#not tagging all the other characters because most of them barely have lines

[wistfulcynic]

a non-izzy-centric reading of the events of season two

i didn't really want to get into this because it's so, so tiresome and i'd rather talk about the things i loved about this season. Poison, positivity, etc. But.

reading this post about people doubting their own judgement due to the overwhelming noise from Izzy stans along with a rewatch of season two from start to finish made me realise that i too had been influenced by a year and a half of being intensely frustrated by people insisting so loudly that OFMD was in fact the Izzy Hands Show. My initial issues with S2 mostly stemmed from overcompensating for that by resenting any development of Izzy on the screen because i did not want it to feed those people. Which meant that i also was centring Izzy in a way that he should not be centred! i was letting their noise lead me to read him as far more important than he actually is.

So i looked back at several points from the season that had me feeling uncomfortable and which, from a cursory browse through the Izzy tag i've concluded his stans see as a contradiction or a betrayal or something and re-evaluated them from the perspective of Izzy not being a main fucking character.

point one: "He's our dick."

When Archie (a newcomer and therefore a fairly effective audience stand-in for anyone not balls deep in fandom bullshit) asks Jim why they're going to so much trouble for Izzy, who she has immediately clocked as "kind of a dick", Jim gives this response. Which, if you think Izzy is important, may read as an expression of reluctant fondness. But then, Jim continues: "There was a time when life meant something on this ship. When we lived for each other, not just to survive." These lines are punctuated by a flashback to the famous Revenge crew found-family Renaissance-painting moment. Jim is nostalgic for the "good old days" of the Revenge under Stede's people-positive management style. It is out of respect for that (seemingly) lost way of life that they take the trouble for Izzy, not for Izzy himself. They'd have done the same for anyone, because they desperately want life to matter again. Izzy, as the person whose gamy leg is a direct result of his threatening Ed and bringing the kraken era down on all of them, is simply the one whose life happens to be on the line.

(honestly, i love this from Jim, who was one of Stede's boldest detractors in season one and still the crew member most likely to call him out on his bullshit. That's your "reluctant fondness" moment right there.)

point two: the new unicorn

apparently Izzy stans see the gift of the unicorn leg prosthetic as a symbol of deep love and respect from the crew to Izzy. Which is an absolutely wild reading when you look at what led up to it.

There's tension on the ship. Divisions. Lucius is chain-smoking and jump-scared by his own shadow. Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang are overcome by guilt over their mutiny and frantically scrubbing nonexistent blood from the deck in what is a fantastically darkly funny Lady Macbeth moment for them. Izzy is sloppy drunk and yelling nonsensical abuse at the unicorn masthead. Roach, Pete, Oluwande, and Wee John make a well-intentioned but ill-conceived attempt to bring everyone back together (i say "everyone" but Izzy, significantly, is not included) which leads to them all being at each other's throats in the sort of mutually-assured-destruction configuration that starts world wars. It's a great scene. Izzy is not a part of it.

until he interrupts them, throws the unicorn legs at them and in his drunken clumsiness breaks his prosthetic. He then pointedly refuses their offers of assistance and drags himself away along the floor by his arms.

my friends. This is peak pathos. The crew do not respect Izzy in this moment, they feel sorry for him. They realise that he's worse off than any of the rest of them and that knowledge brings them back together. Making the unicorn prosthetic is barely about Izzy at all. It's about the crew coming together, repairing the rifts in their found family and as a bonus helping out their grumpy second cousin who doesn't really want to be there but has nowhere else to go. It's also a very generous offer of a new place on the ship--as the new unicorn--and a fresh start. Because that's what life on the Revenge is. For everyone.

point three: la vie en rose

much has been made of Izzy putting on drag makeup and singing at the Calypso birthday party, and fair enough. That's a big character development point for him. i don't hate it, though i wish there'd been more build-up to it, a longer conversation between Izzy and Wee John at least (insert obligatory "fuck Max" here) but regardless, if we accept Izzy's amputated leg as cutting off his old self and replacing it with the unicorn then we can arrive at a place where he's able to participate in a drag performance without too much cognitive gymnastics.

i've written before about the curious choice to have Izzy sing La Vie En Rose in French (after he initially sang it in English) at the very moment when Ed and Stede are having sex for the first time. On first watch i felt viscerally troubled by it, it felt like a validation of the obsessive psychosexual reading of Izzy's feelings for Ed. Looking at the season as a whole, it feels more like a (cringy, creepy, waaaay over the line) attempt on his part to signal approval for Ed and Stede's relationship. Especially when taken in conjunction with his (super creepy, like wtf who greenlit this) interruption of their breakfast in bed the next morning to make a ham-fisted innuendo. Weird but okay i guess, it's not like Izzy and social niceties have ever gone hand in hand.

many people point to the drag scene as the crew embracing Izzy and welcoming him as one of them. Again, i don't disagree. But, also again, this is not specific to Izzy. This is just what they do. They also embraced Archie with her snake-cult stories, they re-embraced Ed (who yes, they do love, refutations of arguments that they don't love Ed are a whole other essay though) and later they embrace Zheng and Auntie and also Jackie who once stole their savings jar and threatened to cut off their noses. That's what they do! They embrace people! That's what the show is about!

point four: the death scene

i have to be honest, i still hate this. i don't hate that Izzy died, i hate that he died in Ed's arms with Ed calling him his only family. That still feels unearned to me, and alas was probably another victim of the shortened season. But even with this extremely kind and forgiving death scene, the stans are not satisfied! They feel that the entire crew should have been gathered round, assuring Izzy of their profound love for him. There should have been weeping at the funeral, wailing and gnashing of teeth, rending of garments etc. It's what he deserves as such a beloved member of the crew!

except he wasn't beloved. He was accepted, yes. Welcomed, even. But acceptance is a far cry from love. Cheering as someone sings a song at a party does not mean you feel ready to weep at their deathbed or proclaim your undying affection for them.

yet even so, the crew are visibly distraught at his death scene. There are tears in many eyes! But effusive declarations of feeling from any one of them other than Ed would have felt (to anyone not convinced Izzy is the main character) completely wrong and very weird. You can headcanon what you like to fill the gaps in canon but on screen we have seen very few meaningful interactions between Izzy and any of the existing crew aside from Fang and Lucius and to a lesser extent Wee John. Izzy's primary relationship with another character is with Ed and so, as much as i still don't like it, Ed is the only one who has any real reason to be at Izzy's side as he dies.

as for the brevity of the funeral and the fact that they went straight from it to Pete and Lucius's wedding instead of having, idk, a prolonged wake at which everyone speaks at length about how important Izzy was to them, i mean. Obviously that wasn't going to happen. More than enough screen time had already been given to a side character who spent most of it either being miserable himself or making others so. It was time for the rest of them to find some moments of joy. As Izzy himself said, not moving on is worse.

in conclusion, i'd like to address the people saying that Izzy should have lived so he could continue his arc of self-discovery and sure, that would have been great--on the Izzy Hands Show. But OFMD is about Ed and Stede and Izzy had served his purpose in their story. i feel certain there will be copious fanfics to soothe anyone who feels Izzy was shortchanged.

on the show, though, he was treated in a very logical and foreseeable way as the antagonist who was able to see the light at the end but not necessarily to thrive in such a well-lit environment. Literature (by which i mean also films and tv) abounds with examples of this sort of character. They see the error of their ways but they are too stuck in them, shaped by them, to exist comfortably in any other way. They help bring about change to benefit others and not for themselves, that is the bittersweet beauty of their endings.

Izzy let Ed go. He embraced the softer parts of himself. He died surrounded by people who may not have loved him but at least accepted him as one of their own and felt genuine sorrow about his passing. That is a satisfying narrative end for a reformed antagonist! If you truly feel that he was shortchanged by it then you have forgotten what show you're watching and what sort of character he was.

Izzy Hands: not the main character, still an interesting one, absolute nightmare, what a guy.

#our flag means death #ofmd meta #ofmd season two #izzy critical #the izcourse #izzy hands meta #sorry not sorry to people who are going to hate this post but writing it has been therapeutic for me #i'm tired of hating a character on a show i love so much so i shall go back to thinking of him as the nasty rat man and focusing on faves #saira has Thoughts

[skcirthinq]

What's the line? 'How was the catharsis? Was the catharsis good?'

*me, face screwed up and holding back tears* it was good.

Yeah, so I read "Little kid with a big death wish" by @remedyturtles and. You guys. You GUYS. It's so. Heart-wrending and evocative and so so well written. Like. I'm going to have turtle fanfiction stapled in my soul now.

It's a post kraang fic, but like. Mostly about the characters (mostly Leo) and how they're dealing with stuff ... Emotionally... Mentally. Physically. There's also TMNT shenanigans about what exactly is going on with Leo.

I recommend it fully, with the caveat of minding the tags, please.

Descriptions under the cut, with two more works I'm adding in a reblog, because I. Goddamned. Ran out of room. Spoilers ahead.

(Descriptions of sketch illustrations of various scenes from the fic) Image 1: A badly injured Leo is laying against some pillows, with a blanket pulled up around his chest. He has bandages, cuts, and bruises littering his visible body, and one of his arms is gone, with bandages around the remainder. His eyes are open, but his expression is vacant and unseeing. Mikey and Raph, also showing signs of battle damage, are sleeping; Mikey is resting his face in his crossed arms on the side of Leo's bed, looking upset even in his sleep. Raph is right behind Mikey, also leaning his face into his arm, with the other arm resting on Mikey's back and head. Donnie is sitting behind them, looking at his brothers with an unhappy grimace. He is also visibly injured, and wearing a hoodie. None of them are wearing their masks.

Image 2: Raph is sitting down, tense and holding his hand. He looks up with an... Intense face, as his brothers come into the room. Donnie and Mikey are supporting Leo, and Donnie is holding Leo's crutch. They all look upset. Because Somebody 'broke his hand. Like a boss.'

Image 3: Leo sobs into Splinter's lap, gripping tightly onto his dad. Future Leo (who isn't there physically) is bent over sobbing as well, holding his face in his hand. Everybody's crying.

Image 4: Mikey is facing Leo, both of them sitting in bed. Leo has a panicked look on his face as he tries not to dissociate, while Mikey is holding Leo's hand to his chest. They are having a Talk tm.

Image 5: Future Leo is laying prone in a sea of muck and mud. It's covering most of him. Present Leo is crouched on top of F! Leo's chest, upset and tired, but determined, wiping some of the mud off of F! Leo's face. He is also covered in the mud.

Image 6: A bandaged, but healing, Raph is looking straight on. His mask is pulled up showing his eyes and forehead, which are scarred from the kraang. He looks near tears, exhausted, as he begs Leo not to dissociate again, promising that he's got him.

Image 7: A tense and upset Donnie, wearing a tank top that shows his scarred shell, is tightly hugging Leo, who is laying down. Leo is gripping back tightly, but away from Donnie's shell, and trying to hug with his stump. Leo is present and smiling a little, cracking jokes.

Image 8: A split screen, wherein Donnie, Raph, and Mikey formally meet Sensei. Mikey is confused and worried, turning back towards what they're facing (Sensei). Raph has a hooded jacket on, and is slightly crouched, with a hand on Donnie's shoulder. He's concerned but less upset than the others. Donnie's. Mad. And has his bo out and pressed to Sensei's neck. He's standing straight and speaking, glaring at Sensei. He's wearing an oversized T-shirt that says 'Autism Wins'. On the other side of the split, Sensei, piloting Leo's body, is sitting up straight, and calm, with Donnie's bo against his throat. He's replying to the present boys. He's in bed, with a blanket around his waist. Because the artist will take any opportunity to cover up a body with a blanket.

Image 9: A back view of Donnie, sitting cross-legged. He's tense, and has his arms crossed tightly in front of himself. His shell is covered in tentacle patterned swirls of barely healed wounds from the technodrome. Leo's arm is visible in the foreground, hand tightly gripping the blanket Donnie is sitting on. The pov is from Leo's eyes.

Image 10: An upset and crying Mikey, dressed in a shirt and vest, with his socks and gloves on, is leaning with his back against the wall. He's got his mask pushed up, and is wiping his tears away with his forearm, since his hands are covered in chalk. The ninpo marks and bandages are peeking out from under his gloves. Leo is sitting down beside him, using his crutch to lower himself down. He's wearing his mask, socks, a braided bracelet, and a jean jacket over a shirt, with his swords on his back. He's concerned about Mikey.

#illustration #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt fanart

[taralen]

Why I draw Spamton the way I do and in defense of the "Tumblr sexyman" Spamton G. Spamton. An ESSAY.

EDIT 2/3/24 - Fixed some grammatical errors, changed font colors to make them easier to read against a white background, and reframed some of my arguments, especially regarding the "Yaoi style" portion, as it came across as ignorant and spiteful.

I follow the #spamton tag here, and I hate to say it, but it's full of artists jabbing at other artists who so happen to draw Spamton handsome. I see comments like, "No, he's a middle-aged sleazeball who is grungy and dirty." Often, these depictions show him with graying hair, ratty clothes, and covered in filth and grime. While there is nothing inherently wrong about drawing him this way, I find it disingenuous that the same people who draw him this way criticize people who draw him more handsome and or clean-cut because this depiction is even less based on his canon appearance than someone simply drawing him more realistically proportioned and with a pleasing visage (the definition of what this is varies by artist, but they're all often reduced to just "tumblr sexyman.") I see similar comments by people who draw him in what they may describe as "disgusting" or a "dirty scammer."

If Toby intended for Spamton to look dirty and gross, he would have simply gone with a similar design route to this character as an NPC in Undertale.

Toby or other official arts never depict him with the following, even though I see it in fan art all the time:

Ball-jointed hands. Some artists draw them properly and make them look super cool. Simple lines aren't how they look in reality, but I get why people do that. Either way, it's not canon.

Dirty with tattered clothes. Spamton is only ever shown with a black blazer. It's debatable if he wears pants, but Toby has also drawn him with a collared shirt and tie.

Graying hair. Should be obvious. He's only ever seen with jet-black hair.

Overweight/Fat. While some fan depictions of this are cute, it's not canon. Spamton is always drawn thin but not necessarily in shape.

Buff. Same as the above. It looks really good in some fanart but is also not canon.

Tail. It can look really, really cute, but not canon for him or any of the Addisons.

Feathers. Only Swatch and the Swatchlings are depicted with feathers in Cyber World.

"40+ years old" - There is zero evidence of this in-game or in official merchandise or media. This assumption apparently comes from people assuming that his birthday would be the same as the first "spam email," which (at the time of this writing) was 46 years ago. This is a false equivalency since there is no indication that Spamton has any associations with our real-world history of spam emails. It should also be noted that this was not a true spam email. The only thing closest to Spamton in association with real spam email history may be his favorite year, 1997, in which spam marketing emails became frequent nuisances. However, actions to stop spam mail started in 1996, and it was by the 2000s that they became a serious concern because technology had since advanced. If he were truly born in 1978, he would only be 19 by 1997. While not impossible, it's not how most people see him in his Big Shot years of barely just entering adulthood. Also, as someone who has lived through most of the 90s, I can attest to a lot of this. Spam stuff existed, but news reports only heavily got into it by the 2000s.

100% Inorganic or Robot. While a cool idea, there is more evidence against this, like his ability to eat, sleep, and genuinely feel pain.

Boobs. I get most people who do this are doing it for fun, but it's not canon to his design, lol.

Tall. The most obvious one. Spamton is below average height, as made evident by his nearly 1:1 scale with Kris, a teenager.

Toddler-sized. Same as above. I won't lie that it can be drawn super cute, though. Haha!

With all that being said, why is it such a contention among his fans to depict him as handsome?

There is evidence to support that Spamton is at least, to some degree, good-looking but unconventionally attractive based on several sources. It should be noted that people often use his shop sprite as the best representation of his head, but this isn't accurate, either. In Undertale and Deltarune, because of its cartoonish sprites, it shouldn't surprise anyone that Spamton's are the most inaccurate and change frequently. Another user posted an entire comparison of all his sprites and how drastically inconsistent they are. I tried searching through my likes for this, but I can't find it. If anyone finds this, please link or reblog it to this post. Anyway, the intent of the post was to show artists that there are numerous different ways you can interpret Spamton's design with what's provided in the game, alone.

Stuff people often miss that is canon:

Lips. Believe it or not, this bastard's got kissable lips. Toby's recent art and his Neo attack are proof of this.

Eyes under the glasses. Seen in his sprite of going "BIG SHOT" the first time with Kris. It also hints at heterochromia because they contrast in color with yellow pupils under the pink and pink under the yellow.

NEO has no visible jaw hinge line. Only puppet Spamton does. Big Shot Spamton doesn't have one, either.

NEO's glasses' colors are reversed, and they are pince-nez style.

Androgynous sense of fashion. This is the least missed one, but it's worth mentioning. Spamton has no issues wearing pink, a color nowadays associated with women, and the NEO body has fabulous heels in addition to mostly being a magenta pink. The dress on the mannequin that greatly resembles him (and may hint at him being a white Addison before) shows a pretty dress that mirrors the one Mettaton wore in Undertale.

So then, WHY is he being depicted as handsome or unconventionally good-looking a BAD thing?

There really shouldn't be an issue with it at all. It's less offensive and technically more canon than many of the supposed depictions of him being a sleazebag who looks like he hasn't showered in a century and is hooked up on drugs or booze. You don't become a media darling without a charming personality. Mettaton only got successful in Undertale before he got his EX body because there was literally nothing else the people could watch. Spamton, on the other hand, was competing against many, so he had to stand out and look good even with the help of Mike (and possibly Tenna).

I often see people make this very reductive argument that it's a "yaoi style." This is by far one of the stupidest arguments I've ever seen. Drawing good-looking men is NOT equivalent to liking Yaoi. There are plenty of other genres of Asian-origin or Anime-styled media that feature pretty boys that have nothing to do with Boy's Love. Even Shounen anime has some bishies. Drawing bishounen-style male characters is a design choice and does not indicate someone's interest in Yaoi media. I swear, I have never seen this problem with Eastern fans. It's rude to lump people with similar art styles under something most people who make this claim don't even understand. I've seen people make upset comments about other people calling their style stuff like "Cal-Arts" even if they never went to Cal-Arts or like the media produced by them. It's the same principle. Stop lumping entire artists under one umbrella.

I draw him handsome because it's simply the way I see him. I love many other depictions of him, undoubtedly, and I even have a sticker set that depicts him with the graying hair, but it looks really good anyway. My point is, the fact that people who draw him dark and handsome shouldn't be scrutinized any more than people who draw him way more off base.

My personal contentions with the assumption he is a "dirty sleazebag old man."

I find this absolutely hilarious because this is a genuine stereotype and stock character of people similar to him. The douchebag salesman is a trope that's been around for a long time, but people don't seem to realize that this is a caricature and not representative of real salespeople.

Go to any @$%^ing department store or even an electronics one. Do you ever see anyone selling you stuff looking like they crawled out of the trash? Most are lower-class people who can't find any other job, meaning they are stuck with sales. It takes skill to be a good salesman, and I hate to brag, but I can probably sell you a #@$%ing soap bar and convince you that the extra $10 you're spending on it over a drugstore brand is better for your hands by deeply moisturizing them through herbal extracts and only "naturally" derived cleansing agents. Your hands are dry from the cold, drawing moisture out of them, so the investment would be worth it for the health of your skin during this harsh winter season. Why risk a drugstore brand that will only make your hands feel even rougher, flakier, and cracked? Stuff like this requires you to look someone in the eyes and observe who they are—their body language, way of carrying themselves, and the cadence of how they respond to your words. Does it always work? No. However, do you think anyone would $%^&ing buy ANY LEGAL PRODUCT if a salesperson looked like they were a shady crack dealer who was suspicious as %^&( to deal with? NO. It's a stereotype caricature for a REASON. It's meant to demean the reality of the salesperson who is forced to peddle a stupid product for a living. It's hard, and if anything, GET MAD at the people who are the ones making the crappy product! Yeah, some salesmen are bad at their jobs, but do you really believe that Cyber City's #1 RATED SALESMAN got there from being mediocre?! He may have gotten outside help for something that Toby never made clear, but he definitely does NOT lack the personality to make a great salesman. And believe it or not, there is plenty of evidence to prove he WASN'T bad at it! The other NPCs sell stuff that was once his goods but with his labels removed, and based on his statement of wanting to "make his own deals," this heavily implies he was NOT selling products he wanted to sell before he became a Big Shot. He has a strong sense of pride in the way he sees and presents himself, and I think this may be overlooked by people who make him look as ratty as possible.

I will also CLEARLY state this but this depiction overall does several of the following, which I KNOW many people will say is bad:

Ageism. Why do so many people, mostly Zoomers, assume that a man in his 40s is washed-up, gross, or even considered old? I've seen hotter men in their 40s than some young men in their early 20s.

Downplays his mental health struggles. One of the best things about Spamton is how he DOESN'T play into just the "sleazebag" stereotype. Once we go into his shop, we see that he is truly just a very broken man. His theme song is a FARCE to try and convince you that he's tougher than he really is.

Classist/Poor-Shaming. The assumption that a homeless person has to have no sense of cleanliness. Please, for the love of all that is good, meet actual homeless people. Not all of them are like this. Spamton clearly keeps himself rather clean for someone who dumpster dives. He is trying to stay true to himself, and his sense of self is one of pride. There is no dialogue or description to imply he smells or lacks proper hygiene.

Again, while there is nothing inherently wrong with drawing him this way, I just want people to be more aware of why they draw him this way. Think of it like a thought experiment to reflect on why you see him the way you do. How I draw Spamton comes from a place of deep empathy, love, and life experiences I've had in sales in addition to ALWAYS being customer-facing, meaning I know what works and what doesn't for over a DECADE. It's rather bizarre to me that people who claim to be big fans of him draw him in such a demeaning way that goes beyond the canon depiction and lowers him to absolute dirt, almost like beating this character with the ugly stick just because it's "funny." Is he a tragic character to you? Or is he simply a clown to laugh at for his failures and hardships? How we depict and see people is utterly fascinating because it reflects in real life, too.

You can take the exact same person and show them to different groups of people, and they will all see the same person differently. They don't have to be artists, but they tend to vary if you ask their opinions. For example, I think the actor Mads Mikkelsen is very attractive, but I know many who wouldn't understand why. A guy I've had a crush on for years is one of the hottest men ever to me, but a friend of mine called him "just a guy."

I fully understand that some people find the way I draw him stupid. It is what it is. I can't force you to like it.

I'm simply trying to point out my reasonings for why I draw him this way, and I would like others to think about their methods, too, and NOT to bash other people outright or go "ewww Yaoi tumblr sexyman" just because someone doesn't depict him with stereotypical traits or as "100% canon style" (which is mostly just copying the game's sprite style.)

#musings #character analysis #character design analysis #spamton #essay #spamton g spamton #deltarune #big shot spamton #spamton neo #sneo #cw long post #long post #art style study #art style

[kopfkino-o]

where are all the elriels? I feel like im barely seeing them anymore, all I hear is gwyn and az and elain and lucien. 😭

WE ARE HERE, BABES! WE ARE HERE!!

You just have to curate your space and find the gems in the fandom, which there’s many of, on all sides! It’s different on all platforms.

But here on Tumblr there’s so many cool Elriel creators!! The wonderful @nikethestatue @elriell @violetasteracademic @silverlinedeyes @emmitaaa4 @psychee92 @merymoonbeam @acotar-taylorsversion and @acourtoflight are all great accounts to follow if you’re looking for some to start out with.

There’s also so many other amazing creators, theorieists, artists, and writers!! @bloomingdarkgarden has one of my most favorite fics of all time! And my lovely pal @gracie-rosee has some amazing Elriel art pieces!

I’ve always thought the Elriel/pro-Elain side(s) of the fandom aren’t as loud in online spaces, but we are definitely here, and we love theorizing, talking canon, and discussing meta on not just Elain, but other characters and potential plot lines too!! And it seems like there are more and more Elriel stans entering the fandom spaces each day, which is amazing!

Like I said, my biggest advice is to curate your space and utilize the elriel-related tags to the best of your ability! Because there’s so many awesome folks in our little corner of the fandom who have some really interesting ideas and things to say.

So welcome nonnie, if you’re new!! And hello again if you aren’t! My inbox is always open if you/anyone ever wants to gush, theorize, rant, or just say hello 🫶🏻

[nakunakunomi]

This is my contribution to a secret santa discord server event. This fic is warm and fluffy and I LOVED writing it, I love these characters SO much. I hope you like it too!

Warnings/notes/tags are: polyamory, unspecified AU where Geto is not evil, unspecified whether this is a non-cursed world or a jujutsu AU where we just ignore the presence of curses. Loads and loads and loads of fluff.

2nd person. Reader is genderneutral, no pronouns are used.

Spending the winter holidays with Geto and Gojo is… 

…finding time in your busy schedules so the three of you can enjoy a winter market.

Strolling along the little stalls, taking in the views and the smells. It’s winter, and it has been dark for a while, but all the twinkling lights decorating the stalls reflecting into the white snow -both real and fake- make up for all that darkness. The smells are a little overwhelming at first, all kinds of stalls lined up flooding your senses with strong, sweet odors, heavy spices and the warmth of grilled meats… it’s a lot, combined with the sights and the jolly music playing from the speakers spread around the market, you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. 

It doesn’t help that Satoru is immediately overly enthusiastic, ready to spend money on souvenirs and gifts for all the students and everyone else he knows, and pointing out all the stalls he’d like to try the food at. He’d run off without you two if it weren’t for Suguru’s quick reflexes, grabbing onto the hood of his jacket and janking him back. Suguru’s holding your hand firmly in his, grounding you from all the things overwhelming your senses. 

You stroll past the stalls, for some reason holding a whole bunch of bags from Satoru, who just can’t seem to stop getting stuff. At every stall there is something that reminds him of one of his studens, his friends or either of you, and he just has to get it. 

You leave the market filled with all kinds of foods and drinks, Suguru suggesting a little break amongst the food stalls, and Gojo getting a little bit of everything to sample, completely filling the little table you are standing at with various containers and plates, one smelling and looking more delicious than the other. You have to fight a little to ensure you get to sample some of the sweet desserts, and all three of you end up with smears on your faces from various sauces- feeding each other is romantic only when you don’t joke around and miss mouths on purpose (and of course you had to have revenge). 

… snuggling up on the couch, shivering and sniffling, full of regret but still shaking from laughter, after Suguru sneakily started a snowball fight on your way home. 

You had felt the cold snow collide with the back of your head and turned around immediately, throwing an accusatory glare at Satoru, who immediately put his hands up in defense. 

“I swear y/n- It wasn’t me I-…” 

His pleas immediately interrupted by yet another snowball, this one narrowly missing the tip of his nose, the both of you whipping your heads around to see Suguru standing with his hands hidden behind his back, giving you both his most innocent smile before grinning and throwing two more snowballs at the both of you simultaneously, a remarkable display of his aim and strength. Though this time you saw them coming and both you and Satoru managed to duck away in time, already grabbing handfuls of snow for your counter-offense. 

The two-against-one-match quickly turned into an all-out battle where each of you had to fend for themselves, because you slipped and nearly fell, throwing one of your snowballs to Satoru, who had promptly declared you his enemy as well. 

You spent almost two hours laughing, running around, hiding from snowballs and each other, you felt like kids again. As if there was not a single care in the world. You continued until your stomach hurt from laughing, your fingers ached from the cold, and you could barely feel your face anymore. 

The minute your little snowball fight was over, you realized just how much snow had melted and had managed to get through to your clothes, despite your gloves, scarf and jacket protecting you from most of the cold. 

You went back inside, changing into warm clothes, fluffy socks and cuddling up on the couch. You put on a silly movie for some background noise and entertainment, Suguru retrieved the blankets and Satoru prepped hot cocoa, overflowing your mugs with way too many mini marshmallows, offering to ‘help’ either one of you if you thought there were too many for you to eat- how kind of him. 

You sat in between the two men, knees pulled up and neatly tucked under the blanket. You barely registered the movie you put on, too busy getting warmed up and enjoying the serenity and pure happiness you felt in that moment. 

…making all kinds of plans, only to spend most of the holiday resting and chilling. 

There were things that had to be done: some household chores as well as work, and there were some things that you wanted to do for fun. Going to visit a new shopping center nearby, explore some city sights you hadn’t had the chance to. You wanted to go out on some dates, go for long walks enjoying the winter landscapes, relax, not worry and stress too much. There was work to be done, but work would always be there, and opportunities to relax and do fun things were scarce, especially in periods where the three of you were available. 

Suguru is a go with the flow kind of person, so he’s happy to tag along to whatever plans you make. Satoru however, is like a kid in a candy store when there is suddenly a lot of free time on your hands, and he is on the couch with his laptop in no time, ready to order tickets to anything you wanna visit, booking trips, and talking about so many plans you wonder out loud where he thinks he’s going to find the time to do all that. 

The fact that you finally can relax makes all the plans seem exciting though, and initially you are 100% behind Satoru, adding on suggestions, sending him links and scrolling on your phone, doing additional research for a lot of the places and activities he suggests. You do listen to Suguru who suggests only really booking things when you’re sure you can go do it, when timing, planning, transport, other plans and your energy levels are all aligned and allow you to do the activity.

He turns out to be the voice of reason, cause all three of you have such a hard time getting up in the morning, finally getting to sleep in (and it’s quite hard getting up when you’re in someone else's arms, comfortable and warm). 

Chores -unless really necessary- get postponed, plans get cancelled. Instead you stay in, watching silly movies, and finally catching up on the latest series you really wanted to watch. You go on walks together, exploring your own neighborhood and stopping at restaurants you haven’t had the chance to try out yet. You focus all your time and effort on quality time and enjoying the time all three of you have together. And you very quickly realize that truly, you do not need to have big and exciting plans to make the most of your winter break. 

… sharing a bed, because it is ‘cold’ outside. 

You leave your windows open at night, because it’s healthier, and you don’t like feeling all stuffy in the morning. There is a certain charm about entering a cold room and snuggling underneath the warm blankets, warming up as you fall asleep, and waking up in your own little warm cocoon. Especially if you have no further responsibilities that day, your blankets keeping you trapped in bed on a cold winter day, sleeping in. 

It is a little less exciting though when the temperatures drop abruptly, and the room is not nice and chilly, but actually is freezing when you go in. You are shivering when you get changed, and your blankets just don’t feel right. Your feet might as well be blocks of ice in your warm, fuzzy, socks. 

It only takes a few minutes of tossing and turning before you decide you need to get a better source of heat in your bed. Or a bed, doesn’t necessarily matter which one. 

So you wrap yourself in a blanket, carefully closing the door behind you, and shuffle your way through the dark hallway, only to find Satoru -your current target- standing in the hallway, mirroring yourself with his blanket wrapped around you as well. 

“It’s too cold in my room”, is the only thing you can blurt out as an explanation, feeling the overwhelming need to explain, even though that’s not necessary. He just nods in acknowledgement, and you need no further words between the two of you to know what the next step is. 

Suguru is already peacefully asleep in a room that’s colder than the rest of the house, but not freezing temperature. Leave it to him to actually properly figure out when to open and close the windows in his room to reach maximum oxygen and the best possible temperature to still be able to snuggle underneath the blankets without risking to freeze overnight. 

Suguru is a quiet sleeper, almost too silent, and you worry you might have woken him up by opening his door. But you didn’t; he merely stirs in his sleep, lips parting in a quiet sigh, hand moving up a little to lay on top of the raven hair that’s splayed upon his pillow. 

You are both as quiet as possible when you enter, Suguru only waking up when you both slip into the bed to either side of him, piling your blankets on top of him and snuggling close. There is a brief moment of surprise, followed by a very sleepy nod of acknowledgement. All three of you take a little time to adjust to three people in the bed, and it’s not entirely sure whose limbs are entangling with who, but it doesn’t matter as you can already feel your body relaxing the second you find a comfortable position. 

Your eyelids grow heavy while you hear Suguru and Satoru quietly converse in the background. You squeeze an arm that is around you, a quiet way of saying goodnight. 

…feeling warm, no matter the temperature. Because you are safe. You are loved. 

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #gojo x reader #geto x gojo x reader #satosugu #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #polyam #winter fic #holiday fic #reader insert #second person #GN reader #secret santa #fluff #humor #cosy #jjk reader insert

[bohemian-nights]

https://www.tumblr.com/drakaripykiros130ac/732901209272467456/i-am-just-loving-the-so-called-concern-tg-stans

This is how I find out an anti-nettles tag exists of Tumblr people are so shallow minded and miss the point George's original story people really think just because these dumbass show runner decided the race-bend an entire group of characters for cheap brownie points of representation that it means Nettles no longer matters like no, it may no longer be about race just because the writers are trying to force feminism onto Rhaenyra's character but it's still about class. A low born orphan at just the age of 17 was capable of doing what dozens of well trained knights failed to do. She survived one of the biggest civil wars in Westeros history, she had one of the last surviving dragons of the dance (who cares who's the biggest, oldest, most shiny etc etc it was Nettles and her dragon that outlived them all in the end) AND she was capable if creating an entire culture around herself (the tribes could've easily over powdered her but instead chose to worship and respect her) mind you all she had was a dragon, she had no titles just her name. Also, she's a few of the very few characters in the books that show care and remorse, she mourned Jace someone she barely knew and cried for Driftmark despite having lived a life previously where she was mistreated and starving on the streets. I swear these Dumbnyra stans deserve their names (Dumbnyra), and just because some of us are pro-Nettles, it doesn't automatically make use of team Green, Team Green can kick rocks as well because they are such hypocrites, whining and complaining about how their fav characters were stripped of importance and reduced to a singular thing yet they turn around and strip Nettles's character as a gotcha moment towards to Dumbnyra stans, as if her relationship with Daemon is the only thing important to her character. These stans also need to realize the Nettles is one of George's favorite characters whose stories he'd like to continue.

👆🏽That’s for the fact that this racist(who I should mention I’m blocked by for no reason🤣) actually knows how to tag things properly. I’ll give her that, but who exactly died and made her an authority on Black representation?

Dumbnyra stans this is exactly why people keep calling you people racists:

Do tell me how white a** Alys Rivers(no disrespect, but come on) had more purpose than a girl who shows that Targaryen supremacy is a lie? The girl that shows you don’t need Valyrian blood to claim a dragon.

The girl that George himself said he wanted to write a novella on(never heard him say that about Alys, Addam, Alyn, any of the other dragonseeds, Rhaena, and Baela)🤷🏽‍♀️

They are so blinded by the fact that she “ruins” Dumbnyra(which isn’t what they claim it is which is why they are scared sh*tless of her being on a show they claim doesn’t matter) that they make up lies about Nettles being the most irrelevant character in Fire & Blood.

This can never be irrelevant/unimportant/unnecessary/whatever else you want to say to demean her:

That happened long after the Dance boo boo(when Missy Anne’s a** was long dead 😊).

And if the one who wrote that garbage happens to be reading this(because I know you people are stalking me), f*ck you. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. You've crossed the line.

You’re a bigot. You have no right to speak on Black representation let alone say we are good on representation that doesn’t even affect you and that you have no understanding of.

And you definitely don’t care about representation because if you did you wouldn’t want Rhaena who has her own arc to replace Nettles who according to you wasn’t Daemon’s lover. If she’s just his daughter or his mentee, well then you have nothing to be worried about. Her presence on the show shouldn’t disrupt your putrid little white supremacist ship or make Missy Anne look bad since what happened at Maidenpool was all a big misunderstanding and Mysaria’s fault😊 You shouldn’t give a second thought to her.

Yes, Black people care about this issue(and even if some of us are a part of Team Green because that’s the majority I see from Team Green actually caring about her, then so what🙃).

Do you see how we are portrayed by the media? Do you see what happens to Black characters in TV shows and movies? To Black women characters? Do you see how they are treated by production and the fandom?

What you people are doing isn’t new. Just look at The Bear, Sleepy Hollow, Vampire Diaries, Star Trek, Star Wars, GOT(see how Missandei was done), and Marvel fandoms(there are more than that I’m just too tired to get into it).

The moment there is even a hint of a possibility that a Black woman might be in a relationship with the fandom hottie, hell the moment a Black woman doesn’t have a stereotypical role, all hell breaks loose and you people look for every excuse and spout out the same tired crap on why so and so is irrelevant, is a terrible character, doesn’t need a man, needs to be cut, should be killed off, should be replaced, etc.

So just because you don’t care doesn’t mean we should accept scraps, or our “irrelevant” characters being cut, or swapped out with race-bent characters. Black people aren’t all the same sweetie and we deserve more than what you feel we do.

If that’s too much for your diminutive brain to handle why don’t we just combine Ulf and Hugh? It’s not too late to cut out one of the two’s roles in post-production. After all, they serve the same role and they are both white.

You know what? How about we combine Black Aly and Jeyne Arryn while we are at it😀

Should we view Helaena and Rhaenyra as the same? I have a hard time telling them apart since they are both white and blonde. They should wear name tags that way we don’t get them confused 🙃

Let me stop there.

Sorry for ranting anon, but I’m so tired of the disrespect. Like how does one character who’s supposedly so unimportant cause so much uproar?

I go in on Dumbnyra stans a lot(and that person shows exactly why), but you are right that all sides of this fandom treat Nettles like she’s trash. If it’s not saying she’s a plot device sent to ruin Dumbnyra from Team Black and that anyone Black can replace her it’s how Team Green is so worried about her being abused and how maybe it’s for the best she gets cut.

Their behavior is utterly disgusting. It's anti-Black, but no one takes anti-Blackness and especially not misogynoir seriously.

Nettles may be a secondary character, but she’s the most important secondary character during the Dance. She starts out literally homeless. She claims Sheepstealer by determination, not by blood. She’s the only one to claim a wild dragon. The only non-Valyrian dragonrider that we know of.

She gets the Rogue Prince to fall in love with her to the point where he’s willing to die for her and disobeys his wife’s orders to save her. She survives the Dance with a dragon intake. Becomes a fire witch and is worshipped by a mountain clan in the Mountains of the Moon(she’s still worshipped by them during the main series). Her legacy is cemented.

I love her relationship with Daemon, but she’s so much more than just Daemon’s love. She’s a survivor. She’s the final girl. She would be seen as special as she is if she was white.

A character like her will never not be needed especially in a world where the representation of Black women in media, particularly fantasy stories, is still pretty bleak.

#bnasks #nettles #bnask #anti daemyra stans #pro nettles #just continue to use the anti tag #f*ck 90% of you in this fandom #netty #nettles asoiaf #nettles f&b #hotd fandom misogynoir #yep this is why y’all are called dumbnyra stans

[maxiemumdamage]

I initially said this in the tags of someone’s fanart, but…

When you watch the RWBY trailers, none of then miss, but Yang’s trailer has a VERY different tone than the others. Partially in how it’s arranged, and partly in how it barely tells you anything about her.

I’m gonna start from the top here — first off, the trailers are clearly a progression. Ruby’s was in some ways just proof of concept for the show, but it also gave us the absolute least information as a result. The Red trailer has Ruby wearing a design that still gets tweaked, the song has four lines and they’re more about the whole team than Ruby herself (and even then more about the allusions than the characters in many ways), the designs for the Beowolves/Grimm aren’t yet crystallized as we know them. The Red trailer told us about RWBY, the show, but not Ruby the character.

Like, Red and White don’t even have speech — the songs are the only dialogue. But Weiss’s obviously tells us more; because the song has more lyrics, because she’s singing it in universe, because of the announcer at the beginning who tells us just a little bit of who she is.

And then things change with Blake’s trailer. It’s got the song and the very informative lyrics, but most of the dialogue is actual dialogue. Blake isn’t the only character present. She’s not fighting faceless monsters, but automated robots that are acting as security, which gives us a much better idea of the technological advances made in-universe. We see a whole cool biome in Forever Fall, and we meet a new character in Adam — even if the relationship is being ended as we watch, we do learn a lot about Blake. Plus, her quote most directly relates to the content of the trailer itself.

In some ways, the amount of info we get per trailer is progressively ramping up, right? So it makes sense that in Yang’s trailer, we get multiple characters with unique names and faces, a cool setting, a good bit of dialogue and even an explicit reason for the conflict.

Except we don’t get the actual reason for conflict fully explained until Volume 2. We know Yang is looking for someone, but we don’t know it’s Raven until far later. And Yang sharing that story wasn’t for her own benefit, but Blake’s! Even when Yang gives information about herself, it’s not for herself.

What do we see Yang do in her trailer? She fakes flirting with a guy, twice, just to beat him up. She orders a drink, demands information, starts a fight when she doesn’t get it, throws down with the DJ and two snotty mean girls. She gets mad about losing her golden hair after fighting the three bears — we get an explicit look at her fairy tale allusion at least. And then, crucially, we learn Yang’s name through Ruby. Her sister. Yang is the main character’s big sister, and that’s the last real bit of information we get. The trailer ends with Yang casually avoiding any meaningful explanations. The song is barely even hers! We get one minute of if I Burn, but the rest of the Yellow trailer is backed by remixes of the other three trailer songs. Yang is being defined by her relationships to other characters, but we don’t actually learn a whole lot about those, either. Because her trailer is Yang against the world, with her sister only there after the battle ends.

Yang is telling us nothing about who she actually is — what motivates her, her friends, her enemies. The conflict behind the fight is opened and shut in five minutes, and we don’t know the greater underlying reason for it at all. Yang only shows us that mask of the dumb party girl that she wears in the early volumes, which some people got fooled into thinking was her real character.

In some ways, though, we learn a lot about her. Because by flirting with Junior just to get him close enough to threaten and hit him — twice — she does tell us that the party girl mask is just that: an illusion. A facade she puts up to trick people dumb enough to underestimate her. Yang embraces her mask of the dumb party girl, then adds on the doting big sister. We see so much, but learn so little.

Yang doesn’t even hold the focus of her trailer at the end. Because the last moments of Yang’s trailer are the first times we hear Ruby speak.

#yang xiao long #rwby analysis #rwby #rwby yellow trailer #rwby trailers #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #rwby1 #max.txt

[evanesdust]

it only took a minute

written for- @sterekfests prompt: "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays" @sterekweekly word: present @sterekbingo Christmas square: family

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: POV Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alpha Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Meet-Cute, Protectiveness, Time Skips, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Knotting, Mpreg, Christmas, Fluff

Summary:

It was crazy how it only took a minute for Derek’s entire life to change. …or the one where a chance meeting led to the best gift ever.

"C'mon! It'll be fun!" Laura's voice was muffled by the special earplugs designed for werewolves since their hearing was more sensitive. Something Derek was grateful for with the music blasting through the music venue.

Still, he rolled his eyes as he followed his sister closer to the stage. To the…sigh…mosh pit, where the rest of the pack was—in the center, bouncing around and knocking into the others around them. Wide smiles on their faces.

So dumb.

Why they thought being pushed and shoved into other people would be fun was beyond him. It went against all of Derek's alpha instincts to protect his pack.

"I'll stay here," he called out from just along the perimeter, where people formed a sort of barrier between the ones in the pit and those just standing around to watch the concert. He couldn't be held accountable for getting aggressive toward anyone who pushed and pulled his packmates if he got any closer.

Derek wasn't sure if Laura had heard him since it was loud, but she must have because she shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. The way she usually did when she thought he was being ridiculous.

"Suit yourself!" she said before plunging headfirst into the mass of adrenaline and violent movement with an almost terrifying delight.

With his arms crossed over his chest, Derek stood along the edge, watching the music vibrate through the crowd—literally shaking things up—and people surrendering to the primal need to move, to dance, to release the worries of their world. A sensation that was alien to Derek, to say the least.

He scanned the crowd, barely recognizing his pack somewhere lost in the wave of throbbing bass lines and flashing lights. Derek had to admit, though, there was a sort of beauty in it all—the undulation of the crowd, the rhythmic pulsations, everyone seeming to move in unison. It was a unique spectacle of humanity. One he was content to observe, just as he always did.

But his attention was pulled when a guy collided with him.

"Shit. Sorry!" the guy exclaimed, hands gripping Derek's arms as he tried to right himself. "Fuck, that was my b—"

The guy's words died on his tongue, his amber eyes going wide when he looked up at Derek. Derek's probably mirrored them because this guy—a human omega if his senses were correct—was beautiful. He had a cute, upturned nose and mole-speckled skin that appeared to glow under the concert lighting. Arousal coursed through Derek as he trailed his gaze over the omega's lithe body, over the long expanse of his neck that Derek would love to mark up, to his mouth and those sinfully plump, pink lips that Derek had the sudden urge to kiss until they were puffy and raw. Or see stretched around his cock.

Christ! Derek had never had such a visceral reaction to a person before. It definitely didn't help that the omega's big doe eyes made him look like the most delicious, seductive prey.

And his scent…

It was heady and intoxicating, overwhelming Derek's senses and making every fiber of his being scream at him to markmateclaim. His gums tingled, fangs threatening to drop as his eyes flashed crimson.

Holy shit.

What was happening to him? Amid the chaos, with thumping beats vibrating through his chest like a second heartbeat, his instincts were triggered in ways he'd never experienced before. Never mind the mosh pit; this was equivalent to walking into a hunter's den—or, more appropriately, a wolves' den—unknowingly declaring an open invite to the impending dance between want and danger. He found himself captivated, tethered by an invisible string to the enigma before him, radiating an almost luminescent pull.

God, this guy wasn't just any omega. This was Derek's mate.

"Aw, man. You're not mad, are you?" Concern filtered into the omega's voice, who continued to cling onto Derek as if letting go might send him tumbling back into the frenzy.

"No, it's fine," Derek replied as a wave of possessiveness he'd never felt before rushed over him. He flashed the omega, his mate, a small smile, arms going around him to hold him close. To protect him. "I'm Derek, by the way."

"Stiles," the omega—Stiles—responded with a grin that rivaled the brightest star. "It's nice to meet you, Derek. Though, I gotta admit, you don't look like you're having much fun."

I am now, he thought. 

Stiles's eyes sparkled mischievously, and for the first time that night, Derek didn't feel like a chaperone.

"I'm…not one for crowds. Or loud noises," Derek admitted, unsure why he was being so candid. Stiles might be his mate, but they were still strangers. Plus, he should be wanting to impress Stiles, not reveal his vulnerabilities.

"Then what are you doing at a concert?" Stiles quipped, his grin only growing wider. He tilted his head to the side, sending a lock of his hair falling onto his forehead. His piercing gaze made Derek feel like he was the only one who mattered in the chaotic setting they were in.

"Well…I'm here with my sisters and a few packmates," Derek confessed, wondering if—when—he should mention he was a werewolf and that he felt a deep, undeniable connection to Stiles. That they were mates.

"Ah, dragged along for the ride! Now it makes sense," Stiles said, chuckling and beaming a radiant smile that melted Derek's roguish exterior.

Derek's heart pounded fiercely, echoing in his ears, matching the bass that danced around in the backdrop of their shared space. Now was the time for him to say something, but before he could, the shriek of an electric guitar cut through the air, followed by the renewed eruption of the crowd, the atmosphere changing from loud to deafening.

Stiles turned in Derek's arms, and Derek thought he lost his chance—that Stiles would slip out of his embrace and get lost in the crowd, but Stiles stayed where he was, cheering with the crowd. Derek couldn't help but laugh. It was a genuine, free sound that resonated deep within his chest. Stiles glanced over his shoulder at Derek, eyes glinting with excitement that managed to worm its way into Derek's chest.

"This is my favorite song!" Stiles shouted to be heard over the clamor and the reverb. He moved in tandem with the beat—a natural sway in rhythm with the pulsating music. His scent held a sense of wonder and absolute joy that was infectious.

The mass of people in front of them started to push, pull, and shove each other again, and anytime someone got close, Derek threw his arms out, shielding Stiles from the flashing whirlwind of flailing limbs and flying bodies.

Stiles seemed to appreciate Derek's protective instincts and leaned into him, allowing him to pull Stiles closer—close enough that he could feel every tremor and sway of Stiles's body against his as they tried to stay grounded amidst the turbulence.

As far as Derek was concerned, the world beyond Stiles had ceased to exist. He held onto Stiles, protecting him. But all too soon, the concert was over as the band played their last chord—the crowd letting out one last explosive cheer.

Once the stage was empty, the lights came up, the glaringly bright fluorescence chasing away the incandescent glow from before and revealing an ocean of people within the room. The concertgoers began to disperse, chatter and laughter replacing the earlier ruckus of the music.

"It's over," Stiles said, stating the obvious, his grin still in place. He turned around in Derek's embrace, a light blush dusting his cheeks. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?" Derek asked, still unwilling to let him go.

"For protecting me," Stiles replied, his words sincere and direct. He shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the commotion of their surroundings. He looked up at Derek from under his long eyelashes in a gesture that seemed unassuming but suggestive nonetheless.

Derek's heart skipped a beat. This was it. The moment he revealed they were mates. His gaze trailed over Stiles's face momentarily before adding, "You're important to me. We're—"

"Mates," Stiles finished in a whisper, his steady gaze holding Derek's as a hint of a smile played at his lips. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"How did you…?" Humans didn't have the same instincts as werewolves and, as far as Derek knew, Stiles was human.

"I might not be a werewolf, but there's still a pull. Most humans wouldn't recognize it, but my best friend is a werewolf. I did a lot of research growing up and knew what to look for," Stiles admitted, his words soft but solid in the midst of the dispersing crowd.

A smile tugged at Derek's lips, relief flooding him. "So you knew? When you bumped into me?"

"Not at first, no. I mean...I felt something but couldn't be sure. You kind of just confirmed it, though," Stiles responded, though whatever the answer had been, Derek realized it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Stiles knew they were mates and wasn't scared or pushing him away—he accepted it. Accepted him.

It was quiet for a moment, and anyone observing from the outside might have taken their shared silence as awkward or uncomfortable. For Derek, though, it was like everything had finally fallen into place. He was relaxed and…complete, and looking at Stiles, it seemed as if he felt the same.

Derek reached out, swiping a stray lock of hair away from Stiles's forehead.

"So, what happens now?" he asked, a quiet calmness settling over him. He had prepared himself to have to convince Stiles—ready to slowly reel his mate into his life.

"How about we get outta here?" Stiles responded. The corners of his mouth were upturned, revealing that radiant smile Derek found so endearing. "There's a diner a few blocks away. We can get to know each other a little more." 

Derek nodded, faintly remembering his sisters and packmates.

"We should probably find my pack first," he suggested, yet making no move to let go of Stiles.

Stiles laughed, and it was infectious, breaking through Derek's stoic exterior like nothing else. "I bet they're wondering where their alpha disappeared to. And I should probably find my friends too."

Together, they navigated through the sea of people, bound by an unseen thread tying them together, its secure grip an unwavering promise of a future yet to unfold. Derek had found his mate, and the world was suddenly a much brighter place. There was no fear. No hesitation. Only an unwavering certainty and an altogether embracing feeling of belonging somewhere and to someone.

It was crazy how it only took a minute for his entire life to change. _

Since meeting Stiles, everything had moved so fast, a tornado of feelings and events. Derek didn't know how to slow everything down. Or if he even wanted to. Not when one day flowed seamlessly into the next. If Stiles wasn't at his house, then he was at Stiles's. They were rarely apart for more than a few hours at a time. Usually, after spending that much time with anyone—family, pack, or the few friends he had—Derek was over it. He liked having his own space. Some peace and quiet to decompress. But it was different with Stiles.

Stiles was his mate. Which was what led him to this moment.

Derek didn't know where to look.

At Stiles's hole as he fucked back onto Derek's fingers.

At his hand as he fisted his cock.

Or at his face as he panted from the pleasure.

"So beautiful," Derek whispered before bending down and kissing his pouty lips. His cock had never been harder in his life, but he couldn't bear to rush this. He wanted to savor every moment, every small expression on Stiles's face. The way his brows furrowed in concentration. The way his eyes fluttered shut when Derek hit just the right spot. The soft moans spilling from those perfect lips were all for him, and that alone was enough to send an overwhelming warmth coursing through his veins.

Stiles was so beautifully unguarded in these moments, completely handing himself over to Derek. It was breathtaking. Intoxicating. Soul-clenchingly intimate. The way Stiles bore himself open, coming apart under Derek's touch, was pure, sublime surrender.

"Need…more," Stiles whined before pushing Derek back with a surprising amount of strength. He shifted forward, rising to his knees and straddling Derek's waist. And Derek wasn't one to deny Stiles anything. He loved the raw desire in Stiles's voice and the primal need in his eyes as he took Derek's cock, lining it up with his hole.

A guttural sound ripped through him at the sensation of Stiles lowering himself, taking Derek inside him inch by tantalizing inch. The tight heat engulfing his cock was mind-numbing, all-encompassing.

"Okay?" Derek gasped, shifting slightly, and his breath caught in his throat as his thigh muscles trembled with the need to thrust up into Stiles. The only reason he didn't was because Stiles clearly wanted control.

Stiles bit his bottom lip and nodded. "Oh God, yes."

And then he started to move. It was slow but steady, riding Derek as if he had all the time in the world.

Derek kept his eyes on Stiles as the tension built and built and built. Stiles was beautiful with his head thrown back, lips parted as he panted. He was so fucking sexy Derek could come just from watching him take his own pleasure.

Opening his eyes, Stiles met Derek's gaze and whispered, "Take me."

Finally.

Derek needed no other encouragement. Surging up, he wrapped his arms around Stiles and flipped them, pressing Stiles into the mattress. Derek's heart was pounding in his chest—his breathing heavy and ragged. Sweat dripped from his brow as he plunged into Stiles, drowning in him. Pure, naked desire coursed through his veins.

The headboard slammed into the wall from the force of their bodies coming together.

Stiles moaned beneath him. "Yes…yes…oh God, Derek."

His fingers dug into Derek's back, clutching at him like he was drowning and Derek was his lifeline.

"Yes, harder!" he yelled, arching against Derek, and the world fell away into a medley of sensations and sounds, thrusting and panting and needing until Derek couldn't bear it for a second longer.

Derek growled and shoved his face into the crook of Stiles's neck as his knot started to swell. It took everything in him not to bite down, to mark Stiles as his. But then Stiles whined, tilting his head to the side.

"Do it. Bite me," he begged, voice rough with desire and need. "Make me yours."

His plea hit Derek like a live wire, igniting an animalistic need within him that he found impossible to resist. He sank his teeth into Stiles's neck, and the world exploded, his senses going into overdrive, wave after wave of pleasure washing over him as his knot swelled fully and he poured himself into Stiles, marking him from the inside and out. His roar, muffled by the skin beneath his lips, was as primitive as the act itself.

When Derek could think again, he was sprawled over Stiles, crushing him into the bed.

"Sorry," he muttered, easing them to their sides, still breathing hard.

Stiles made a pleased sound, snuggling further into the crook of Derek's neck. Derek felt a hum of satisfaction as Stiles's body twitched with languid aftershocks, his warmth enveloping Derek in a way that felt like home.

"Believe me…you don't need…to apologize…for anything," Stiles panted, a grin spreading across his flushed face as he traced aimless patterns on Derek's chest.

Derek chuckled, wrapping an arm around Stiles and pulling him closer, inhaling his scent. It was intoxicating—a blend of sweat, sex, and a salty sweetness that was uniquely Stiles. It was a scent Derek had already memorized, already knew as intimately as the mole-speckled body beneath him.

"You're mine, Stiles," Derek whispered against the shell of Stiles's ear. He traced his fingers over Stiles's bitten neck, feeling the raised skin where his teeth had marked his claim. "You always will be."

Stiles shivered at his words, pressing closer still as if he could melt into Derek, become a part of him. "And you're mine."

Derek nodded because it was true. They belonged to each other. So utterly and completely. It was a primal thing—a bond transcending mere words and earthly bodies. They were mates. Mated. Bound and connected in a way that was extraordinary and overwhelming. Beautiful.

"I'm yours," Derek confirmed aloud. Stiles's heart beat against his as the contented silence embraced them. His fingers twined through Stiles's hair, drawing him closer and drinking in his unique scent, his unique essence.

In the quiet aftermath, under the soft glow of the moonlight pouring in through the window, Stiles finally said, "Derek…I-I love you. I know it might be too soon, but considering—"

"I love you, too." Derek hooked a finger under Stiles's chin, tipping his head up. When Stiles met his gaze, Derek was unflinching in his sincerity as he reiterated his words, "I love you. You're my mate."

And it didn't matter if their relationship didn't follow social norms or if they leapt over a few steps to get there. Stiles was his mate, and their relationship made perfect, absolute sense to him. Their connection was beyond rules and boundaries dictated by the world. It was spiritual and eternal.

Derek hugged Stiles tightly, whispering a soft, "I want everything with you."

"I want that, too," Stiles murmured into Derek's chest, pressing a warm kiss over his heart. His touch held a depth of tenderness—a promise of forever in his words.

Derek tightened his grip, looking down at the man he had claimed as his own. Stiles looked back up at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears of happiness and love. It was the most beautiful sight Derek had ever seen.

In the stillness of the night, they lay entwined in each other's arms, basking in the shared warmth and love, lost in the peace that only they could offer to one another. _

Derek placed his hands on Stiles's belly, feeling Eli kick as they rocked from side to side, dancing to the Christmas music playing through his parent's old stereo. Stiles laughed giddily, his eyes twinkling like the colorful lights on the Christmas tree.

"Who would have ever thought that Derek was a romantic?" Cora said from her spot on the couch. "Ow!"

Laura was the closest to her, so Derek could imagine that she'd elbowed or pinched Cora, probably in an attempt to silence her. But Derek just shook his head, a fond smile on his face as he pulled Stiles even closer.

"Guess I'm full of surprises," Derek grinned, whispering into Stiles's ear. The tickle of his breath caused Stiles to laugh again, his body trembling with mirth against Derek's.

Cora rolled her eyes, but the complacent twitch of her lips betrayed her teasing demeanor.

"So when do we get to open presents?" she asked, flopping dramatically against Laura.

Laura gave her a mock-stern look. "You're like a five-year-old."

"You're like a five-year-old," Cora retorted, sticking her tongue out at her sister. Laura responded with a faux gasp, pretending to be offended.

In the middle of their playful banter, Stiles's laughter filled the room again. He swayed slowly, eyes closed, as if soaking in the happy moments.

Derek took the opportunity, bending down to place a soft kiss on Stiles's round belly. "It doesn't matter when everyone opens their presents. We already have our little gift."

Stiles placed a hand on Derek's cheek, pulling him up until they were face to face.

"The best Christmas present," Stiles confirmed before leaning in to share a tender kiss with him.

The room seemed to hush a moment, Laura and Cora's banter petering out before Cora made a face and pretended to retch. His mom walked into the room at that moment, followed by his dad, and gave her a scathing look.

"Behave yourself, Cora," she admonished. "It's Christmas. And we're so happy for Derek and Stiles."

Derek gave a nod of thanks toward his mom, wrapping an arm around Stiles and pulling him to his side. His heart was filled to the brim with affection, not just for Stiles but for his family as well.

"I'm just saying, if I wanted to watch a romance movie, I would have turned one on," Cora replied, her voice traced with amusement.

"Enough with the commentary," his dad chimed in, but there was clear amusement in his voice, too.

A jovial mood spread through the room, and Derek couldn't help but be touched. It was Stiles's first Christmas with them, and he had already become a vital part of their celebrations. There was no pretense of formality, no uncomfortably polite exchanges, just heartwarming laughter and random bickering that already felt familiar.

A few moments later, his mother walked over with a large box wrapped in shiny paper. Handing it to Stiles, she looked at Derek knowingly. "Something I made for Eli."

Stiles unwrapped it carefully, revealing a knitted baby blanket with a small wolf embroidered in one corner. The moment sent warmth coursing through Derek, witnessing Stiles's eyes light up at the sight of the blanket.

Derek wasn't a man of many words. He simply watched as Stiles's hands traced over the intricate patterns of the blanket and cherished the heartwarming scene, as well as the mix of surprise, delight, and gratitude softening his mate's features. Placing his hand on Stiles's pregnant belly, he knew this would be a memory he'd forever cherish. Their first shared Christmas and their baby, who was soon to arrive.

He could almost hear the gentle yet promising rustlings of new traditions being woven, just like the delicate threads of grandma's love woven into the baby blanket.

"It's beautiful. Thank you." Stiles's words were barely a whisper, his surprise palpable as he gazed at the handmade blanket in his hands. "You made this?"

Derek's mom nodded, smiling brightly. "Yes, I did. I thought it would be something special for the new baby, a gift from the heart. I know it's not much, but it's made with love and care."

Stiles held the blanket up against the soft light filtering in from the frosted window, the intricate stitching in the blanket catching the light. "I love it. And I know Eli will love it, too."

Almost as if he knew they were talking about him, Eli kicked against Derek's palm. Stiles and Derek exchanged a knowing glance, the promise of sharing many more such Christmases in their future written in their eyes.

Soon, the room buzzed with excitement as everyone started opening gifts. The wrapping paper was tossed carelessly around with laughter filling their cozy home. And amid the cheerfulness, Derek and Stiles stood in their own little world, eyes only for each other and the little life they'd created together.

With the soft glow of the tree lights bouncing off Stiles's excited features and the sweet hum of 'Silent Night' in the background, Derek still couldn't believe how it only took a minute for his entire life to change.

#sterek #sterekfests #sterekfestswinter2023 #sterekfestschristmas #sterekweekly #sterekweeklypresent #sterekbingo #holy shit i wrote something

[otomiyaa]

Profile Tag Game 💕

Hello - Lol hi I'm Ginny and this is a fun something I was about to do on my previous blog, and I remembered it! So I decided to still do it here. It's a random self introduction based on genshin impact character profiles! Maybe even a better fit for me to do it on this new account.

Chat: Tickling - I may have said this before, but I am a very bad tickler. In fact, I can barely remember tickling anyone properly so far in my life. I've done some quick pokes and scribbles, but I just can't go much further than that. Everything I wrote in my fics and hcs is just pure creativity and imagination. Not experience.

When It Rains - I get all cozy when I'm indoors and it's raining, like right now! But when I have to go out, it can make me frown and whine a lot.

When It Snows - I hope I don't fall down... I've got quite a number of experiences already, of slipping and falling in the snow.

Good Night - It's almost 1 AM. I should probably go to sleep. Ah, I'm too wide awake at night these days. And too tired during mornings hahaha.

About Me: Language - I speak Dutch, English, and Japanese and in all languages I sometimes struggle with formality levels at work. Especially when Japanese people call me by my first name without 'san', I am like..!!!! It's always a challenge to find the perfect balance of not being too impolite, and not being too formal and distant. I get the feeling I worry more about language and formality aspects than others.

Something to Share: Subscriptions - I've actually got way too many subscriptions running - Cinema, Spotify, Netflix, HBO Max, Amazon Prime, Disney+, Nintendo Switch Online, and Just Dance+. I kinda pay too much for things I don't always need, but I do need them a little and can't get myself to cancel any, even when they shamelessly increase their prices. Does it make me a money disaster? Hm.

My Hobbies: Journaling - My friends and I all have bullet journals and working on those while chatting and listening to some music is one of the most calming and satisfying things in life for me.

My Troubles - Needing a new laptop so I can play games like The Sims and Honkai Star Rail, but my current laptop isn't so old yet. Also, the Taylor Swift store doesn't ship to the Netherlands, I cry.

Favorite Food - Sushi, bibimbab, spaghetti with meatballs.

Least Favorite Food - Cheese.

About @ticklygiggles - On June 16, 2016, Mia sent me a message on Tumblr, starting a conversation. I messaged her back, and from that moment on we just... talked daily, grew closer and closer, watched anime together, wrote fics together, called and sent voice messages, and last month for the first time we FINALLY were able to play genshin together (Mia made a new acc because we weren't on the same server, huhu dedication girl). We did the Heart Island thing in Mia's world.

About @ragewerthers - We talked about it recently but our friendship started so smoothly and sudden. I was reminded it was because of Ragewerthers getting randomly shadowbanned on Tumblr, as well as our mutual interest in the soccer anime Days, Final Fantasy XV and Minecraft.

Tagging some fellow genshin fans @ticklygiggles @wertzunge @lovelynim @shy-lee-chu @eliankrios @xsezzie @kusuguricafe @fuckparty and ofc anyone else who would like to do it:) Feel free to add more / use other lines or do literal voice-overs! I'll stick to just text hehe.

#tag game #genshin impact #personal #profile tag game #tickling #tickle community

[bitepoint]

hiii <3 so ik we’ve never spoken before but can you elaborate on that mini multiverse circle jerk post (pls my mind is going brrrrrr every time I try to conceive of such scenarios bc ummmm hot) anyway, luv ur stuff ::)))))

oHhh i am here i am standing at attention and reporting 4 duty all at once o7. i saw your tags earlier too and they made me so happy so also thank yoU n hello hehe

its just,,, the circle jerk thing works so well in any regimented type setting and/or for characters who went through that. i went a little crazy over this .

circle jerk + chris redfield

18+. chris x gn!reader. 1.5k^. circle jerk (vhs tape assisted), exhibitionism, voyeurism, chris is so . fucking cooked over u in this

chris redfield who’s still in his air force years, long enough by now that the CO-speared brow-beatings’ve gotten more overt, half-tempered by his hefty commendations, ones that keep him toeing the line in their ‘good graces’ — a misstep or two away from the threat of a court martial.

word spreads around, because of course it does. speculation that’s sparse on context means he’s been hearing ‘redfield’ more often these days from peers on top of superiors, even by some who’d gotten around to calling him by his given name first, before.

not you, though. no, never you. you still call him ‘chris’, same as ever, same as when he first met you, and you do it even now when he can barely acknowledge you back with a call of your name — all ‘cause his heart’s got this habit of kicking up into his throat when he hasn’t geared up to see you around. his shoulders have a habit of sitting a little stiffer, at attention from the presence but never the same type of discomfort from starched hierarchy and bad decisions. doesn't know what to do with them. doesn’t know what to do with his hands, either.

he hadn’t meant to find you. not here, and not in this.

in some backroom back at base, once dusk had already set but no call for lights out had been given, that he walks into, light-stepped and unassuming. a scattering of thread-bare armchairs and beanbags rested near the worn couch you’re laying back on, arm thrown over the back.

you’re facing away from him, technically, from the door the same way most seats are — because they’re all faced, semi-circle scattered, towards the shitty pull-out TV at the furthest-back wall, VHS grain and color-bleed providing the dim light that filters through the room in light washes. most are occupied. some type of gathering, maybe spontaneous maybe not, faces he knows and ones he doesn’t among the dozen or fewer men in the room.

it'd be almost intimate if it weren't simultaneously impersonal, the way they're watching the screen or each other — some crowded close together on the same seating intended only for one, and some apart, pressed only along the seams of their thighs or the leather of the same standard-issue boots.

most unlaced and unbuckled, though, states of undress below dangling belts or with a shirt pulled up to rest a few inches above the waist, cocks flush in the low-light held in slow hands or lying heavy against their abdomens — pre gleaming each time the old tape, garden variety home porn contraband, cuts to a different shot of the couple christening their furniture and each other.

feels heat creep all over him, a desiccated throat as his jaw works slow over the processing. the door's kept ajar by the part of him that'd leaned into the room shoulder-first, one boot in and one out — but chris' big enough that it matters, on the treshold between here and there. he's never seen himself as the brightest, nor dimmest, and he can't consider much of anything when your head turns over your shoulder and your eyes meet. can't really read you, not that he ever could, but he thinks he spots a slight surprise at… him being there? maybe his existence?

and then other eyes in the room flit over to him, slow, and take notice too. he meets them, fleeting and a little uneasy, before they return to yours. can't decide whether to double-down or— you grin, a little lop-sided, before he makes up his mind to shift his weight onto his back leg and step down. down, and away from this.

"chris?" his name again, from you. soft-spoken enough that it doesn't draw much attention despite the tease in your eye, and your head tilts towards him, "planning to stand out there all night, or…?"

he might be half gone up there, revisits the memory of a near forced suspension for supposed insubordination and wonders whether he should've taken the out when it was given. a sound mind is half the job, but he steps into that room with a slow-drawn inhale and the door leaned shut by instinct. all because of you and his name and your easy smile.

the only spot rests on the couch next to you, and he's slowly made aware of the way it’s your domain alone to keep. the only person in the room, himself excluded, without their trousers pushed half-down or hands kept otherwise fulfilled is you. he settles in, considerate enough not to drop his weight down, to your right — all too aware of the right arm you keep draped across the back, and the way you seem a little too warm even at the modest distance between you, the soft moans on recording in the background.

you don't fuss over him, instead leaning your head back to keep watching the tape, and he settles, somewhat. somewhat. lets curious eyes wander. glances, at first, like the kind where you expect blow-back on getting caught out — red-handed in the cookie jar. state of undress is nothing new, not really, not here. there’s more to worry about than modesty in the service, he doesn’t really make it a habit to stop and take in the sights when some guy drops his drawers in the changing rooms. this isn’t the same as quick showers and rushing your way out of the barracks, though. it’s not the same when he thinks about you, instead of some faceless stand-in.

it’s not the same, not at all, not with the way he’s watching them, both unknown, sliding his cock in and out of her, hands large and heavy on the hips up on the screen; the way he can hear hitched breaths around him, a low exhale and a few sharp inhales, the soft slide of fists over cocks — slick and slow, or lingering to tease the head; the way he keeps thinking about you and the reality that you’re here, thigh pressing along the seam of his from the weight distribution of the couch, the dip in the middle because he hadn’t had the foresight to sit further away from you at some corner near the armrest. his cock throbs, aching, against the stiff stretch of his trousers, leg kept stiff where it touches yours.

chris doesn’t realise you’re watching until he takes the risk, the glance, caught-red handed at the way your head is tilted, lazy, eyes drawn to the thick bulge of his crotch and outline marked by his cock.

his pulse is in his throat, heavy and thumping, when your eyes slide to his face and you notice his on you already. holds his breath when you lean in, as though privacy means anything here and he finds he’s grateful for the gesture, “this okay?”

he’s not the brightest, probably, maybe, but there’s some part of him that knows — maybe the same part that wants. won’t rise — risk — to question, and it’s not from practicing service, but from the fact that it’s you. he swallows thick.

the sound of his belt is deafening as he unfastens it, unhurried on the pretense of routine, unbuckling and unzipping his trousers with large hands. stifles any tremble. he frees his hard cock with the drag of a hand that pushes the layers down only as far as he needs, grips the thick base, supporting, length heavy as it lolls left and lazy.

there’s no breeze; the heat of the room drawn up enough by these parallel activities to bypass that first shiver, but it happens anyways at the way it seems to lean towards you and the way your eyes have their own single-minded focus, paying no mind to anything but chris and his cock. he lifts his hand, a cursory stroke to the top of the shaft before his thumb slides over the leaking head, and doesn’t miss the way your tongue swipes across your lip for a moment as you watch, unable to take his eyes off of you just the same.

his pulse is in his throat and his heart might spill out of it. it happens long before he's aware of it, when he feels the light press of your cheek to his left shoulder, muscle twitching when you ask, “this okay?”

breath hitches, and he can’t help the shutter of his eyes when you ask, again, balm over the tremor in his chest, “chris?”

exhales something shaky. tests the curl of his fist over his cock and strokes it, once, pre already loosening up the glide. stiffens a soft moan at the back of his throat, the pressure licking hot through him, abdomen tight. “yeah.” rolls his hand again and feels the press of your thigh along his, “fuck— yeah.’”

man his size, and he’s still considerate enough to try not to jostle you too much on his shoulder as he kicks up a slow rhythm, the press of your cheek to his delt enough to get him gone while he strokes himself with his right hand. his hand's just enough for the girth, and you wonder if yours would be, too. honest-to-god flinches a little when he feels your breath, an exhale that’s a little too cool to not be purposeful, across the tip of his wet cock.

he’ll blow his load too quick if you keep leaning on him like that. wonders if you know, if you like it, because you press a hand over his left thigh to keep his hips from chasing after the seal of his own fist, cock truly and well fucked on it, and it gets him that much closer despite his slowing down. for you. keeps his eyes on you, despite the fact that they don't often meet, and you have to know. because you have to know. you have to.

would you touch him, if he asked? can he ask? you dig into the meat of his thigh.

up, further than you’d been — close — the fat and muscle giving way before they tense, terse, and he moans, leaning his body towards yours on instinct, touch like a brand, and spilling hot and warm and heavy across his fist. keeps it pumping, throbbing cock drooling cum over a slowing fist and slick fingers, dripping down to the back of your palm as you rest it on his thigh, where it belongs.

#miss oranje disco dancer......... fellow klaasje enjoyer i see u #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield #resident evil #resident evil x reader #unspecified ranks w air force since chris / you are meant to have the same 1 dont look too closely #.writing tag

[mayullla]

Title: The Dark Basement

Character(s): Childe / Tartaglia (Genshin Impact)

Summary: Haunted dolls au; You were left to your own device, crawling around your grandfather's home as you looked for the room where all the dolls were. That door was locked but another wasn't.

Note: I promise you I am writing those drabbles but for now here is another post for haunted dolls au!

Warnings/tags: child!reader, fem!reader horror: dark places, themes of obsessions (while not very obvious)

Haunted doll au masterlist

You were still a baby that time when your mother let you roam around your grandfather’s house while she talked to your grandfather. You were still learning how to say mom and dad but now big enough to slowly walk around the house, still tripping but slowly you were working on it.

Yet someone how even at that very young age you remember the layout of your grandfather's home, somehow even tho you didn't live here you already knew more about this place than your own home.

‘Here, here!’

'She is coming!'

'You can do it!'

You heard as you walked to a certain door that your eyes were trained on. It was the door that had all the dolls, hidden ones that never meet the eyes of others. You almost fell but before you could, your tiny hands reached the door supporting yourself.

You were delighted as you tried to push the door open only to find it locked. Your eyes knitted together as you tried to push the door again but it would not budge.

Tired and frustrated you sat in front of the door, your legs giving out tired. 

You wanted to cry, you wanted to go into the room that was where many of the dolls were but unfortunately could not.

Till you heard a door creaked.

You looked at where the sound was and saw a door slightly opened, inside dark and dusty. You stared at the room, wondering what had just happened when the door creek opened a little more again. Your eyes widen in surprise, pushing your bum so that you could crawl you started heading towards the door.

Just when you reached the door you were about to grab it only for it to move again opening the door a little wider for you to crawl into the room. With the little light, you saw stairs going down the place. Tilting your head you move so that your legs could touch the stair first, casually ignoring the door the again creek a little more open so that you could move comfortably. One stair at a time you slowly climbed down the stairs as the stairs creaked at your weight.

When you finally reached the bottom of the room there was barely any light, you could only see because of the dull flickering yellowish light coming from the light bulb on the ceiling.

The shadows of the shelves and items on it made it look like peeks of something moving as if curious as to who stepped into their lair, hiding when you looked to see what they were.

Maybe you would have been scared seeing broken dolls, arms and legs without a body and torsos without heads. Most would probably be terrified to see the sudden tilt that a broken doll made when you got close to it, the sounds echoing almost like a crack.

There were tears in some of the faces a blue line from the eyes to the cheeks or the cracks around the hollow eyes of another. They were different from the dolls on the upstairs, where the dolls all smiles with a bright light that made them beautiful. These dolls were angry, wallowing in agony almost screaming, the beauty they once had made them ugly and spiteful.

You didn't see that, so you kept on exploring as if you were searching for something. Maybe you did, but you were a child, a baby really… You didn't know. Didn't understand.

You were clueless, to their anger. You didn't care how they tried to drag you down, making you struggle as you pushed yourself to move a little more than before. The air heavy.

Crawling around the basement not caring how your hands and knees were coated with dust you continued crawling till you found the back of the basement.

You didn't know what you were looking for yet when you looked at the last row of shelves you crawled towards it and slowly stood up holding the shelf bars as support. On the third shelf reaching for it, you grabbed something.

Taking it you fell on your butt again, yet you didn't cry staring at what was on your hands yet could not see because of the shadows that blocked your sight.

Yet you thought it was a doll… Was it a doll you weren't sure, it felt wet, almost slimy on your hand.

You didn't know what you were holding till the door opened. It was wide open letting the light in as your mother called out your name in worry and fear.

Where are you?

You didn't say anything still holding in your hand you crawled towards the light till your mother found you and picked you up. She looked at you worriedly, asking why were you here, why are you so dirty and if you got hurt anywhere.

"I never thought I would be seeing this doll again…"

The thing you were holding tightly in your arms was suddenly taken away from your small hands. Your head moved to your grandfather to see the thing that you were holding on to was a doll. It was a beautiful doll, not dusty... nor wet just really pretty that you tried to reach the doll out again.

Pretty...

Your mother's sudden shriek surprised you, as she grabbed your hands. Your grandfather was also surprised when he saw your small hands blacked as if you dipped your hands in black ink. 

Your mother took you out planning on going to the bathroom or kitchen sink so that she could wash off the substance that coated your hands.

As she took you away from that dusty room you looked back to your grandfather and the doll.

Where are the stairs?

It was later when you were in your mom's arm, cleaned up with most of the black ink gone from your hands you listen to your grandfather talk about the doll that you found.

Compared to others it had an interesting story where it was made in Russia. 

Or at least parts of it were.

Your grandfather's friend of a friend or a friend of a friend had gone to Russia and was found this build a doll set. He wanted to gift it to someone but the person who he gave it to wasn't interested in dolls that the box moved from a few hands till it reached your grandfather.

Interested in what the box had your grandfather started to slowly build the doll but because he was unsatisfied with a few of their parts he threw them away and instead replaced some of the parts with his own.

Your grandfather was surprised when he saw a small light coming off from the doll when he was finished, the doll wasn't really made by him from the ground up after all like the other dolls.

He didn't think much of it back then because soon after he lost the doll. He didn't know how he lost it, thinking that he had left it on the work desk only to come back seeing nothing on top of it.

To find it in your hands long after your grandfather almost chuckled but there was a solemn look to his eyes when he saw how dull the light was on the doll. As if it was barely there, its life almost dried up.

The small whining sounds you made as you tried to reach for the doll again made your mother speak up. Telling you that the doll was dirty and that you could get sick. Your grandfather looked at you, your tiny hand reaching out for the doll again, your eyes trained on it when your mother tried to pull you away from the doll on her lap.

Somehow… somehow your grandfather knew something was odd... unnerving... something your mother could not see from this situation.

Yet neither could he.

#genshin haunted dolls au #genshin #genshin impact #genshin imagine #genshin scenarios #platonic yandere #genshin horror #horror #tw horror #tw darkness #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #haunted dolls #genshin imagines #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere x you #horror aesthetic #genshin au #genshin fanfic #childe x reader #childe #tartaglia #genshin childe #genshin tartagalia

[xxsycamore]

𝐏𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 🎃🎃

► SYNOPSIS:

The residents show off their Jack-o'-lanterns, and the competition is tough.

Meanwhile, someone is missing from the scene.

▍characters: MC, comte, leonardo, mozart, arthur, theo, isaac, vincent, dazai, jean, sebastian, napoleon

▍rating: G 

▍tags: Humor; Crack; Mentions of Blood

▍wordcount: 2,238

masterlist

▍a/n: Happy Halloween, everyone! I hope you enjoy this. Have a spooky day <3

It's almost Halloween in Saint Germain's mansion, and as per tradition, MC takes it upon herself to properly introduce the residents to the fairly new holiday for their current time period - hoping that it would bring nothing but fun times for anyone. This year she steps up her game by adding an element of competition to the pumpkin carving.

The dining room is transformed to accommodate the display of the spooky creations - chairs put aside and pumpkins lined up to be rated by the trustworthy judges, namely MC and Comte. Why them? Because they've been scouted as the most unbiased ones, in theory, because they're practically biased in everyone's favor. A loving father figure and a loving…babysitter and caretaker of the mansion. It would make do.

"Alright everyone, let's get started! We're going to be harsh. Remember, this is all just a silly little competition, don't take anything personally!" MC announces, eyes moving from one end of the long table to the other, meeting some excited and some conflicted faces.

***

She puts her attention to the first in the line, Arthur, and begins examining his creation alongside Comte.

They're both puzzled by what they see.

Arthur's pumpkin is… well, first of all, it's not horny. MC is not sure how Arthur would've been able to convey his unrestricted slutty nature into the shell of a pumpkin, but she figured he had his ways. The thing in front of them, however, gives off a different kind of emotion…something to do with deep emotional dread. The face of his pumpkin looks as if it's been tortured. More interestingly, there appears to be something written on the sides…? MC and Comte lean in and squint in order to read the tiny text, but Arthur hides it before they can make anything of it.

"It's notes. For my book. I had to write them down before I can forget."

The tone is nothing like his usual one. Looking up from the pumpkin, MC's blood freezes as the sight is more frightening than the pumpkin itself. Arthur looks sleep deprived, his hair a mess, his foot tapping aggressively against the floor at a fast pace. Right, he did mention something about going through writer's block…

"Oh. By Jove, I really need to go."

A word or two about taking care of himself is well in order, yet MC feels a little betrayed by his lack of interest in this mansion bonding experience.

"Jeez Arthur, your book is not going to go away!"

"No, I mean… I really need to go… to the toilet. I think I drank one too many coffees, Luv..."

***

Next up is Theo, who is finally finished laughing behind his, err, friend's back, and as soon as the two judges are in front of him, his expression undergoes a fast metamorphosis from smug to frightened. He has his pumpkin facing him, preparing it for a dramatic spin which would reveal the carved face on the other side.

"I'd be careful on your place. Especially you, Hondje. Try not to wet your pants."

"Just show it already…"

"Ahem." Theo coughs and tries to build up the tension again, "I made the face of one of the most dreadful creatures known to humankind."

You in the morning waiting for pancakes?, MC thinks, deadpan, while Comte is smiling emptily - he's seen everything. He is not easily amused at this point.

Finally, Theo spins the pumping, revealing…

Revealing…

A cat's…face?

"A cat's face?" MC and Comte's voices overlap - it's one part an honest guess, because it's not the most prominent cat's face they've seen - and one part surprise. And then it clicks. Theo is scared by cats, so naturally…

"HOW are you not scared. These creatures are just vile. I barely managed to carve this."

Uh-oh. The situation is laughable, and Theo is angry. He expects his efforts to be appreciated. As if by telepathy, MC and Comte both nod and smile, passing the notepad to each other to put in their impressions, just like how they did for Arthur's creation. Theo looks smug again. They move on.

***

Napoleon's pumpkin is…

"Well, that sure is a pumpkin."

Comte nods, hand on his chin. "It is, yes. It has a strong Halloween motive to it."

Napoleon blinks, his smile growing a tad more awkward, waiting to hear more.

"A classic Jack-o-Lantern. I almost see the stock photo watermarks over it."

"The what?"

"MC is trying to say that,"

"If all the pumpkins here were the characters of a mobile game, this one would be the poster boy!"

Napoleon is even more confused. But if anything, he prides himself in having good intuition. And the thing it is telling him now is…

"Are you saying that my pumpkin is boring?"

***

The stakes are high for Vincent. Not that every artist is necessarily good at all art mediums there are, much less when it comes to the complex art of pumpkin carving, but the excitement is huge nonetheless. Vincent chuckles shyly at their bubbling curiosity, and like Theo, spins his pumpkin to reveal its face.

It's not a face, however. It's a whole landscape - fields upon fields, threes in the distance, scorching sun above with its rays portrayed for effect. The most eye-catching of it all is that Vincent found a way to stay true to his unique style - the elements of the landscape are consisting of many dashed lines carved into the surface, achieving that familiar feeling of movement present in all his canvases. It's a masterpiece on a pumpkin.

After a round of applause beginning with the judges and following through all of the room, Comte and MC are ready to fill in their remarks on the notepad, but…

"That…wasn't very scary now, was it?"

Vincent rubs the back of his neck, understanding his mistake. "I couldn't bring myself to put any scary elements into this. I'm sorry. The competition's spirit filled me with one too many bright emotions!"

They don't deserve Vincent.

***

Leonardo's pumpkin is outright steampunk incarnate. It's a very intriguing thing to look at, with various types of screws forming the smile and two nuts for eyes; most likely scrap parts from his various intentions and the things he is fixing back in his room. It's the embodiment of the phrase "work smarter, not harder" since the judges notice that there is barely any carving done here. They take back a point for that, impressed or not.

***

"I don't understand this."

"I do." Comte says, eyes scanning over the few lines of sheet music carved into the pumpkin instead of a face, by Mozart. His knowledge of playing the violin comes in handy in understanding the creation of the music genius in front of him, and he analyses it to his best extent.

"It's threatening music notation.", he states, visibly feeling threatened by whatever is going on on this staff. MC doesn't get much of it, but she can tell that it is something absurd-looking, just on the verge of not making sense yet passing for actual music, ruining the lives of the ones convicted to play it.

"Thank you."

***

"On first look, it's a normal Jack-o'-lantern," Isaac explains, a slight smile on his face, gloves on, eyes protected behind goggles. Naturally, the other contestants move a few steps away from Isaac out of concern, but their eyes stay close to what is happening in front of him. The attention is a little too much on him, so he wastes no time processing the demonstration. "But when I add the hydrochloric acid…"

Isaac pours a small amount of the contents of a vial to what appears to be a hidden container inside the pumpkin - the result comes quickly as the lid of the pumpkin is put into place and tons of white fog-like smoke pours out of the Jack-o'-lantern's mouth. Isaac's smile grows just a tad wider while everyone is busy looking at his creation and wowing, and the following round of applause is welcomed by him, too. Maybe that competition wasn't much of a bad idea, after all.

***

"I was inspired by Ai-kun's invention."

Comte and MC raise a brow, mirroring each other almost perfectly, albeit Comte still manages to do it in his own refined way. Isaac is voicing out his frustration in advance and everyone is waiting to know.

"Let me demonstrate." Dazai brings his own pumpkin into view, which, by the way, has a very comical expression. Maybe it's that the eyes are too tiny, or the mouth too crocked, but there is something goofy about it for sure. What is more interesting, though, is that Dazai appears to be spinning a handle at the pumpkin's backside.

Soon its "guts" start to spill through the opening of its mouth, seed and pulp and all that, wave after wave. It's spooky for sure. A bit like a parody of Isaac's creation, but spooky nonetheless. A point for that.

"So what's the mechanism behind it?" Comte asks, notepad propped up against his chest reminiscent of a curious student in front of his professor. Dazai is amused to catch his interest like so, and probably everyone else's at that matter and hurries to explain.

"I burrowed the meat grinder from the kitchen and put it inside."

***

By the time they reach Jean, the last contestant, their hopes are high again. After Dazai nothing can manage to be as much of a headache or to potentially require a conversation on how kitchen appliances are not borrowable for Halloween decoration.

"Jean, what is this?"

A haphazardly cut-out triangle for one eye, eyepatch over the other. A vertical cut in the place of a mouth.

"It's me."

***

Alright, that's all! Comte and I will discuss the results in private and decide on a winner… though I can already tell it's gonna be a hard job."

The dining room gets rowdy with conversation.

"It's a shame that Sebas didn't get to compete as well."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same."

"Man, he would've LOVED to see everyone's demonstrations. I can imagine him, diary in hand and everything."

"He has a diary?"

"It's fine Vincent, we don't have to pretend we don't know when he's not around."

"Anyway, why isn't Sebastian here, anyway?"

"Huh? No really, why is he not here?"

"Where is Sebastian?"

"Good day, Messieurs."

The dining room's doors open with a bang, pushed by the force of a familiar figure. It's Sebastian, but his state is unrecognizable. His usually neat and clean butler's uniform is now all dirtied up with… bits of pumpkin pulp? Is this what it is?

"Forgive my rude demand, but," he puts the object he was holding, namely a pumpkin, on the center of the table. "I would like to participate as well. I hope you're accepting late entries."

It's a…

A whole pumpkin, untouched in the means of carving, not even gutted out yet.

But what it does have, is a butcher's knife stuck in it.

And an ominous red stickiness all around.

"Sebastian, calm down." Comte is the bravest to speak first, keeping his composure. "I know good lawyers. You know I'd never let you-"

"Oh but what's the need, Monsieur Le Comte? This is merely some rouge I spilled."

It's Comte who sighs in relief, but it feels like it's also everyone else in the room.

"I spilled it because I was busy making ten pumpkin pies. You generous messieurs have left me with…quite the material to work with. Copious amounts of it."

Eyes are meeting eyes across the room, some glued to the tips of their owner's shoes instead. No one dares to say anything.

"Some were left in separate bowls, which is fine. But some were left in the sink."

Sebastian grabs the handle of the butcher's knife and effortlessly retracts it from the pumpkin. He takes a cleaning cloth from his back pocket and begins to wipe it clean while talking, still keeping his eyes up. Out of respect.

"Some were in questionable kitchen utensils and other places. A large amount - on the floor."

Napoleon is brave, too.

"Sebastian, we are going to help-"

"What? What was that, Monsieur Napoleon? We're going to hold a competition for doing Sebastian's chores for the rest of the day? Oh how I'd love to be a judge in that! Do count me in."

Before Sebastian gets too scary to be around, the residents head towards the kitchen, carefully going out of forehead flicking range. Arthur is there as well, fortunately having finished his business in the toilet for the time being.

"Ah. Another thing. Since you told me to think of a way to add to this year's Halloween spirit, and I had plenty of time in my hands back in the kitchen all day to think, I've come up with an idea. I hope it will be to your liking."

"Do tell, Sebas. Your ideas never disappoint." Leonardo tries to lighten the atmosphere, almost giving Sebastian a pat on the back but deciding to refrain from doing so at the last moment. He is the head of the small group on their way to the kitchen, everyone already knowing their fate. "I thought we could cut off on fake blood expenses for decoration purposes. We will be decorating with your blood, Messieurs. It's not like it would be lethal to you if I were to borrow some. As far as I'm concerned."

a/n:

"Threatening music notation" is a reference to a twitter account with the same name for which I joked about being run by Mozart.

"But what was the first place prize in the competition?" I . dont. know. Maybe you have a suggestion? Either way, I doubt they'd get to that part anytime soon. Maybe Sebas can have it?

I wanted to draw what the pumpkins look like but I doubt i'd ever have the time for that :D If anyone happens to want to do that instead, i'd LOVE to see them!

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @thehappycat123 @theuwuisunreal @kiyokirigiri-22 @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @fun-ghoul-neela @salty-fed-up-bitch @coornn @cilokgoang @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @tiny-wooden-robot @joy-the-reader @atelieredux Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #Ikemen Vampire Comte #Ikemen Vampire Leonardo #Ikemen Vampire Arthur #Ikemen Vampire Theo #ikevamp theo #ikevamp theodorus #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp jean #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp sebastian #ikeseries #ikevampire #cybird #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp crack #ikevamp comte #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen vampire isaac #ikemen vampire dazai #ikemen vampire jean #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire mozart #ikemen vampire sebastian

[blonde-batgirl]

“Soccer and teams are born from an overwhelming striker.” This is what Isagi deduces Ego is thinking in chapter eight, following the match with Barou where Team X rapidly forms around him.

I have a theory that, pre-Blue Lock, Kunigami is used to being that overwhelming striker that teams form around. This is the fourth time I’ve taken a crack at writing this out, because it keeps getting far too long, so to make this easier we’re going to stick to the First Selection and split it into sections starting with…

The Team Y Match

In the Team Y match, Team Z have a bold new plan: each of them (except for Chigiri and Iemon) will be the striker the team revolves around for ten minutes of the game. During Kunigami’s turn, here is what Isagi thinks about his playstyle:

“He lets his teammates take care of moving the ball up… so then he’s free to go right to the front line! Rather than the penalty area, which is crowded with players, he positions himself just in front of it… receives a pass from his teammates… and once his teammates clear a space for him… he drives in the ball with his powerful left leg!!”

This is very much where this theory springs from. There’s repeated emphasis here on how much he allows his teammates to do for him. Within the Egoist Four, this makes Kunigami unique – the other three have all expressed the desire to go it alone at one point or another, whether its Isagi’s obsession with scoring his own goals, Bachira trying to take back his lonely soccer, or Chigiri declaring that his ideal self doesn’t want to pass. Additionally, we’ve seen both Bachira and Chigiri carry the ball up the field to the goal entirely on their own with their dribbling skills and speed respectively (Team V match and Manshine City match respectively). We also know that all three of them experienced some level of alienation from their previous teammates: Isagi felt like he couldn’t be himself around them, Bachira was himself (affectionate) and suffered for it, and Chigiri was also himself (derogatory) and got bullied by the Wanima brothers. We don’t really know anything about Kunigami’s backstory yet, but the fact that he’s so willing to rely on teammates he barely knows suggests he didn’t have that problem and implies that he's used to his teammates working to support his goals.

Speaking of which…

The Tag Game

One of Kunigami’s first acts as a member of Team Z is to try and enforce fair play during the tag game. This is after Ego has told them that the only rule is that they can’t use their hands. At this point, most of Team Z don’t even know each other’s names – he has no authority here and there’s no reason for him to believe that anyone will listen to him besides confidence or, perhaps, experience. He’s not doing this from a place of assumed equal footing either – even if some of the guys in the room didn’t know who Kira was, Igaguri has just loudly announced his identity.

It's worth bearing in mind here that we can only speculate on what Kunigami makes of Ego and this whole situation. Isagi, Chigiri, and even Imamura (at the start of the tag game) have established opinions on Ego’s trustworthiness. Kunigami is less bothered by being in the soccer Hunger Games than he is about said soccer Hunger Games not being adequately policed. As mentioned above, we do know that he puts a lot of emphasis on playing fair, and he always shares credit when he feels it’s warranted (yes, sharing the steak, but he also tells the rest of the team in chapter eight that his goal in the Team X match wouldn’t have happened without both Isagi and Bachira). Neither of these seem like very pro-Ego’s-philosophy character traits (although Raichi does point out that there could be a selfish motivation to sharing credit - if people keep passing to him, he can score more).

However, Kunigami plays pretty fast and loose with playing fair when it suits him…

The Team X Match and Kunigami VS Raichi

Technically, Team Z come into the Team X match with a plan. I say technically, because Raichi breaks formation almost immediately and Kunigami charges right after him. There are three ways to interpret this:

Learning from previous mistakes: he already tried enforcing fair play during the tag game and (shockingly) nobody listened

Pragmatism: yeah, he cares about fair play, but it’s not fair play if no one else is playing fair. If this is how things work here, then fine, he’ll play along

Blatant hypocrisy: this one is arguably backed up by Isagi’s thoughts over a panel of Kunigami, Raichi, and some of the Team X guys battling over the ball – “All of them are only thinking about themselves.”

Kunigami himself puts it down to the second one. Regardless, this throws Team Z into immediate disarray. As Team Z are all scrambling to be the main character, Barou is succeeding in becoming that on Team X. He overpowers the rest of his teammates and they promptly fall in behind him – after all, if their team comes in first or second overall, they all get through regardless of who scores. The only reason the same thing doesn’t happen on Team Z is that they’re the main characters none of them manage to score alone.

Kunigami does score in this match, but it’s not his goal that pulls the team together - it’s Isagi’s pass to him. With Barou coming at him, faced with a choice between Raichi (who was free) and Kunigami (who had a defender on him), Isagi chose to pass to Kunigami. Which brings us to one question: why does Isagi pass to Kunigami? Isagi himself tells Raichi that this was subconscious. Later, with the benefit of hindsight, Isagi hypothesises that he did this because he had personal experience with how hard Kunigami could kick and he thought Barou could potentially take on Raichi. But, as noted, Barou was on Isagi at the time and not really any closer to Raichi than he was Kunigami. Of course, this is Isagi’s weapon in its earliest stages – Isagi subconsciously realised that he himself could not beat Barou and, given a choice between Kunigami and Raichi, he identified Kunigami as the one overwhelming striker of the three of them.

To Conclude

I don't feel like I should be hitting post without adding some form of conclusion, so a quick summary of my argument: I think, pre-Blue Lock, Kunigami was used to being the one overwhelming striker that teams formed around and I think this informs his behaviour throughout the First Selection. This would also track with the rest of the Egoist Four, who all behave the way they do because of backstory baggage (Bachira has been lonely his whole life, Chigiri is terrified of reinjuring his leg, Isagi passed a ball once...) Once they're officially working together, Kunigami has no problem trusting his teammates to support him in scoring and he also comes into the story with the confidence to believe that he can lay down the law and people will actually listen to him (nope - ball to the face). Additionally, Isagi instinctively identifies him as the character most likely to make a goal out of the two of them and Raichi.

#Blue Lock #Kunigami Rensuke #Theory #Mine

[batneko]

Another thread I wrote on twitter a while back.

Wrestling au: Saitama was never formally trained in sport wrestling, but he taught himself from books and videos. Nobody believes he wasn't at least on a high school team because he's just that good.

On the indie entertainment wrestling circuit he made up a pretty generic character. Good guy, friend to children, wrestles for the love of the "sport." But somehow the audiences always turn on him, and he's openly advertised as a heel whenever he doesn't write his own copy.

Mumen has nearly the exact same character but he's universally beloved despite being a jobber. He shows up and gets his ass kicked to show how tough the latest heel is before they're challenged by the local face. Once he and Saitama had a tag-team. It's still circulated online.

Genos actually started off as a heel but he's so damn pretty that it didn't stick. He was a little disgruntled about that - especially since he's disabled and wanted to show he can be a heel without being a stereotype. He's been Saitama's fan for years and wanted to fight him.

Faces CAN fight each other, of course, but it's not the same. He wanted Saitama to really GIVE IT TO HIM. Beat him until he begs to tap out. Mop the ring with him.

Genos has not unpacked these desires.

Once he's revamped as a babyface (it doesn't take much, even his cold perfectionist persona gets to stay) Genos is so popular he doesn't have to travel much. Local shows are built around him. New fish are on waiting lists just to be defeated.

Saitama, on the other hand, travels all the time. His best feature according to the managers is that he doesn't have a dayjob and is always free to fill in. Despite living in the same city, he and Genos rarely cross paths.

Genos's manager (Kuseno) pretty quickly figured out the link between Saitama and shows Genos wants to take part in. He follows Saitama's social media so he can anticipate those requests. Genos honestly thinks it's a coincidence and Kuseno is just looking out for his career.

Saitama and Genos don't fight each other, though. For Away shows Genos is usually scripted to lose against the hometown face in an honorable match. Despite his popularity this doesn't upset the fans, because icy precision losing to firey passion is more satisfying anyway.

Backstage, Genos always introduces himself to Saitama and then follows him around like a duckling during all his downtime. Saitama only actually forgot his name that first time, but Genos doesn't want to take the risk. Saitama doesn't think it's weird. Genos SAID he was a fan.

Saitama is usually scripted to lose, eventually, but good managers always make sure to include a REASON for it. Dirty tricks, threatening the audience or his partner, distractions. Saitama isn't popular, but he's so damn GOOD that seeing him lose can break the fans' immersion.

The first time they fight each other, Saitama is supposed to lose to Genos because a heel wanted to fight Genos in the next round and sabotages Genos's equipment backstage so he will hurt Saitama for "real." It's a good story and would really inspire Genos's character.

But during rehearsal Genos is so excited he can't concentrate. Even after he takes a cold shower (or two) he can barely hide it. And when it comes time to "hurt" Saitama Genos gets so upset he nearly cries. HOW can he hurt his HERO?

The managers are like, "Fine, fuck it, this is the story now" and tweak Genos and Saitama's dialogue to imply they've secretly dated. Saitama doesn't figure it out until he's actually saying the lines. Genos gives the most convincing performance of his life, but never realizes.

The in-character backstory is now Saitama and Genos have A History. What that history IS is kept ambiguous, and the fans that don't like shipping tend to interpret it as Genos training under Saitama.

The managers like it because it gives both of them depth.

When Genos takes part in a show he's not supposed to win, but they haven't booked a popular enough heel or hotheaded enough face to beat him, they just put him up against Saitama in the quarter-finals and down he goes. And Genos showing an emotional side gains him even more fans.

But it gets harder and harder for Genos to fight Saitama. He thought he'd get used to it, but every time is more thrilling than the last. Not even Saitama can stay oblivious when Genos pops a boner in Every. Single. Rehearsal.

They start meeting up outside of work. Saitama originally invited him to go jogging, Genos automatically replied that he does all his training at a gym, and then realizing he'd missed an opportunity invites Saitama to join him THERE.

on the "backyard" wrestling circuit (a misnomer, they usually rent event spaces, often indoors) kayfabe isn't really enforceable. Performers are EXPECTED to have outside lives. But Genos has a lot of fans, and people know he goes to this gym.

Word gets out. PICTURES get out.

Now people are wondering - how much was character and how much was real? Are Genos and Saitama really friends? Really DATING?

And the answer is no, not yet, but the barrage of questions when Saitama rarely gets ANY on his social media is kinda scary.

it's hard enough starting a new relationship without randos asking you personal questions. So... Saitama draws back. He keeps Genos firmly in the Friend category. He ignores the way he looks at him.

Genos, thankfully, didn't even know Saitama HAD been considering dating him.

So time passes. They keep wrestling, keep building their storylines, make friends and alliances and have a good time. If it wasn't for those sad puppydog eyes every time Saitama makes an excuse not to get dinner with Genos, it would be great!

Then a rumor starts going around that a scout from a tv stable is coming to matches. REAL professional wrestling. That, in fact, it's Amai Mask, who used to do the backyard circuit before he was scooped up, and after only a few years he's already started getting acting work.

Everybody brings their A Game, putting more effort into costumes and gimmicks, trying to sell their characters. But it seems pretty obvious that if anyone will get offered a job, it's Genos.

The local indie league's championship is a mess. Everyone is going WAY too hard and coming up with new ideas last minute. They want to put on the best show possible and it's too much all at once.

Nobody gets seriously hurt, at least. And the belt goes to Genos.

Afterward, Amai Mask approaches Genos and Saitama. They were talking together, laughing. Relaxing, for once, after the stress of the day. But Amai is there, and he doesn't just have an offer, he has a CONTRACT.

For Saitama.

Genos and Saitama had talked about the rumors earlier, and Genos said he thought he'd turn an offer down. He's still very young, and indie wrestling is FUN. He likes the freedom and creative control.

Saitama had agreed and said he'd probably turn it down too. But that was then.

The network doesn't NEED another pretty face. What they need is someone solid and dependable, who can take a hit safely, who can play any role a story calls for. Amai encourages Saitama to look at the contract and think it over, then leaves them alone again.

Genos appears to be genuinely excited for him. He knows that Saitama doesn't even have a manager, so he tells Saitama he'll ask Kuseno to represent him. Saitama agrees. But he tells Genos he doesn't want to think about the contract right now. He's got bigger plans for tonight.

The next morning Genos can't think about pretty much anything except how thoroughly his world got rocked, but Saitama does manage to meet up with Kuseno and go over the contract. It's pretty standard, not UNfair, but there's an expectation that Saitama will negotiate for more.

After a couple days of thinking, and a lot more time with Genos, Saitama finally calls the number Amai gave him.

Saitama will accept the contract, as-is, no negotiating, but ONLY IF they also hire Genos.

Honestly it's a bluff. Saitama expects them to say no. What he doesn't know is that Amai has been trying to quit and do movies fulltime, so oops it turns out they DO need another pretty face after all.

(this was probably Amai's plan all along)

It takes some time. Saitama doesn't hear back for a week. And when he does, GENOS'S contract negotiations take at least twice as long. But in the end they've both got offers they're happy with. They've got to move to a new city, but that's not so bad. They can move in together.

And that's the end! More or less. Genos stays in wrestling for the rest of his working life, both in and out of the ring. Saitama is the one who ends up with an acting career, though pretty much always as a goon or mook. He still enjoys it.

They're together. They're happy.

more characters

Sonic is a heel of the Fighting Narcissist/Gorgeous George mode. Since this is 2020 him being androgynous and sexual doesn't make the audience hate him though, they think he's GREAT. His social media has almost as many followers as Genos.

He's popular enough that he could flip to a face, but he never would. He loves dirty tricks and flirting with the refs too much.

He and Genos only fought a couple times but the videos are super popular

King is a manager both in and out of character. He also plays the ref a lot, and sometimes a masked wrestler if they need to fill out a tag team. He's not strong enough to lift any of the other wrestlers so he's not interested in playing one more often.

He actually does the booking for a lot of the local shows, and he knows who will work well together (or not). As a character, he most often plays the manager for Tatsumaki and Fubuki, with a running gag that they fight over his attention. IRL Tatsu does their personal booking.

I've already talked about Mumen - he works hard and has a decent amount of fans but he can't seem to stand out and gets injured whenever he tries a risky stunt. He's often squashed in the first round to show off how tough another wrestler is.

Garou's a heel and he LOVES being a heel, but he's unfortunately gained a reputation as a jerk because his in-character trashtalk is a bit too... accurate. Just because a wrestler relies on a particular move all the time doesn't mean they want it pointed out.

He's good at what he does though, and audiences love him. He's still a newbie but he's picking up fans FAST. So despite opponent objections, he keeps getting booked.

What none of the other wrestlers know is he's also a face. When he puts on the mask he goes FULL method.

As the masked wolf he's calm and cool and heroic. He fills in, saves tag teams, exposes heels who have distracted or bribed refs. Backstage he NEVER removes the mask, and never breaks character.

That's part of why he keeps getting booked. Two characters for one appearance fee!

#long post #longpost #opm au #wrestling au #one punch man #opm #saigenos #saitama x genos #genos #saitama #garou #mumen rider #opm king #tatsumaki #fubuki #amai mask #twitter thread reposts

[coolcattime]

A Moment of Rest (A Mianite YTTD Snippet)

Written for Day 2 (AU/Post canon) of MCYT Yuri Week created by @mcyt-yuri-week

Content Warning: Contains discussion of off screen deaths and violence

Relationships: Captain Capsize/Sonja Firefoxx

Characters: Sonja Firefoxx, Captain Capsize, Spark Conway

The following takes place in the brief rest period between the end first Main Game and the beginning of the next set of sub games. At the current point in time, nine of the participants remain alive.

As their first day in this death game draws to a close, Capsize and Sonja sit together thinking about the events of the day. Despite neither wanting to think about the main game, Capsize feels the need to thank her new friend for her defence.

AO3 Link

Full AU Tag

Tom and Alyssa were both sleeping as peacefully as Capsize and Sonja assumed possible given the situation. Even if said sleep was fitful, it was surely better than nothing. They’d been here a day, and they'd watched three people die horribly. Even having only just met those who had died, it had been horrific, neither could imagine the full effect of the situation on the two they were watching over as they waited for the next floor to open. Neither particularly liked the silence that had settled since they had managed to coax Alyssa into getting some sleep, it let their minds wander too much into the reality that they found themselves in, but that wasn't really something they could avoid thinking about now. However, no matter how much she wanted to avoid thinking about it altogether, there was a certain part of the Main Game, beyond the horrifying deaths that had marked its end, that still itched in the mind of one of the two.

“I haven't thanked you yet," Capsize broke the silence, causing Sonja to abruptly be broken out of her own thoughts. She looked a little confused towards the other woman, not thinking of anything she needed to be thanked for, but it had been a hell of a day, maybe it’d slipped her mind. The singer avoided her eyes, drumming her fingers against her knee rhythmically wishing she had an actual instrument to focus her thoughts. “When everyone was accusing me of being a murderer, you defended me and I, uh, I really appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that!” She spoke a little too loudly at first, causing a brief stir from Alyssa, before hushing herself. She didn’t mean to be loud; she just still couldn’t quite believe what a mess the Main Game had been, how little it took for everyone to start turning on each other. How quickly it had turned from everyone working together to trying to pick out the most useless of the group and people lying to save themselves. She’d barely wanted to show the version of the paper she’d pieced together from the shredder. Even with it having an obvious mistake, it still pointed towards Tom being a murderer, and she didn’t want to throw that landmine into the discussion. She’d been so glad when Tom brought out the scrap piece he’d found, when she saw how clearly it matched up with the tear line to show that he wasn’t a killer. The fact that it immediately pointed towards Capsize as the killer instead felt like a gut punch. “Them all turning on you, like you hadn’t spent the whole time helping, it was disgusting. Besides, it’s not like my defence did much.”

“You told them all it was bullshit, that’s good enough for me,” They both laughed, though it was a quiet and hollow feeling. Capsize wondered how close she was to getting voted up. What would’ve happened if Red hadn’t revealed himself as the murderer, as her brother? It felt repulsive to think about, the sort of thing she really didn’t want to think about because the entire situation was beyond messed up. She was happy to be alive but at the same time, they’d voted to kill someone. She’d voted to kill someone. Even if they’d been forced to, it still felt beyond uncomfortable. It was an odd mix, both were happy to be alive, but that came at the expense of two people who weren’t. No one had deserved to die, so how could they really be happy beyond the fact that they haven’t turned on each other?

“Well, I had to do something. You’ve been helping this whole time. You were willing to lose an arm for me. Even if you had killed someone, I can’t believe you were a bad person,” She honestly hadn’t been sure. Seeing the words ‘Dunbar … Murderer’ on the torn-up sheet was enough to make her question, but when she’d been locked in that deathtrap, when everything had seemed hopeless, Capsize had placed her arm in front of the arrows aimed at her, smiling as if risking her arm being shot point blank by multiple arrows was no big deal. Sonja’s mind had been set, regardless of what Capsize might’ve done outside of the game, she was a good person. Oh course, most of the others haven’t cared. “I owe you so much.”

‘It must be nice to just be able to see a pretty face assume morals based on that. Really, do you have any logical thoughts?’ She’d been dismissed just like that, treated like she was wrong for speaking emotionally. It wasn’t as if her point had been devoid of logic, she was just making a different point than the majority. It would’ve felt belittling if the situation hadn’t been so serious. Instead, it just made her blood boil and she’d yelled more. She was pretty sure she’d made the situation worse, lead to just more intense demands to Capsize to tell the truth. It hadn't mattered once Redbeard yelled over the lot of them to reveal his identity, but what if he hadn't been there? Why did everyone just decide guilty until proven innocent even despite previous actions?

“You don’t owe me anything. Just seriously, thank you,” She said, making sure to sound sincere as it was important to her that Sonja knew how much the defence had meant to her. She mulled over the whole argument that had happened. She’d felt so lost, nearly everyone turned on her so quickly, and she’d just floundered. But it had been nice to have someone still believe in her, still try and fight for her when it looked like she might’ve been the worst kind of person. And she remembered what had been yelled at Sonja, and wondered if she should say more, if there really was anything more that she could say on the topic without making assumptions. But Sonja decided to continue the conversation instead.

"Do you really think there's gonna be a way out of here? No more death or having to vote?" She asked carefully, not quite being sure if she herself believed such a thing possible. Capsize looked at her, at downcast eyes and hands playing with the fabric of her apron. She thought of the two they were watching over, of Alyssa screaming as she watched her dad be killed by the same collar still fixed around all of their necks, of Tom desperately trying to deny reality as the results of the Main Game were announced. It had been as horrible as the deaths themselves, hope sucking. She couldn't blame anyone for losing hope, but she couldn't. 

"Yeah, there has to be, I'm not dying in someone's idea of a sick joke. There's stuff I've still got to do," She spoke as if there was no doubt in her mind, like she had the whole thing figured out. Sonja looked more towards her and saw the same smile she had had during the death trap, one so reassuring that said despite reality that everything was going to be okay. And she wanted more than anything to believe that smile. "And, even if we are stuck in this mess, I'll keep on protecting you lot. So, you don't need to worry."

"You shouldn't place a burden like that on your shoulders."

"It’s not a burden..." Capsize paused, drumming her fingers on her leg again, wondering if she should actually say what she wanted to. She feared sounding too forward, that it'll be weird given the situation, but one of them could be dead tomorrow. She had enough regrets without adding another one born of cowardice. "And... we are both gonna get out of here. I know we will ‘cause, well, I was kinda hoping we could maybe go somewhere maybe grab a drink, a coffee, together just the two of us once we got out of here, so it'd really suck if we didn't."

Sonja hummed in response, it not quite clicking what had been said until after she had already done so, causing her to suddenly jolt at her own seeming indifference. She turned to see Capsize looking almost sheepish, an odd look for someone who had been bold and loud the whole time. And Sonja was almost sure she misheard because the pretty punk girl she'd met in a death game had just asked her out for coffee. She almost wanted to laugh because it almost felt like the world itself was playing a trick on her. Though she didn't, which was without a doubt good for Capsize's confidence as she already felt that she'd put her foot in her mouth. Sonja instead lent a little closer to her, taking her hand that was currently at rest and lacing her fingers between half-gloved ones. She looked at her with as much a smile as she could muster.

"I'd love to get coffee whenever we get out of here," She said. For the briefest moment, the two women looked at each other and it almost felt like they weren't in a live or death situation, like there was no chance of these being their last few days alive. They were so close to each other, close enough to hear the other's heartbeat. And maybe it was just the whole 'we might die soon thing', but they did lean even closer, close enough to feel breath on their face, to know what was about to happen. To lean even closer, their lips practically touching--

A loud clearing of a throat got them to jump away from each other with red faces. Sonja shrank inwards while Capsize glared with no end of annoyance at Spark who lent against a wall with a grin on his face. Did he seriously have to look so smug?

"Sorry to interrupt, but the next floor's open. Thought you might want some help carrying these two," He said, nodding towards Tom and Alyssa. The atmosphere was beyond awkward. Though it was certainly a no win situation for the man as, had he waited until they were done, the tension in the air would have certainly been worse. A groan left Capsize as she had to acknowledge he had a good reason for interrupting but didn't want to. She wanted to live in the previous moment, but it had already passed and flittered out of reach. She pressed her wrist against her forehead, forcing herself to take a breath, to collect her thoughts before speaking.

"You're definitely not sorry, but carry Tom and I'll consider forgiving you," Capsize said, bluntly but there was the slightest hint of levity in her tone. Spark counted himself lucky as he wasn't sure anyone else would've gotten a response so calm from her. He decided to take that as a compliment, even if it did look like she wanted to throttle him.

As Capsize scooped up Alyssa, and Spark figured out the best way to move Tom without waking him, Sonja fidgeted. Now wasn't the time to be embarrassed, and she wasn't, not really, but she couldn't help but worry about the detective telling the others what he had interrupted.

"Hey Spark, you, err," She started, sorting through her head for the right phrasing. "You aren't going to tell anyone that we were gonna--"

"That you were going to kiss?" Spark asked, an eyebrow raised. Sonja squeaked and Capsize grimaced in preparation for the answer. But he shook his head and laughed quietly. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with Mr Detective."

'If only all our secrets could be so light-hearted.' Spark thought as saw the relief wash across their features. They couldn't be of course, and he dreaded some of his own being revealed, but at least he could give some reassurances to other people, however small, as they proceeded into whatever horrors the next stage of this game was going to offer.

#mcytyuriweek2023 #sonja firefoxx #captain capsize #foxxsize #sonja firefoxx/captain capsize #mianite #mianite fanfiction #cat's fanfiction #mianite yttd au #spark conway #not pictured: them finding private bedrooms on the next floor and going somewhere cockblock detectives can't

[justlittleguysims]

Some Sh*t my OC(s) Said...

Thank you @changingplumbob for tagging me in this. I've been trying to figure out what three quotes I could even mention here, because I have WAY too many OCs to pick from, and don't really do gameplay based stories, so I guess I'll just pick three of my favorite characters to write for, one for each of my projects, and sort of just give a one-liner or bits I have been working on in my head lately for each one. My brain is just filled with my OCs bickering at each other. lol

From My Untitled WIP:

You can read the first 5 parts of chapter one HERE.

Scene Context: Derek Moore has been single for awhile and his Daughter, Angie, has been bugging him to start dating again since she's worried about him being alone when she moves out for college. Derek is 33 and she's 17, so they have reached a point where they tend to speak to each other pretty candidly about all sorts of things.

Derek, at this point, is sort of airing out his grievances with online dating, and how he feels like he can't really relate to many of the women his age on there because most of them are still figuring their lives out, and they don't have kids, so they probably don't want their "first kid" as a step-parent to be a fully-grown adult. He's been worried about this for a while, but Angie doesn't seem all to concerned about that, what she's really concerned about —especially after seeing a few of his opening messages on his app, is, and I quote:

"Dad... I love you, but... you have zero game... respectfully."

From Lidia and Séamus:

I don't have any story posted from this project yet, since it's barely two months old now, but I have been posting character development stuff, which you can find HERE.

Scene Context: It's 1965 at the start of this story, and Lidia Rossi, who is a Calabrian Italian women, is having a conversation over breakfast with Séamus O'Hara, an Irishman, who she's recently made acquaintance with through a few friends, and has been letting crash at her place on and off for about two weeks at this point in the story. They often poke fun at each other's cultural differences, mostly in good fun, and this scene is very much one of those moments where they mutually point out how weird each other's cultural habits are to the other.

In this case, Lidia is watching Séamus spread a load of butter onto his toast. Something she doesn't do, coming from a Southern Italian family where butter just isn't a common ingredient used in a lot of their cooking. She makes a comment on how she thinks he's using WAY too much butter. He pushes back at her, telling her that it isn't too much. They go back and frothing like this for a bit, Lidia saying she thinks the amount of butter he's eating is disgusting and unhealthy, Séamus bite back at her for only ever eating bread and a cup of coffee in the morning, as if that is healthy. I don't exactly know how long this would go on for... but what I do know is that Séamus will end the argument by saying something along the lines of:

"How could you possible know what's a normal amount of butter if you don't even eat the stuff? You're no butter authority! You lack the credentials."

From Fortunes Come in Threes:

I don't have too much posted about this project, just a part 1 to the first chapter, which you can find HERE.

Scene Context: At this point in the story, Kris Battle is moving into Francis Adler's house, and their friend Evan Erickson is helping them move Kris' belongings into the house. With both Francis' car and the pickup truck Evan had borrowed from a friend now empty, they all decided to take a brake and order some pizza.

As they wait for their order to arrive, they all get to talking, and Kris learns more about Francis' late adoptive mother, Sharleen, who was the original owner of the house. Francis and Evan, who have been best friends since the 3rd grade, begin reminiscing about the family game board nights Sharleen would host for Francis, Evan, and all of Evan's siblings every Friday night when they were kids. Francis, who is so excited about Kris being their new housemate, mentions that now that Kris will be living with them, they and Evan will finally be able to play more than just their usual two player broad games.

"We can finally play three-player chess again!" Francis rejoiced. "Oh god no!" Evan groans. "PLEASE! Anything but THAT!"

This is what three-player chess looks like, btw. Evan hates this game.