Hotel x siren! reader?? PLEASEE i love this concept sm-

i think i accidentally created myself an oc, also, if you spot the showgirls reference ill give you a cookie, this is inspired by the general flavor of moulin rouge and showgirls

“What the FUCK?!” you all but screech, throwing your blush frustratedly at your vanity. The small compact hits the cool marble, and immediately the product with the pan shatters, ruined. It was expensive. Fuck. 

“I- I don’t know what happened…” Jinni, a succubus, your assistant and opening act, stutters from the door. Scared. 

You deflate, rolling your eyes as you calm yourself and stop scaring the girl. You have to remember to stop raging near her. She’s young, too young. 

Overlords in the club mean a good tip, mean security, mean you and girls like Jinni make rent safely and have some fun money to toss around as well. You practically fall into your chair, yank a fake eyelash off as you sigh, ready to put on the next pair for your closing number. 

“There’s gotta be some reason the voice didn’t work on him,” you say, “I’m gonna find out why.”

“Are you sure thats a good idea?” Jinni asks, her tail curling around one of her legs. You have a soft spot for the girl, you really do. A place like this is gonna tear her apart; or at least, it would if you didn’t immediately take her under your wing. You pat the little chair beside you, and wrap your arms around the girl as soon as she takes the spot. 

You both stare at each other’s eyes through the mirror, sweat and make up blurred against your complexions, a reassuring smile spreads across your face. 

“I’ll check and see if he has the VIP package, and pull out the damsel in distress act,” you tell the little succubus, now cheek to cheek with her.  She smiles at you through the mirror, knowing full well you’re ready to ham it up.

“Thats your best one,” she says, and comes closer to pick up a body glitter for you. Jinni leans on the chair behind you, resting her forearms on your shoulders. You gaze at her while your hand moves with the brush across your face, at this point muscle memory kicks in, flawless. She’s why you still play nice, you think. 

“Gonna make sure you don’t have to go back to doggy chow for dinner,” you chide as you finish up your new look, a bit more dewy and innocent looking, as you shake her off and grab a lace robe to walk backstage in. Jinni laughs, and then takes your seat to take off her own make up. 

You’ve done this walk thousands of times, the long dimly lit hallway, all of the girls rooms hidden behind flimsy curtains and makeshift doors, signed by girls current and long since past. Your feet feel light below you, though nerves course through your veins. The patrons cheering is almost quieted here, all the quiet white noise that sets you ablaze in excitement and anticipation for another performance. 

But before the end of the hall can be reached, a meaty hand comes out to stop you, wrapping around your bicep. 

“Outta my way, Flicker, I gotta tell the sound guy to switch my track,” You turn your head away from the stage manager, not willing to take a face full of his calamari breath.  

“You ain’t goin’ out there again tonight,” he explains, “Got a private booking with a big spender.”

You sigh, right, just what you needed right now. You wish you could shoot a quick text to Jinni but… your phone is back in your dressing room with her. She’ll have to fair without you until this is over. 

“Right now?” you meet his eyes, and you can tell he wanted you in there five minutes ago. Shit. Well, here goes the girls' good tips for the night, you sigh, and turn towards the stairwell that leads you up to the private boxes. 

These rooms are gross; there’s no way to sugar coat it. You hate private bookings, much preferring to dance on the floor with any high spending patrons, giving them the girlfriend experience while you have the added safety of being able to slip away. These private rooms don't even have walls, more like private theater boxes so the managers can make sure you're keeping the clients happy. Up here, your talents are much more obvious, much harder to avoid blame.

You wonder what this guy will want. A champagne pour? A strip tease? Or worst of all, a dry hump or an over the pants job? You’d hate for this asshole to fuck up your costume or make up. That shits not cheap down here, and you only hope that after this private booking the overlord in the back of the hall might have loosened up and opened his wallets to one of the other girls or the house. 

But it still digs at you, like an old wound you cannot help but pick at… that your voice didn’t work on—

Him.

Its him. You can see through the sheer curtain the overlord in a suit. An old fashioned in his hand as he leans against the railing, the finale of the show tonight kicking into full gear below, all of the patrons like dogs on leashes waiting to be released to dance and party with the girls until dawn once the stage is clear. 

“Oh, Sir!” you call to him as you pull back the curtain, your flimsy robe fluttering behind you, “What is a man of your caliber doing in a place like this?”

Maybe you’re laying it on a little thick with the sultry little voice and the innocent act, but that’s what the men pay you for. He turns quickly, as if he didn’t expect you here so soon, but his smile quickly grows, teeth glowing against the low lighting of the private box. 

“What do you mean?” HIs voice is smooth as butter, “Is a man of MY caliber not supposed to admire beautiful things? Consider me a patron of the arts.”

You lounge yourself on one of the couches, effortlessly parting the bottom of your robe, kicking your legs up, really giving him a show. The boning of your costume digs into your ribs, but you don’t move. You always win over the higher spenders by laying out the feast for them. 

“Is that so?” you ask, a fake demure giggle leaving your lips, “Well then consider me confused, because you didn’t look so happy during my number earlier.”

The glow of his eyes distracted you, both out on stage earlier and now. His gaze intense, his posture rigid. 

“Maybe,” he trails off, crossing the little box until he’s in reach. One of his large hands wraps around your ankle, and then carelessly yanks your ankle off the couch to force you sitting upright. Okay, you’re only a little offended. Moreso intrigued by his seemingly complete lack of attraction to you. You drop your robe from one shoulder, baring more skin to entice him. Men are men, after all. He moves to sit at the other end of the couch. Maybe not all is lost, you think, as you pour a glass of champagne from the side table. The girl they threw on stage instead of you is killing this performance from what you can tell, and you know she’ll finish strong by the aerial rig set up and ready to go for her. You sip your glass as he sips his, and lean in closer to him, hoping that a little more proximity to him will help you figure out his deal. 

“But maybe I’m more wondering what the fuck someone like you is doing here,” he sneers as he stands, leaving you falling sideways into the space he vacated, nearly spilling your glass. 

“I- I beg your pardon?” you splutter, the sultry voice gone for a moment as you check to make sure you didn’t waste a drop of champagne on your robe.

“And stop with the agreeable little whore act, you can talk to me,” he winks at you as he says it,  red glowing eye rimmed with teal. You sigh as you brush yourself off from both he physical and metaphorical stumble. Okay, what does he know?

“Someone like me?” you ask, your real voice now dripping through. 

“Someone with power, darling,” The overlord says as if it’s obvious, “Someone with a talent like mine.”

He finishes his drink, and tosses the glass over the railing into the patrons gallery below.

“I could use someone with talents like yours,” he says, and your blood runs cold. You know what overlords mean when they say that. Your eyes dart to the curtain, to the hallway. If you shouted, would Flicker hear you? Wait- What are you thinking? He doesn’t give a rats ass about his girls’ safety. 

You do the only thing you can, you open your mouth to sing.

“Ah ah ah, nope,” he holds up a finger to silence you before you can begin, “That won’t work.”

You close your mouth, open it, close it again. 

“How did you know?”

If he knows, he can tell. If he tells, you lose money. Girls back on the street, you without a plan here.

His scowl turns to a smile, his eyes glowing brighter, circular rimming pulsating within his sclera. A funny tickle passes over you, as if he was blowing on you, gentle and odd. You furrow your brow, and then your jaw drops. You get it now. 

“Oh, Sir!” you play it up, ‘agreeable little whore’ voice as he called it back in full force, “I didn’t realize we were so evenly matched!” 

“I’m glad the smartest girl in this joint is also the prettiest,” he flirts, walking back over to the couch until he’s leaning on the arm of it. 

“How were you thinking of spending the evening mister…?” You stick to script if you trail off, not wanting to ask him outright what he wanted, now that you know what you’re dealing with.

He crackles, static, his glow dimming momentarily.

“Vox, darling. Where are my manners?” he finally introduces himself as he reaches over you for the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket and the other glass. He knows this game too, you realize, as his cologne wafts over you; something rich and woodsy. Attractive and expensive. 

“I’d like to offer my patronage, to your little,” he gestures around with the empty flute before pouring it, “artistic endeavors personally.”

That would be nice. A steady patron would mean steady money, steady numbers and acts, a bigger costume budget. His lap doesn't seem like a bad one to be perched on.

“Thats very generous, Mister Vox,” you say, holding out your glass for him to top it off, “But I can’t help but wonder what you want in return?”

His smile changes, less sharp, more real as he moves the neck of the bottle to your glass. He looks you up and down, scrutinizing every detail. 

“Your voice,” he goes on to explain, “For some important events, some advertising. I can make you a star, darling.”

It dawns on you that he hasn’t even asked your name, but then again you also weren’t going to give a client your real name. The entire idea is attractive, desirable. The patronage of a handsome powerful man, a legitimate name for yourself in the entertainment industry, security.

You reach upward clink your glass against his, urging him to clink yours back.

“You’ll have to win me over with a dance,” you tease him, your lips curling into a downright vicious smile. 

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vox hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

[strlvvr]

my best friends brother (is the one for me) - part four

ahhh finally i finished part four. this was so hard for no reason

read part three here!

word count: 1014 words

warnings: slight angst?

⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ୭ৎ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡˚

i looked up from my phone when i heard knocking on my front door. i paused my movie and got up, knowing exactly who was at the door. i walked down my stairs and opened the door, seeing matt already biting his nails.

“why weren’t you answering your phone?” he said, relieved to see me in one piece.

“i didn’t feel like it.” i said, turning around and walking back into my house, knowing he was going to invite himself in no matter what.

“y/n please. what is going on? you’ve been off all day.” he pleaded with me, following me into my kitchen.

“i’ve been off? what about you and how you’ve been acting since nick walked into your room this morning?” i retort, starting to get angry with him. he’s done nothing but ignore me all day, only taking time to say something to me when it’s convenient for him. on his terms. 

“y/n..” matt pleaded.

“no i don’t wanna hear it,” i snapped, “you do this every time something between us ever happens and i’m sick of it.”

“i’m sorry, okay?” he yelled, throwing his hands up and into his hair. 

“for what? for ignoring me all day or acting like you like me?” i yelled back, immediately turning around so he couldn’t see the tears forming in my eyes. 

he stayed quiet, and when i turned to look at him, he was on his way out the door. 

once the door closed behind him, i sighed, unable to stop the tears falling. i shouldn’t have let myself believe that he could ever want me. 

i collected myself and went back to my room, hoping that watching my movie would take my mind off what had just happened. i grabbed my phone, going into matt’s contact. i stared at it, debating on texting or calling him. after a while, i threw my phone across my bed, paying attention to the movie playing. i ended up falling asleep half way through it.

i woke up to my phone ringing. i ignored it, thinking it was matt calling me. it rang again and i picked it up, seeing it was nick calling me. 

“hello?” i answered, still half asleep.

“do you have any idea why matt is all pissy?” nick asked immediately.

“i don’t know, he came over ‘cause i wasn’t getting his calls since my phone died on my way home,” i lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through it, “he seemed pissy when he got here though.”

nick groaned before replying, “we were supposed to film a wednesday video but he hasn’t come out of his room and is ignoring me and chris.”

i felt bad, knowing this was partially my fault. “i don’t know, i’m sorry.” i said, grabbing my remote and turning off my tv.

“no it’s fine, i was just wondering if you knew anything.” nick said before saying goodbye and hanging up.

i stared at my ceiling, wondering what was wrong with him. i couldn’t stop my mind from telling me that maybe he does have some sort of feelings for me. 

i grabbed my phone and started drafting a text to matt.

‘can we talk? i’m sorry’ i stared at the text, debating on sending it or not. my thumb hovered over send before deleting the message. i threw my phone down and decided to go grab some food. 

i open my fridge, finding some grapes i had just bought and put some in a bowl. i walked over to the couch and sat down, thinking about the conversation between me and matt. i regretted what i said, overthinking it way too much. 

what if what i said made him think i had feelings for him? i thought about what nick said about matt. what if he felt the same? 

i saw a car, similar to matt’s, outside my house. it couldn’t be his, especially not with the way we left things. 

i heard a knock on my door. i got up, my heart racing as i go answer the door.

“look i don’t want to leave things how we did, and again you aren’t answering you’re phone. god why can’t you just answer your damn phone,” matt pushes through me, clearly out of breath.

“my phone is in my room..” i trailed off, letting him continue his rant. i followed him into my room, he grabbed my phone and handed it to me.

“i’ve texted you about fifteen times, called you three times. you worry me,” he looked at me softly, “please. just keep your phone with you.”

“i’m sorry.” i mumbled, grabbing my phone and looking down at all the notifications from matt. i couldn’t understand why he seemed to care so much, considering just that morning he was ignoring me.

“it’s okay, just- i don’t know” he shook his head, turning to leave.

“wait, why don’t you stay?” i asked him, wanting to hang out with him.

“yeah?” he chuckled, clearly seeing how much i wanted to be in his company.

i walked to my kitchen, grabbing drinks for us out of the fridge. i heard him behind me and before he could get too close, i turned around reaching one of the waters i grabbed towards him. as much as i wanted a repeat of last night, i couldn’t let it happen. if it was going to end even slightly close to that, i’d rather walk into oncoming traffic. 

we made our way to my living room, getting comfy on my couch. i felt matt try to get closer, i inched away slightly, not wanting to let myself get close to him again. he moved back to his original seat, not wanting to push anything.

“are we gonna watch anything?” matt asked, looking over at me.

“i mean what else do we ever do,” i grabbed the remote, turning the tv in and going into netflix.

i put on some comedy show, one of matt’s favorites. i grabbed my phone and text nick, letting him know matt was at my house.

tag list

@beersangel @whoseyouare @wh0schl0 @st7rnioioss @slutsformatt @h3arts4harry @matthewscherrypie @satvisfavetoodles @secret-sturniolo @mattsturniololoverr @blablablabla2525 @melanch0lybby @always-reading @bbernard-03 @matthewsturniolosgirlfriend101 @sleepysturnss @edgemaster696 @strnilolo @engene28 @mattspolitank @ribread03 @veysxrge @bernardsgf @syn-wr1tes @realuvrrr @sturniolo0ntop @chrisstopherfilmed2 @sturniol0s @pinklittleflower @sturniluvr

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fic #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo imagine #sturniolo #sturniolo triplet imagine #sturniolo triplet fic

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Deuce, Sebek: Like a Flower, Forever Blooming

Why does it look like Deuce is proposing to you with a tray of donut rings— WEH 😭 The birthday boy looks so handsome and gallant!! (Not usually the kind of comment I make for Deuce cksbsksnw) For some reason I tend to really like Deuce’s birthday cards…

His groovy is kinda funny too; Deuce looks like he wants to fight Alice… Interesting, because Ace acts in Alice-like ways, and he and Deuce are constantly bickering www

A Tale as Old as Time.

A girl found herself wandering into an enchanted garden. She was a tiny thing in her blue dress and pinafore, smiling sweetly at the colorful blooms surrounding her. They bore faces, those flowers—eyes, noses, and mouths, their expressions varying from curious to snarky.

The sunshine of the girl’s long locks, a youth sparkling with sensibility. They were a familiar sight.

It’s something straight from a story back home, Deuce thought.

He scrounged around for a smart comment to demonstrate his wit, his maturity. At last, he settled on: "I had no idea there were so many different looking flowers. I can barely name a few kinds.”

A dismissive grunt sounded.

"Hmph! You hail from the Queendom of Roses, don't you? And Heartslabyul is famous for its roses as well. You should be more familiar with the flora!" Sebek scolded him with a frown. "Have you no pride for your country or dormitory?! Truly, your behavior is beyond the pale!"

"I just never really paid much attention to the flowers before... I'm not the kind of guy with a green thumb. The most I do is paint the roses when the dorm leader tells me it's my turn."

"Unbelievable!! You disparage the noble perennials with that flippant attitude of yours!" Sebek shook his head. “Were you to lay your gaze upon Briar Valley in the springtime, you would surely come to appreciate them."

“Pere-what?”

“Perennials!!” Sebek folded his arms. He lifted his chin. “Don’t tell me you’re unaware of what they are! You must not be very well-read, human!!”

“O-Of course I know what they are!” Deuce stammered. “Wh-Who hasn’t heard of a para-knee-old before?!”

His fellow first year casted a doubtful look at him.

“… Okay, maybe I don’t,” Deuce admitted. His shoulders deflated along with his defiance.

“Perennials,” Sebek smirked triumphantly, “are flowers that return year after year. Roses are among them, but there are many others that fall into the category.

“When they bloom in the warm season, it is a scene to behold, a feast for the eyes! Then, come fall and winter, they wither and fade… and in spring and summer, they are born again! It is a most glorious, never-ending cycle.”

“Ah, so they live and die, then they’re brought back to life. Over and over… Endlessly?”

The gears in Deuce’s head slowly turned. Their teeth clicked into place, sparking a realization, a light in flickering on in his face.

“Oh?" The smugness in Sebek's voice was front and center. "Have you been swayed already? It certainly didn’t take much to persuade you.”

“I think I get it now, Sebek. Flowers are cool after all!” Deuce slammed a fist into an open palm. “Growing, getting older, dying, and coming back to life again… They’re like phoenixes!”

“In what way are flowers like phoenixes?!” Sebek bellowed, his volume shaking the paintings lined up on the walls. His words, however, seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“I wanna be like that too!! As tough as a flower that bounces back year after year!” Deuce passionately declared. “If I get knocked down, I’ll just get back up again! There’s gonna be no stopping me!”

He paused. "... Do you think I should add some flaming flower decals onto my Magical Wheel?"

"You've failed to take to heart a single insightful thing I've told you!! I would hardly consider this a revelation!" Sebek groaned, a hand upon his temple.

Typical foolhardy human, he surmised with a scoff. But still, he could sense a fighter when he saw one. The determination in Deceus's eyes was unmistakable. A blue-green as sharp and as clear as a cloudless summer's day, like a sword cleaving the heavens in half.

He had seen it many times over.

It was the look of a warrior.

"Listen here, human! There are a great many number of opponents in this world whose power may rival or even exceed your own. When you should encounter such strong foes… I hope you stand your ground. To betray your own promise would be disgraceful!”

“You saying I’d go back on my word?! No way! I definitely won’t run. That’s a coward’s way out.” Deuce grinned daringly—dangerously. “No matter what comes my way, I’ll own up to it. I’ll take it all on!”

#twisted wonderland #twst #Deuce Spade #Sebek Zigvolt #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #something no one asked for #Deuce birthday takeover #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #spoilers

[autumnmobile12]

Helluva Boss S2 Trailer:  “You don’t love mother and you don’t love me!”

I have a problem with this line, and I’ve had a problem with Octavia’s character for awhile now, so I’m going to talk about it.

To cut her some slack, her house and family life is a mess.  Fighting parents, cheating dad, feeling neglected by both parents, and she’s a teenager on top of that.  I get it.  Moody, angsty teen with a really good reason for being moody and angsty.

And Stolas isn’t blameless in all this.  With the cheating, he’s actively a problem, but we can see that he loves his ‘little owlet.’  But he is a terrible father.  In the Seeing Stars episode, I thought that it was going to be a lot more Stolas and Octavia-centric on their relationship, but no.  He and Blitzo spend most of the time looking for her just dicking around in some human comedy act when they really didn’t need to be there.  Seriously, it wouldn’t have been the first time Blitzo massacred a group of humans to get out of an awkward situation, but if Stolas is so concerned about his daughter, then why didn't he do something about their situation? If he loves his daughter so much, why is he okay with this distraction? He's not even the one who gets him out of it in the end.  That was the first time Helluva Boss actually disappointed me.  I don’t think the brief bit of backstory we got with Blitzo and Loona justified the rest of that whole bit, so it was really pointless.  That piece could have been handled better.

Throughout the Stolitz ship, Stolas is 100% ignoring Octavia.  But terrible dad aside, the line from the Season 2 trailer, “You don’t love Mother and you don’t love me!” should be emotional.

Except…. “You don’t love Mother….”

…why would he?

Does Octavia not see what a violent, toxic bitch her mom is?  She has seen her screaming, getting violent, and throwing things. I suppose Octavia could have the opinion that Stella's anger is justified with the cheating and all, but then that explanation implies she thinks reacting violently like that is acceptable behavior. And let’s not forget Stella straight up ordered a hit on Stolas, which nearly succeeded.  Does Octavia not know about this?  Again, Stolas being a terrible dad for not taking steps to get the daughter he supposedly loves away from the psycho who ordered an assassination, but did none of this get back to Octavia?

Not that any of it makes Stolas' infidelity okay. If you're unhappy in a relationship, leave it. But with the way Stella behaves, there's no rational way Octavia can expect her parents to love each other. It sucks to be the child in that position, especially a teen still figuring things out, but that is very much an 'it is what it is' situation and you gotta make the best of it in whatever way you can.

As it stands, it isn't fair for Octavia to entirely blame Stolas for their family falling apart.

"You don't love mother and you don't love me," makes it sound like Octavia is consciously choosing her violent, narcissistic witch of mother over her dad. This also doesn't make sense with the plot because there's no sign of Octavia having a close relationship with her mom. There are no portraits of them together in a loving embrace as we see with her and Stolas. Plus, Stella doesn't care about Octavia. The only two times in the show she vaguely mentions her is as the 'one egg that finally dropped out of her' and when she and Andrealphus are discussing the inheritance that will go to Octavia. She doesn't care about Stolas either. The only effect the cheating had on her was the idea of public embarrassment for their family.

Neither of Octavia's parents care for her the way they should, so for the, "You don't love mother and you don't love me," line to work to its fullest impact, it should have been phrased as, “You don’t love me!  Neither you or Mom love me!”

I do love Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel…but Octavia’s character is really poorly handled.  I remember it being said in an interview that Helluva Boss does have heavier focus on its male characters while Hazbin Hotel was supposed to be more female-centric, but when it comes to Octavia, that structure in the storytelling is crumbling under its own weight. There is a story here and it has some major gaps that need addressing.

To give them some benefit of doubt, maybe this’ll be addressed in an episode before that line hits, so maybe it’ll make more sense. Or they could make it clear she said it out of anger.  At least, I hope so because I really need some righteous retribution for how Stolas behaves with his daughter.

#helluva boss #octavia #stolas #stella #blitzo #stolitz #season 2 #criticism #vivziepop #18+ series

[m1ckeyb3rry]

CHAPTER FOUR WAS SO GOOD UGHH literally the only fanfic I have ever loved so much and wait for updates like this. Am so excited for the next one!!!

On the topic of finally opening requests, I was wondering if I could ask for head-canons of what a relationship with Seishiro and a female reader would be like. If we want to be specific, maybe related to the fanfic? Like, how you would imagine their relationship would have been like back when they were still in high school, young and with Nagi’s past soccer career and all. Don’t feel pressured to write this, and good luck with everything!😽😽

── DATING NAGI!

Synopsis: Headcanons about having Seishiro Nagi as your boyfriend.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Nagi x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Content Warnings: none really, just generally fluffy and silly

A/N: AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON i hope you like where i go w the story in the future!! and hehe now that we’re in the past arc of peregrine you will actually get to see all of the nitty gritty details of their relationship in the fic itself so i won’t spoil it 🤫 but i love nagi ofc so i’ve added some general headcanons on what i think he would be like as a bf

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

no matter how the two of you get together, reo is somehow involved LMAOAOAO like bro is ALWAYS at the scene of the crime in some way shape or form just because i don’t think nagi would really pick up on the fact that he has a crush on you without outside intervention

it would also definitely be a jump scare when he confesses!! you would have zero idea it’s coming because he literally hasn’t changed how he acts towards you whatsoever

canonically he doesn’t really interact with a lot of people or have a lot of friends and he’s not aggressive with romance so i just don’t think he’d really know what the appropriate method of telling someone you like them is

would probably say some shit like “reo says i have a crush on you” and would be so nonchalant about it meanwhile you’re like “???” because you did not even realize he knew your name and also why is reo being brought up

i honestly think he would not be a bad boyfriend. yes he is lazy and unmotivated but he does what he needs to do and if something is important to him he generally puts in effort for it

that’s another reason why it would take him foreverrr to ask you out — he would have to like you enough that he realizes he does in fact want to have a relationship with you even if it is a hassle

he doesn’t have social media though so don’t expect there to be an official announcement that you guys are together or anything like that HAHA

he would probably forget to tell anyone that the two of you are dating and it’s not because he’s ashamed of you or is trying to hide you or anything he literally just does not care what other people think and would prefer not to talk them if possible so it never comes up

you’ll show up to an event with him and everyone’s like “omg nagi who is this” and he’s like “this is my girlfriend” and someone (probably otoya tbh) is like “since when have you had a girlfriend” and he’s like “it’s been two years 😐”

i think he would be fire at insulting people just because of how many video games he plays…that man has seen some of the worst sides of humanity

the world is lucky he’s a pacifist and avoids conflict because he has some vile stuff stored away (i will never be over him asking barou if he practiced kneeling because he’s about to make him his servant)

this particular quality makes him the BEST person to talk shit with

he’s not a gossipy boyfriend in the sense that he doesn’t have anything juicy of his own to contribute to the conversation but i’m pretty sure he mentioned he watches dramas at one point so you know he’s locked tf in if you need to complain abt someone

he will sit there and be so invested in the tea…def would not give any useful advice but he will make fun of anyone bothering you so you still end up feeling better

i don’t think he would get jealous honestly

the thought of you cheating on him doesn’t cross his mind at all because why would he date someone he didn’t trust fully???

i would say he expects the same from you because he would but at the same time he voluntarily talks to one (1) other person besides you and that’s reo so the opportunity for you to be jealous just wouldn’t even crop up

definitely super clingy and cuddly

loves being babied too

according to epnagi he has this whole automatic system in his apartment to clean and do laundry and i think he’d be fine if you appropriate that so no more cleaning!! but you will have to cook because that man literally only eats fruit jellies

genuinely how is he so built and not dying of malnutrition SKJFDSHKJ

he probably is terrible at coming up with date ideas so it’s up to you to plan things

again it’s not malicious i think for him just spending time with you is his ideal date!! like he doesn’t see the point in getting dressed up and going somewhere fancy when you could just eat at home and be comfortable together

but if it’s an important day or you tell him that you want him to suggest something for once, he WILL go all out (which means calling reo for advice and doing what he tells him to)

overall communication is key with him. he’s not particularly sensitive or in tune with other people’s emotions so being passive aggressive or expecting him to read your mind will honestly just end up making your mood worse because he will not pick up on the fact that something is wrong

but if you tell him what you want him to change he will happily do it!! he just needs to be told very clearly if you’re upset or need him to do something different

honestly it would be very refreshing. there are zero games with nagi and he doesn’t really try to hide anything — what you see is what you get 100% of the time

overall 10/10 would date idc haters dni he’s a sweetheart and he’s doing his best

#nagi x reader #nagi x y/n #nagi x you #nagi seishiro #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #headcanons #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[justleaveatnine]

pink in the night - matty healy. part five.

you join the 1975 on tour as an actress starring in the narrative portion of at their very best alongside the lead singer, matty healy. he’s got big ideas and wants to redefine what a concert is, blurring the lines between fiction and reality. on stage together each night, it starts to feel less and less like acting. but is it the same for him?

masterlist

cw: drug use, smoking, panic attacks, a little more blood stuff (sorry)

wc: 5.4k

—

San Diego

“Please don’t kill me.” 

“Huh?” You whip your head around to find Matty standing in front of you, somewhat anxiously for a reason you can't yet determine. You're lounging on the settee on the stage, watching the crew set up as you wait for your call time to begin prep. Matty comes to sit down beside you, and you sit back up from your supine position. 

"Here," he says, practically shoving a paper in your hand. It's been ripped out of a notebook, jagged edges against your fingertips. You begin to read over the words scribbled on the page in dark black ink.

I glow pink in the night in my room I've been blossoming alone over you And I hear my heart breaking tonight I hear my heart breaking tonight Do you hear it too? It's like a summer shower With every drop of rain singing "I love you, I love you, I love you I love you, I love you, I love you I love you, I love you, I love you" I could stare at your back all day I could stare at your back all day And I know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right Can I try again, try again, try again Try again, and again, and again And again, and again, and again

You touch your finger to the words, softly brushing against the page. You turn your head to him sat beside you.

"Is this my poem?" you ask, bewildered.

Now he looks even more nervous. This is odd. He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. You aren't sure what to say, but he fills the silence before you have the chance to.

"Erm, when I read it, I couldn't stop thinking about how it basically perfectly connected to the fragments of this song I had started writing. That's why I took a picture of it," he gestures towards it with his hand, "so I could see if it fit." 

He takes another deep breath, somewhat strained. "If I overstepped, or if you hate it-"

The words come out a hundred miles a minute. "Matty, this is amazing. I can't believe you did this. I-I-do you have any of it written to music yet? Or just this? Not just this, god, I mean-

He thankfully cuts of your overwhelmed rambling. He fishes out his phone from his pocket, opening up his voice memos. "Here, uh, I recorded the first bit with a guitar earlier." 

He presses play. The sound of him singing over a simple guitar part rings through the empty stage. It's stunning. His voice singing your words conjures a feeling within you that is nearly indescribable, an electrifying somatic response. He's given the song an eerie but almost comforting feeling. One that almost compliments the show, you think to yourself. His fingers pluck the simple but beautiful backing on the guitar, and as he repeats the words of the chorus that you dream of him saying to you, you look into his eyes. His voice drones on, repeating the phrase over and over until it feels as if he invented the words himself. The whole thing, really. Not just those fatal three words that ring in your ears. It feels like what you wrote was simply words on a page, but the feelings running through your body and mind are all because of him. He took your haphazard notes on a score and turned them into a symphony. 

You hold his gaze until the voice memo finishes with his voice clearing, the noise of him fumbling with the phone filtering through the speaker. 

You let out a small laugh in shock. "That's so beautiful, Matty. I don't even know what to say, I'm a little overwhelmed."

"In a good way?" he asks, nerves seemingly returning.

You touch your hand to his, warmth tangling with electricity. "The best way. I never thought my poems would be anything more than just words on my pages, I didn't even plan on ever showing people."

"Well, that would be a damn shame, love. That poem is amazing, this was just as much you as it was me, don't get it twisted." His smile brings you so much comfort it almost makes you nauseous. You'd write a million books, hundreds of thousands of pages until your fingers bleed if it meant you had that smile directed to you forever.

You look back down at the phone. "I've never written a song before, this is kind of exciting," you let out a soft laugh. 

"And it sure has hell won't be the last. You're letting me see more of that work of yours, darling. I'd love to try and write with you and not just parallel to you next time," he says assuredly. 

How do you tell him that he's the subject of all of your prose, all the of lines filing up the pages of your notebook tucked safely under your pillow?

Inglewood

"Do you ever worry about more casual fans' reactions to the show?" You're sat in the booth of the bus as it sits through the inevitable evil that is Los Angeles traffic. You've got your knees pulled up to your chest as you read a novel, and he's flipping through a magazine across from you.

He exhales out his nose, and flips a page of the magazine "Nah, I usually am just thinking about the people who care the most about the band in everything we do. I think as an artist, you kind of have to, you know? Otherwise it feels like they are taking your devotion for granted. What brings this on?"

"Nothing, I just, uh, I saw a video on TikTok of someone asking if you were really as drunk as you appear up there and it just got me thinking."

He takes a moment to think. "It's hard, I won't lie. Seeing the opinions of people who don't know a thing about me, or the band, or what I'm trying to say, and go on and say that kind of stuff. But I've been exposed to it for years, and the concept of being famous far longer."

"Is there any part of you that worries about alienating people? I don't think you will, I mean, I'm just curious as to what you think."

He runs a hand through his hair before speaking. "Yeah, I do sometimes. But that is usually far removed from when I actually am performing, where I usually am so in my own head I don't give a fuck about what some random person who only knows one song thinks. And I don't mean that as an insult to them, not at all. I just mean in regards to performing, I'm only ever thinking of the message I want to say, and what the people who care most about us will think."

"I don't think there's many other artists who care about and think so highly of their fans as you do," you smile at him. He meets it before turning back to the magazine, and you return to the book leant up against your legs.

San Francisco

Your bare feet pad along the tour bus floor as you slip out of bed. The digital clock fixed to the wall near the front reads 3:24, and you rub your eye with your fist as you approach the kitchenette. 

You open the fridge, the fluorescent light illuminating the empty living area. You take out what you need to make a sandwich, a late snack that will hopefully cure the hunger preventing you from sleeping.

As you make the sandwich, you find yourself humming In My Life, the song somewhat of an earworm to you in the past few days. You mumble the melody peacefully, enjoying the quiet moment in this newfound life of yours that never seems to rest. A noise from the sleeping area startles you, and you turn your head to see a squinting Matty walking towards you.

"Shit, I'm sorry if I woke you," you tell him sheepishly, setting the knife down with a small clatter.

"Nah, don't worry. I haven't been able to sleep all night." He yawns and goes to lie on the couch, phone illuminating his face. You turn your back to him to continue making the sandwich, resuming humming quietly to yourself. You return the ingredients to the fridge, almost forgetting he is sat behind you as you work your way through the song.

Suddenly, Matty begins to impersonate the sped-up piano in a high-pitched voice. The shock of it all and the silly voice he is putting on causes you to laugh, pausing slicing the sandwich. You turn your head to look at him behind you, and he's chuckling to himself while scrolling. You shake your head with far too fond exasperation and return to assembling the sandwich.

Portland

It's about to be Robbers, so that means you're knelt in front of Matty as he stands on the side table, leant down towards you.

His eyes catch something on your forehead and he drags his thumb across it, slightly scraping. There’s blood on his finger now, some your makeup artist must have missed in the hasty clean up you endure each night after Inside Your Mind. 

He raises his thumb and takes it in his mouth, a cocky grin on his face as he sucks it clean. You’re stomach churns as you watch him, entranced. Does he know exactly how much power he has over you? The reaction each of these intrepid moves causes within you?

Your choreography is about to start, usually punctuated with Matty taking a drag from the cigarette before placing it in your mouth to stub out afterwards. He takes a drag slowly and begins to leans in towards you, startling you slightly out of the rhythm you usually fall into. The brazen grin on his face tells you what he wants. You were surprised it took him this long after finding out you actually smoke, really. You meet him half-way, and inhale as he breathes out the smoke into your mouth, covetous and desperate. 

The audience is cheering, as they always seem to be whenever the two of you are doing something that you know will make the rounds on Twitter later. He hands you the cigarette, presumably to stub out as you do. Instead, you breathe in, reach your hand up to grab his hair, and shotgun him right back. His eyes are sparkling as the smoke tangles between the two of you, mouths grinning and lips touching. 

You stub the cigarette out on the table leg, and the choreography begins.

Seattle

You’ve been writing more poems than ever, your book overflowing with ideas and lyrics. No matter what you try to write about, it always ends up being about him.

It’s even worse when he takes them and completes them. He takes your words about him and gives them far more grace, more talent than you ever could, and turns them into things of beauty. Will he ever realize all that beauty is just silhouettes of him?

He's sat across from you in the green room, plucking a melody on the guitar. You're rifling through your journal, trying to find another half-finished poem that isn't completely glaringly obvious about its subject matter.

"Here, uh, how's this one?" He looks up at you, and takes the book out of your hands.

Last night I broke from old  and told a friend the truth that I've got one foot out I've called it bad and I colored it blue

But it's a beautiful life to be in your hands one step out of the light under your command

I'm in my modern world  tribute living man  I've got my one foot out  when I do my modern dance I am in your hands I am in your hands I am in your hands

He smiles down at the page, laughing softly to himself. 

"What?" you ask, slightly alarmed.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "This is fuckin' amazing. And I've already got a few ideas and stuff that might work saved, come here."

He pulls out his phone and opens voice memos, playing one called lead vocal idea 3. 

"Gonna have to change this for the syllables and phrases, obviously. But how does something like this sound for the first bit?"

It's a simple, repetitive melody. When you imagine it lined up to each of the lines, it's perfect. You tell him so, and his face lights up. "Let's try and figure it out then, yeah?"

Fort Lauderdale 

You never talk about what you do during the shows. 

No one in the band had questioned why Matty always buys your drinks, but you’ve caught Polly giving you an odd look once or twice. You don't pay it too much mind.

Matty gets bolder, and you get just as bold in return.

He moans into your mouth when he kisses you. You run your hands up his sides when he leaves his shirt untucked, which he has done every single show since you first did it. He lets your head loll limply before pulling your hair harder, puppeteering you how he wants to. Like you're a doll for him to play with. 

You scatter kisses along his jawline after All I Need to Hear. His stubble itches against your skin. When you're feeling particularly bold, you nip gently at his skin, eagerly welcoming his groans. When he kisses your hand, he places kisses on each of the knuckles before placing it on his cheek for you to hold. You touch your finger to his nose as he does this, and it makes him smile, brown eyes crinkling. He drags his thumb across your lips when you're knelt in front of him, and a cheshire cat smile dawns his face when you swipe your tongue across it. 

After the show, you'll talk about the crowd, about something funny that George said in the in-ears that made you almost break. But you never talk about the rest. It goes unsaid, unacknowledged. The blatantly obvious escalating passion that you pray is reciprocated due to  a feeling similar to yours.

You fear the bubble you've built for yourselves will break if you prod it. So you don't say a word, and you take what he gives you. 

Denver   "Do you wanna know the original reason I came up with the show?" 

You're lying on Matty's hotel room bed with your feet to the pillows, head dangling off the edge. He's lying on the floor beneath you, out of your sight. You see his hand reach up to pass you the joint, and you accept it gratefully, movements languid. 

"Hmm?" you ask, not hearing him completely.

"The uh, the original reason. Of the show, why I made the show."

"What, you wanted to make a meta reinvention of the stage show, filled with meta ideas and subvert the audiences ideas of meta-" you say in a voice, mocking his northern accent.

"Ha, ha. Very funny. Matty loves saying meta, real creative." He hiccups before continuing. 

"It was because, uh, George and I, uh..." he starts laughing, unable to finish the sentence.

You turn to face him, stealing the spliff out of his hands to take another hit. "You and George..." you gesture for him to finish with it in your hands.

He's laughing through the sentence, rubbing his forehead. "Venues only let you smoke if its part of a theatrical performance."

"Huh?" Your hazy mind doesn't put it together.

"They wouldn't let us smoke on stage unless it was a part of a theatrical performance. So voila, theatrical performance." He grins, proud, as he points at the two of you.

"You knob! You wrote this entire show solely because you couldn't go two hours without a smoke?" You reach with your free hand, hitting him as your roll over to face him on the floor.

"Well not solely that, Jesus! That was just what inspired me to write a show. And I think that worked out pretty well, did it not?" He's cheeky, smiling proud as he takes another hit.

"You're ridiculous," you sigh as you move your head up and nestle into the bed, ready to fall asleep as your intoxicated mind clouds your best judgement.

"I do try."

The smoke alarm starts buzzing. "Oh, shit!"

You can't help but laugh at him as he tries to fan smoke away from the small detector, beeping incessantly. "Fuck!" he yells, but you just laugh louder into the bed.

Independence

"So you'll be on the settee now, not the lounger. And Robbers is in At Their Very Best, not Being Funny. And when All I Need to Hear finishes, you'll freeze there instead."

"Every iteration of this show is just a test of my ability to stay still while you prance around the stage, then?"

"Prance?!"

You should have known based on everything about Matty that he wouldn't be satisfied keeping the show the same for long. He briefed you earlier in the day about the changes he wanted to try, and you did a quick run through with the crew to ensure they were prepared. Matty told you he was writing a follow-up show to the current one, and wanted to try incorporating some of the ideas into the current set-up.

You're sat comfortably on the settee, knees pulled up and feet tucked up to the side. You're still with a demure smile cast on your face, finishing your act in this position rather than looking up at him knelt in front of the table. There is a new classical piece playing over the sound system, one you don't recognize.

He goes through the panicked motions he usually does, attempting to wake you by shaking your shoulders and lightly hitting your cheek repeatedly. It's harder to stay still when directly focusing the audience as you are now, their motions and screams adding an extra challenge to keeping your gaze fixed at an invisible point.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Matty near the mic stand lighting a cigarette. He begins to anxiously stumble across the stage, frequently turning to you. He's concerningly good at acting drunk, and you're reminded of the post wondering if he truly is that drunk. He takes a sip out of a bottle that is placed on the piano, and walks to sit on the couch beside you. 

He takes a few drags, and begins to cry with his head in his hands. You can't help but think of the fact that there are definitely several confused parents in the audience as a result of this scene: classical music overturing Matty as he sobs into his hand and chainsmokes while a woman they have never seen before sits frozen smiling beside him. At least after the first show, the parents might have been briefed on the oddities of this performance the two of you put on. Matty changing elements removes all that. The thought of these traumatized and perplexed parents so nearly makes you laugh that you have to take a deep breath to prevent it from escaping, forcing the smile down your throat.

Matty keeps turning his head to look at you, crying even further. He then proceeds to sit on the ground in front of you and embrace your legs, weeping into the hug. You can feel his warm breath against your shins, shaking with put-on sobs. He stays this way for a moment before calming his cries and looking up at you, taking a drag of the cigarette in the process. He then sits back up on the settee beside you, watching you all the while. He reaches out and plays with your hair, twirling locks and running his fingers through it. It's more comforting than the pulls earlier in the show, the ones that send warmth through your body and shivers down your spine. His hand travels to your neck and begins to prod it rather aggressively with his fingers, making weird movements as they travel up to your chin.

He rubs his face one final time, and abandons you on the couch to sit in front of the television stack. Only a few more minutes of being still. You're able to blink, but your eyes hurt from the focus. In the corner of your eye, you see Matty begin to do twenty press-ups, all-the-while watching the news footage interspersed with videos of the two of you from previous shows. He finally crawls into the television, and the lights go out. You exit quickly as regularly, steps echoing in the momentary silence.

Chicago

"I feel like Ferris Bueller."

You turn your head to see Matty beside you. He's staring at the painting, the museum map folded in his hands.

"It's Cameron in front of this one, actually," you remark, cheeky.

"Oh, piss off." You chuckle.

You're stood in front of A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, as you have been for nearly ten minutes. You've analyzed every speck of the painting, but you can't bring yourself to leave it just yet.

"You know, Nighthawks is just around the corner," his head turns in the direction as he speaks, "if you want to go see it."

"I'm alright here, but thank you," you smile warmly at him before continuing. "I saw Sunday in the Park with George on the West End as kid, and I've been wanting to this ever since. It feels so much larger in person, even having seen it in Ferris Bueller and all."

"Art always manages to surprise you."

"That's very wise."

"I do try." You can hear the smile in his voice.

"I usually squeeze a few group museums trips on each tour, actually," he continues. "Nice peaceful day off with everyone."

"This one been good so far?" you ask him.

"Oh, the best." You hold his gaze for a moment before returning to the painting, the butterflies he always conjures in your stomach unable to bear it any longer. You stand in silence with him, staring at the painting. You sneak glances at him when he's not looking as if he’s another one of the works of art strung along the galleries walls.

Milwaukee

You walk towards the green room, ready to tell Matty and George they are needed on stage before the sounds of an argument stops you in your tracks.

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt, mate!"

"No one will be, I swear. I know what I'm doing, I promise."

"Well, good, then. You need to be careful about not hurting her-"

"George. It'll be alright. Okay? I'll figure it out."

There's a slight lull, and you take the time to knock and push the door open. Their heads turn to you, Matty's eyes wide before washing over with a still expression

"Hey, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything, we're needed on stage."

"Not interrupting anything, love. C'mon." He walks assuredly past you into the hallway and towards the stage. George flashes you a soft smile, but you can see there's something behind it.

You look at them nervously as they walk ahead of you, mind racing as you try to put an explanation to the conversation you walked into that clearly they did not want you to hear. You forget about it by the time the show is over, the moment washing away with the day.

Toronto

"I won't lie, I'm not a huge fan of this." 

You're standing on the glass floor of the CN Tower. You haven't been up here since you visited your uni friend over the holidays a few years back, and when you realize the whole band had never visited you promptly commandeered the day off planning. 

You remove your eyes from gazing at the aquarium below to see Matty, standing at the edge of the glass. His toes barely touch it, refusing to step onto the clear portion of ground you are traversing.

"Somebody's scared," you childishly tease him, overjoyed at this exposed weakness. 

"I'm not scared, I just don't particularly enjoy being reminded that if there are any structural disintegrates in this massive pole that this is my route out."

"Nah, he's bloody terrified of heights," Ross tosses from nearby, staring out at Lake Ontario.

"It seems I have lost all of my kind, loving, friends, whatever has happened to them?" Matty asks theatrically, turning around as if to search. He's caught up enough by what he's saying that he doesn't see George approach from the side, who quickly grabs him and pulls him onto the glass floor.

"You fuckwit! What is your problem!" Matty yells to George as he hastily runs back to the covered floor. You and George are practically dying of laughter, and it's only egged on by Matty's unimpressed expression.

Minneapolis

The text notification from Matty drops down from the top of your screen, pulling you away from mindlessly scrolling on Instagram. You roll over to your side in your bunk and open the message.

Last night I finally slept Next to somebody true She's worthy of your faith I felt you in her hands I saw you when she moved

God, it's a beautiful life To live for somebody gone One step out of the fight One dream into the storm

Your eyes scan over the words, and you type out a quick ? in response. He messages back instantaneously, rapid-fire.

A second verse

For I am in your hands. 

And then I think it could lead back into the chorus

What do you think

You pull the curtain back from your bunk to find his curtain already open, staring at you. You go back to typing, looking up at him when you finish.

It's perfect

I love how you modified some of the lines slightly in the second part

You look back up and he's got a grin on his face, clearly pleased with your approval. You look back down to type some more, thumbs flying across the screen.

I was also thinking maybe after each line in the chrous it's followed by a bv of I am in your hands

Like 

But I'm in my modern world (I am in your hands)

And so on

You look back up at him and he's nodding his head to an inaudible tune, clearly singing out your suggestions in his head. He returns to the screen to write you another message.

I love that

You're a proper songwriter now love

You look back up at him with a small smile, lips pursed. You hope the light of your phone doesn't illuminate the blush on your cheeks, always appearing so easily when it comes to him.

Newport

The rush of cold air stings your skin. You need to get away from the dance floor, the far-too-bright flashes of the club lights, the music pounding so loud it hurts to hear. Everything is too much. 

You're losing control of your breathing, gasping for air. The back door finally slams closed, the sound scaring you. You lean against the brick wall and it itches against your skin.

Your legs can't hold you up anymore, and you slid down to the asphalt, burning your exposed shoulders along the way. Tears spring from your eyes, and you loose further control of your breathing.

The alcohol is making you feel completely out of control of the situation, floating above your body as the streetlights smear together into a blur. You're losing grip on what's happening, and it only furthers the panic attack you've finally recognized is happening..

You throw your head against your knees that are tucked up to your face, crying and trying to breathe. You were worried this would happen eventually at one of these nights out. You're no stranger to having to tuck yourself into a corner while you name five things you can see, four things you can touch. The alcohol always makes them worse.

You only feel more overwhelmed and scared as your intoxicated mind continues to spin, unable to function the way you need it to in order to calm down. Your breaths are ragged, heaving sobs echoing through the back area outside of the club that you've found yourself in.

The pounding slam of the door swinging open hardly registers in your mind, and you only realize someone else is out there with you when you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, hey, come here, look at me." It's Matty.

You slowly look up, raising your head a herculean feat. He's crouched in front of you, eyes alight with concern. His mouth is parted, and both his hands are now gripped on your shoulders. Your breaths begin to increase rapidly, so far out of your control.

"Matty, I-I-I can't, I-" you're gasping for air, unable to get any sentence out. You're so overwhelmed you can't help but cry more, heaving and shaking. Worry stains across his face.

"Shh, shh, don't worry about talking, just sit with me. Here." he maneuvers to be sat beside you, and pulls your head against his shoulder. He takes your hand from the pavement and weaves his hand into it. You immediately begin to squeeze his hand, and he hums in encouragement. 

You don't know how long you sit there, squeezing his hand and matching his breaths until yours calm, your grip on the world returns. The booming of the club music is audible against your back, but all you can hear is Matty's breaths, deep and steady.

Pittsburgh

You're knelt on the ground, sat back and knees digging against the carpet. He's above you, painstakingly recreating the Robbers video as you do each night. Matty doesn't stray from the script in this song, so you're careful to follow his lead.

He sticks his hands out sideways in the air, and leans down as scripted to kiss you. But this time, he weaves his hand into your hair just as he does earlier in the show. His deviation spurs you on, and you reach up to place one hand against his cheek.

He smashes his lips against yours, violent and wanting. The passion is practically tangible, dancing through your body, sparkling from your fingertips until the carpet lights aflame. It's never like this in this song. It's never like this with anyone else.

His hand is still in your hair, a feeling nowhere near foreign this far into the tour. When he begins to tug, you're not exactly unused to the sensation. But he's never done it now. Not in the song he's so stringent with, timing each action to the video by the syllable. The surprise mixing with the pleasure racing through you concentrates itself into a moan, gasping into his mouth uncontrollably.

You can't help yourself. You've never been more glad to not be mic'd up, the sound a secret between only you and him. You've never done that, lost control to the extent you are now. He pulls back from the kiss, slightly late for his cue. His mouth is slightly open, eyes predatorily down on you. His lips curl into an open-mouthed smile, tongue pressed against his teeth. 

He sings the rest of the verse with the hand still in your hair, unscripted and unfathomable. It occasionally pulls, moving your head slightly. He's never been this brazen. Maybe the audience, unfamiliar with the show, is wondering why the choreography looks the same as one of the last songs. You can't begin to care about their possible confusion. All you want is him, breaking the last piece of the show that remained untouched by the desire coursing through the two of you. You have to assume it's in him as well as yourself. Any other explanation would break you. So you connect the dots, create the picture in your mind, matching the enormity of his desire to yours. You pray you aren't imagining any of it, creating a full painting out of just a few pigments of colour. All you can do is paint and paint, a blood-stained, half-finished image of passion. 

—

a/n: new song is i am in your hands by bleachers! let me know what yall thinkkkkk

#matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfic #the 1975 #matty healy writing #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fic #pitn

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Closet Prison

“And those pitiable robes return once more to their closet prison.”

You get trapped in Malleus’s closet. Well done.

malleus x reader

cw: none

also on ao3

You are starting to wonder how many different job titles you have collected so far in your short tenure at Night Raven College. Even if you gathered several of them under the ‘Janitor’ heading that Crowley had so proudly bestowed upon you on the first day, there were enough now to make for one hell of a résumé: Glasswork Repair Technician, Antique Plumbing Specialist, Magestone Recovery Agent, not to mention every version of the word ‘therapist’ that existed. Now, you suppose, you could add Laundry Cleanliness Coordinator to the list.

“I demand to speak with someone at once! This is an outrage!”

Ah, yes. How could you forget Customer Service Punching Bag.

You peek out to the front reception area, hiding between hanging garment bags and swiping your over-steamed hair out of your face. You could have easily - and correctly - guessed at the owner of the voice for several reasons, primary among them 1. This happens every week and 2. Anyone would know that voice because no one ever gets to stop hearing it.

No one is coming to his rescue, even though you know you are not the only one on a shift today. But you are the closest one to the door. You balance your fingertips on the white paneling and close your eyes, steeling yourself for battle, your best and brightest fake smile serving as both armor and weapon. You tuck your lint brush into your back pocket in case you need something portable that won’t leave a mark.

“Why, Sebek, fancy seeing you here,” you say in a voice not your own. Your Customer Service Voice is a different person. You don’t know her. “You’re looking very well.”

“No, I am not!” he shouts, rattling the change in the tip jar on the counter behind you. Before you can have a chance to react, he shoves a garment bag with a paper receipt into your face. “You have made a grave error, and you must pay for it immediately!”

Your smile wanes, but you stay strong. “Me? In particular? Are you sure?”

“Who else would have committed such an unforgivable act, human?!”

You fold your arms patiently. “Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the error of my ways?”

Sebek flings down the garment bag in disgust. You catch it, somewhat, but its heft and size make for an awkward movement, something Sebek no doubt enjoys. “Since humans are of such feeble mind, I shall, as they say, ‘spell it out for you.’”

His chest heaves, and you brace yourself for the volume that’s about to assault you and anyone else within a three-mile radius.

“You have misplaced the ceremonial robes belonging to the great Malleus Draconia!”

The urge to beat him over the head with the tip jar strikes you abruptly, but you file it away. Inside, a very small part of you does panic - did Malleus bring some valuable, irreplaceable robes from home? But then you realize what Sebek means, and all you can do is wonder whether you could make assault with a deadly weapon look like self defense.

You put on your Voice again. “Like, his orientation robes? I didn’t even see those come in.”

“Of course not! And now they have landed in someone else’s filthy, unworthy hands!”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” You hang up the offending garment bag and check the receipt. Sure as shit, it has Malleus’s name on it. You refrain from suggesting this is all part of an elaborate prank. It would be funny, but you’ve heard enough of Sebek’s voice for one day. “I’ll get it sorted out.”

“See that you do! And that you prepare an apology for Lord Malleus at once!”

You force yourself to take a deep breath and hold it until he storms out the door. The tip jar lives to see another day.

You go over the books and cross-check a few numbers. A simple mistake - someone accidentally skipped a line on one side of the page, so now the entries are misaligned. You check the tag on the inside of the robes and find Leona’s name embroidered on the lining.

The prospect of hiking across campus with a heavy garment bag longer than you are tall is hardly enticing, but you don’t have much of a choice. The last thing you want is for Sebek to come back in ten minutes demanding to know why you haven’t fixed everything by now. You pull on your coat and head outside.

It’s cool and cloudy out - probably normal September weather for some, but you hail from somewhere hotter this time of year, and you’re already cold. The chill hastens your steps as you make your way across the stones and grassy pathways to the Hall of Mirrors. You wish you had a giant mug of hot cocoa or spiced apple cider. One of each, you decide as you step through the Savanaclaw mirror.

The jump still leaves you queasy, but the warm humidity of the pocket dimension embraces you and eliminates the cold clinging to your shoulders. You wander past groups of students, trying to catch glimpses of their faces while avoiding eye contact. You don’t recognize anyone, so with a sigh, you plod toward the main building.

A tall beast-eared student leans against the wall of the entryway like some kind of bouncer. You’re hoping he’ll ignore you, but he stands to his full height and blocks your path.

“You lost?” he asks gruffly.

“I need to give these to Leona,” you say evenly, losing some of the bravado that empowered you against Sebek earlier. “His robes got mixed up with someone else’s.”

He leans in and sniffs the air around you, prompting you to move away, bringing a satisfied glint to his eye. His ears twitch, but he finally backs off and resumes his post. “Go on.”

You find yourself breathing a little more deeply in a vain attempt to slow your heart rate. It would not do to pass out from a panic attack in the midst of all these predators. It occurs to you that you don’t know where to find Leona, but you really don’t want to ask any of these people for directions, so you start wandering. You’re up the stairs and halfway down the hall when a door opens and a familiar head of sandy brown hair ducks out of it.

“…last time I help that guy with anything,” he grumbles to himself. He glances up at you, and his dour expression lifts a bit. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“Hi, Ruggie,” you say, breathless from the stairs. “I have Leona’s robes.” You have to pause for one huge breath. “They got switched around at the cleaners.”

Ruggie cackles. “That explains a lot. I’ll swap ’em out - he just went back to sleep.”

“Thanks.” You hand him the garment bag. He disappears back into the room, then returns with a different bag. Unfortunately, it’s no less long or heavy. You decide to fold it in half, hoping it will be a little easier to carry. “Best of luck with…whatever he’s having you do this time.” You gesture vaguely at the closed door.

“Haha, yeah.”

You’re almost too warm from all this manual labor by the time you re-enter the Hall of Mirrors, but the shock of cold that smacks you full force on the other side of the Diasomnia mirror leaves you instantly shivering. Is it always this cold in here? How does anyone stand it? The fog curling around the clusters of thorns at your feet does not help. Unlike at Savanaclaw, you don’t see any students milling about here. Just a long, lonely stone walkway winding up through the mist to the castle.

You hope just a little that the doors will be locked and you’ll have to leave, but no luck. The massive wooden doors are propped open, though nobody is standing guard here. They probably assume (correctly) that no one would waltz in here without a reason.

You try not to make it too obvious that you’ve never been in Diasomnia before, but there are plenty of things to gawk at in the lavishly-appointed lounge. Fine leather seating, antique wood tables that look like the much nicer versions of the ones in your dorm, expensive imported rugs - yet even with all that, and the flickering green candle flames dotting the room, the whole space feels…vacant. Lacking. And cold. So cold you can smell the stone.

“H- hello?” you call out, losing what little courage you had remaining. You consider leaving the garment bag on the nearest chair and escaping to safety, but a set of footsteps catches your attention.

“Why, good afternoon,” says a sunny, cordial voice completely at odds with your surroundings. He smiles and tilts his head to one side. “What can I do for you?”

“Lilia, right?” you guess, and to your relief he nods in response. “I’m just returning these.” You set the garment bag down, suddenly aware of how badly you were scrunching it. “Malleus’s robes,” you add.

Lilia blinks his bright cerise eyes. “Oh, that must be where Sebek went in such a hurry.” He allows himself a light chuckle. “You didn’t need to come all this way just to bring these back.”

“Yeah? Sebek was ready to burn me at the stake for it, so…” You frown over the state of the garment bag. You didn’t mean to crumple it so badly, but it just got so freaking heavy after more than a few minutes. “Would it be alright if I brush these out before I go? They probably got wrinkled, and I’ve reached my quota of stake burnings for the month.”

“Of course!” Lilia seems a little overjoyed at the idea of a visitor, but at least he is polite and appreciative of your efforts. “Right this way.”

You have to endure another set of stairs, passing by an enormous bat-winged chair at the top that would be practically comical in any other situation. Lilia trots along merrily ahead of you, humming to himself as you study the iron latticework of the huge windows lining the hall. Outside, you catch glimpses here and there of the gargoyles that stand guard along the parapets. The green firelight casts shadows through the grating that appear to bring their carved stone faces to life.

“Do you like architecture?” Lilia asks, bringing you out of your musings.

“Yeah, I guess so. This is all…very different from what I’m used to.”

“Well, you are certainly free to stop by at any time. We love having visitors.”

Lilia stops at a set of double doors and tugs them open before leading you inside. He looks about to say something when his watch chirps at him. He checks it curiously. “Hm? Oh, of course. We have a club meeting - I nearly forgot.” He offers you another kind smile. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, but I trust you can find your way out?”

“Pretty sure.” You balance the garment bag on one arm while you try to open the closet doors with your other hand. There’s an absolutely frigid draft in here, strong enough to disturb the curtains, and you wonder if Malleus is one of those monstrous types that sleeps with the windows open. “Thanks.”

“Oh, and be careful with that door. It can stick a little.”

With that, he bounces out of the room.

You hook the hanger over the closet railing and unzip the bag. The damage is minimal, actually; the robes’ heavy brocade fabric is pretty resilient as long as it’s dry. But you spot a few dozen hairs that must belong to Leona. You’re glad you brought the lint brush now.

The cold draft of air spills over your shoulders and freezes your hands. This is getting downright ridiculous. You step back into the main room and go to close the windows, but they’re already closed. The breeze is just there. You grumble to yourself about having two hot cocoas and two apple ciders upon your return home and go back to your work.

Malleus’s entire room looks like it hardly receives any use at all. Whether due to his position as housewarden or his family name, his closet is larger than what you would expect for a dorm room, large enough to stand in comfortably. (Although, for him, you think, perhaps not, as his horns might brush the ceiling. That would be funny.).

You can hardly concentrate because it’s so damn cold. You finally get fed up with it and pull the closet door most of the way shut behind you, leaving just enough of a gap for light to enter. The relief is instantaneous.

You carefully brush and straighten the robes, ensuring all the stray hairs and lint fluffs are removed, trimming a stray thread here and there. You run your fingers over the specially tailored openings in the hood. They’ve been hand-sewn by an expert, even adorned with their own decorative embroidery. You appreciate the craftsmanship, knowing that few people would notice it, let alone care.

As if enraged by your attempts to thwart its presence, the draft of air returns with a vengeance and slams the closet door. You jump - at the noise, the sudden inky darkness, the freshly chilled breeze - and, feeling indignant about it, you push on the door.

Only, it doesn’t open.

You try again to no avail. Then you try pulling on the door, just in case, but it budges even less. You push against it with your shoulder, wondering if this is Sebek’s magical idea of a joke or a punishment, but you’re fairly certain he would rather die than leave you unattended in Malleus’s room. You listen carefully, but you hear no footsteps or voices. Lilia already said he was leaving.

Okay, calm down. Think. And keep throwing yourself into the door while you do it.

You can’t understand why it’s not working. Maybe there’s a magic seal on it. Or maybe you’re just weak. Weak and pathetic.

Frustration turns into a combination of anger and fear and sad. You hate that you’re not able to open the damn door. You hate that you’re getting so worked up over not being able to open the damn door. You hate that thinking about that isn’t enough to make you stop.

“Hello?” you try calling out, but there’s no response. You yell a few more times and knock on the wood for good measure. It changes nothing.

You slump down to the floor and try to breathe. It’s not the dark or the enclosed space that gets to you. Good thing, too, or orientation day would have been a lot more graphic for your audience. It’s just that the whole thing makes you feel…

…stupid.

Your eyes are adjusting to the dark, for all the good it does you, which is hardly any. And the cold breeze has now permeated the supposedly impenetrable barrier, so you’re shivering now, too. You reach up and feel the hem of the robes that caused you all this trouble.

Well, it hardly matters now.

You tug them off of the hanger and snuggle into them. A gentle, woodsy perfume wafts up from the depths of the silk lining, subtle but strong in the enclosed space. You press the fabric to your face and draw in a deep breath. The smell soothes your nerves - fallen leaves, pine needles, fresh rain, even a touch of mycelium.

You don’t have forests around where you’re from. You’ve been to them a few times, sure, on camping trips and one brief foray into the world of hiking, but none of them smelled quite like this.

You lie on your side and stare up in the general direction of the ceiling. The breeze hits your face, so you pull the hood down to shield yourself. You would laugh at how ridiculous this is, but you’re too worn out to care. You roll onto your side and let your eyes loll shut.

“-classes today?”

You mentally tell the voices to go away. You haven’t slept this well in ages.

“They were adequate. I shall go to the library later to acquire some other materials.”

You don’t want to get up. Even though you’re not really that comfortable…

“Excellent idea, my liege! I shall be honored to acquire all the necessary books for you!”

Your eyes shoot open. You’re not dreaming anymore.

The past few minutes - hours? - come back to you, and you scramble to sit up, fumbling with the robes you were using as a blanket. You’re about to try the door again when the voices come back.

“Do not trouble yourself on my behalf, Sebek. I am quite capable.”

“It’s no trouble, my liege!”

You sink back against the wall and try to control your breathing. You don’t even want to imagine what Sebek will say if he finds you like this. Whatever it is, it will cause permanent hearing loss.

You sit in the dark and wait.

“Very well, Sebek.”

“Thank you, Lord Malleus!”

You grit your teeth in annoyance and wish Sebek would go buy a personality since he doesn’t have his own. No wonder Malleus looks to be in such a dour mood all the time. He must have eternal patience to tolerate someone like that. You wouldn’t last ten minutes-

Light suddenly bursts in front of your eyes and blinds you. You squint and hold up one hand to shield your face against the brightness.

Malleus blinks down at you.

You wonder, briefly, what this must look like to his eyes. You, disheveled, wrapped in his ceremonial robes, on the floor of his closet. You are positive that every blood cell in your body is rushing to your face.

You don’t even have time to stand up.

Malleus steps inside and closes the door, plunging you into darkness once again.

“Wh-?”

“Shhh,” he whispers with hardly a breath of air. A rustle of fabric, and his hand locates yours without any of the blind searching you would have done. He helps you stand.

“Behold, Silver! I have been chosen to accompany Lord Malleus to the library!”

“Sure thing, Seb…”

You giggle before you can stop yourself, then clamp your hand over your mouth in a vain attempt to shut yourself up.

“S-sorry,” you stammer hopelessly. “I didn’t, um. It’s a long story.”

Heat soars to your face when Malleus closes his hand over your mouth.

“Shhh,” he says again. You can’t see a thing in the dark, but you can tell he’s listening. He must still faintly hear their voices. You have no idea. You can’t hear a thing over the fervent hammering of your blood against your bones.

You have no idea how long you both stay like that, unmoving, but eventually he pulls his hand away from your mouth. You take several panicked breaths even though you were breathing just fine.

He seems alarmed. “Have I injured you?”

“No, no. Sorry.” You give up and laugh, first from nerves, then relief. “I’ve just been stuck in here for…hours, I guess.”

A bulb of green firelight winks into existence and hovers above your head, where it casts sharp shadows over Malleus’s features. You think of the gargoyle statues. But rather than fierce and intimidating, he looks amused.

“Lilia mentioned that you dropped by to return my robes,” he says. “Did he not warn you about the door?”

You scoff. “He said it sticks a little. Not that I would need inhuman strength to open it.”

Malleus reaches forward and gently tugs the hood off of your head. You forgot you’re still wearing the robes and start to pull them off, but he stops you.

A smile seems to flit across his face, though it may be a trick of the light.

“They suit you,” he says with a low, delicate laugh that turns your heart upside down in your chest. “At least someone has found a use for them.”

“It was cold in here,” you reply lamely.

He leans in close enough that the heat from his breath dances across your nose. “And now?”

You are certain he can hear your pulse louder than you can. One hand is still holding yours, but the other he lifts to the side of your face, brushing the backs of his fingers over your cheek and ear before sweeping through your hair. You close your eyes and sigh into his mouth.

He holds you as though you are fragile, yet something he does not intend to let go. He mirrors your movements, letting you choose how deep or delicate the kiss, sliding his hand down your back to hold you closer. Everything shows that he wants to be careful with you.

Fireworks burst in your heart and under his hands. You reach up to his face, run your fingers through the liquid silk of his hair. Forest and rain and fresh earth overwhelm you, and you realize faintly that it’s not a cologne or anything artificial. It’s the smell of his skin.

You barely nudge the side of his horn with a fingertip. He laughs against your lips and has to pull away.

“Sorry,” you say breathlessly. “I didn’t mean to…”

Malleus brushes your fingers against his mouth, then cradles your hand to the side of his face. “You simply caught me by surprise. That is all.”

“You first.”

You catch sight of his grin before he snuffs out the green flame. “I only wish this had happened sooner,” he says, wrapping both arms around you. You do, too, though what he next murmurs against your ear suggests that his reasons differ slightly from your own. “What a marvelous hiding place.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #twst fic #twst fanfic #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #rexii writes twst #rexii writes

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter One

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon!Reader

Chapter One: One Hell of a College

Summary: Ciel is given a new assignment, and Sebastian and (Y/N) find a way to blend in at Weston College.

Mouse Note: We're jumping right into the plot! Also, MC and Sebastian as a couple looooove to, you know, be in love. Writing them makes me blush. But, welcome back to One Hell of a Love! I had a ton of fun writing the Public School Arc. I have no idea if my updates will get ahead of the anime so just be wary of that (I read the manga so sometimes I am unsure). But please enjoy, feel free to comment (it's encouraged because it helps me stay motivated), and welcome back to the series!

            “Hello, darling,” said Sebastian, smiling at (Y/N) as he finished plating Ciel’s afternoon tea. On the tray lay a letter from the Queen, the seal easily recognizable.

            “My love,” said (Y/N), letting him pull them in for a light kiss. “Sneaking kisses in the halls? How scandalous.”

            “But you tempt me so,” said Sebastian with a smirk. “How can I resist?”

            (Y/N) let out a light laugh before turning around to walk with him towards Ciel’s office. Since their confession, the pair of demons had been quite satisfied together. They doubted the humans knew they were together, but they didn’t care. Their connection was different than humans’, their relationship didn’t follow the rules set by the ruling class.

            Besides, (Y/N) and Sebastian were singularly minded demons. Sebastian still had a job to do, and (Y/N) was entertained enough to continue helping him. Having a relationship merely added to their enjoyment of existence together in the otherwise monotonous, dull living and contracts.

            What was a little fun with the demon they love if not adding spice to existence?

            Sebastian knocked lightly on Ciel’s office door, and Ciel acknowledged their arrival. (Y/N) opened the door, and Sebastian rolled in the cart. Pleased with himself as usual, Sebastian announced the day’s tea and cake combination. He also offered Ciel the letter from the Queen, but Ciel opted to eat his sweet treat before attending to business. Sebastian and (Y/N) suppressed amused smirks at Ciel pushing back work in favor of treats.

            Finaly, Ciel unsealed the letter.

            “ ‘To my dear boy,’ ” he read. “ ‘The Campania incident was a frightful calamity. Have you already recovered? Are you enjoying your Easter? For my part, though Easter is here at long last, I find myself unable to whole-heartedly enjoy the holiday as there is something that weighs upon my mind.

            “I am worried about Derrick, the son of my cousin Duke Clemens. Derrick is in the fifth form at Weston College. But for some reason, it seems he has not returned home since last summer. He used to write home every day, but his letters abruptly stopped as well…The anxious duchess has called at his house, but he refuses to return home and so on. If it was Derrick alone, we might chalk it up to a rebellious phase. However, other students have also not returned home. I wonder what in the world could have brought about this behavior.

            “Because his only son is acting thusly, Duke Clemens continues to lose heart…The whole affair has me very concerned indeed. I pray my loved ones can enjoy Easter in high, peaceful spirits as soon as possible. Victoria.’ ”

            Sebastian considered. “So, in short, Her Majesty has charged you to investigate the reason why students have failed to return home from Weston College.”

            Ciel nodded. “Public schools are independent institutions that refuse all government intervention, so it’s hard to lay a finger on them. Rather, those involved with the school don’t want to publicize their internal circumstances by making waves.”

            Sebastian raised a brow. “Worrying about appearances even at a time like this. My, my, this is why humans are so tiring.”

            “You understand vanity quite well,” said (Y/N), smirking.

            “I am one hell of a butler,” said Sebastian. “Of course I must act accordingly.”

            (Y/N) simply looked at him in amusement.

            Nearly rolling his eyes at their obvious flirting���Ciel was not nearly as oblivious as the other servants—Ciel spoke. “I’d like someone to infiltrate the school, but Weston usually only lets in the sons of aristocrats. Those with titles are few, and I’m acquainted with most of them. If it comes down to sneaking in, a disguise would be dangerous.”

            “So you will go as yourself?” said (Y/N), tilting their head.

            “I have no choice,” said Ciel, taking a sip of his tea. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind having the Queen in my debt. The problem lies not in whether or not there’s an open place at Weston.”

            “If there is none, you simply need to make one,” remarked Sebastian with a light smirk.

            “I’ll handle the investigation within the school,” said Ciel. “Sebastian, (Y/N), you will have to support me without being discovered yourself. How you go about it is up to you.”

            Sebastian and (Y/N) bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

            (Y/N) knew that that order—“up to you”—would be put to good, entertaining use.

l

            “What is our plan for assisting the Young Master?” said (Y/N), sitting down in the library of the Phantomhive Mansion.

            “You do not think we will simply lurk in the shadows until needed?” said Sebastian. “It would give us quite a few private moments.”

            “As lovely as that possibility is, I suspect you have more planned,” said (Y/N), leaning their head on their hand with a sharp grin.

            “Perceptive as ever,” said Sebastian, pleased at (Y/N)’s acumen. “I feel we can better keep an eye on the situation and gather our own information as housemasters.” As adults in the college, they would be able to go places at times students weren’t—imperative for investigations.

            “Playing professors?” (Y/N) considered. “I haven’t done that yet, and I rarely play a masculine role. It sounds fun.”

            “I’m certain you’ll do wonderfully,” said Sebastian. “And I look forward to seeing in a more masculine role.” He knew for damn sure he’d be just as attracted to them no matter what form they took—he loved who they were, not their appearance. That meant little to demons.

            He tilted his head. “However…we should try to craft the proper disguise for your role.” Sebastian put his hand on his chest. “I have the perfect outfit for myself, but we shall have to see how you look.”

            “I can look masculine,” said (Y/N).

            “You can,” agreed Sebastian. “But I want you to look dashing, not just masculine.” He smirked. “Come alone, darling.”

            “You’re doing this to play dress up,” said (Y/N), smirking as they stood to follow him.

            “Or to undress you,” said Sebastian.

            “You’re insatiable.”

            “Positively gluttonous~”

l

            “I think robes would add to the outfit,” said Sebastian as he finished buttoning (Y/N)’s vest.

            They rolled their eyes. “I can’t wear a professor’s robes until I am hired. This is enough, I’m sure.”

            They wore a dark grey button-up with black pants, a black vest, a tie, and a coat overtop (which would become robes if hired). Around (Y/N)’s neck hung a silver cross. Some religious figures would claim the demons wouldn’t be able to handle the holy symbol, but they would be wrong. Unless being used with some sort of religious or divine magic, they were fine wearing it. In fact, (Y/N) and Sebastian knew that being religious would help them get the jobs as housemaster and assistant—they’d be seen as intelligent, well-rounded individuals.

            “You do look quite handsome,” said Sebastian, brushing a hand over (Y/N)’s hair fondly. They had altered it slightly, too, in order to fall in a traditionally masculine style (the length would never matter, though, since men like Viscount Druitt were as respect as Lord Midford, it was just the styling to present more masculine). “However, we could run a test.”

            “Go on,” said (Y/N), smirking. They were looking forward to learning what Sebastian was suggesting.

            Sebastian stepped out of the room and called down the hall. “Mey-Rin, come here, please.”

            “Of course, Mr. Sebastian!” said Mey-Rin, running down the hall. She, unsurprisingly, tripped, but Sebastian caught her and set her upright before she could knock anything over.

            “Really, Mey-Rin, you must be more careful,” tutted Sebastian.

            “S-Sorry, I am,” said Mey-Rin sheepishly, red as usual.

            “Now that you’re here, I need you to see someone,” said Sebastian.

            “Is it a guest?” said Mey-Rin nervously.

            “If you’d like to classify them as so,” said Sebastian, his words avoiding a lie with practiced ease. He stepped to the side, and (Y/N) stepped into their masculine role.

            “Hello, Mey-Rin,” said (Y/N), smirking.

            Mey-Rin’s eyes widened, and a heavy blush appeared on her cheek’s like it did when she faced Sebastian. Obviously, she found this masc form of (Y/N)’s quite attractive (and who could blame her?)

            “Oh, uh, sir, uh, h-hello! Nice to meet you!” She bowed awkwardly and ran off.

            (Y/N) watched her in amusement. “I barely changed my form, and yet that’s the reaction I got.” They smirked at Sebastian. “I think this disguise will work perfectly. Humans always do love a nice face and figure~”

            “They do indeed,” said Sebastian.

            “And I know another being who likes to look at me,” teased (Y/N).

            Sebastian smirked with sharp teeth, not caring in the slightest to look away.

            “Now that we have our plans,” said (Y/N), continuing on, “We should ensure there are…job openings for us.” They glanced at Sebastian. “Don’t you agree?”

            “Indeed,” said Sebastian. “I’m sure there will be an opportunity quite soon.”

            They shared devilish grins which promised murder. They were going to have fun at Weston College.

l

            “Heave-ho!”

            The students of Sapphire Owl House threw their arms up, and Ciel was tossed up by the white sheet. It was an unusual welcome party (though Ciel had worried about hazing), but Weston College was already proving a bit…strange anyways.

            “Well, how do you like the traditional welcome of our house?” said Clayton, grinning. “Devote yourself to your studies all the more as a member of Sapphire Owl house, do you hear? Okay! Toss him higher next. One, two—”

            “What is the meaning of all this racket?” snapped an authoritative voice.

            “Dash it all!” cried one boy.

            “It’s the Housemasters!” said another, freezing as they realized they were caught.

            Ciel rolled haphazardly from the sheet to the ground with a yelp.

            “Clayton,” said a second calm, though commanding, voice. “An upperclassman such as you is involved in this? I’m ashamed.”

            “Explain yourself.”

            “Well, er, this is our house tradition…” said Clayton, formal as ever but a bit hesitant.

            “My, my, tradition is all well and good, but try not to overdo it.”

            Ciel looked up while someone knelt before him.

            “So you’re the new Phantomhive boy.” (Y/N) smiled at him with a hand outstretched. “Hello, I am Assistant Housemaster Noir.” Now their outfit was completed with robes instead of a jacket.

            “And I am Housemaster Michaelis,” said Sebastian, dressed in his own set of housemaster robes. His hair was pushed back, and glasses balanced on his face. He smiled. “Welcome to Sapphire Owl House.”

            Ciel’s eyebrow twitched. So this was how they planned to get in to Weston College. Ciel hated Sebastian as a teacher, and now he was stuck with him.

            Demons.

l

            Ciel, Sebastian, and (Y/N)’s time at Weston College commenced and was as British as it could be. It was a highly regulated school that raised its students into diligent workers and well-rounded men while also catering to aristocrats. Now, they tried to teach diligence by having the boys do certain chores occasionally, but when Ciel had to clean the dining hall…It of course became Sebastian and (Y/N)’s chores instead of Ciel’s.

            “Sebastian,” he called, pulling off his eyepatch.

            In an instant, Sebastian appeared beside him, and (Y/N) only took a moment longer to follow Sebastian.

            “Right here,” said Sebastian.

            “Already calling upon help? My, not even a day has passed,” said (Y/N).

            Ciel ignored the teasing and faced them with his hands on his hips. “It seems that Derrick has been transferred to another house.”

            “We did check the student roll and found the same information,” said Sebastian, flipping the clipboard paper over. “His name is on the list of Violet Wolf residents.”

            “An abrupt change,” said (Y/N). Their nose twitched. They didn’t trust it.

            “He should be at his house now,” said Ciel. “I’ll go there directly, so you tidy up here.”

            “Very good, sir,” said Sebastian, bowing as Ciel ran out of the room.

            “Now, then,” said (Y/N), taking off their long robes and surveying the mess in the dining room. “To work, Sebastian?”

            “To work,” confirmed Sebastian.

            He smirked. They were about to clean this room so well that it would be inhuman. (Poor Ciel was going to be heralded as an excellent cleaner and be asked to do it more often. He’d hate that, and what was Sebastian to do if not make some small irritation for his master?)

l

            Sure enough, once the dining room was spotless and Ciel had returned (unsuccessful) from Violet Wolf, he was giving great praise by Clayton at the amazing job he’d done cleaning.

            “Mr. Michaelis, Mr. Noir!” said Clayton as he spotted the housemasters. “Please feast your eyes on the dining hall! Phantomhive put it in order.” He patted an irritated, exhausted Ciel on the shoulder.”

            “Nice work, Phantomhive,” said Sebastian with an innocent smile while Ciel glared at him.

            “Truly an excellent job,” said (Y/N).

            “You, too, sirs,” said Ciel, gritting his teeth. Then, he paused. He could use this to his advantage. He needed to get close to the Prefects, and since Clayton was Bluewer’s Drudge…he needed to get close to Clayton.

            “I’m very glad to hear that my work pleases you so!” said Ciel, suddenly grinning brightly. He put on a performance of boyish gratitude and eagerness. “You see, I’m actually quite good at housekeeping and such!” He saluted. “So, please, Clayton, consider me at your service whenever you need aaanything done.”

            What a brat, offering up our services, thought (Y/N). That being said, his manipulation of others was entertaining. They supposed it was a fair tradeoff.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

@bellacastiel

@v1l-ismissing

@agentdedf1sh

@iamsexytrash

@oceansfloor

@sarkzjam

@temporarilyablog

@elaemae

@urlocalsabito

@roo024

@ittomain1

#one hell of a love #x reader #gn reader #nb reader #x gn reader #x nb reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji #black butler fic #black butler sebastian #black butler #black butler x reader #sebastian x demon!reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian x demon reader #weston arc #weston college arc #public school arc

[suffersinfandom]

Heyo, @nidmightcookies! This is my response to your reply on Atticus' post over here -- I didn't want to take away from the message of that post or the additions from other POC.

Sidenote: I'm extremely white and have no credentials that make me qualified to talk about race (I'm just a person who reads and tries to listen), and my takes are probably going to show that. That's another reason I didn't want to clutter up the original post with my reply.

In response to this

“Why is it racist to depict Ed as uncontrollably violent?  Because he's not actually depicted that way in the show.”

you talk about Ed baiting the crew to murder him and committing other violent acts. The original point is stating that Ed is not depicted as uncontrollably violent in the show, not claiming that he perpetrated no violence full stop. Yes, Ed does violence. No, he is not uncontrollably violent.

What Ed does is purposeful, not uncontrollable. He doesn’t push Lucius off the ship after he gives up all hope because he’s a violent guy who just does stuff like that, and the mutiny situation in S2E2… as allthinky said in a response, “that’s Ed at the end of his rope,” not him being uncontrollably violent. He’d been working towards suicide ever since he started baiting Low. As a backup plan, he’s been working the crew hard, disregarding their well-being, and being an overall awful boss in an attempt to incite a mutiny. 

Yes, he was “a serious, immediate threat to his crew” by the time he was out of other ideas to make someone take him out. Ed commits acts of violence -- I don’t think I’ve seen anyone claim he doesn’t -- but he always does so with some amount of reason (not necessarily good reasons) and control. 

“Upon reflection, my biggest issue may be with the people who argue that Ed's never been shown to be violent, or that any time he has resorted to violence, he's absolved of blame by the fact that someone was mean to him first. Which... I don't think I've seen you make either of those arguments at any point in the past.”

I’m really glad that you mentioned that OP hadn’t made either of those arguments (that you know of), that was genuinely very cool. As for the rest of it, I don’t believe I’ve seen anyone say that Ed is “never shown to be violent” or that he can always be “absolved of the blame” unless you want to remove all of the nuance from common talking points. 

He is never shown to be more violent than the average pirate and, due to his deep-seated trauma relating to his own capacity for violence, he’s actually on the less violent end of the pirate spectrum. He can’t be absolved of all blame for his actions because he’s a grown man who makes his own choices (and saying otherwise robs him of his agency). What I’ve seen said is that Ed’s actions are informed by things like trauma, abuse, and racism. His actions make sense. They’re not spontaneous violence committed because Ed flies into rages and homicidal spirals out of the blue.

“Not saying we shouldn't consider it [that is, are we “assigning more weight to Ed's violent actions than those of other characters or assuming he's worse than he actually is”], but I mean. If a white character on the show had cut off his employee's toes and fed them to him, shot him in the leg, ordered his death, held a gun on his other subordinates, marooned some/tossed one overboard, threatened to drown the ones that remained... because he was pushed into it, with the same combination of abusive childhood/hostile work environment... would he be equally deserving of that consideration? Would it be an overreaction to call him dangerous?”

Probably, but if everything was the same except Ed Is White Now, his baggage and his relationship with Izzy wouldn’t be exactly the same. Ed's race isn’t inconsequential. We can't really remove race from the story and end up with the same character, y'know?

Also: I do think it’s inappropriate to turn this question back on POC. I don’t think that POC are obligated to reconsider biases against a white character.

“Izzy is crew”

Ed’s relationship to Izzy is not comparable to his relationship with the crew. The crew have done nothing wrong and haven’t behaved antagonistically towards Ed. Izzy and Ed have a complicated, toxic, and difficult relationship (regardless of where you stand on whether or not Izzy’s abusive), therefore any harm caused to Izzy has to be considered differently than harm caused to the rest of the crew.

“Even if we say that he doesn't count, Ed still pushed Lucius off the ship.”

Yes, Ed did do that, but I think that Atticus is talking about Ed’s S2 actions in that point, not what happened in S1. Most (I think all?) meta I’ve read does consider Ed pushing Lucius off the ship an act of violence that Lucius himself did nothing to provoke. 

This might be controversial, but I’d put Ed pushing Lucius overboard on par with, like, a particularly unjust firing in a workplace that isn’t a pirate vessel. When we watch OFMD, we have to adjust our physical violence meters to account for the fact that we’re dealing with an environment that’s full of physical violence.

“Also, emotional abuse directed at the rest of the crew is still abuse”

I don't consider Ed emotionally abusive. He works the crew hard. He’s a terrible boss who doesn’t give his employees vacation days or paid time off and then throws them a sad pizza party. That sucks, it’s not okay, and his final death spiral in S2E2 is terrible and he never should have involved the crew in that. 

Abuse is a pattern of behavior that’s meant to control people. Not all harm is abuse. When I say that Ed isn't abusive, I'm not saying that he didn't hurt people.

“So... I was raised by a physically and psychologically abusive parent. I get that Ed's been hurt, is still hurting, and why. The "why" doesn't matter for the question of "did he or didn't he", though. It may or may not be his fault, he may or may not have done it because he felt unsafe. The point is, his actions did hurt people.”

Same, friend, and I'm sorry you went through that. (That’s actually one of the reasons I’ve always been wary of Izzy. What he says and does in S1 is too familiar to me, sometimes to a point where I can’t watch certain scenes.) I don’t think anyone’s saying that Ed isn’t hurting anyone, or that all of his actions can be attributed to abuse. If that’s not what you’re getting at here, apologies for misunderstanding.

“His boss that he was trying to control was brown.  Was that a factor in his power play though, or was it because Taika wound up being cast as Blackbeard? Any other (white) actor in the role, would Izzy be as bad for trying to control him? Would the scripts have gone a different way?”

Here’s the thing. In the show we have, Blackbeard is played by a Maori/Jewish man, and this fundamentally alters the character. There are things in the show -- whole episodes, if you want to look at S1E5 and the fancy party guests who treat Ed like exotic entertainment and not a peer -- that wouldn’t be the same if Ed was white. 

And yeah, Ed being brown changes the dynamic between Ed and Izzy. It would still be bad if a white guy was trying to control another white guy, but it wouldn’t be bad on the same level. Same goes if they were both brown. A white man trying to control the behavior of an indigenous man is worse.

“Izzy got permanently disfigured, crippled, and dead, while Ed came out largely unscathed in a physical sense, due to Muppet logic. Not to say one is more deserving than the other, but for a bunch of fans, there's probably a sense of Izzy getting the short end of the stick, to consider.”

That’s fine if some people feel like Izzy got the short end of the stick. It’s fine that some people feel like Izzy’s arc was kinder to him than it should have been. It’s okay to feel whatever! We connect emotionally to different characters and that biases our opinions and meta. That’s not a crime. We just need to be aware of our biases and why they exist.

The thing with OFMD is that Ed is a main character with more background and a story that, at every turn, asks you to sympathize with him. We’re given a look into Ed’s psyche. We understand at least some of his trauma and hurt and why he acts the way he does. Izzy has virtually no backstory and we’re never offered a glimpse into his mind; we don’t know why he’s like that. You can totally like a secondary character (or even an antagonist!) with no real canonical background or mental groundwork. It’s fun to ask why characters do what they do when canon doesn’t offer us any answers, and who doesn’t love a mystery box? 

But with OFMD, it can raise eyebrows when people say their main concern is the suffering of a white man who behaves antagonistically towards a brown man, especially when that brown character is a well-developed lead who also suffers (and suffers at the hands of aforementioned white character). It’s not inherently racist for someone to care more about Izzy than Ed, but it’s also not unreasonable to ask that someone to think about the possibility that subconscious racism could be factoring into their point of view.

“I don't think it's fair discussion to have a rule saying ‘even though you didn't directly call out the brown man, your argument is still racist’... even if it's true in many cases, it effectively means that no criticism of the character can ever be considered valid. If someone wants to argue ‘removing your employee's toes and feeding them to him is abusive behavior’, they can't, because of the unspoken skin colors involved? I don't know what the solution to this is.”

No one is saying that all criticism of a character of color is racist or invalid. As allthinky said in response, we’re saying that “those critiques have to be based on real evidence, and placed in a careful context, so that their actions can be understood as human, and not just the brutality of some brute.”

Criticize, but criticize with evidence and with awareness of the context of the criticized behavior. 

With the Izzy example, you have to consider the context of their relationship and Izzy’s actions throughout S1. Izzy isn’t just an employee: he’s a trusted second-in-command who has been insulting, controlling, and disloyal; he endangered not just Stede but also Ed and the rest of the crew; he told Ed that he was better off dead than acting as he was, and that Izzy's loyalty belongs to the violent worksona that Ed wants to shed. Is Ed being abusive when he’s reacting in response to abuse from his abuser? 

“[T]he show has layers (like an onion). Sometimes the meaning is not entirely surface-level, and everyone has a different level of comprehension. Sometimes obvious things to us aren't obvious to other fans/vice-versa. There's a whole 'nother discussion of media literacy to be had.”

I think that Atticus said it best here: “This is not a subtle show. That's not to say it's a simple one [...]. It's amazingly layered and emotional responses by characters are often extremely complex. However, when the show is trying to tell you something, it's not subtle and it never tries to hide it.”

There are a lot of things in OFMD that are subjective and open to interpretation, and those things are fun to discuss even when we have different takes. There are also a lot of things that are very clear. When people try to subvert the messages and ideas that OFMD is conveying loudly and openly, other fans get suspicious and wonder if the folks doing the subverting have an agenda, a bias, or just misunderstand what the show is saying.

I hope that reply was sufficient!

#ofmd #edward teach #the izzy problem #hey what tags do people have blocked if they don't want to see stuff like this? #ofmd discourse #fandom racism

[quibbs126]

Heya! Can you do Dark Choco Cookie and Cotton Cookie child?

So I originally misread Cotton as Cotton Candy (especially since not everyone includes the Cookie part of the name), and I’m not doing Dark Choco/Cotton, so Dark Choco/Cotton Candy it is

Anyways, this is Bubble Choco Cookie

So Bubble Choco here is somewhere in his teens, and he’s an avid poet. However he does not want anyone to read his poems, and will make sure you don’t touch his poetry journal. They’re mostly edgy or sad and they aren’t the best, but it’s how he expresses himself. He’ll just pull out his journal and pencil at random times and start writing

When he was younger, he used to be a lot more cheerful and bubbly, but as he entered his teen years, he started to act more rebellious and “dark”. He never quite gave up his fashion sense though, with his main changes just being that he wears some darker shades

He is also very fond of chocolate, specifically the aerated kind

Okay I’m gonna be honest, I don’t have much for him other than the poet angle. I just kind of decided to finally start drawing him

I also recognize that he has very little of Dark Choco in his character, as well as design, but that’s in part because of the way I envisioned this ship. For one thing, it’s in Ovenbreak so no Dark Cacao Kingdom here, Dark Choco probably just lives with Cotton Candy, and also, it’s a wholesome ship, their kid doesn’t need that much angst. And he’s a poet instead of a fighter, and if he doesn’t want to fight, I don’t see any reason for Dark Choco to teach him; Cotton Candy doesn’t seem to live in an area that requires much sword fighting or the like

Anyways, on to design stuff

So Bubble Choco is based on aerated chocolate, since it’s like a really light chocolate, and cotton candy is also light (I’m talking weight btw). Also, I’ve eaten this kind of chocolate before (I quite enjoy Aero bars), and I quite like it

I think another name I was considering was Air Choco, since it’s closer to the actual name of the ingredient, but Bubble Choco works better as a name

Aerated chocolate:

So as I said earlier, I kind of made him for the sake of making him and doing more of these, so there wasn’t a super big amount of thought out into him. I do still like how he turned out though

All I really had to go on initially was the poet angle (I didn’t even reread my old notes), and I wasn’t really sure where to go with his personality until I started tweaking his expression. He was also originally going to be a girl but somewhere in development I decided “eh, why not have him be a boy?” and there you have it

I also knew I wanted him to have black poofy hair with things in it. It was originally more of a curved line in between the ends, but I changed it when I looked at Cotton Candy’s hair more. Though I kind of wish I had kept it now. There was also an old concept I mad ages ago that also had that hair, but it was longer. Don’t know why it’s this current length

After doing the hair, I wasn’t really sure what to do with the outfit, and I kind of just made something up as I went. He’s got the poofy ends of his jacket because of the whole “bubble” thing. I wanted to give him more poofy stuff

His colors are brown and light green become the Aero bars I usually see are regular chocolate (brown) and mint (light green). The pink was added to there’d be a little more color variation

As for the thing in his eye, it’s because of Cotton Candy’s heart eyes and me liking to put stuff in the eyes in place of that. Bubble Choco’s eye thing is supposed to be a sort of reference to Dark Choco with his star, though I didn’t bother to curve it out. And as I realize now, the eye I chose is also his missing eye and the star eye of the SoD. I’d like to claim that was intentional, but it wasn’t

And anyways yeah, there you have it. Bubble Choco. Don’t really have much else to say other than I hope you enjoyed him

#finally another fankid made #and I’m also realizing there’s a few I haven’t released because I either never got around to finishing the desc #or I was meandering on saying they were finished and haven’t done their sketches #but they’re complete enough for me to skim over them when I scroll #eh I’ll deal with those another time #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #dark choco cookie #cotton candy cookie #fankid #fanchild #cookie run oc #bubble choco cookie #my ocs #my art #requests #answers