#General Ironclad
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Contract Signed
So, I came up with a Beauty and the Beast AU for Spicynoodles but right now, not working on a full fic. I haven't had a lot of time to write because I've been really busy this semester, so I figured I would write the opening as a little warm-up.
Wanna support? Here's my Ko-Fi!
-_-
Once upon a time, there was a wealthy kingdom, ruled by a proud king and queen. The mighty king had surpassed his predecessors and had led the kingdom into a golden age. The beautiful queen had carved her way into society from her status as a banished princess, making sure she and her husband were respected far and wide. They were proud of their accomplishments. Most of all, however, they were proud of their son.
Their son, born on the coldest and longest night of the year, was born with a sharp mind and even sharper tongue. The tutors of the young boy called him a genius and he soon developed a knack for machines. He sometimes missed social cues and sometimes got wrapped up in his own head to the point of being impractical or allowing his temper to get the best of him, but as he grew int a handsome young man, they grew into being charming. It was clear that the prince was the jewel of the kingdom and, on his twentieth birthday, the king and queen threw a massive celebration.
The party was in full swing when a hunched over beggar woman came to one of the royals. Nobody knows what happened next. Some say that the prince, drunk on ego, rudely dismissed the peasant. Some say that the queen, wanting nothing to go wrong for her sweet boy, coldly dismissed the peasant, or the king, wanting nothing to go wrong for his beloved heir, demanded that she leave in a yell that drew everyone’s attention. Whatever happened, whether it was the son or mother or father, the result was the same.
The beggar woman revealed herself to be a powerful enchanter, seeing if the kingdom was worthy of being in an alliance with. However, the rudeness they had been given suggested not.
The prince was cursed to reveal his true hideous nature, becoming a monster. The enchanter ended the insult by explaining that, if someone could truly love the prince as he was, the prince would be cured.
However, his new monstrous form was a source of fear for the kingdom that once respected its prince. Fearing for his safety if he stayed, the king and queen sent their son to a far-off corner of their kingdom. There, in a beautiful manor, he waited to receive the guests that his parents sent, hoping one day that one of them would be able to break his curse.
However, so far, their hopes were weak…
“I thought the payments would be each week?”
“New orders from the king and queen,” the man in front of him huffed. He had introduced himself as General Ironclad, the head of Princess Iron Fan’s guard and the head general of the Demon Bull army. As Qi Xiaotian watched him fold his arms, he had to admit. He showed his experience in the battlefield. “The last girl ran screaming and refused to be bribed back. So, your family will be paid for each day you’re gone.” The general raised a hand to massage his brow. “We were already dealing with the cut down from payment each month.”
Xiaotian glanced back at the contract. The terms were simple, as the poster explaining this job promised. He needed simple.
Recently, Xiaotian’s family had come into some…issues. He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, but his father, Zhu Pigsy, had broken his arm and back. (Based on the fact that Pigsy refused to explain, he was pretty sure the accident had been an embarrassing one.) The man ran a small inn that provided three square meals to their guests. Unfortunately, with Pigsy’s inability to pick things up, their service was lower quality. That wasn’t great, especially considering that their rival inn was right across the street.
Xiaotian had tried his best to pick up the slack, but he didn’t really know how to cook noodles. Pigsy had only started training him on how to cook, and all he knew was the one family favorite. He did much better checking people in and delivering food across town. Tang, Pigsy’s husband, was trying to help, but he was lazy and had weak ankles.
Long Xiaojiao, Xiaotian’s best friend and a noblewoman, had tried to offer money to hire more people, but Pigsy had refused. He didn’t trust people with his kitchen. Instead, he reduced prices, which was only a small bucket of relief.
They were running low on funds, and fast.
So, Xiaotian had decided to try and find some other part-time work, which had led him to discover the poster about Prince Red.
It was an infamous story by now. Six years had passed since the curse had been cast. Xiaotian himself had assumed it was just a fairy tale with the current royals’ names attached when the news first broke out. Now, however, all he heard about the prince were the twenty-somethings sent to try and break the prince’s curse and running out whenever he scared them off.
They weren’t forced, however. Red himself had apparently kicked out the terrified prisoner sent to him and had sent word to his parents to send him volunteers. They did this by paying volunteers huge amounts. At first, it had been for each year the person went. Now, apparently, it was each day.
The amount was huge.
Enough to give Pigsy and Tang a comfortable nest egg, enough to close the inn for a little while while Pigsy recovered. Just for one day. Xiaotian stared at the contract, willing himself to focus.
He just needed to try for a week, according to the rules. Money would be delivered to your family or a person you trusted- he wrote Pigsy’s name. If you got hurt, the royal family would personally cover your medical bills…
“Hurt?”
“The prince always had a fiery temper,” Ironclad huffed. “And now he has control over flames.” He leaned forward, forcing Xiaotian to meet his eyes. “They learned this because a man broke a clock he was working on. He got so mad, he picked up a pillow and set it on fire before throwing it at him. Poor man’s hands were out of commission for weeks.”
Xiaotian blinked. “...why did he break the clock?” He probably should’ve been more terrified by the fact that the prince could set him on fire, but hey. He always noticed the less important details.
“No idea.” Ironclad leaned back. “You can back out now. No shame in that. The guard will take you home.”
Xiaotian glanced back. Said guard, a guy who had introduced himself as Bob, waved. He managed to wave back before glancing back down. It was tempting. He was an artist. Every morning he would poke his head outside and try to draw the sky as it was in that moment. Pigsy had hung his portrait of him, mid chop, up in their personal quarters. The idea of losing his hands, possibly losing his touch while he recovered, was terrifying.
Equally as terrifying was the idea of the inn being boarded up, Pigsy alone in the rain, watching as his life’s work was taken away…
“I’ll do it.” Before he could think about it some more, Xiaotian wrote down his name on the dotted line. The moment his name was down, paired with his trademark monkey face, he shoved it away. Ironclad raised a brow but nodded, reaching over. His movements were smooth as he rolled up the scroll. “When do I go?”
“It depends. Usually, a person needs a day or so to say goodbye-”
“Can we go now?” How was he supposed to admit that he snuck out of his home, leaving behind a note to say goodbye? Xiaotian stood, reaching over and grabbing his bag. He tried to ignore Ironclad’s questioning look at how small it was. “I said goodbye before I left.”
Ironclad pulled his eyes away from the bag to nod. “Fine. We can go now.”
“Thank you,” Xiaotian stood. “I hope I can help the prince.” Probably not, but hey. It wouldn't hurt to try.
Ironclad didn’t say a word.
#my writing#LMK#LMK AU#Monkie Kid#Monkie Kid AU#LEGO Monkie Kid#LEGO Monkie Kid AU#au#fic#Qi Xiaotian#General Ironclad#Red Son#Spicynoodles#Spicynoodleshipping
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From “Monkie Kid Almighty Game Challenge“, this condenses the plot of “The Great Wall Race”
#lego monkie kid#mk monkie kid#qi xiaotian#red son monkie kid#princess iron fan#demon bull king#general ironclad#tang monkie kid#monkey king#lswk#comic#mmb.png
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damn my lesbian bias is getting out of hand. what do you mean I'm way better at Silent than Ironclad
#in other words yayy I just beat silent A...7?#my rambles#to explain the joke the first two classes in the game are ironclad and silent (male and female resoectively)#ironclad's generally considered the easier/more straightforward one and a lot of folks find silent harder to understand-#-/play well/etc#slay the spire#deeply unserious
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#i am Curious#i've been in the ironclad grip of kpop for 8 years now someone please save me#kpop#kpop polls#bts#txt#enhypen#seventeen#le sserafim#blackpink#red velvet#nct#twice#newjeans#girls generation#aespa#got7#p1h#stray kids#polls
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thinkin about things and I didn’t realize how fucking refreshing it is to not have to people please, like. this friend has told me that if I try to fawn or put her needs above mine she Will call me out on it and I believe her
#being friends with luci is like speedrunning therapy#I’ve learned SO much about myself and human behavior in general#in her words: she’s ao aggressively herself that people can’t help but fall in love with her (romantically or platonically)#she also has ironclad boundaries and is not afraid to stand up for herself at all#and I’m like GOD I want what she has#luci makes me wanna be a better person#we’re just a couple of fucked up little guys trying to make it in a deeply fucked up world that has not been kind to either of us#fuck it’s too early to be crying#I’m okay! this is good crying#but god damn
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AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH
#'you don't NEED to write characters talking about boundaries' 'you don't NEED your characters to be doing [insert safe sex practice here]'#'you don't NEED to make the consent as clear-cut and ironclad as it would be in real life'#<-yes true because you are writing a story#'if you DO include these things you are boring and contributing to purity culture'#<-no!!! I KNOW I don't have to!! but I want to because it's interesting to me to imagine the characters figuring that out!!!!!!#also this practice LITERALLY has 'consent' in it's name. TWICE. I don't think it's out of the question to discuss consent in some way!#nobody owes you ANYTHING in what they write actually#my GOD you are all ('you' meaning general 'you') so inconsistent and nonsensical about this topic#c2g#The Fic That's A Lot#in this really goddamn weird place where the Purity Culture people think I'm contributing to the downfall of society for examining a#controversial kink in a story & the Self-Proclaimed Degenerates think I'm handling this too tamely/not being uncomfortable enough about it#when literally I am just writing a story. read it or don't. it's not that deep.#nsft#(<-to be like. ABSOLUTELY safe)
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Hey Red, sorry if this was asked already, but do you have any advice on writing a trickster hero? And do you have any favorites yourself?
Huh! This is something I've never really thought too hard about before, but I do have some loose and unformed thoughts!
So the trickster archetype is, broadly, a character who wins by being cunning and tricking the people around them. Typically this is because they are an underdog facing a powerful opponent, and if they face that opponent on the terms that opponent defines, they'll lose. For instance, a physically strong opponent might want to make everything into a contest of raw force; a politically powerful opponent might want to make things a legal battle; a commander of a large army might want to battle on a flat terrain-less battlefield and overpower the smaller enemy force through raw numbers; etc etc.
A trickster doesn't have the raw power to make a scenario happen. Instead, they achieve that scenario by making other characters make it happen, usually by misleading them into thinking it'll have some other outcome they want.
A classic example of this is found in a Brer Rabbit story where Brer Rabbit has been snatched by Brer Fox, and Brer Rabbit begs and pleads with him to not throw him into that briar patch, oh the torment he would experience in that briar patch would be unimaginable, drowning or burning would be bad but still better than that briar patch. Brer Fox naturally throws him into the briar patch, at which point Brer Rabbit vanishes into the underbrush and helpfully clarifies that he was born and bred in a briar patch. He was unable to escape through his own power, so instead he convinced Brer Fox that yeeting him into the briar patch would give Brer Fox something he wanted (Brer Rabbit's unimaginable torment) when in actuality it gave Brer Rabbit exactly the cover he needed to escape. It only worked because Brer Rabbit understood that Brer Fox was fundamentally not just hungry, he was cruel.
Tricksters usually achieve victory through lying, stealing, sneaking around and generally being dishonest. These are usually not seen as heroic traits, but the trickster hero is an archetype of character who is broadly heroic - and uses trickster tactics to win. It's an interesting suite of character traits to balance. In order to make a trickster heroic, them being the underdog usually needs to be played up. It's not really easy to root for someone with power to manipulate people for their own ends, but it's easy to root for someone scrappy and underleveled to manage to gumption their way to a victory over a broadly superior opponent.
A sympathetic trickster usually isn't someone who picks fights. Trouble comes to them, and then they need to find a way to escape or stop it. This is the paradigm that makes Bugs Bunny work as a trickster hero - he starts off basically every adventure minding his own business, and when someone comes around with a blunderbuss and a hankering for rabbit stew, their actions are what prompts him to unleash absolute hell on them by using toon physics and trapping them in ironclad social conventions to completely unbalance them until they're eventually defeated.
If we see a big, loud, powerful jerk try to stomp on someone small and innocuous, we're inclined to root for the small and innocuous person. This setup makes us very eager to see the small and innocuous person use tricks and shenanigans to make a fool of the powerful jerk, and it automatically makes us more okay with the sympathetic character doing on-paper unheroic things like lies and manipulation as long as they're doing them to someone we're primed to dislike.
So trickster heroes are usually fundamentally reactive characters. Something bad happens and they respond by unleashing hell. Another easy way to make a character instantly more heroic is to give them an even weaker, even more sympathetic character to protect or assist. Thus, many trickster heroes have a suite of supporting characters they're protecting who are not tricksters by nature, and are instead just there to be endangered or bullied by Nasty Mean Powerful People. Our trickster heroes stepping in to aid and protect other people thus gives their actions an even more heroic cast, because not only are they reactive to an outside threat, they're selflessly reactive.
This is the framing that's used in Leverage, where every episode has a victim of the week being cruelly taken advantage of by a jerkass of the week, at which point our team of liars, grifters and thieves roll up to ply their trade on the jerkass and award the spoils of war to the victim of the week. Because the person they're tricking is proven unequivocally to be truly awful and completely insulated from legal consequence a solid 98% of the time, we don't feel particularly bad seeing our team of heroes manipulate, gaslight and eventually absolutely destroy them over the course of a crisp 40 minutes. The vileness of the villain combos with the innocent powerlessness of the person they're advocating for, and thus their assorted unheroic qualities become reframed as absolutely heroic due to the circumstances under which they use them.
Crucial to the formula is the horrendous nastiness of the villain of the week, because if we were even kind of sympathetic to them, the schemes of the protagonists would be kinda scary. They are very good at quickly getting the bad guy to trust them and then taking apart everything they've built, and that's only fun to watch if the audience is 100% sure the villain deserves it and is not going to spend too much time thinking "wow, it would be terrifying if that happened to me." The fact that our heroes almost always take them down simply by leveraging (heh) the bad guy's badness is a big part of what makes the formula work. Almost every episode is functionally similar to a Briar Patch scenario - "oh gosh I sure hope no SOULLESS CAPITALIST VAMPIRES take advantage of how MANIPULABLE I am to try and get my MONEY and/or VALUABLES", and then the villain's own established cruelty cascades into their downfall when it runs into the dominos our heroes have set up to expose them. And that does a lot to make the audience sympathize with a crew of four self-admitted terrible people (and Hardison, who's an angel and we're delighted to have him)
Another way to get the audience to root for a potentially nonstandard protagonist is to set them up against a villain who is smug. Smugness is a very dangerous trait for any character to have, because it primes the audience to want to see them break. A villain who thinks they are too powerful or too strong or too smart to be defeated has the audience immediately rooting for them to be proven wrong just so they can watch the expression on their face. This is the strat they use in Columbo.
Every Columbo villain is rich and powerful and very insulated from legal consequences, and we start every episode seeing them arrange and execute an attempt at a perfect murder. We know from the start how they did it and usually why, and because they are smug - they are almost never regretful or reluctant - we become invested in seeing how Columbo figures out what they did, how they did it, and how he can prove it and get them arrested. Columbo is a nonstandard kind of trickster hero, because he is deeply and fundamentally a Lawful Good archetype, but he is also a very casual liar. The only time the audience sees Columbo almost certainly telling the truth is when he's dealing with background characters, his fellow policemen or his dog, or when he's by himself silently putting the pieces together; at all other points in the episode he will typically conceal how much he knows, how he knows what he knows and why he's asking specific probing questions. The audience has a tremendous amount of dramatic irony in terms of information about the perfect murder Columbo has to disassemble; we'll see Columbo zero in on exactly the one small detail that pokes a hole in the supposed airtight alibi, but instead of saying "I think you killed them and I am determined to prove it" he'll dance around why he's focusing on those details - just curiosity, just a desire for completeness, his superiors told him to continue the case and he doesn't know why, his wife is just such a big fan of their work, etc etc.
As a rule, the first time in any given episode that Columbo admits he's suspicious of the villain is the beginning of the last scene of the episode when he proves that they did it and they subsequently surrender. When Columbo is dealing with the villain, absolutely nothing he says can be trusted until that final scene - and it's a rare treat to get a glimpse of Columbo showing an honest emotion, especially something like genuine fury. Most of the time he maintains a very harmless and affable attitude, but sometimes when the villains are very smug and they know he's suspicious of them but can't prove anything yet, his righteous anger peeks through and we see why he does this.
He's a trickster hero because he can't unravel the case, the villain's motivation and the shape of the crime if the villain knows everything he knows and can correspondingly keep up with him. But he is 100% committed to exposing the truth of the situation and making the murderer face justice. Their perfect alibi is supposed to protect them from everything, but it's their confidence and certainty that they could never be caught that Columbo leverages to win. They never know entirely what to make of him, and he's never wholly honest with them - and with the audience - until the very end of the episode. It's good, cathartic payoff to an episode's worth of lies and manipulation from both main players, and it's always fun to see the non-smug party on the side of justice come out on top.
Some trickster heroes are more like standard heroes with trickster tendencies that occasionally surface. These guys are usually pretty straightforward, but in a pinch they can bust out a surprisingly cunning scheme or two - one such moment hits at the climax of Across the Spider-Verse, and it's a great moment of characterization for Miles, who has thus far been a pretty typically heroic guy who has unfortunately spent the entire movie thus far being lied to by people he trusted. It kicks off an enormously long and complicated chase sequence that takes the entire spider-community out of the home base chasing him through an absolutely massive complex and eventually onto a space elevator. It's such a fluid scene, you kind of just accept that it's a desperate chase sequence - Miles is just running. It doesn't occur to the other spider-people that Miles might have a plan beyond running until he basically tells Miguel that, hey, he did just get every other spider-person out of the facility that has the portal to get him home. He wasn't just running away, he was luring everybody away so he can leave.
And this moment is fantastic on a meta-level, because Spider-Man is traditionally a bit of a trickster hero. Most of his enemies are able to physically outpace him, and he needs to use mobility and strategy to take them down, often luring them into environments that work against them - like a fun moment in Spectacular Spider-Man where Spidey defeats the Rhino by luring him into a steam tunnel and basically giving him heatstroke through his armor plating. But because the entire core theme of this movie is "Miles isn't a real Spider-Man," it literally doesn't seem to occur to the other spider-people that Miles's seemingly panicked running might be him pulling a Spider-Man on them. We're so used to being in Miles's head and knowing when he's got a plan or a ploy that this is a very fun moment to watch. He's successfully deceived an entire army of spider-people, and the audience is just as blindsided as Miguel - and a little less electrocuted, so it's a lot more fun for us.
So yea, trickster heroes are a fun little space of character, but you gotta be careful to put them in the right kind of situation, lest their fundamental dishonesty come across as alarming rather than extremely rad.
#I also have a reboot example but I shan't inflict that on you guys without due cause#asks#writing stuff#not aurora
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Hey Sam! Since it's currently AO3 donation time, I'm wondering what your thoughts are on it? I'm asking because you've written RPF and it's one of many "anti-AO3/anti-AO3 donations" people's favourite things to bring up when they're complaining about AO3 getting so many donations that it continuously obtains an excess of its donation goal whenever donation time rolls around? (Wow, how many times can I say "donation" in an ask?)
Sorry if this question bothers you! I don't mean to offend or annoy.
Hey anon! Sorry it took a while to get to this, I don't even know if the drive is still going on, but the question came in while I was traveling and I didn't really have the time for stuff that wasn't travel-related. In any case, let's dig in! (I am not offended, no worries.)
So really there are two issues here and as much as some people who are critical of AO3 want to conflate them, they are different. While some criticism of AO3 may be valid, rhetoric against AO3 tends to misinterpret both in separate ways.
First there's the issue of what AO3 hosts -- RPF, yes, but more broadly, varied content that some people find distasteful or think should be illegal, which is a misunderstanding of the purpose of the archive and more broadly a dangerous attitude towards the concept of freedom of expression.
Second, there's the issue of AO3 generally outpacing its fundraising goals while not allowing monetization, which is a misunderstanding of the legal status of AO3 and to an extent a misunderstanding of philanthropy as a whole.
The longer I watch debates about content go on, the more I come to the conclusion that I was fortunate to have a teacher who really wanted to instill in us an understanding of free speech not as a policy but as an ongoing dialogue. It's not only that freedom of expression "protects you from the government, not the Justin" as the meme goes, but also that freedom of expression is not a static thing. It's an ongoing process of identifying what we find harmful in society and what we want to do about it.
Should the freedom to shout "Fire!" in a crowded theater be restricted? Should the freedom to yell slurs at drag performers? Should the freedom to teach prepubescent kids about gender, sexuality, and/or safe sex? Should the freedom to wear a leather puppy hood at Pride? Who gets to say, and why?
I was nine when my teacher did a unit on freedom of speech and the intersection of "harm prevention" and "censorship", which is (and should be) a discussion, not a set of ironclad rules. This ambiguity has thus been with me for over thirty years, and I'm comfortable with the ambiguity, with the process; I'm not sure a lot of people critical of AO3's content truly are. Perhaps some can't be, especially those affected by hate speech, but RPF is not hate speech. It's just fiction. Or is fiction "just fiction"? This is a question society as a whole is grappling with, although fandom seems to be a little out ahead of society in terms of how explicitly we discuss it.
The idea that prose can incite violence or cause harm is both valid to examine (witness the rise of fascism on the radio in the 20s, on Facebook and Twitter in the past ten years; they're very similar processes) and a very slippery slope. Because again: who decides what harm is, and what causes it, and what we do about it? Our values align us with certain beliefs, but those are only our values, not universal truths. So AO3 is part of the ongoing question of harm and benefit both to society and individuals.
AO3 itself, however, has a fairly defined policy that it is not meant to police content; it is an archive, not a bookstore or a school board. AO3 refines its TOS and policies as necessary, but the goal is always open access and as much freedom of expression as possible, and if that's uncomfortable for some people then that's a discussion we have to have; ignoring it won't make it go away. But it has to be a discussion, it can't be a unilateral change to the archive's TOS or a series of snaps and clapbacks, and I don't see a lot of people ready to move beyond flinging insults. Perhaps because they were taught a much more binary view of freedom of expression than I was.
So, self-evidently, I support AO3 and I don't have a problem with RPF. Whether other people do is something we're going to have to get to grips with, and that's likely to be a process that is still going on when most of us are dust. I'd rather have a century of ambiguity than a wrong answer tomorrow, anyway.
But whether AO3 hosts RPF is truly a separate issue from its donation drives, because it's a criticism some people level at the site which exists whether it's fundraising or not. So people can criticize AO3's open policy and they can give it as a reason not to support the site, but it's just one aspect of the archive and the fundraising as a whole should be examined separately.
I think AO3's fundraisers are deeply misunderstood (sometimes on purpose) because even people who are anticapitalist get a little crazy when money gets involved, and this is, to fandom, a lot of money -- a few hundred thousand, reliably, every fundraiser. To me, a fundraiser that pulls in three hundred grand is almost quaint; my current nonprofit pulls in better than ten million a year and my previous employer had an endowment of several billion dollars. At my old job I didn't even bother researching people who couldn't give us a hundred grand.
On the other hand, AO3 is an extreme and astounding outlier in the nonprofit world, because basically it's the only one of its kind to work the way it does. It is entirely volunteer-run on the operational side (ie: tag wranglers, coders, lawyers, etc) and has no fundraising staff (gift officers, researchers, outreach officers) as far as I'm aware. To pull in three hundred grand from individual one-time donations, without any paid staff and without even a volunteer fundraising officer? That's insane. That doesn't happen. Except at AO3.
What people misunderstand, however, is the basic status of a nonprofit, which is a legal status, not simply a social one. (I'm adding in some corrections here since it gets complicated and the terminology can be important!) The Organization for Transformative Works, the parent of AO3, is a nonprofit, which indicates how it was incorporated as an organization; additionally it is registered federally as tax-exempt, which carries certain perks, like not paying sales tax, and certain duties, like making their financials transparent to a certain extent. (Religious nonprofits are exempt from the transparency requirement.) If you're interested in more about nonprofits and tax-exempt status a reader dropped a great article here.
Nonprofits, unlike for-profit companies, cannot pay a share of their income to stakeholders. Nonprofits don't have financial stakeholders, only donors. They can have employees and pay them a salary -- that's me, for example -- but if a nonprofit pulls in $10M in donations, my salary is paid from that, I don't get a percentage and nobody else does either. That's what it means to be a nonprofit -- the money above operational costs goes back into the organization. The donations we (and AO3) receive must be plowed under and used for outreach, server maintenance, further fundraising, services expansion, et cetera. You can see this in the 990 forms on Guidestar or ProPublica, or in their more accessible breakdowns on Charity Navigator. Nonprofits that do not put the majority of their income towards service provision tend to get audited and lose their nonprofit status. So nobody's getting paid from all that money, and the overage that isn't spent goes into what is basically a savings account in the name of the nonprofit. (I'm vastly simplifying but that's the gist.) Using that money for personal purposes is illegal. It's called "private inurement" and there's a good article here about it. The money belongs to the OTW as a concept, not to anyone in or of the OTW.
So the biggest misunderstanding that I see in people who are mad at AO3 fundraisers is that "they" are getting all this money (who "they" are is never clearly stated but I'm pretty sure people think @astolat has a special wifi router that runs on burning hundred dollar bills) while "we" can't monetize our fanfic. But "they" get nothing -- nobody even earns a salary from AO3 -- and you can easily prove that by looking at the 990 forms they file with the government, which are required to be made public. You can see the most recently available 990, from 2020, here at Guidestar. Page seven will show you the "highest compensated" employees, all of whom are earning zero dollars or nonmonetary perks (that's the three columns on the right).
Either AO3 is entirely volunteer-run or someone's Doing A Real Fraud. The money the OTW spends is documented (that's page 10 and 11 primarily) and while they may pay for, say, the travel and lodging expenses of a lawyer going to DC to defend a freedom-of-expression case, they don't pay the lawyer for their time, or give them a cut of the income.
Despite what you've read, the reason "we" can't monetize our fanfics on AO3 has nothing to do with the site being the product of volunteer handiwork or AO3 having it in their terms of service or it being considered gauche by some to do so; it's because
IT'S ILLEGAL.
I cannot say this loudly enough: It is against the law for a nonprofit to be used by its staff, volunteers, or beneficiaries to earn direct profit from the services provided by the nonprofit.
You can be paid to work at one, but you cannot side-hustle by selling your handmade friendship bracelets for personal gain on the nonprofit's website. If the nonprofit knowingly allows monetization of its services, it can lose nonprofit status, be fined, be hit with back taxes, and a lot of other unpleasant bullshit can go down, including prosecution of those involved for fraud. If you put a ko-fi link on your fanfic, you are breaking the law, and if AO3 allows it, they are too.
Okay, that was a sidebar, but in some ways not, because it gets to the heart of the real complaints about AO3 fundraising, which is that people in fandom are sick or unhoused or in some form of need and other people in fandom are giving to AO3, a fan site that is financially stable, instead of giving to peoples' gofundmes or dropping money in their Ko-Fi or Paypal. And while it is a legitimate grievance that there are people who are in such desperate need while we live in an era of unprecedented abundance, that's not AO3's fault. AO3 doesn't solicit actively, there's no unasked-for mailings or calls from a gift officer. They just put a banner up on their website, and people give. (Again, this is incredibly outlier behavior in the nonprofit world, I'd do a case study on it but the conclusion would just be "shit's real, yo.") You might as well be mad that people give to their local food bank instead of someone's ko-fi.
You cannot lay at AO3's feet the fact that people want to give to AO3 instead of to your fundraiser. That's a choice individuals have made, and while you can engage with them in terms of why they made the philanthropic choices they did, to blame an organization they supported rather than the person who made the choice to give is not only incorrect but futile, and unlikely to win anyone over to supporting you. We know from research that guilt is not a tremendous motivator of philanthropy.
It is also not necessarily a binary choice; just because AO3 gets a hundred grand in $5 donations doesn't mean most of the people giving don't also give $5 elsewhere. I support the OTW on occasion, and I also fundraise for UNICEF and the Chicago Parks Foundation and BAGLY and others, in addition to giving monthly to several nonprofits that I have longterm relationships with -- my alma mater, the animal rescue where I got the Cryptids, my shul. And I give, occasionally and anonymously, to fundraisers that pass through Radio Free Monday, which are mainly individuals in need, because I was once in need and now I pay it forward. These are the choices I have made. Nobody twisted my arm. I respond poorly to someone making the attempt to do so by attacking places I've given.
I think the upshot is, after all of this that I've written, that we cannot begin to come to grips with questions of institutional inequality in philanthropy, or freedom of expression and censorship, until people actually understand what's going on, and too few do. So all I can do is try and explain, and hopefully create a forum for people to learn and grow when it comes to charitable giving.
Archive Of Our Own and the Organization for Transformative Works are products of our community and as that community changes, we will necessarily continue to re-evaluate what aspects of it mean and how AO3/OTW express the community sentiment. I hope that the ongoing discussion of support for AO3 also leads to people learning more about their philanthropic options. But criticizing AO3 for fundraising by attacking it for fulfilling one of its stated purposes is silly, and attempting to guilt people into giving in the ways one thinks they should give rather than how they do give is just going to make one extremely unlikable.
As members of this community, we have to be a part of the push and pull, but it's difficult to do that competently in ignorance. So, I do my best to be knowledgeable and to educate my readers, and I hope others will do the same.
#ao3#otw#nonprofit#fundraisers#ao3 nonprofit#that's my new tag for posts like this#if anyone has any of the earlier posts I've done drop a comment in them so I see the post and can tag it#archive
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Mayhaps something with (transfem) Kujou Sara fucking a bratty reader who (intentionally) pisses her off to the point where she goes all out with her full inhuman strength, ultimately knocking them up completely by accident because she was so caught up in the moment she forgot to pull out?
I bet nobody expected her to be first out of her siblings to become a parent, least of all herself, but she ain’t complaining!
{☆} characters kujou sara
{☆} notes drabble, implied fem reader, sub reader, transfem kujou sara
{☆} warnings 18+ content, breeding kink
Kujou Sara was not one to allow herself to lose her ironclad control– she was a general, above all else, a servant of the Almighty Shogun.
Yet try as she might, you..you had a way of getting under her skin in a way that had her patience and will tested. Maybe it was the bratty, teasing demeanor that had her jaw clenched so hard it creaked, or maybe it was the provocative words you'd whisper in her ear while she was trying to focus.
It was irrelevant in the face of her dragging you back to her quarters, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed into a thin line– she tried to be gentle, but her grip was firm on her arm as she pulled you into the delicately managed room, her composure cracking like shattering glass. She wanted to wipe that smug grin off your face when she slammed her hands against the door, the wall nearly splintering beneath barely restrained strength, her expression..less than amused.
"Just what are you trying to accomplish?" She ground out, her teeth aching from how hard she was clenching her jaw– and, though she refused to outwardly admit it, your little..distraction was working far better then she wanted to admit to even herself. "I told you not to..to do such things while I'm working. Do you ever listen?"
She nearly growled– like some common beast, she thinks, and she is glad for her tempered control that she did not embarrass herself in such a way. She still had her dignity. But Archons, you were testing that control even still– the way your tongue poked out like a child, mocking and teasing, as if you wanted her to snap.
She almost considered it, but..you were human, she had to remind herself. Archons knows she's never forgive herself if she actually hurt you.
"What? Can the General not handle a little playful banter?" Sara opened her mouth to snarl back a reply, but she closed it but a sharp click just as quickly, a grimace gracing her features instead. "Is that all it takes to rile you up?"
She wants to deny it, keep her sense of control, but damn it– the way your hands glide across her skin, your nails just barely ghosting across the flexing muscles of her back..she feels her control slipping faster then she can maintain it, her lip quivering.
"You.." She croaks out in reply, trying to subdue the uneasy urge that lingers in the back of her mind with every glance down at you, every touch of your hands, every word that drips from your lips like honey. The silence is broken by a low growl, her hands tugging you off your feet and practically shoving you onto the bed.
"What? Are you going to shut me up? Or are you going to admit you enjoy it?"
Fine, she thinks, fine! If this is what you want so badly, she's going to shut you up the only way she knows she can.
She wastes little time between shoving you onto the bed and climbing on it herself, one of her hands reaching up to tangle in your hair as she shoves your face into the mattress, her other hand fumbling with your clothes– just enough to expose your dripping cunt to her, nostrils flaring at the sharp tang of your arousal, her teeth bared in a snarl.
She can't help the raspy groan that tumbles from her lips at the sight– you looked perfect like that. Quiet, your face forcibly held down, your thighs soaked in your own arousal. She absentmindedly wonders if you'd been so wet the entire time– if you'd just been waiting, no, practically begging for her to just..she can't even finish the thought, her hands trembling and her control slipping even further.
Her free hand fumbles with the hem of her own shorts, freeing her straining, twitching cock, pre cum beading at the tip. Her fist tightens in your hair as she leans over you, pressing her chest against your back and aligning her aching cock to your entrance. She almost snaps out of the fog clouding her rationality, but it returns in full force when she snaps her hips forward, sinking into your cunt with a sharp hiss.
"Fuck," Sara curses beneath her breath, groaning at the tight heat enveloping her– Archons, she'd never get used to it. It only drove her further over the edge, rolling her hips to force more of her cock into you. "Not..not going to talk back?" She growled, huffing and releasing her hold on your hair to instead slip her fingers past your lips. The muffled, garbled response was..far more enjoyable than she expected, the hazy eyed look as she sunk fully into you.
It made her feel lightheaded, to be honest. She was getting a bit too carried away, but the way your walls squeezed against her..her teeth ached for an entirely different reason, tongue swiping over the sharp points before she leaned down to sink them into your shoulder, pulling out and slamming back in with a muffled groan. Her pace was frantic after that, dragging moans and whimpers from your throat like a chorus of broken notes.
She hated how easily you got under her skin, but damn it, she couldn't deny how good it felt to put you in your place. You couldn't even get away if you tried– you were human, and while it made you fragile it also made you weak. Easier to handle.
Even if your tongue was far sharper than your appearance would make one believe.
Archons, she was so close, though. She pulled her fingers from your mouth, nearly crumbling at the moan that tumbled openly from your lips immediately after– she may have chastised you for your attitude, but she still thoroughly enjoyed hearing you. Just knowing you were unable to form anything more complex then senseless babbling was a special kind of high.
She wants to speak, but even her own words fail her beyond a low groan, the absence filled with the slick sound of her wild thrusts, caring little about the stinging ache in her thighs as she pounds you into the mattress without a shred of hesitation or rationality beyond fucking you into silence.
A small part of her, the rational part, tried to remind her to pull out– but your cunt felt so fucking good she just kept going despite the sirens blaring in her head. Even as your limbs tensed and your voice grew hoarse from screaming, she kept you beneath her, nipping at your throat to leave her mark against your skin. She was so close, just..just a little more. Just a little longer. Archons, she doesn't ever want to leave– doesn't ever want to pull out.
Her hands grasp your hips tightly as she nears her own climax, slamming back into you with a broken moan– she barely registered the fact she had cum inside you beyond the thrill of it dribbling down your thighs, not even her cock enough to keep you plugged up as she tried to gain some semblance of control through the haze.
..Fuck. She was going to regret this. She was, every so slowly, coming back to her senses– the first thing she felt was embarrassment, then panic, and then resignation.
At the very least she hadn't accidentally fucked you into unconsciousness on accident.
She was much gentler as she sat up, her cock still half hard as she pulled out, inhaling sharply at the way her cum dripped down onto the sheets. She hated how arousing it was. No– no. She needed to get a hold of herself.
But then again..you didn't seem to be complaining, at least not yet. She hesitantly lifted her eyes to see your expression, her throat suddenly feeling dry at the smug satisfaction on your face.
#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#minors dni#writing tag#kujou sara smut#kujou sara x reader#do you understand what this felt like to open my inbox and see this#it felt like a shotgun blast pointblank to the chest /pos#i am a weak man at heart i see breeding kink mention and my brain turns off#respectfully. lovingly. i am going to suplex you.#my weakness being used against me ohhh its over for me. if it isnt obvious by the word count idk man#quick hack into getting me to write for you. breeding kink. passes out#AND KUJOU SARA TOO??? lord have mercy#i am an electro women enjoyer this felt extremely personal#if this fic isnt coherent thats bc it isnt. i blacked out writing this. dont ask
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Though the Bull Clones do not speak, General Ironclad is given the line "Get ready for a goring, Noodle Boy!" in the book Mighty LEGO Mechs.
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shoko x f!reader (main pairing); gojo satoru x f!reader x geto suguru
1.2k words; no warnings just general high school clownery!!!
part of the summertime record series
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There's an unsettling feeling that creeps over you as you approach the door to your classroom. It's so potent that you pause for a second, hand lingering in the air before you slide the door open.
You take in the scene before you.
It’s an unusual sight, but you’ve come to realize that unusual has become the norm when it comes to your new classmates. Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru, two powerful jujutsu sorcerers who had taken to each other immediately, for better and for worse.
Geto is gripping Gojo’s wrist, pinning the white haired boy’s outstretched right arm to the desk, the weight of his body hunched over and leveled against Gojo's own to ensure he stays put. Gojo is struggling to use his remaining hand to pull his other one away, but it’s futile against Geto’s ironclad grip.
There is a knife in Shoko’s hand. A regular knife for food preparation that must have been swiped from the kitchen.
The knife is poised right above Gojo’s wrist.
"Let’s just—” Gojo’s voice pitches high, “wait wait wait wait—"
You stare.
Three gazes turn to you. Gojo’s sunglasses are askew on his face, face feverish with a rising panic.
"Ah, perfect timing." Shoko smiles pleasantly. You stare some more. Then in a perfectly amicable tone she gestures to the katana slung over your shoulder. “We're testing Gojo’s limitless. Can I borrow your katana?"
You wordlessly slide the sheath off your shoulder and hand it to her.
"Sell out!" Gojo condemns, squirming and floundering underneath Geto’s body. You observe that he looks like a miserable fish gasping for air on dry land.
Shoko turns to you, straight faced. "This is for science."
Despite the arduous task of restraining the aforementioned male, Geto only looks slightly winded as his lips curl into another perfectly pleasant smile matching Shoko’s own. “Please,” he says congenially, in a tone that would suggest anything but the cold blooded torture about the ensue. He nods at an empty seat in front of a spare desk. “Enjoy the show.”
“This is my hand we’re talking about—!”
A particularly bony elbow slams into Geto’s chest as you take a seat. Geto remains unfazed. You sit with a wide yawn in an attempt to chase away the last stubborn dredges of sleep.
"I can reattach it." Ieiri says. You can sense the flow of reverse cursed energy in her fingertips as she flexes them. She shrugs. "I think."
Gojo balks, whiter than a ghost. "O-kay. I'm sorry. Hear that Suguru? I said I'm sorry! I won't do it again!”
Even to your ears, it doesn’t sound particularly sincere.
Geto must come to the same conclusion, because he pretends not to hear.
The apologies take a sharp turn. “It’s not my fault you tripped like an idiot into that curse’s mouth—”
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Geto interrupts.
He turns to Shoko who holds your unsheathed katana with steady hands. Light dances over the blade, sharp enough that a stray finger on the flat edge could easily draw blood. It’s a beautiful blade, on loan to you from the Kamo family. Your favorite one out of the many that have passed your hands. Most katana users you’ve come to find, are particularly possessive over their blades, like they would a lover, but you think this one looks right at home in Shoko’s elegant hands.
Gojo eyes the prized blade as if it’s the evilest thing to have graced his presence. You know this because it’s an even worse, beadier look than the one he used to give you. Now he only looks at you as if he doesn’t quite know what to say to you now that the two of you have settled into a tentative kind of relationship-not-friendship. You don't miss his antagonism. It's a welcome change.
Shoko levels the sharp blade of your katana against Gojo’s long index finger, above the knuckle. In response, as a last resort, the fingers curl against the desk, ensuring a messy cut.
"Hm,” a slow smile spreads over her face. “A finger? Or the wrist?"
Geto's smile is merciless. It comes easier to him than you would have originally expected. "All of it.”
There’s a yelp. Something utterly incomprehensible leaves Gojo’s mouth. You think it could be his spirit ejecting itself from his body, floating into the air.
There’s a glint in Shoko’s eyes. "Roger that."
A rush of cursed energy fills the katana, imbuing it with malicious intentions.
There is no clear indication of the infinity shrouding Gojo’s body other than the presence of his cursed energy, but you know it has to be in effect because as Shoko furiously saws at the appendage, the blade never sinks into flesh. Sweat forms on Gojo’s brow as he stares intently at the portion of invisible space right above his wrist.
With bated breaths, the three of you stare.
The sawing stops. “Huh, it really doesn’t go through.” Shoko remarks flippantly, stepping away with a shrug. “A shame.”
Geto sighs, loosening his grip.
Gojo springs away with a shaky bark of laughter, too far away from Geto and Shoko and you to be anything but the intention to maintain a distance.
“Of course it wouldn’t have gone through,” he snaps. The relief is evident on his face as he straightens his wrinkled uniform. He waves an accusatory finger at the three of you. “Now you’ve all had your fun!”
Geto and Shoko look too disappointed, without any hint of remorse on their faces.
“Pfft.”
It slips from your mouth before you can help it. Your lips wobble despite your attempt to stifle the laughter growing in your stomach by firmly pressing your lips shut.
Your loud laughter envelopes the room as Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko stare at you, slack mouthed.
“I’m…” the remnants of laughter wrack your body, “sorry…”
You hadn’t meant to laugh. You think it’s been a long time since you last laughed.
Gojo’s usual black sunglasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, revealing the wide blue expanse of his eyes. “You laugh?”
“I do,” you answer seriously.
Then you smile widely. The motion is still unfamiliar to your lips but you find it’s a bit easier now. There are things to smile about now. The friendly shrine cats, the warmth of the sun on your skin when you settle down to take a nap, Shoko’s laughter. There’s a raised empty bed of soil in front of the dorms. No flowers or plants. Yaga-sensei had told you that the contractors had been recalled before anything could begin. Then he handed you a book on horticulture.
You don’t know much about plants or flowers or gardening, but you’d like to start.
“You’re dumb,” Shoko directs towards him as she takes the seat next to you. “And you,” Shoko says to Geto. “You’ll catch flies.”
Geto’s mouth snaps shut. You find that he doesn’t meet your eyes, but Shoko easily leans her head against your shoulder and you don’t think much of anything but the weight of her and how good she smells.
In the next second, Yaga-sensei steps into the class, and levels the four of you with a suspicious look.
“Class is starting,” he says, raising an eyebrow when he sees Shoko pressed close to you. Before he turns to the blackboard, you catch a glimpse of a smile. “The four of you in your seats.”
For the first time in a long time, you stay awake through a lesson.
#this was one of the very first things i wrote jjk centered like 2-3?? years ago wowwwwww#in celebration of the first ep tmmr!#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#ieiri shoko x reader#str#m.jjk
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Hihi 🥺
Would you mind doing "What's the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?" with Akaza? Or if you're not comfy with that, maybe "Are we really still arguing while having sex?" with Sanemi?
Thank you ahead of time and congrats on 2k followers!
AKAZA ☾ NSFW
CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?
PEACH'S 2k MILESTONE EVENT
CW: 18+ • MDNI • mild dacryphilia • slight blood/biting kink • explicit sexual content
“That’s it, pretty baby — fuck,” Akaza panted as you ground down against him once more, your thighs splayed over his as you bounced up and down his length.
Bounce might have been too generous of a word, given that Akaza’s considerable size and girth meant you felt like you were more so impaling yourself on him than anything.
Your thighs burned with the effort it took to drag yourself up and down the pink-haired demon’s cock, your pretty chest heaving with the effort as you struggled to find your breath.
Akaza, it seemed, was all to content to sit back, occasionally thrusting hard enough up into you that a choked gasp tore from your throat as you struggled to remain upright on his lap.
“A-Akaza… please,” you whimpered, arms struggling against the firm grip he had around your wrists from where they were pinned behind your back, a single one of your lover’s hands forming the ironclad manacle against which you now twisted and trembled, desperate for him to let you touch him.
The demon’s hand tightened around your wrists as he used them as leverage to help lift you up and down his cock. His grin was nearly carnivorous as he leaned forward, tugging a stiff nipple into his mouth, his sharp teeth grazing over your sensitive bud, teasingly.
“What’s wrong, gorgeous?” He cooed, his eyebrows furrowing in mock-concern. His tongue dragged up from your breast to your throat, where he let his teeth prick the delicate skin there until the smallest beads of blood gathered, the demon lapping them up with a quick, sensual lick of his tongue.
But you couldn’t answer him, not with the way his free hand wedged between your bodies, resting flat on your abdomen and pressing down. You gasped as Akaza began to rub against your front wall, your walls tightening around him and threatening to never let him go.
Though, you supposed, you wouldn’t be opposed to being the demon’s cocksleeve for eternity — not when the blunt tip of his cock kept pressing against that spot.
You strained against Akaza’s iron-tight grip against your wrists and let out a pitiful whine, your hips uselessly rolling into his with your impatience as tears began to sting your eyes.
“Aw, my poor, pretty girl,” Akaza’s tone was mocking. “I’ve asked you nicely — now tell me,” the last syllable cut off with a low snarl from the demon as his hips jerked up in a brutal, unforgiving thrust. “What’s the matter, baby?”
He repeated the movement, using his grip around your arms and his supernatural strength to begin bouncing you mercilessly against his lap, your breasts jiggling roughly with the force.
Big, fat tears began to gather in your eyes, and it only took one particularly harsh twist of Akaza’s hips up into yours to make them leak out of your eyes, screwed tightly shut as your mouth fell open once more, a pleasured grown tearing from your chest.
The demon lurched forward to lick one of the saltwater jewels as it trailed down your cheek. “Cat got your tongue?”
#demon slayer#akaza#kimetsu no yaiba#akaza x y/n#akaza x reader#kny smut#kny fic#demon slayer fic#demon slayer smut#upper moons#kny#kny x reader#kny fanfic#kny akaza
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Birthday sex with diluc? 👀
BIRTHDAY SEX WITH DILUC!!!!! Anon I’m going feral at this request. If Diluc needs a dog I can mf bark. Happy birthday my brooding husband
Reader can be read as gender neutral! I ask that minors do not interact with this post
Birthday Sex With Diluc (NSFW)
The experience will definitely hinge on whether or not it’s the first time you two are intimate
For the first time, Diluc is absolutely blown away at the offer. You want to give yourself to him? Because it’s his birthday? His face will be as red as his hair at the proposition, and will ask you a thousand times if you are sure
It doesn’t matter if you have had sex before Diluc or if he is your first time, he is going to treat your first time together like you are made of the finest glass
His touches will be hot against your skin as you two start getting intimate. He just gets so excited that his pyro vision bubbles to the surface. It is never enough to hurt you, Diluc would rather die than ever let that be a possibility, but there is a stark temperature difference
Kissing him can be a little awkward at first, but it’s only because he is wrapped up in his own mind as he is still shocked that this is actually happening. Bear with it for a while, and he will ease into it and become a lot more passionate. Before long, his kisses will leave you absolutely breathless
When it comes time to remove clothes, Diluc would be very nervous to undress you for the first time. He makes sure to go very slow as to give you ample time to tell him to stop if you needed, but the sweet gesture mostly just makes you frustrated as it feels like he is teasing you
By the time there are no clothes in the way, you’re flushed and panting at the building tension of wanting him, and his cock is aching and practically dripping at the sight of how needy you are
He’s going to give you oral for your first time together, it doesn’t matter how much you tell him that you’re ready for him. In part, he’s doing this as a thank you for allowing him to see you like this, the other part of him just finds it so incredibly sexy when you whine and writhe underneath him
Diluc could go on all night like that if you’d let him, but for your first time together he’s going to reign himself in and only make you cum once from the use of his mouth. He doesn’t want you too overstimulated
When he finally pushes inside you, he’s going to give long, deep thrusts. He would rather make love to you than just outright fucking you. This is his first time seeing you like this, looking so pretty on the end of his aching cock. He’s going to drag this out and make it last as long as possible so that the memory is seared into his brain
All in all, having your first time with him on his birthday will be a very passionate experience. It’s slow to start, but the steady increase of passion and pleasure keeps you two going for several hours
A lot of this goes out the window if it is not your first time sleeping together
Diluc will be bolder, more willing to jump right into the action should you suggest having sex for his birthday. It definitely gets him excited at the thought
Clothes are pretty unceremoniously shrugged off, unless Diluc is in a more teasing, dominant mood. Then he might make you strip yourself slowly for him. It’s his birthday after all, why not give him a show?
Since giving you head is something that gets him off, he’s not going to stop at just making you cum with his mouth once. He will be aiming for at least two or three times before he will consider doing anything else, his grip on your hips will be ironclad to prevent you from wriggling away in your overstimulated state
When he’s finally ready to slip himself inside you, he’s not going to be the gentle, slow person he was for your first time together
As soon as he starts, his thrusts are more powerful, pistoning at a steady rhythm that’ll have you gripping his bedsheets
Diluc in general isn’t too awfully vocal in bed, but it’s in this moment you’ll get to hear a lot of low groans and growls from him as his hips snap against yours
If he gets really riled up, he’ll flip you so that he can take you doggy style, as this position enables him to get deeper and have a better hold on your hips as he pounds into you
More often than not, he would prefer missionary or spooning you while he fucks. This is because he will have a much better view of your expressions as he hits your g spot just right. He’s a bit sentimental and likes to be able to see how you feel, and be able to quickly judge if he should stop or adjust something to make you feel even better
Whether it’s your first time or your fiftieth with Diluc, he will always ask you where you want him to cum unless you have established a permanent place prior. He never wants to assume that you’ll want the same thing twice in fear of being wrong and upsetting you
When both of you are finally spent, he’s going to want to hold you close. It doesn’t matter how hot and sweaty you both are, he just needs a few minutes to hold you before he sets out to get you water or help you clean up
It will certainly be a very memorable birthday for Diluc, and every year onward he will get a little flustered as his birthday approaches, wondering if you’ll give him such an enticing offer again
#genshin impact#genshin#genshin imagines#genshin headcanons#anon asks#genshin x reader#reader insert#genshin imagine#genshin impact headcanons#genshin headcanon#not sfw#Diluc#diluc ragnivindr smut#diluc ragnvindr#Diluc smut#diluc x reader#diluc x you#diluc headcanons
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Just finished The Coffin of Andy and Leyley - at least the two episodes we have so far! A very fun game, I definitely recommend it. The thoughts, spoilers everything:
-- The tone of the game is extremely on point, Andrew & Ashley have such a great trauma-criminal dynamic that never strays too far from being cute first, awful second. Look at these babies! Of course that is the blood of their parents they just murdered for a satanic ritual and/or petty cash, what else would it be?
-- The game nails a pretty niche fetish of mine - no, not the incest part, no judgement but I could do without that just fine. Instead its the weaponization of sex (and other forms of intimacy) to manipulate and break down someone's resistance to your demands:
But, while no shade thrown at the classic controlling doms out there, Ashley wins by being a complete mess and possessing minimal intentionality around her emotional blackmail. Her toxic codependency on Andrew controls her and, as inevitable as the tide, forces her to periodically hurt & degrade him, then compensate via affection bombs & demands. She thrives on his weaknesses such as trauma-nightmares & anxiety as they are places she can slot herself into his pysche as load-bearing support, and sex is set up as another part of that web. Its that lack of control that makes her so attractive - the vast emotional void she is hoping her manipulations will fill is a funhouse mirror version of the physical need intimacy can fulfill.
I will note she is a slightly different from the "Mamimi" (from FLCL) archetype - for the Mamimi, sex is deontological, it is what she needs to cope with her damage. For Ashley it's instrumental, and could be swapped out for another tactic as quick as an outfit change if doing so got her what she really wanted.
Probably also worth mentioning that this isn't an eroge; this dynamic is primarily implication and subtext, becoming text only rarely. Don't want to mislead anyone there.
-- Another standout point is that Andrew himself is *not* the typical wishy-washy boytoy target of his bae's emotional machinations, but instead exactly as toxically codependent as Ashley is, just expressed differently. He thrives on her sense of need and the comfortability of the dyad role her vision for their lives creates for him. What makes him a fun contrast is that he has a "normal" half of his brain that recognizes all of this as fucked up and wants to quit, which often pretends he is being blackmailed by duty or circumstances, but that isn't really true. Where the game excels is that it has multiple routes - neither of which have notably different plot events, but where the different factions of Andrew's brain win out or fade away. Is very tight marriage of narrative and themes.
-- Its also good to add that the incest concept is somewhat foundational. I am not an incest person but I have been on the internet, I am familiar enough with its semiotics, and the "mutual, similar-age, unhealthy codependency" subgenre of relationships when its not incest always struggles with a bit of a believability issue.
So narratives are generally about arcs, sex is about build-up, and that combination means you want to portray the moment a relationship forms, tips into romance, right? And your subjects of choice are two people who constantly cling to each other, destroy outsiders who could challenge their attention monopoly, and psychologically scar each other in order to foster emotional addiction. And they are ~20 yeas old.
Why aren't they fucking already?? They obviously should be fucking. If these were childhood friends, they would be fucking, for years now, easy. You can say they just haven't gotten there yet but that changes the characters, makes them naïve and innocent, that is a narrative constraint you might not want. But if they are siblings...well then there ya go. That is a socially-ironclad excuse for how they got so emotionally close without romantic intimacy, and a reason for them not to cross the threshold (until your plot events make them ofc). Its a fetish that makes your storytelling efficient, not just something that works on the fetish level directly.
(Btw Andrew is not a doormat; that is a lie he tells himself)
-- The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is a classic RPG Maker indie project, and it used its gameplay conventions well. Its essentially a visual novel with RPG exploration elements that offered small puzzles as you traverse from plot point to plot point. They create immersion while rarely being too difficult and dragging down the pacing - it knows they aren't here to intellectually challenge you, but to make the world feel lived. And sometimes - most often in Ashley & Andrew's dreams - the light puzzle elements are very deeply woven into the plot & themes, used for making narrative choices & reinforcing emotional beats. They rarely overstay their welcome, which is refreshing. Its not uncommon for a game to get into trying to "gamify" what should just be a visual novel, and while not perfect Coffin doesn't fall into that trap.
Additionally the creator definitely likes Undertale, and the dream sequences remind me of Flesh, Blood, & Concrete in their colors & abstraction. Good times!
-- It is extremely amusing to google this game for like ending guides or w/e and to be bombarded with the "controversy" of its incest plotline. A: The main duo murder their parents and nonchalantly make a meal of their bodies out of sheer habit, way to not have your eye on the prize. And B: my brother in Christ you clicked on the Incest Game. Why are you on Pornhub complaining about porn??
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nothing will ever make me believe that jgy wouldn't have been as popular and loved en-masse in this fandom as wwx, had he been the main character. same choices, same attitude, same outcome - keep all of that or make it 10 times worse, he'd still be adored by the general public while being the one to tell the story. the same goes for characters like xue yang. it has already happened in other danmeis 💀
🤝 it’s that protagonist halo and plot armour, anon.
like, what isn’t compelling about jgy’s story from start to finish? a cultivation prodigy considered to be a rare genius and talent (nmj’s opinion!!) born on the wrong side of the sheets, who endured years of physical abuse and poverty even before his mother’s death, who works himself to the bone to realize her dying wish: to gain his father’s recognition, if not his love, and secure his place within the lanling jin. the “son of a whore” who nevertheless is the only person capable of winning the trust and confidence of a megalomaniac tyrant, and uses that trust and confidence to feed military intelligence to lan xichen, undoubtedly risking his life daily to do so. and it isn’t wwx, or lwj, or nmj, or lxc who win the war for the Good Guys™️—it’s jgy who strikes the killing blow against wrh and frees the whole jianghu from the ironclad grip wrh had on their freedom.
his meteoric rise and fall is like the first half of wwx’s story in the text. now all we need is for someone to crack that crypt open and give us part two.
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You Sweet Thing
Larissa Weems
Summary - In which Jericho High School has a new Principal that Larissa has taken a fancy to. [5.5k words]
I may write more for this if people like it x enjoy <3
~
Carlisle Monroe. A nasty piece of work, an older man, pushing his late sixties. He was balding on top, a circlet of wiry grey hair wrapped around his head, and in a vain attempt to hide this fact, longer strands had been combed over. But they were so sparse the reflection of his shiny head still shone through. He was a portly little man, short and stout, always wearing a cheap ill fitting suit, made of scratchy fabric that was bobbled. Always accompanied by a tie, tied sloppily - with some visually offensive pattern.
Larissa was never one to judge someone’s appearance, her issue with Carlisle Monroe was who he was as a person. As a human. However she did question if he was human or if he was the devil's spawn. The latter seemed more feasible. He was a greasy man, and despite her towering stature always talked down to her, as if her job as Nevermore’s Principal was simply her playing house. Any issues or proposals she brought forth at meetings were dismissed unless Mayor Walker (may he rest in peace) reiterated what she had said, and then he’d nod along and agree enthusiastically. All the while his eyes would be roaming free over her body. A sickly hunger and greed behind them. It wasn’t just Larissa, he regarded any woman like that.
His misogyny was one thing but his beliefs about outcasts took the cake. Although he did a fine job hiding it, he hated outcasts and although Larissa couldn’t prove it, he definitely partook in underground groups that wished to maintain the normie-outcast divide. It went against everything Larissa believed in and worked for, and with a man like Carlisle Monroe as the headteacher of the only other highschool in Jericho, it made it so much harder. The younger generations were crucial when it came to trying to instill changes. The inability to build a healthy rapport between the two schools and student bodies was a major setback. Larissa kept any direct correspondence with Monroe to an absolute minimum.
Outreach Day was fast approaching again, and given last year's less than desirable events, tensions were high. And Larissa’s schedule was chock full - not a single meeting could be rearranged to make time to meet Jericho High’s new Prinicpal.
She was surprised that a new headteacher had been appointed, as far as she knew, Monroe had an ironclad grip over the school - money did wonders to keep his controversial opinions under the table. However it seemed it was a sudden and unexpected vacancy - the position was filled internally. It was all very hushed and rushed. But it must not have affected the school as all arrangements on their half for Outreach Day had found their way to the new Mayor, Finch Sawyer, in a timely fashion. It had taken Jericho a short while to reinstate a new Mayor after the untimely death of Nobel Walker. The man was kind and fair but overall he was quite the plain Jane. Not really memorable.
~
Last year’s Outreach Day you had been out of town on bereavement leave, so you only found out about the arson and melted statue of Crackstone from colleagues after you had returned. You were also aware of the incident with a former student of Jericho High and Nevermore Academy that had seen the death of many - everyone was, the press had had a field day and it was the talk of the town. You could understand how prejudices spiked after the whole fiasco but you had always been quick to point out that it was an ex-pupil of Jericho High and a normie who had been behind it all, and that the Nevermore bunch had been the ones to bring an end to it. You were never one for gossip so you had only ever bothered reading the bare facts about it. It was important to know what was happening in the world around you.
You had only taken on the position of Principal for just over a week but prior to that you had been the Vice Principal so not much changed for you. If anything it was a natural stepping stone - and you were glad to take it. Working with - no, rather working under Monroe was tedious and infuriating. The man made your blood boil and numerous times he had you seriously considering quitting. Garnering respect from the student body and teachers was a walk in the park - you had been teaching at Jericho High for eight years as an art teacher, your ninth year teaching you were promoted to faculty head, and the previous year you had taken the deputy position. And now you sat at the top. Or as close to it, the School Board were the faceless higher beings.
There were many changes you were making to the school, banishing the last traces of Monroe from the school. He had done an alright job running the joint, but he was old fashioned. And arrogant. Times were changing and you were the breath of fresh air Jericho High needed.
Currently you were observing the band’s last rehearsal for the unveiling of a new statue that would replace Crackstone’s. One would have thought the melted bronze would have been taken down swiftly after the whole Nevermore incident but it still remained, covered in tarpaulin. Until the new one started its construction.
The band instructor, Mrs. Huxley, approached you once they had finished, students scrambling to disassemble instruments and pack them away.
“They’ve worked hard on it,” she said with pride as she stopped beside you.
“They have yes,” you chew on your thumbnail, “do you think it’ll go okay tomorrow?”
“Can’t be any worse than last year,”
You let out a wry chuckle, “fair point,” the pair of you watch as the ensemble slowly filter out the assembly hall, “right, I have some emails I need to reply to, enjoy your evening.” With that you excuse yourself and head up to your office.
It was a modern room with the walls painted white, it was spacious, a sleek desk with three chairs facing it. In the corner sat a small couch with a coffee table, a fake plant in the centre. Multiple filing cabinets dotted the walls and you had taken down Monroe’s obnoxious paintings. He hadn’t much time to empty the space and the wall decor was the least of his worries. You had shoved them all in an unused janitor’s cupboard in a forgotten corner of the building. You kept meaning to take them home for firewood but had never got round to doing so.
You turn on your laptop and prepare to handle the small mountain of emails you had to deal with. The one that caught your interest was from Mayor Sawyer, he wanted you to give a small speech before the new statue was unveiled. Something about new beginnings and he seemed to think your new promotion made you the right fit for it. Little short notice is it not? you think to yourself. Just when you thought you were finally done for the day, you had a silly speech to chuck together.
You don’t return to your flat until late evening, your ball of black fur of a cat, Richard, meows at you, demanding to be fed as if he didn’t have a full bowl of dry food available at all times. You slap a pouch of wet food into his bowl before rummaging around your cupboard and fridge for any ingredients you could throw together to make a meal out of. You manage to come up with noodles, soy sauce, and some bacon. A very odd mix but it’s food nonetheless. Your evening is spent watching rubbish on tv with Richard curled on your lap.
~
“Miss. Addams,” Larissa’s tone is light but there’s an icy edge behind it.
The young girl stops mid step and looks over her shoulder at the Principal, eyes unblinking as she stands with perfect posture, students passing by them either side to get to the courtyard.
“You would be wise to behave today, pull any stunt like last year and there will be dire consequences,” the threat was evident in Larissa’s voice despite the sickly sweet smile she offered.
Wednesday glares at the woman before brushing past her, following the rest of her peers. With a frustrated sigh Larissa follows, heading to the humble wooden podium set up. Just like the years past, she addresses her school and wishes them a good Outreach Day before giving the go ahead for the duties to be divied out. Last year they were all random, this year Larissa took it upon herself to assign certain duties to certain students.
Larissa wanted something that would keep Wednesday busy, and Uriah’s dump- sorry, Uriah’s Heap was a suiting job. It was creepy and absurd, surely it would appeal to Wednesday. Plus, not many people willingly entered the shop so her chances of upsetting a member of the public were slim. She had also made sure that swapping jobs was not allowed, an oversight she had made last year.
~
You stand in the town square, watching as people set up the bleachers and the podium, the new statue sat behind it, completed and covered. You had heard it had taken a more artistic approach, and Sawyer wished to keep it a surprise until the very last moment.
Your students run across the town to their jobs, and those in the band are busy setting their music stands in the little pagoda before they too head off to their assigned duty. It’s a nice day for Autumn, not too cold but chilly enough for a cosy jacket. In your hands you toy with a piece of paper, your speech written on it. You had done your best to memorise it but you still worried you’d forget it. So better safe than sorry.
It seems the Nevermore lot turned up later than yours, partly due to the Academy being a good twenty or so minute drive away. Slowly the streets begin to fill with the distinctive purple striped uniform. You head off to the Weathervane, giving a warm smile to the outcast kids as you walk past them. You have some time to kill before you have to meet with the Mayor.
~
Inside the cafe is moderately busy, two Nevermore students and two of your own are behind the counter with one of the employees. Since your school didn’t have a uniform like the Academy, all pupils wore a lanyard with a card at the bottom bearing the school’s emblem. To help identify them from the general public.
The small queue moves quickly and soon enough you’re at the front, placing your order for a plain old hot chocolate with a Nevermore student, her name tag read ‘Enid’. She was exceptionally chatty, asking you if you were going to attend the unveiling later on, and then without waiting for your answer started to tell you about how she was in the dance ensemble. You humour her with a fond smile, showing genuine interest.
“Your drink will be ready at the end of the counter! Thank you!”
You faintly hear her yell out for the next customer as you walk to the other side to the hand-off. Occupying yourself on your phone, going through new emails. It was a never ending cycle of correspondence. It got tiring but it was a quintessential part of the job.
A few moments later the actual employee calls out for a hot chocolate hesitantly, turning the paper cup in his hand looking for a name but finding none. He just sets it down on the counter and heads back to the espresso machine.
You reach a hand out but another one goes for it at the same time. Your head snaps round to the person next to you only to see their shoulder. Casting your gaze up you meet the surprised expression of a woman you can only describe as angelic. Bold red lips contrasting with the soft puce shades of her eyeshadow. Gentle eyes of blue crowned with dark lashes meet your own and you just look at her with your lips parted. Your own eyes wide. Drinking this tall woman in all her beauty.
“Oh god, I’m sorry! Is this yours?” Your words come out jumbled and rushed, “I ordered the same, I thought it was mine, sorry!” You pull your hand back to your body and fight the blush that wants to paint your cheeks.
“Uh… another hot chocolate? For… someone?” One of your students calls out weakly, drawing your attention, “I think it’s your one Miss,”
“Ah, thank you Oscar.” You take the cup and look back at the stranger, “Sorry again,” you apologise sheepishly.
This roused a deep chuckle from her and you quickly come to adore the sound.
“You’re quite alright,” Her English accent takes you off guard, “It seems the kids haven’t quite got the ropes in here,”
You hum in agreement, “Indeed so,” you mumble almost inaudibly, “you have good taste,” you add hastily.
“As do you,” the woman regards you with a warm smile, her eyes raking over your form. She opens her mouth to say something else but a movement from outside the window catches her eye.
You follow her gaze to see a young girl, wearing Nevermore’s uniform but in grey, slip out of Uriah’s Heap and look both ways in a shady manner.
“I need to go suddenly,” her voice tinged with ire, she looks down at you, not in a condescending way but because she quite literally towers over you, “I do hope to see that pretty little face of yours again, darling,” something about her intonation at the pet name stokes a fire within you. Her hand goes to hold your face, her thumb stroking your cheek.
Before you can even think to lean into her touch she’s taken her leave, and you stand there, face scarlet, watching her until she’s disappeared out of sight. You’re very much convinced you had seen an apparition because there’s no way such a divine heavenly being like that woman is in a backwater town like Jericho.
You eventually come back to earth and busy yourself in a booth, pouring over your little speech again. But the way that enchanting stranger called you darling keeps echoing in your head. You regret being too stunned to ask her name or get her number.
~
It’s no question that Larissa is well known in Jericho, running the only outcast exclusive school of the county meant she had to play politician with the Mayor and other figureheads in Jericho. As was the nature of her job. You knew of her, but surprisingly had never seen her in the flesh. Your years as just a teacher meant attending Outreach Day was optional, and you had been out of state for last year's one when you were Vice Principal, otherwise your presence would have been required.
You’re not sure what you were expecting but watching a woman with the beauty of an old Hollywood star approaching you and Mayor Sawyer was not what you had in mind. She was tall and carried herself with a confidence that had you blushing and unable to take your eyes off of her. The sway to her hips was hypnotic and as she got closer you realised it was the woman from the Weathervane.
“Mayor Sawyer, hello,” she holds her hand out to the man for a quick handshake before turning to you, “I don’t believe we’ve met. Properly, darling.”
“No… no we haven’t, Atikah Karnstein,” you can’t help to look up at her with the same expression from earlier in the coffee shop. She offers her hand to you and just like the Mayor, you shook it, noting how it engulfed yours and how slender it was. You find it doesn’t feel right, you’d much rather kiss the back of it with reverence. But you control yourself and keep it professional. So this is Larissa Weems you think to yourself.
You hold her hand a second too long, you clear your throat and go to remove it but hers tightens imperceptibly, so you decide to not to pull away from her touch, “I’m the new head for Jericho High,”
“I’ve heard,” she gives you a charming smile and god forbid she winks. You feel your throat dry and your heart picks up the tempo.
“All good things I hope,”
This elicited a delightful sounding chuckle from her. The way her eyes squint and lips stretch into a grin has butterflies exploding in your stomach.
The Mayor looked between you, unsure if he should disrupt this moment you seemed to be having. Ultimately he decides to, “Well, with the introductions aside, we’re almost out of time. I need to go check the statues all ready, I’ll see you ladies at the podium in five,” he then takes his leave.
You ruefully tear your gaze away from the blonde beauty and nod in acknowledgement, “Yeah, I should check my lot are ready too,” you look at Larissa and give her a painfully awkward nod. She gives your hand a squeeze before relinquishing it. Wordlessly giving you permission to leave.
The blonde watches you with amusement as you spin on the spot and hurry away.
~
You sidle up next to Mrs. Huxley and another music teacher, Ms. Boyd. The three of you stand on the grass in front of the bandstand as the students go about fine tuning their instruments and adjusting their music stands.
“They clean up nicely,” you comment. Red had always been your favourite colour, and it just so happened to be the colour of the band uniform. Pride blooms in your chest.
“They do,” Ms. Boyd agreed with you.
“Are they nervous or are they feeling okay for this?”
“They’re doing just fine, aren’t you?” Mrs. Huxley answers this time, calling out the last part of her sentence, receiving a chorus of ‘yes’ and other equivalents. They sound enthusiastic. That was a good sign. “See? Don’t worry so much,” the older woman places a hand on your tense shoulder. You relax them and take a deep breath.
“Good… good, just I heard of last year’s Outreach Day… I want this to go well,” you start to pick at your cuticles, a nervous habit, “it’s my first one as Principal, it won’t bode well if it goes tits up,”
Both women laugh. And you slowly join in with a softer, more reserved one of your own. Mrs. Huxley was an exceptionally short woman, only reaching your chin, with gray hair that sat in tight ringlets close to her head. She was like the school’s doting grandmother, with wire framed reading glasses hanging around her neck on a dainty chain. Always sporting floral patterned dresses with cable knit cardigans, a string of pearls always adorned her neck. Whenever she saw you she gave you hard boiled sweets unprompted. And always made sure you had eaten something at lunch. She had aged gracefully, kindness and empathy behind every single wrinkle on her face.
For the next five minutes you watch Ms. Boyd and Mrs. Huxley coach the ensemble through small sections of the performance to warm them up. And then, all too soon it’s time to take your place and start the ceremony.
~
Yourself and Larissa stand on either side of Mayor Sawyer as he addresses the crowd, saying something along the lines of new beginnings and how he’s honoured to be serving the townspeople. You zone out, on autopilot as you keep a relaxed smile on your face, and your posture straight. Mentally reciting your speech in your head. In your hand you have your paper just in case.
Sawyer ends his talk and you take the cue to turn around and watch as the ties are cut and the tarpaulin flutters to the ground as the crowd applauds it, you clap along too. As the material peels away your face turns from the polite smile to a pained grimace. The statue, cast in bronze, was some abstract design, of clashing shapes and textures, not forming a single recognisable thing. The longer you looked at it the worse it got.
The corner of your mouth pulls up in disgust, almost sneering at it, you're glad your back is turned to the cameras. That’s what you have to give an uplifting speech about? You could kill Sawyer, he had talked about how great the statue was and was insistent on keeping it a secret, wanting it to be a grand surprise. As an artist at heart, you respected the abstract but it was something you could never fully understand or appreciate.
From the corner of her eye Larissa watches your expression and stifles her laugh.
With a shuddering breath you turn around at the same time as Larissa and Sawyer, camera shutters go off and you all pause to smile briefly. You then switch places with the Mayor, on the podium you’re the same height as Larissa. And you’re hyper aware of her presence right next to you.
You wait a beat for the crowd to settle down again, not flinching at the bright flashes from the photographers.
“This statue stands as a symbol of hope and new beginnings, to commemorate the turn of a new leaf for Jericho and the relation between outcasts and normies.” You count slowly up to two in your head, “Whilst history should be remembered, so the mistakes of our ancestors are not repeated, we should not dwell in the past.” Another count to two, “Here’s to bridging the gap and coexisting harmoniously!”
Another outburst of applause is heard from the crowd followed by your band ensemble’s performance of Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. Whilst the focus is on them, you go to return to your original spot but an arm has snaked around your waist. You peer over at Larissa who gazes at you expectantly. You hop off the podium so you stand next to her, and once your feet are back on the grass she pulls you flush to her side. She gives you a conspiratory smile before watching the brass band. Not taking her hand off of your waist. You do your best to keep your composure
Meanwhile Sawyer just watched from his peripheral. Slightly perplexed and bemused.
You take a moment to covertly unfold the paper you had pressed into your palm and skim over your lanky loopy handwriting. Your speech went fine but there were a few things you’d forgot. Nothing major, but as a perfectionist you’re a little irked by yourself. Usually your memory was better than that.
Of course Larissa had been watching you, she leaned in just a touch and murmured to you softly, “You did a wonderful job darling, I’m impressed.”
Such praise from anyone else would have pissed you off, but it wasn’t from anyone, it was from Larissa and because it was from her it sent a warm spike through your body, and there was no hope in suppressing the red that tinged your face and the tips of your ears. A little detail Larissa took delight in.
You manage to whisper a strangled “thank you,” keeping your eyes trained on a spot faraway in the distance. you’re certain you’d have fainted if you looked at her.
The song finishes as the band holds the last note, letting it end in diminuendo. Leaving a silence that is shattered by cheers and more applause. Woefully Larissa removes her hand from your waist to join in.
“They play well,” she comments.
“Thank you, they’ve been working tirelessly as of late. I’m proud of them,” you speak warmly. After a beat you speak up again “A blonde, very bubbly, student of yours mentioned a dance performance. I’m looking forward to that,”
“I hope we meet your expectations then,”
“You’ve already exceeded them,” you add a playful hint to your voice. Giving her a smirk and you swear you see the faintest pink hue spread across her face.
You don’t listen to the Mayor's next speech. As important as Outreach day was, the presentation was the least important part to you, it was all to show face. The important part was the Jericho High and Nevermore students working together throughout the town. It meant they had to get along and build a rapport in order to successfully carry out the jobs assigned to them. That’s where progress was made in furthering a positive relation between outcasts and normies.
Soon enough a group of Nevermore kids clad in the school’s signature deep purple took to the space between the bleachers and podium. A speaker system came to life and an upbeat tune started to play. Enid, the girl from the cafe, caught your eye and gave you a bright smile, to which you returned with an encouraging wave. Larissa observed the quick interaction and it made her chest bubble with fondness.
The dance routine was captivating and you were so invested in it you didn’t notice Larissa’s hand find its way back onto your waist. You’re also unaware of your own hand coming to rest atop it, idly stroking your thumb over it.
~
The rest of the unveiling goes smoothly much to everyone’s relief. Larissa mentally rejoiced that a certain student hadn’t blown up the statue, although it was so garish she doubted she’d mind if Wednesday pulled the same stunt again.
Students involved in the unveiling went back to their assigned jobs, your band was to return to Jericho High to change and enjoy the rest of the day. You had excused yourself from Larissa and the Mayor, leaving them to discuss something pertaining to the Academy, you saw it the perfect time to slip away. Otherwise you would have happily stuck by Larissa’s side.
“That was really good guys,” you raise your voice to be heard as you approach your students who were all busy packing up. You scan the group and catch a glimpse of Ms. Boyd’s red shock of hair, carefully you weave through the students avoiding getting clocked in the face by tubas and trumpets alike.
“Hey, get yourselves some pizza when they get back to the school. Here’s my card, you can just leave it in my office. I need to swing by later today,” you pull your purse from your pocket and fish out your bank card. Taking the older woman’s hand and pressing it to her palm despite her protests.
“If I don’t see a charge for pizza on my statement I’ll give you hell,” you joke with a breathy laugh, and the redhead finally accepts the card.
“You’re too kind Atikah,”
“They deserve it, and so do the pair of you,” you say as Mrs. Huxley ambles towards you.
“You’re a good egg poppet.” With that old woman shoves a handful of hard boiled sweets into your pocket and does the same for Ms. Boyd.
You just shake your head at her antics but thank her nonetheless.
~
You had busied yourself the rest of the afternoon with strolling aimlessly through the town, picking up conversation with students from both schools. Just checking in on them and seeing how they were doing. The consensus was overall positive, and you were happy to see outcasts and normies getting along with little to no issues. Of course that’s not to say there weren’t issues but they seemed to be self contained and both parties kept it civil.
You had grown up in a large city where outcasts and normies lived together much better than they did in a small town like Jericho. Finding out if someone you knew was an outcast wasn’t much different from learning their star sign or their birthday. It was just a fact about them that existed and didn’t define them as a person.
When you first moved you were surprised at how different the dynamic was, and since then you made the effort to improve the relationship. And it had changed for the better in the last decade however there was always progress to be made.
At one point a news crew had ambushed you as you snacked on a sweet pastry from a small food van. You politely declined their impromptu request for an interview about your new position, and told them to email you to arrange it for a later date.
The day drove on until early evening, where you found yourself back at the town square facing the statue. You couldn’t help but stare at it, akin to the twisted curiosity that overcomes someone when they drive past a grisly car accident.
An unpleasant shiver overtakes you and you decide your eyes deserve to lay upon a more appealing statue. You look around the area at the people milling about, trying to appear nonchalant as you seek out a certain Principal. God forbid you look too enthusiastic in your search for her.
As if just the mere thought of her manifests her, a pair of large hands land on your waist from behind. You jump at the suddenness of it but as you look up you find yourself meeting baby blue eyes.
“Looking for someone?” Her voice carries an amused lilt.
“As a matter of fact I am,” you twist in her grasp so you face her, standing dizzyingly close, “you don’t happen to have seen a tall, strikingly gorgeous, and very forward Headmistress around, have you?” You bring a hand to rest on her bicep, absentmindedly running your hand up and down it.
“I don’t believe I have,” Larissa’s voice drops to a lower register as she purrs her words, “but if I do I’ll be sure to let her know that the local high school’s attractive and sweet little Principal is looking for her,”
“You would? You’re a doll,” you sport a lopsided grin. Enjoying her voice.
“Only for you darling,” she coos.
You exhale sharply from your nose whilst averting your gaze. A rich red blush covering your face. Larissa watches you with rapt attention, you were so fun to toy with.
She leans down, her lips ghosting the shell of your ear “A little birdie told me that this headmistress of yours was wondering if you would be interested in dinner with her later today,”
Larissa relishes how your breath hitches in your throat and your back arches just a touch. She lets her hands slide down to your hips so she can pull you closer.
“Hmm,” you look up and to the side, feigning being deep in thought.
Whilst humming and awing you pull one of the sweets from your pocket and make a show of opening one end of the wrapper with your teeth. Curling your tongue around the bonbon to scoop it into your mouth. Fully aware Larissa’s entire attention was on your lips. A cardinal hunger built in her eyes. You suck on it slowly before nodding.
“I’d love to,”
“I knew you would,” her eyes are still on your lips.
“Would you like one?”
Her gaze is back on your eyes, and she gives you a look. Her eyes squinting a little as she tries to figure out where you’re heading with this.
“If it’s as sweet as you, then please,”
You give her a devilish smile before parting your lips and rolling the sweet onto the tip of your tongue, holding it out a little. Covered in your saliva it glistens in the light. You jut your chin out, silently daring her to take it from you.
Teasingly slowly, Larissa closes the gap. Letting her parted lips press against yours before sliding her tongue along your own, earning her a soft moan. She takes her time exploring your mouth before pulling the sweet into her own. The whole time she maintains eye contact with you.
She pulls away, instantly missing the feeling of your lips on hers. A string of saliva connects them before it breaks. She keeps her mouth open as she works her tongue around the sweet. Your eyes follow its every move.
“Delicious,” she whispers, bringing her thumb up to wipe your lower lip.
“My mouth or the sweet?”
Her eyes darken, “your mouth.”
You giggle at her. Loving every second of the exchange. This woman was addictive.
“I’m afraid I have a few things I need to see to before I can wine and dine you, your phone. Please,”
Larissa silently pulls her phone out of her pocket and hands it to you unlocked. Watching intently as you create a new contact and enter in your details. You lock her phone before passing it back to her, purposefully brush your hand against hers.
“Call me,” you give her a peck on the lips before turning heel and heading away into the town proper.
The tall blonde watches your retreating figure before looking back at her phone. You hadn’t put your name, instead you’d typed ‘Darling’ and put a little heart beside it.
~
AN - I do apologise for reader suddenly going from a flustered mess at Larissa’s flirting to growing a massive pair of balls at the end. Anyways I hope you liked it x
Also pls lmk if you prefer the double spacing between paras or the single space (all my other works are single spaced)
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