#you know how to make feelings come up violently
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Okay in all seriousness. There's something that I REALLY want to talk about as an open discussion with the fandom, but. This is not going to be a very nice thing to hear/talk about.
It's about how Gonta is treated by the fandom.
As a fan of all the V3 characters now, and as someone who has always been a fan of Gonta, and as someone who has many mental disabilities and two diagnosed neurodivergancies... I'm tired of playing nice about it.
You all need to stop being ableist towards Gonta.
I've mentioned in the past that I don't like shitting on personal interpretations. I don't like saying something is or is not canon because narration is just a big web of text that you try to decipher with your own personal biases, experiences, and thoughts. That's why two literary analysts analyzing the same text with the same literary criticism rules can come to wildly different conclusions--why people develop different headcanons from the same canonical information.
But one of the things that challenged my integrity is just how many people view Gonta as this innocent, naive, ignorant, baby boy who can do no harm/never has a complicated/dirty/violent/sexual thought in his life ever.
This incredibly ableist interpretation of the character bothered me for, well, obvious reasons (See: It's fucking ableist, need I say more?) but I never challenged it as harshly as I am now because to be frank, it's not my place to tell people how to HC a character. It still isn't. But I've pretty much given up on my integrity on the subject and have decided to go all in on discussing why this interpretation of Gonta is just. Really bad.
First of all, not to promote my own analyses here or anything, but I think this analysis I did of Gonta explains a LOT in regards to the ableism the cast gives him in canon. I also think that this subtle ableism is why the fandom is so bad with Gonta's characterization in headcanons and fanfic--because they've seen how the cast treats him, and they think it's normal. They don't see the microaggressions, they don't see the subtle ableism in the cast--they just see this big giant idiot who speaks like Tarzan in the English version (which... I don't actually know why people assume Tarzan (Thinking of Disney's version) is stupid. Like as a boy he had to reinvent the spear with no one to guide him on how to do it. He was able to strategize and outsmart "civilized" men in the final showdown. Still I digress) and don't see the literal genius behind his social awkwardness.
There is also another very important point I'm going to make in addition to this, and it's going to be very uncomfortable to Gonta fans who insist he's nothing but a sweet baby who only has pure thoughts. Especially to the fans who insist he "can't be sexual" or think it's weird to ship him with his peers.
Sorry to burst your bubble, but... Gonta blatantly has sexual desire and gets horny right in canon.
This is further clarified here:
It wasn't a matter of Gonta didn't want to touch her because touching someone in their underwear was inappropriate, or being flustered because she was in her underwear which is inappropriate...
It was literally a "weird feeling" that made him unable to approach her or touch her. A "weird feeling" that Miu makes pretty obvious as to what it was--sexual arousal.
He literally was sexually attracted to and felt sexual arousal from looking at Miu in her underwear. He had sexual feelings and thoughts about Miu. Why?
Because Gonta is a young man.
Gonta is a brilliant, talented young man who has normal human thoughts for someone his age--sexual desires, upsetting thoughts, complicated thoughts, ectect. He is not a child, he is not mentally stunted (I've been informed that people have literally said this on Ao3 for the NSFW Gonta fics, please for the love of god stop that)
I think the reason why Gonta fans typically want to keep him as a "pure baby child who can do no wrong" is because treating him like the young adult that he is makes it harder for them to justify Chapter 4. Every time I've seen a Gonta fan that hates Kokichi, it's always followed by the sentiment of "Kokichi manipulated and abused Gonta into killing Miu, so it's all Kokichi's fault." They're afraid of nuance and liking a character with the grey morality of genuinely thinking Mercy Killing the cast is a viable option, because it challenges their own morals about the character they adore.
To those people who read this and are upset: You can and should like Gonta! Gonta is a magnificent character who showcases the subtle way microaggressions can manifest and hurt people, he's a good-hearted person and a literal genius, he cares deeply for his friends and loves everyone with upmost sincerity.
But.
You need to re-evaluate your stance on Gonta if you think he's a stupid, naive fool who Kokichi manipulated. You need to re-evaluate why you think those thoughts, why you think Gonta being shipped with anyone is "Kinda weird" or "has weird consent problems" or "give you the ick." You have to challenge yourself and ask yourself uncomfortable questions in regards to why you treat Gonta like a child when canon has proven otherwise, why you think he cannot have violent or sexual thoughts, why he can't think mercy killing his class is the only way to save them.
This isn't an attack on you--but understand that these specific takes on Gonta? They are ableist in nature. They belittle and dismiss him, they treat him like a child, an idiot who can't think for himself--and you have to come to terms with the fact that Gonta is a far more complex character with complicated thoughts and feelings who is a young adult. Not a child. A young adult.
So again, ask yourself this: Why are you treating this young adult like he's a toddler?
#Gonta Gokuhara#Miu Iruma#Kokichi Ouma#Danganronpa V3#DRV3#As an AuADHD individual who thinks Gonta is Autistic coded#do you understand how frustrating it is to see this shit#Do you understand how it feels to be infantized? To be told through the lens of a character “You're too stupid to be an adult”?#Worse yet is that I'm also constantly told that me being short and baby faced makes me “child coded.”#Do you understand how ableist this all is. Do you Understand?#Anyway that's one post down. Gonna go read a thing for Star#This does genuinely upset me though as an AuADHDer#Please stop. I am speaking on behalf of people like me--/Please fucking stop./#Tag Edit: Yes this is safe to RB and spread around#Please do RB this in fact
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Moon peppers (4)
(1) (2) (3)
Palestine: what can you do
were!Abby x witch!reader
Summary: Abby runs away from her (former) pack and into your forest. You're not happy with your new (woods?)mate.
Tags: fantasy au, sloppy worldbuilding (fuck it we ball), fem!reader, alpha!abby, witch!reader (so not an omega), sentient forest, stubborn idiots in love who annoy each other.
Notes: how do I keep hating the witch after she saved my life asking for a friend
Taglist: @abbysbae @poxismind @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @pjmispunk @herdelreydear @lmaoo-spiderman @littletinyladybugs (if you want me to tag/untag you for the whole series dm me please)
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Your morning is.. odd. You expected yourself to forget how to control so much magic, but instead it feels better than the last ten years you spent being weak. You really couldn't live like this: it made you feel vulnerable and helpless, and now that your power is back, you feel like yourself again.
In a way it terrifies you. Because you were a completely different person ten years ago, and now you don't want your old habits back. You don't like seeing your tattoos and runes, especially the ones on your forearms, but you try your best to make peace with it. Your tattoos have almost nothing to do with your power - they're just channels for your magic, a spellbook engraved in your skin. They were faint before yesterday, fading away as your powers grew weaker, but they were still there, and they will not disappear until you die. You have to accept it, and maybe, if you don't make stupid decisions this time, you'll change your heart about them.
You meditate before breakfast to manage your flow of magic exactly like Caitlyn showed you, even though you expect the wolf to wake up at any moment and trash your still room. But the wolf is asleep - you can feel it through the bond, which is annoying: you don't like having your space disturbed like this. You're sure the wolf won't like it too. You concentrate on the bond between you to see how well the healing is happening and it makes you groan - fat chance it will be finished by the evening, with this pace it will take a whole damn week. The thought of spending more than a day with the wolf makes you depressed.
Abby wakes up. This fact alone shakes her to her core: she is not dead. She is supposed to be dead, what the fuck? More than that, she feels almost okay - she is not supposed to feel mostly okay, she fucking died! She knows this, because no way in hell she hallucinated having her throat ripped out.
Then Abby opens her eyes, tries to move - and goes into survival mode. She is in a still room and she is restrained. All her paws are chained and she can't move. This is worse than death. Oh god, this is so much worse.
Abby tugs on her chains with all her power, but they down even bulge. Abby growls and coils and tries again, but she only hits the wall with her back. Abby starts to panic: she can't stay here - the fucking witch bound her! She is in debt to the witch! She needs to leave before you come and order her to do something horrible.
Abby tries again, but this time the door to the still room opens and Abby sees the creepy glowing eyes of yours. Abby starts to move around even more violently - she doesn't want you anywhere near her. You're one of the rare monsters of this world and she needs to either get away from you or to kill you, but she is not staying here. The moment she is free she will rip you to shreds.
At least you look scared when you enter the room and you keep the biggest distance possible from her. Abby growls and snarls, clasping her jaws around the air, eager to kill you.
“It's not what it looks like.” You blurt, your arm in the air as if you want to tell her you came in peace.
Abby growls louder.
“Listen, I'll free you if you calm the fuck down and turn into human form so we can talk.”
Abby is so angry she doesn't even consider the possibility of calming down or pretending to calm down.
“Or I can force you to turn into a human.” You say in a shaky voice, as if you're yourself scared of this possibility.
This actually makes Abby stop. She doesn't want you near her, so she needs to pick the least of two evils. Abby growls and starts to change, her fur disappears and her bones rearrange. The chains tighten around her human wrists and now she is sitting on your floor, glaring at you, her shirt ripped on her sides and her pants dirty.
“Thank you. I will explain everything and then I'll free you, okay?” Abby just growls at you again.
You swallow hard: the wolf is even scarier as a human. The woman is big and strong and her claws are out still, her arms are bulging with muscles, and the way she looks at you doesn't help you calm your nerves. Her shirt is red from blood and it only makes her look scarier. You clear your throat and start speaking.
“Yesterday I found you dead, and the woods wanted me to save you. So I did. Right now you're still in the process of healing and if you go too far away from me, the energy will stop coming and you will die. This is why I brought you here. I also knew you would want to kill me or you'd run away, so I chained you. Now, please make peace with the fact that you're stuck with me for a while and then I will release you. Good? Good.”
Abby growls, humbled. She doesn't want to make peace with it, but you do sound logical. And you're still scared of her, which is a good sign: maybe you won't have the guts to hurt her.
“Am I blood bound to you?” Abby growls and you look offended and angry, which confuses Abby. And also amuses.
“Fuck you.” You spit. “Not all witches are like this, you ungrateful beast. The only bound you have is the energy one that heals you. After that you're free to leave and please don't ever see me again. Jerk.”
You flick your fingers for the chains to disappear and stomp out of the still room. You knew this werewolf was an asshole, but holy fuck!
The wolf stomps after you.
“It would not have happened if you didn't take all the moon peppers!” The woman argues and follows you to the kitchen. You turn around and stare at this ungrateful, entitled shit of a wolf.
“First of all, as if a bunch of moon peppers would have saved you from getting your throat ripped out!” You snap back and get into her face, angry and stubborn. “Second of all, maybe if you didn't fucking attack me and talked to me instead I would have shared some of them!” You flip your arms around in frustration.
“Because witches are famous for being helpful and kind.” The wolf snarls at you and you can't believe the audacity of her.
But she is also right. She did have all the reasons to attack you and not trust you. You calm down a bit and take a step back.
“It's still idiotic to attack a witch. I might've not been so nice.”
“You were shitting your pants in fear.” The wolf deadpans.
“As if I wouldn’t find a way to get my revenge without a direct attack. You're exceptionally stupid.” You huff and the wolf growls. “You took my friend's den, covered it in blood and attacked me. Do you comprehend what I could have done if I wanted to? You know why witches use blood binding? Because it makes us stronger.” You hiss sadistically into the blonde's face.
For a second there's fear in the wolf's eyes, and some part of you feel satisfied. The other part, though, feels disgusted with you. You take a breath.
“I'm sorry. You just really pissed me off being so stubborn about your own safety.” You sigh and rub your face.
The silence falls and you go to the kitchen to cook some breakfast for yourself and for this stupid wolf: after all, you will be stuck together and if someone will be nasty and poison the shared time, it won't be you.
Abby blinks. She feels lost. She expected you to be some kind of creep or a sadist, even if you were afraid of her; and she knew you could've bound her - that's exactly what she thought happened. But she didn't expect you to actually be nice. Well, relatively nice: you chained her for her own good, then threatened her and now you just apologised to her, and Abby feels like a fool if she continues being mean to you. She really doesn't have any ground to mistreat you except some rumours and her awful, but limited experience. She only met one witch before.
Well. She can play nice too.
“I'm Abby.” Abby says grumpily, still not ready to believe you: you just threatened to bind her, for god's sake!
You hum and tell her your name as well while you cut vegetables with aggressive vigour. Abby assumes you're imagining cutting her into pieces.
It's awkward. It is really, really awkward. You're obviously still frustrated and Abby doesn't burn with desire to talk to you either. Plus she is in your home and she definitely doesn't know where to put herself. She settles for a stool near you. Abby stares at your back and your arms silently, and then she is hit with the realisation.
“You didn't have tattoos before.”
You smirk sadly.
“Yeah, well. Before that I didn't have to revive a whole werewolf.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Ask the forest. They made a deal with me.”
How calculating, Abby thinks. Also: how the fuck do you deal with a forest?
“So you still do deals.”
“It's different.” You say sharply. “I don't blood bind.”
“I get it.” Abby huffs and backs off: a witch who doesn't like blood binding, might be a goddamn oxymoron. “So for how long am I stuck with you?”
“Three days, probably. Maybe more, depending how fast you'll heal.”
“I heal fast.”
“Don't compare your usual healing with coming back from the dead. Who knows how much of your brain died. That's why you can't be far away from me. You go away, you break the bond, your brain dies. Got it?”
Abby hums. She has never heard of anyone being able to revive someone. She thinks you know some old forbidden magic if you can bring people back, and it just doesn't match with what she sees: a scaredy cat who lives in the woods and has to spend hours fishing to get three fish. Your home is cosy and warm, with a lot of natural light and Abby doesn't understand how you could have saved her life: you’re soft and weak and live in a house suited for some kind old lady, not a witch who could bring people from the dead. How much fucking power a witch would need to even do that?
“How far is too far?”
“If I stay here and you go beyond my shields, you're dead.”
Abby sighs, annoyed. She doesn't want to stay next to you for three days. She is somewhat grateful for being alive, but it's weird. It's very weird to be in one space with you.
You place two plates and sit opposite of Abby. Abby looks at her plate and wants to hesitate, to think, but she is so fucking hungry she starts eating right away.
It's not…bad. Edible. (God she will have to eat like this for three more days?)
You watch the wolf- Abby's face and can't help your smile. Unfortunately you're very familiar with the fact you can't cook - Cait and Vi tried it once and since then you don't host dinners anymore; sometimes Cait sends you back with food - but you didn't expect the wolf to be so sensitive to your food. You eat it just fine after all.
“It's bad.” You laugh.
“It is.” Abby agrees. “Did you do it on purpose?”
“What? No. My taste senses are just fucked up by a lot of potions.”
You see how Abby tenses and you sigh: it's strange to have your everyday life being seen as some kind of horror story. There's a lot of rumours about witches that are mostly true, but you don't think of Abby as a mindless, uncivilised beast even though she is a were, so there should be room to believe that some witches are not that bad.
(You think of your past and feel ashamed: it's not like you were “not that bad” all your life).
“Don't tell me you've never drunk a potion.” You try to appeal to Abby's own experience, but you know she might have a bad one. “From coughing? Pain killers? Never?”
“Are you saying witches brew them?” Abby smirks like you're ridiculous.
“Well, yes. We sell them for money, that's how everyone gets them.”
Abby is silent as she chews your food that you think is quite edible, actually - but she drinks her flower milk with every spoon and you take a wild guess she can't stomach it.
“Okay, listen. Are you a good cook?”
“Yes, actually. Everyone with enhanced senses makes a good cook.” Abby says with pride and you see her blue eyes sparkle. She also has freckles. Which is kinda cute.
“Then you can cook whatever you want and not suffer.” You offer.
Abby frowns at you like she expects some kind of trickery. You sigh again and raise your hands in defeat. You tried.
“Do you have any meat?”
“...No.”
“And I can't hunt.” Abby explains to you like you're stupid. You roll your eyes.
“There's fish in the freezer. It should be fine.”
That's how Abby spends her afternoon: cooking fish. She has to ask you for other ingredients and you send her to your still room, which makes her shiver. It's creepy - just like you are with your eyes and tattoos and potion drinking or whatever - and Abby thinks of people trapped in these still rooms and being experimented on. She is happy she doesn't see any kind of animal parts on your shelves. You're out of the house for the most part: when Abby looks out of the window, she sees you sitting on the ground, absolutely still. Weirdo.
“At least this weirdo is harmless compared to her kin.” Abby says to herself while she cuts the fish.
You also saved her life and didn't ask for anything in return - not counting leaving you alone after - and Abby really struggles to keep thinking of you as a monster. You don't seem half-bad. And she should make friends here, now that she doesn't have a pack. The thought of being friends with a witch actually makes Abby laugh out loud.
After lunch, which is spent mostly in silence except for your praise on Abby's cooking, you tell her you'll be in the still room and that she can find something to be busy with. You point at books and yarn. Abby rolls her eyes.
She has absolutely nothing to do. Her instincts are going crazy as well: your home looks like it needs an alpha. You're not an omega, and you don't need Abby's help, but she feels like she'll go insane if she doesn't fix something. She fights her urges, but after an hour she gives up and sharpens your knives. It makes her feel easier and she can read in peace now.
You come back in a few hours and sit on the opposite end of your sofa, exhausted. Abby doesn't look at you.
“Tomorrow I'm supposed to go to the village for my check ups. You'll have to come with me.”
Abby frowns. She doesn't want to show her face in the village - what if some of her former packmates are still around and will notice her?
“Can your deals wait?” You sigh loudly, annoyed: can this wolf be nice for one fucking minute or is Abby trying to establish some kind of hierarchy in your house?
“I am a healer.” You deadpan, tired of dealing with Abby’s shit. “People need me.”
“It's not safe for me to show up like this.” Abby scrunches her nose.
“I guess it’s connected to the fact that you were dead yesterday.” You say and Abby can only nod. “I can hide you, if you want. There's a spell that will not let people recognise you if they mean harm.”
Abby coils back. She doesn't want any fucking spells to be put on her! But in a second she clears her head and thinks about it: she clearly doesn’t have a choice if she wants to survive. And you offer her help, so maybe it’s not too bad.
“How can I know you're not fucking with me?” You blink and Abby tries not to look you in the eyes: you look like an owl. And not in a cute way.
“Can't you smell if I lie? I know weres can smell emotions. Also, the bond we have can make you feel awful if I try to harm you.”
Abby hums, thinking it over.
“Okay. But if you try any funny business, you're dead.”
“You'll be dead too, idiot.” You roll your eyes at Abby and she rolls hers in return.
The wolf is kinda annoying. You can understand her distrust, but her threats are getting ridiculous.
The last step of this strange and mostly unpleasant day is getting ready for bed. You look at your small sofa and try to think how Abby will fit, but the other option is the floor, which you assume she won't appreciate. You give her the choice anyway, Abby looks between the sofa and the floor like it's a hard choice, like she thinks the floor is a valid option. Then she agrees to sleep on the sofa. (I'll turn back if I'm uncomfortable, she tells you.) You bring her a pillow and a few blankets: the nights are getting cold and you usually use your magic to keep the hut warm, but you can slip up when you sleep, and wake up to a freezing house.
“Why don't you use wood like normal people?”
“It's too much work. I can find a tree that fell, but you need to chop it, bring it here, chop more, store the logs. Nah. Magic is easier.”
Abby huffs.
“So you rely on your magic all the time.”
“And you rely on your senses and strength.” You deadpan.
Abby doesn't say anything in return, having no valid arguments. You sigh and make a circle with your hand, turning all lights off, and then you show Abby where the candle is in case she needs some light for her reading. Abby nods and you wish each other good night.
You both can’t fall asleep for a long time, too bothered by each other: you don’t like having Abby in your home after she has been so nasty to you for the reason of “the witch”, and Abby doesn’t like being in your home for the reason of, well, “the witch”. She is alive, and she should be happy, but your presence is a constant threat and she can’t let herself fall asleep. You can’t fall asleep because you feel Abby, her life energy like a giant bright light in your living room and it’s hard to ignore it. You try to meditate but it seems to make you even more energised.
You fall asleep when it’s so dark you can’t see anything beyond your windows. Abby falls asleep five minutes later.
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smokey geto, university au
at around 2 p.m., you wake up to the smell of smoke, specifically from a cigarette.
as you feel the sleepiness in your eyes seemingly never going away. You don't fully register what's going on until you eventually sat up. to find yourself sleeping on sugurus bed, while he sat right next to you while satoru played video games with shoko. sukuna and toji scrolling on their phones occasionally showing each other funny videos.
it was weird seeing them not throwing insults at each other and wanting to commit mass murder on one another, as you laid flat on your side, you used your arms too supporting you upright, you couldn't even full take in where to place your hands and you just put it anywhere you could, while doing so your hand lands on something solid and you hear a groan emit from the object.
it was suguru.
your hand had landed on his lower abdomen when trying to sit yourself up, "m'sorry." You say muffled tiredness still lingering in your voice. Your eyes start to see the hazey looking air, thinking your eyes are playing tricks on you, you waft the air in front of you while rubbing your eyes.
you feel yourself come crashing down when the energy you had left, left your body. your head coming in contact with the soft mattress, but you could see suguru in your view of looking up at the ceiling. you could feel his hand running in between the strands of your hair, almost lulling you back to sleep.
but the smoke in the air that starts to go down your lungs caused a violent cough to erupt out of you, drawing most of your friends to check up on you.
"You okay?" satoru asked, the cigarette limply slaying out of his mouth now, gone, as he held it between his index and middle finger. you mumble something that was intelligible, dragging the warm blanket with you too the living room to get more sleep, as the room was pretty much a widefire once the flames were put out, so much smoke.
you never liked when your friends did smoked. not only for their heath but yours too, obviously you don't want to force them too stop, I mean, shokos have been smoking since freshman year, do you really think they'll stop smoking on your request? probably not. Who knows?
as you snuggled up on the couch, the silent aura carried around the living room. You hear the soft click of a door opening and soft footsteps coming closer to you.
you grab the blanket and throw it over your entire face so not a limb is outside of the blanket, but when you feel a hand rest just above you, the blanket acting like a barrier, you start to tug and shove the person throwing their weight on you. you chuckle at their attempt to rip the blanket off you. but eventually, you remove it from your face to see who exactly it is.
"What are you doing here?" You ask tone muffled and quiet even with nothing covering your mouth, "m'wanted peace n' quiet." his baritone voice rumbles as he spoke, sounding a little more raspy than usual, probably from the smoke.
"hey ghetto, how come you always smoke?" you ask a genuine question, you wonder. you watch as he makes a face at the name you jokingly give him, but you both bath In the solitude of eachother.
silence.
"m'dont know, just do, I guess. don't like the smell of the smoke?" he said, you feel hesitant to nod your head, you don't wanna upset him because you don't like the choices he makes, but again it's his body so he can do whatever he'd like.
"yea, aren't you afraid of the lung diseases coming to get you?" You say it's a serious saying, But you can't help but chuckle a little. "You're too young and handsome to spend your days in a hospital." You say, hand stretching out to play with the ends of his long, straight, healthy looking hair. it had gotten longer than you'd remembered.
suguru stays quiet almost in Ponder about what your saying,"and plus not only are you killing you but your killing me cause I have to breath that shit whenever I'm around you, we'll be leukemia twins." Your chuckle sets a vibration in your chest.
you start to play with his hands in the silences, you start to think your words may have come off alittle aggressive and rude, but before you could say anything he beat you too it.
"Don't worry, yr'pretty mind, I promise I'll stop from now on." it takes you by surprise by how quickly it took for him to consider your words.
"You sur-" "Yes, I am. don't want you breathin' in these harmful chemicals."
you decide to joke around with him abit "can I try?" You point to the cigarette in between his fingers, " no silly, it's bad for you." You laugh at the irony of the situation
you watch as he smothers the ciggar into an ashtray, and you can already see the smoke clearing up. he opens the windows to seemingly air out the house before he makes his way back too you, laying his body weight on top of you.
"Get your sleep." he says Ina low tone, his hands drawing soft repetitive shapes on your skin, and he snuggles into your stomach enough to lul you back to sleep.
#jjk fanfic#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk x reader#suguru geto x you#geto suguru x you#suguru x y/n#geto suguru x reader#suguru getou x reader#suguru x you#suguru x reader#getou suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#geto x reader#geto x y/n
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DEBT |ONE-SHOT
Rafe Cameron x Reader x Niccolò
{OPEN COMMAND}
[English is not my native language❗️❗️]
SYNOPSIS: When your friend can’t pay off her debt, someone has to.
TW: DUB-CON, NON-CON, violence, insults, rape, hair pull, alcohol, sex V, perversion, choking, threat, gun.
______________________________________________
The music was loud, much too loud for your poor ears. You were advancing with difficulty through the people.
You’re desperately looking for your friend Kiara, you had a horrible week, so to clear your head, she decided to take you to one of the stupid parties you hate to attend.
You feel a weight washing up on your shoulder, you turn and fall on your friend, completely drunk. "Hey Y/N comes, meet my new friends!" without you being able to answer, she grabs your hand and forces you to follow her into a dark corridor.
She pushes you into a room and closes the door. You frown and hit the door. "Kiara, open the door."
She still doesn’t open it. "Fuck Kiara, I’m not kidding, open the fucking door!" You hit the door harder.
As you pounce on the door, sneers sound behind you. You stop every move and look over your shoulder.
Two men are on a sofa, the lights that illuminate little the room does not help you see them clearly.
You hardly swallow your saliva and back up to the door. "How cute, you know we don’t bite." Said one. He gets up and approaches you like a predator.
He’s tall, much taller than you, his blond hair falls on his forehead. His arms are huge, and his blue eyes pierce you. He approaches you and puts a hand on your cheek. You push it away and he laughs.
"My name is Niccolò and this is my friend Rafe, do you know why you’re here?" asks the person sitting on the couch. You don’t answer. "Your friend didn’t pay what she owed us, so she’s paying us by bringing you here." You’re shocked.
You arrived at the Outer Banks not long ago, not knowing anyone you quickly trusted Kiara because she was very positive. You didn’t think she’d do that to you.
The blond guy grabs your arm, you slap him hard. "Don’t touch me, you bastard!" you say, running to the door. "This cunt is not laughing" You try to open it but it is still closed.
Rafe grabs your hair and pulls it, he drags you to the sofas. He throws you violent before placing himself above you.
He grabs the top of your shorts and pulls it down, his gesture burns your skin. You scream but he grabs your throat. "Keep yelling and I swear I’ll choke you." Niccolò says as Rafe holds you.
Rafe takes off his shorts and his boxers, his dick is huge. He stands in front of your hole and pushes you tearing you a hiccup of surprise.
You try to struggle when the brown guy grabs your wrists. He leans in your ear. "If you try to escape while the night is not over, I will make you regret it, my sweet." He kisses the tears that flow from the corners of your eyes and watches Rafe fuck you coarsely.
Your body and your brain do not agree, one hates what Rafe makes you while the other takes pleasure. Rafe hits your G-spot several times, you moan while crying.
Rafe leans over and kisses your neck, he leaves traces of his passage on your breasts. It becomes more and more brutal so he accelerates.
Rafe pulls out, he cums on your belly and turns you around. "Ready for a second round?" he asks. "Please let me go." You’re crying. Rafe shoves your head into the couch while he shoves you from behind.
Rafe is violent, with each push he sinks further widening you. "Damn it’s so tight man!" Says Rafe as he continues to rape you.
Niccolò laughs, his bulge is clearly visible. He will never admit it but his dick hurt him so much it was hard.
You feel Rafe shaking inside you, indicating that he will arrive soon.
Rafe arrives but does not withdraw from you, there are a few seconds inside before withdrawing.
You fall back on yourself when your hair is caught, forcing you to lift your head. Niccolò takes off his belt and his pants, his boxers follow the movement. He stands in front of you. "Bite me, hurt me, and I swear you’ll regret it." He glances briefly at the table. On it is a gun. Your blood is freezing.
Niccolò forces a passage with his cock to enter your mouth, you do not struggle. Terrified by the turn the situation could take.
He grabs your head and forces you to suck it, he delicately fucks your face, as if you were both consenting.
He is gentle in his gestures, compared to Rafe. Maybe you hurt him. But for you that is impossible. These two monsters have no feelings.
Niccolò comes several times in your mouth and on your face. When he has finally finished, he wipes his face. He kisses you from the top of your head and forces you to look at him. Your eyes are glassy, full of tears. Your throat hurts and you’re not sure you can get up.
Rafe looks up at the gentle gesture of the Italian. "Rafe is stupid, doesn’t pay attention and just stays focused on me, my sweet." he says, but your eyes follow both. If your body would allow it, you would have already tried to kill one.
Rafe gets up and throws your clothes away. "We got what we wanted, she’s out now." Rafe puts on his shorts. Niccolò puts his pants back on but you don’t move.
This has the gift of driving Rage Rafe crazy. "Dress up." He orders you, you do not move. Rafe shoots you with the look. He grabs the gun from the table and with a tone he announces. "If you don’t harp now, the first bullet will be for you." Rafe." said Niccolò.
You lift your shameful head. "I can’t move half my body!" You say in tears. Rafe tightens a little more the weapon before growling and throwing it some parts in the room.
Rafe grabs your shirt and puts it on, puts your shorts back on. You cry about it, you look like shit. Rafe lifts you when Niccolò blocks him. "What again?" said the exasperated blond.
Niccolò gives him a bad look and gives you a drink. "Drink it should make your sore throat go away and it helps with aches."
You weren’t planning on drinking until Rafe forced you.
______________________________________________
You have no memory of that night, you remember going and looking for Kiara. After that, it’s nothing.
The next day you had bruises on your breasts, thighs and neck. Your legs made you suffer martyrdom and your head hurt like a dog.
Since this evening you try not to think about it too much, rout is quite weird and mix.
But apparently at this party you made new friends.
Niccolò and Rafe.
You get along great with them even though sometimes you feel like a few bells with them, that they are… bad.
______________________________________________
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#rafe obx#rafe x reader#dark!rafe#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#rafe imagine#dark rafe cameron#rafe cameron#outer banks rafe#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey#drew starkey imagine#drew starkey smut#rafe#rafe smut#rafe fanfiction#outerbanks rafe#obx#outer banks x reader#lorenzo zurzolo x reader#lorenzo zurzolo#theo nott x reader#toxic ! rafe#theodore nott smut#toxic relationship#theodore nott x reader
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The trusted one is told to be only you, Yandere!Ellie
A/N: She somehow ended up being a soft yandere here (how does that even happen) so not as dark i'd say. Anyways enjoy !!
Find Yan!Ellie alphabet here.
Yandere Ellie who still has a resemblance of her humanity left loses it along with her mind when she falls in love with you.
Yandere Ellie who at the start of your relationship gets overwhelmed around you because she doesn't know how to behave with the weight of her heart.
Yandere Ellie who acts like your shadow following you around just to make sure you're safe, keeping a close enough proximity to gaze on your addictive features but not too near that you'd notice. Like a thief in the night who's only prize is you alone.
Yandere Ellie who doesn't play around when it comes to you straight from the start. Making sure nobody gets too close to you, sometimes taking it too far. You are yet oblivious to her intimidation tactics that she uses on others.
Yandere Ellie who's violent tendencies burn to ashes when she gets a taste of your pussy, you are like a tranquilizer to her.
Yandere Ellie who writes songs for you, at first as a small gesture that you wouldn't question the lyrical importance. But each sentence was obsessively detailed and would be foreshadowing who she'd become around you.
Yandere Ellie who developed too a strong feelings early on in your relationship, and decided to distance herself from you. Needless to say she failed every attempt.
Yandere Ellie who's incredibly greedy for every second with you that it's sometimes suffocating.
Yandere Ellie who's always by your side, one arm over your waist or holding your hand because the second she'd laid eyes on you Ellie knew she couldn't get enough. And the more she got to know you the more she realized the hunch inside her urging for visceral intimacy from you was something much more than she could handle.
Yandere Ellie who feels like she's melting whenever your eyes meet hers, knowing they carry everything you've seen and become, that she relates way too much. Who also always keeps eye contact during sex. The sparkle in her eyes shine so beautifully bright that even fireflies of the darkest night would be jealous.
Yandere Ellie who's mean to anybody else but acts like a lost puppy when you're in her arms.
Yandere Ellie who's touch is so gentle that she's afraid she might break you, who looks at you like you are the last true mouthpiece of god almighty. So gentle in fact you'd never believe the way she'd soon turn out.
(this was still lowkey sane yandere Ellie, i'll write when she goes batshit insane soon 🤍)
#why is this cute#i was supposed to write something psychological and intimidating#yet it ended up being intimate rather than intimidating lmao#yandere ellie williams#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams#ellie the last of us#yandere#cece writes
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Can I get a Steven from Steven Universe Future yandere alphabet, please?
Sure! Here's what I came up with :)
Original Steven Concept I Did Here.
Yandere Alphabet - Steven Universe
Pairing: Romantic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Fear of loss, Trauma/PTSD, Steven's a mess, Blood, Violence mention, Attachment issues, Jealousy, Anger issues, Manipulation, Stalking, Kidnapping, Dark themes, Poor mental health, Angst, Possessive behavior, General yandere themes, Delusional behavior, Unhealthy behavior, Forced relationship.
Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?
Steven is naturally clingy due to his past. He doesn't like leaving you so he comes off as smothering. He's used to losing others and now that he's found someone new... he doesn't want to let go.
Steven comes off as intense, even when he doesn't mean to. He just wants to cover you in hugs and kisses. He just wants to feel your warmth and not be alone again.
Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?
Steven has always been a person who wants to solve problems by talking them out. However, with his new unpredictability... there may be times he gets more violent than he'd like to be.
He feels conflicted and horrible the moment he sees blood on his hands. Yet he quickly hides it. After all... you shouldn't view him as a monster just yet, right?
He wants to enjoy you for a while longer before you leave him.
Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?
Steven would not purposefully try to mock you unless you set him off or something. He's impulsive though, which may lead to him kidnapping you without thinking things through.
Abduction would be a last ditch effort for him to not lose his darling. He cares for you the best he can all while trying to self soothe himself in your embrace. In abduction you can truly see how messed up the poor young man is.
He always asks how he can help. He denies you your freedom and quickly becomes the only thing you see. He's in denial of everything... including his toxicity.
He's been struggling to find a purpose, but when he meets you... He just knows he's needed you since he met you.
He just hopes you understand him... eventually.
Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?
He probably doesn't mean to, but it ends up happening anyways. He's so caught up in what he wants or trying to "help" and "care" for you... only to forget you really need space, not him.
Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?
He may try to hide it, but in the end he's very vulnerable with you. He struggles to be open but it ends up spilling out of him anyways. When he's vulnerable... it's almost upsetting when he holds you close and sobs.
However... he's still dangerous... and you know that.
Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?
Genuinely upset and you may set off his temper. He may fight back verbally, but even with just words... his powers can get hectic by accident.
If he ever hurt you by accident, he pauses and either isolates himself or tries to make things better again.
Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?
No and he hates it.
Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?
Well, with this one there can be a lot of candidates due to how volatile Steven can be. As I said before, he'd never mean to hurt you but he may do it by accident.
Seeing his mental breakdowns... seeing him snap at others... at some point he'll take it too far.
In a fit of desperation, he may accidentally harm you or someone close to you. You're terrified once you see his hands and the floor covered in blood. The realization of what he's done may break both of you.
The thought is unnerving... as that blood can either belong to someone you know... or you.
Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?
In the end, somehow, Steven wants to have you two married and happy together. Yet he's so emotionally driven and plagued with trauma, that even if you tried to help him, it only hurts the both of you.
Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?
Yes. Steven has a fear of being left behind. So when he sees you turn your attention to other people, it affects him. He'll usually try to deal with it alone, often going into a depressive state and crying about it in his room.
Honestly, him just being sad is the better option. All you have to do is comfort him afterwards. Although... he is fully capable of lashing out, which would be dangerous for anyone around him. We've seen in Future how he gets.
Left unchecked and someone may get hurt.
Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?
Obsessive, Clingy, Affectionate, Manipulative, Controlling, Needy, Volatile, Possessive, Intimidating, Caring, Smothering.
Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?
Pulling from my older concept, you two most likely met after he left home to have a fresh start. You offer to be his friend, to help him, and he ends up feeling attached. However... soon friendship turns into more than friendship.
He wants you to be lovers, to be married, to support him.
He's moving too fast with his feelings which causes issues for both of you. He stresses out over the fact you don't feel the same and worries you'll leave him. He doesn't want to lose you...
So it seems he must prevent that somehow.
Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?
Well, he's not really trying to mask anything. He may try to hide his darker nature... but you'll find out eventually.
Naughty: How would they punish their darling?
He doesn't like hurting you, the only times he does is by accident. So your punishment may be something like... forcing you by his side or something like that. Isolation punishes him too, so he'll do the opposite.
He'll use his powers to chain you to his side until he knows you won't leave him.
Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?
Most of them if it meant he wouldn't be left behind.
Patience: How patient are they with their darling?
I like to think at first he's really patient... but as he gets worse and worse... he's impatient.
Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?
Honestly, if anything bad happened to you, he'd snap. Like... monster Steven snap.
Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?
A little and maybe.
Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?
Childhood trauma. One of the main things dealt with in Future.
Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?
Steven is used to helping. He'd do whatever he can to see you happy again. Sometimes he's even unaware that he could be the one causing it due to his delusions. He'll hold you close, kiss your head, and just stay beside you. He hates it when you're upset.
Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?
SKIPPED
Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?
Get this man the help he needs, put up boundaries, and probably get the poor man a therapist. He'll be much easier to manage. (Also he just really needs help.)
Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?
Unintentionally, afterwards he panics and tries to fix things.
Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?
Steven may actually be a worship yandere at times. There's times he's just so grateful that you want to help him and he just wants to keep you forever. He'd do anything to have you. Just so he can keep your warmth all to himself.
Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?
Anything from months to a couple years.
Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?
Not on purpose.
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Gloom
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
Serial Killer!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader <one shot>
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, troubled reader, violent/dark thoughts, flirting, Leon abusing his bartender privileges 😆, for once no smut!
not proofread; this has been languishing in my drafts and I’m tired of looking at it—don’t know if I’ll add to it or not
title from Gloom by Djo
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
Clawing anger stirs in your chest, pricking you like the briar bushes outside your granny’s house. It feels like you’ve tumbled face first into the thorny tendrils, pointed tips digging into your skin, blood dripping like sweat across your skin. Shaking off the phantom sensations, you peer back out across the dance floor.
You smile, pretending to be happy, mask firmly in place. Good people grin and bear it, don’tcha know? Eyes landing on the table full of people you’d rather never see again, almost without conscious thought, makes your skin itch. The feeling of unfairness fizzes in your blood like carbon bubbles. You hate them. Hate these feelings all stirred up like a kicked hornets nest.
You hope they get hit by a truck, shanked in an alley, acid thrown in their eyes. It’s hateful and spiteful but you can’t stop the thoughts once they start. Maybe they’ll fall down the stairs and break their leg, bleed out a slow death all alone. Or pushed off the roof of a building, not so tall they have a heart attack before splattering across the cement. Maybe they’ll trip holding a pair of scissors, the pointed end puncturing their eye—
“You need another drink?”
The voice pulls you away from staring across the room to the bartender standing behind the counter.
“No,” you shake your head, eyes dropping to your glass, water still near the rim.
“You seem a bit perturbed,” he offers, propping his hip against the drink station, arms crossing and showcasing his thick biceps.
“It’s nothing,” your airy response only makes his eyebrows raise in amusement.
“I’m sure that group over at the table would love to hear how they’re nothing,” he grins when you glare at him.
“What do you care..” your eyes glance at his name tag, “Leon?”
“I don’t,” he shrugs easily, “but you do and I hate to see a pretty lady in distress.”
You snort, eyes rolling, “I’ll bet you say that to anyone with tits.”
His grin widens, “True, but I always mean what I say.”
Someone on the other end flags his attention and Leon leaves you to your intrusive thoughts and untouched water. Your lip curls in a sneer as someone gets up from the table he mentioned and walks over to the bar. They flirt with Leon who you notice gives you a quick side eye before making a round of drinks.
Once he’s finished up, he walks back over to you with a smarmy little swagger.
“Miss me?”
You shake your head, gaze still zeroed in on the bitch taking the handful of drinks he just made back to the table. More people come up to the bar and Leon slips away, busy for several long minutes. While he’s mixing whatever cocktail an older lady and her friend ordered, your eyes widen in surprise to see a few people at that specific table suddenly make their departure towards the restroom.
“It didn’t kick in as fast as I thought,” Leon muses next to you— a little put upon sigh slipping out for good measure, “they’ll definitely be calling it a night once they’re not puking their guts out.”
Delightful vindictiveness makes you smile broadly at him; it must surprise him because he only looks at you stupidly as you thank him.
“Didn’t I tell you I hate seeing a pretty lady in distress,” he recovers quickly enough, a pleased smile making him seem boyish and sweet, “besides they seem like stuck up cunts. And not the fun kind.”
You watch with a sort of childlike awe as he goes about the rest of his shift, chatting up customers and making drinks. The table of cunts, as he so politely put, cleared out once the others returned looking sick.
“I’m off work in ten minutes,” he appears next to you, making you jump.
“And?”
He drums his fingers on the side of your glass, “Might wanna get your last call in before I walk you home for the night.”
He slips away before you can argue and ten minutes later, he’s helping you with your coat and holding open the door. Once you’re a comfortable distance away from the bar, you turn to him.
“What did you use?”
“Ah,” he taps the side of his nose with a grin, “that would be telling.”
Your eyes narrow and he laughs.
“Just a little something I like to keep on me,” he ducks to the side to whisper in your ear, “it’s not the worst thing I’ve used on someone.”
He pulls away, looking pleased as punch, and it makes your heart flutter in excitement.
“Thanks,” you offer, looking back to the sidewalk in front of you, “it was nice.”
“Oh my absolute pleasure,” he sighs happily, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, “do they come in every week?”
“Yes,” you bite your lip in thought, “usually at the same time.”
“Shall I give them something a bit stronger then?” He murmurs quietly, eyes glittering when you pause to look back at him.
“There’s something wrong with me.”
You didn’t mean to blurt that out, but it is what it is; he shrugs, total nonchalance, that makes you frown.
“I want them to hurt. I want them to feel awful. I wouldn’t mind if they died.”
His smile’s a sharp brittle knife, “I can help with that last one.”
Your heart flutters again, and you twist to face him fully.
“You mean that?” Your eyes stare into his calm blue gaze, “you don’t even know me.”
“Does it matter?” He grins playfully, “besides you seem like the kind of girl who would appreciate it.”
Those intrusive thoughts come back, flashing the various ways you’ve pictured those same people being hurt. Your hands reach up to curl your fingers in the collar of his jacket.
“Do you want help?”
He laughs delightedly, his own hands gripping your hips before sliding up to pet your ribs. He slides your noses together, before hovering his lips over your mouth.
“How do you want to help me, sweetheart?”
#leon s kennedy#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy#resident evil fanfiction#serial killer!leon kennedy#fem!reader
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In the HS au what would it be like if the reader asked out the proxy’s/pastas first? Like they fell for the characters like fake personality n shit and asked them out first instead of them kinda doing it? How would they react? what would it be like??
Toby is fucking ecstatic. He's never been asked out before, ever. Before Senior year he was considered an ugly weirdo, but now he's considered a slightly attractive weirdo. He wouldn't really know how to react, this is a first, his cheeks would be all red while he tried to come up with an answer. Safe to say, he'd be very flustered, he would say yes tho.
Hoodie would have the most smug look on his face, you'd think he'd reject and make fun of you. In Hoodie's mind, you asking him out saved him a lot of work. He'd say yes in the most casual and low-key way.
Masky is taken a back. He's been asked out multiple times, but he didn't expect you to ask him. Even with his fake personality, he still has the reputation of being a dick, and the fact you had the balls to ask him out suprises him. He'd look at for a few seconds, and laugh while telling you that you had balls to ask him out. You'd feel so embarrassed and almost walk away out of shame, but He'd call you back and tell you he accepts you confession.
EJ just agrees. He doesn't really act out when it comes to you asking him out. Similar to Hoodie, it saves him a lot of work down the road.
Ben is prideful. I mean, who doesn't want this short king? He'd look at you with a smug look on his face and tease you, asking you how long you've liked him and asking you if you not just doing this for a discount. He'd accept your confession because, why not? However, have fun, cause now you're trapped.
Jeff is shocked. He literally has the reputation of being a lunatic and is suspected of countless murders in the school, who the fuck are your friends and why didn't they stop you? He's been stalking you for some time tho, so he'll accept your confession. However, his obsession with you comes from a source of violence. He has a major final girl fantasy, and you're gonna make it come true.
Liu isn't suprised at all. He has the reputation of a charmer, a mixture of Hoodie and EJ. Sully would be going crazy in his mind, having a very child like reaction to bring asked out. Since Sully is a child, I can imagine having the most violent yet childlike imaginations of what you and Liu will do together. It would take some time for a Liu to process your confession, but he'll accept it after some teasing.
LJ immediately says yes. No questions asked. It saves him a lot of work with what little free time he has.
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Of course I write psychopaths as well lmao, gotta keep the trademark
(Last private story thing I promise, I'm just so excited about these two sorry🥹🫶🏻)
Ps these are pretty violent so warning
Story 1
He wakes up to a hand slapped over his mouth. His eyes widen. At first he can't see anything, everything is too dark and blurry. As soon as his eyes have adjusted, he sees a pair of cold, gray eyes above him. The gray eyes are hidden by black stripes. HG lets out a skin-like squeal that is muffled by the hand over his mouth. Panic fills the chest. HO holds his index finger over his lips and hushes quietly.
"Come with me," the boy whispers. “I have a knife.”
HG can't move. HO gently helps him sit up with a soft, guiding hand resting on his small back. HG feels his head spinning from lack of oxygen and looks around. In the beds around him lie all the others, innocently asleep. If he just opened his mouth and said something they would wake up and be able to help him, but the sight of the shiny metal resting on the bedspread makes him sick. If he tries to wake the others, he will get the blade through the stomach.
HO notices that he has seen the knife, because he smiles crookedly and lifts it.
"It wasn't Archie (i have deleted that character so its okay to show the name) who took it, believe it or not," he grins and turns it over in fascination. "If you go along and shut up, you won't come into contact with it, okay?"
HG body twitches. He finds it difficult to nod, but finally manages to gently nod his head. HO runs his left hand through HG brown locks with a humble smile. He places the edge of the knife against HG'S back and forces him out of the dormitory. HG'S legs don't want to move and nearly trip him over the threshold on his way out. The stand is pressed hard against his waist. Millions of thoughts run through his head, but he can't understand any of them. They are flashing red as warning signals, but none of them are warning him of anything, they are screaming for help.
He doesn't want to die here. He doesn't want to die tonight. HG wants to cry, but doesn't dare.
HO takes him through the dark corridors, over to Dr. C'S office. He opens the door and lets HG walk in before him with the knife between them. The older boy flinches when the table lamp comes on. In the soft glow of the lamp, HO appears even colder, even paler.
“Are you going to kill me too?” HG asks quietly.
"Kill you?" HO repeats confused. "Why would I do that? Who have you been talking to?”
HG doesn't answer.
"Who have you been talking to, HG?" HO repeats, louder. He presses the knife against his pelvic bone.
"EDW," he gasps, thinking that EDW has a better chance of getting away from HO a second time.
“Who else knows? BN knows, right?”
HG feels his breathing hitch.
"Fuck," HO mutters and turns his gaze to the window. "Damn he's stupid."
“Why is he stupid?” HG ventures to ask, his heart pounding against his ribs. "What is it that you want?"
“You know a lot about medicine, I suppose. You are addicted to it. Help me find a poison strong enough to kill a horse.”
HG shivers. At first he doesn't move, doesn't answer. The thought of what HO will do with a poison strong enough to kill a horse makes his stomach turn. Softly, HO reaches out his hand for HG'S hair, but this HG backs away. He doesn't have time to stop himself. Ho takes a firm grip on his hair with nails scraping against HG'S scalp.
"Stop!" snarls HO. “Stop doing that!”
He lets go of HG, who nimbly staggers backwards and hits his hip on the desk. The pain penetrates the medicine, shooting lightning bolts through the blood. His chest rises and falls in a frenzy. His legs soon won't hold him up.
HG nods quickly and exhales slowly. The head spins uncomfortably. He wants to sit down.
"It's pretty pathetic when you think about it," says HO, twirling the shiny knife in his hand. “How dependent you are on the medicine, that is. Quite sad. Quite fascinating. The whole of you is fascinating, HG.” He raises his gray, intense gaze. “Like that time when you got a freak out during the test. When you screamed and punched and kicked like a madman. It was the only thing that made me endure that test. I can't scream, so I want you to do it for both of us.”
HG thinks he's going to pass out. If he hadn't seen the knife in HO's hands, he would have thought he had been stabbed in the stomach.
"What do you mean?" he gasps.
“It hurts, HG, everything hurts so much ... but I can't do anything. I want to tear myself apart, but I can't. But you… you're perfect.”
"Do not touch me."
“But, HG, in heaven you will be well. You won't have your pain anymore, so what if your human body is broken?” He smiles shyly and shrugs shyly. “I mean… how would you be able to stop me?”
Disgust fills the mouth. HG glares at him. He wishes he had opened his mouth inside the dorm and risked a stab in the stomach.
Story 2
OL was pushed down hard on the chair. Philip stood behind her, a rough hand resting on her bony shoulder. Mr. D calmly turned the revolver and smiled in shock. He exchanged an amused look with PH.
"This one is Edwardian," he said amused. “Where did you get this?”
“From a man who wanted me dead—at your command.”
Mr. D frowned, thinking, as if trying to figure out who could have tried to kill her. OL wanted to snort. How many had been ordered to kill her, if Mr. D had to think about it? He shook his head, letting it go.
"Oh, it's not important," he said, putting the gun aside.
He rummaged further in the bag and fished out the teddy bear with a mocking laugh. OL glared away at the wall, refusing to pay him any attention. She blushed, but didn't try to defend herself.
"You're too old for stuffed animals," he said.
Out of the corner of his eye, OL could see how he grabbed the teddy bear with both hands, and easily ripped off one of its legs. She widened her eyes in panic and threw her head in Mr. Dutcher's direction, her body filling with ice.
"Stop!" she screamed shrill and shot up from her chair, but was brutally pushed down by PH. “Let it be!”
Mr. D's lips twitched into a smile as he nonchalantly tore off the teddy bear's other leg, and both of its arms. He had his head beheaded and his eyes gouged out. OL wanted to scream, but her voice got stuck in the pit of her throat. She found it difficult to breathe. He waved the remains of the teddy bear in front of her eyes in an attempt to ridicule her but she boldly turned her head away, refusing to look at him. Mr. D opened his hand and flicked it across her face. OL's head flew to the side with a strong whiplash, and a scream mixed with surprise and pain rolled off his tongue. If PH hadn't kept a firm grip on her shoulders, she probably would have followed the head, down to the cement floor which was now full of white fluff.
"Don't think I've forgotten how rowdy you are," snapped Mr. D, shaking his hand free.
Her left cheek ached, throbbed and burned. OL turned her head towards him with a flash of anger in her tear filled eyes. He kept eye contact with his cold, dead eyes as he tore through the bag. He suddenly dissolved and lifted out the diary. He dropped the bag and what was left of the teddy bear onto the cement floor.
"Here we have it," he said, sounding possessed, manic. “Here we have it, finally.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the warehouse. OL breathed quietly, straining the air between her teeth. Nausea surged inside her and pressed against the pit of her throat. She watched as Mr. D flipped through the pages, skimming through the various texts. He seemed surprised by what he read, though he tried to hide it behind a pleased grin.
"It's not a little you've written," he noted, looking up from the pages. “You must have protected this book with your life, right? Who knew about it?”
"None," OL answered shortly. “I made sure no one knew about it.”
He waved the book menacingly in front of her eyes. “What were you planning to do with it? Did you intend to use it as blackmail to get out of the contract? Or did you intend to publish it to bring me down? You know no one would have believed you, right?”
OL did not respond.
"Shall we have some reading aloud?" he asked. "Then we'll see if it sounds credible."
He flipped back and forth. OLS's cheeks burned with shame. She had exposed herself on the pages and written things she never thought anyone—especially not one of the men who hurt her—would read. Mr. D was going to hold it against her.
“You have pages left,” he said. "Your last writing is from the eighteenth of September 1916"
OL struggled against PH's grasp. "Stop! You disgusting creep, stop mentioning it!”
Mr. D took his nose out of the book. He met OLS's manic eyes that were flooded with desperate tears. She hadn't read anything she'd written since September eighteenth, had forgotten how much it really hurt.
"What did you call me?" he asked tentatively.
“A creep!” yelled OL through violent sobs. “You are a vile, cowardly creep! Damn you are a man! A man would never have treated us the way you did! You deserved to get rid of your biggest ships, and all the money you had wasted on them!”
Another hard blow slammed across her face, a harder one. OLS neck snapped.
"You must have been afraid we would tell someone about what you did," she hissed, turning her head back to Mr. D. "Why else would you have kept us inside the house?"
“It was your uncle's idea.”
“Because he did everything to be on your good side! It's your fault that they are dead — your fault that I'm left alone! I'm so glad TN stole the contract that night, and tore it up. You can find the pieces in the diary, if you don't believe me.”
"I was with your sister when she died."
A cold wind pulled through her, chilling her heart in a macabre way. She seemed to lose her hearing for a few seconds. The body went numb.
“Do you even know what happened to her?” asked Mr. Dutcher, cocking his head. "Not? Then let me tell you.”
OL couldn't answer, her voice was stuck in her throat. She didn't know if she wanted to know. Her head had already given her every conceivable scenario of how TN had died, one worse than the other. She might have scared herself. Knowing what had actually happened could be good for her. OL hesitated. What would she do if what Mr. D said was worse than what she had imagined? Or if he lied?
"She was all alone," said Mr. D, sighing. “She tried to run away from me, but I caught her. I pulled her by the hair, away from everyone else. I punched her, kicked her and pounded her head on the deck.”
OL covered her hanging mouth with her shaking hands as she shook her head in despair. She didn't want to hear any more.
“She screamed for you, OL,” continued Mr. D, “until she passed out. Then I picked her up and threw her overboard. She woke up when she hit the surface of the water, but she didn't manage to stay up for long.”
"You're lying," OL whispered in horror. “That—…that can't have happened—”
He grabbed her head.
"You know I'm not lying," he said. “But no one will believe you if you try to tell them. Especially not without this one.”
OL followed the diary with his eyes. He dropped it on the cement floor. From his pocket he took out a box of matches.
“Wait, what are you doing?” screamed OL in panic, trying to fight PH once again. "Don't do it! Please don't, I'll do anything! D, please!” Her voice rose octave after octave to a shrill, panicked voice.
Mr. D paid her no attention. He drew the match against his ashtray, let the flame grow, then let it go. It fell against the diary, caught fire instantly. OL swallowed her scream and watched the diary burn. Years of work disappeared before her eyes in less than a minute. The dark red book took off a black surface, and its pages crumbled into ash. She couldn't move. All evidence of the pain she was forced to go through, the memories of her long lost sisters and gifts, destroyed, killed.
“Don't worry, OL,” said Mr. D, accepting an iron pipe from one of his henchmen, “you won't have to try to prove this to anyone. You will not get out of here alive.”
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Hi, love your writing style and stories. Would you be be able to take a request for a like enemies to lovers with Choso? Just a thought.
Scars Written Deep
CHOSO X READER! You've fought with enemies plenty of times. But when defeated, waking up in their bed is the last place you want to find yourself in.
_________ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
♫ gilded lily - cults
❝ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʟᴏᴡᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ❞
AUTHORS NOTE! - i tried best i could, ngl it was pretty challenging to fit a way to include enemies to lovers, but i hope you enjoy! ღ
Pain explodes through your body, white-hot and searing as an unknown force of a blast slams into you. It felt like being struck by a thunderbolt, the power immense and merciless. You were hurled backward with brutal force, your body flung like a ragdoll into the wreckage of what had once been a formidable barrier.
The impact was devastating. A wave of intense pain exploded through you as you crashed into a heap of twisted metal and broken concrete. The agony that followed was sharp and all-consuming, shooting through every nerve in your body with unbearable intensity. Your ears rang with a high-pitched whine, the sound of your pulse loud in the unsettling silence that followed the blast.
You can't quite remember how you came to be here. All your brain can pick up are you leaving home, coming here, fighting Choso, then an explosion. With the agony you find yourself in, you're surprised you can even think.
As you open your eyes, coughing slightly as dust tries to find an entryway into your lungs, you start to squirm to get up. It isn't over like this, some stupid explosion from who knows where. If you were to die, you'd rather it be in the hands of an enemy than be one unknown.
It only takes you a few seconds to realize you can't move, as you twist your head to look back, you're greeted with a slab of metal meeting your torso, down to your legs, covering half your body. Gasping for breath under the oppressive weight of the debris, you now feel the pain. It's hot and searing, radiating from your legs, trapped beneath the rubble.
The sharp, jagged edges of slabs of metal dig into your skin, the pressure is immense and immobilizing. Every attempt to move sent new waves of excruciating pain coursing through your body, each more punishing than the last. With a gasp of hope and widening eyes, you try and twist your body to no avail.
Beneath you, the ground was littered with rubble and broken glass; an uncomfortable to your stomach, reminding you of the force pressing into your back, pinning you down. You try to move, to escape the prison of debris, but torture lances through your body, anchoring you in place.
A minute falls past and a desperate cry leaves your lips, drowned out by the ringing in your ears, the sound of your distress is soon lost amidst the aftermath of the explosion.
Tears of frustration now fall down your cheeks as you try and move the metal. It won't budge, it's stuck on you; and now it's slowly starting to click, that this will be your fate. Either Choso will leave you here, making you run out of needed resources, or you die at his hands. You can't accept both, you'll find a way.
Every breath seems to be a battle in your body, chest heaving to draw in air through the crushing weight pinning your legs. You try to move once more, a whimper escaping your lips as a sharp pain lanced through you, the world tilting dangerously.
It seemed like pain engulfed you, immediate and overwhelming, its claws digging into your flesh with merciless intensity. Your head throbbed violently, a pulsating rhythm that matched the sharp, jagged breaths escaping from your crushed lungs.
The world around you started to blur into a chaotic swirl of dust and shadows, each particle of air heavy with the scent of destruction and cursed energy.
Your vision is now hazy, tears of ache and anger welling in your eyes, making the dusty air around you seem to swim. The dim, shadowy outline of the warehouse wavered in and out of focus, the sturdy walls now nothing more than a crumbling tomb.
In the disorienting aftermath of the explosion, your thoughts turned briefly to Choso, not out of concern (you'd rather be caught dead than ever show a hint of worry for that man), but out of a wary calculation.
If he was down, it could be your chance to escape, or if he approached, you'd need to be ready to defend yourself, even in this weakened state. But your thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by the raw, physical pain dominating your senses.
Your tiny glimpse of hope diminished as the realization started to set in.
Through the haze of dust and debris, a figure began to take shape, moving steadily through the chaos. You couldn't feel the massive amount of tears that you cried, mistaking it with dust. You feel your heart sink in a pit in your stomach at the sight.
It was Choso, appearing seemingly unscathed by the explosion that had incapacitated you. His posture was upright, his steps measured and calm—a stark contrast to the chaos around him.
The rivalry between you had always been fierce, a clash of power and wits, testing each other's limits at every encounter. But now, as your consciousness flickered dangerously low, you saw him differently.
There was a sway in his step, a slight falter that betrayed his disorientation from the explosion. His usual composed demeanor was shattered; even from a distance, you could sense his confusion.
Your heart sank further, not just from fear or pain, but from a deep, ugly seething resentment. There he was, your enemy, walking freely while you lay pinned and powerless. The sight of him, so composed amid the destruction, fueled a surge of anger through your veins, momentarily overshadowing the pain.
You strained to keep your eyes open, to keep him in sight, not willing to be caught off-guard. His figure became clearer as he approached. There was no sign of hesitation in his steps, no flicker of concern across his features—just the same cold, detached expression he always wore when facing you.
The familiarity made you want to die.
Your breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, each inhaling a battle against the pain and the weight crushing down on you. It took up too much strength to keep your head lifted; finally giving it a few moments of peace as you felt your cheek meet the cold ground.
You tried to muster the strength to call out, to taunt or threaten him, to do anything to affect that stoic demeanor. But your voice faltered the words dissolving into a pained groan as darkness edged your vision. You tried to lift your head for a second, gritting your teeth against the surge of pain. "Choso," you managed to gasp out, though it felt like speaking through a mouthful of glass. Your voice was hoarse, barely audible above the settling debris.
He paused, his head turning sharply in your direction, his eyes—those deep, unfathomable pools—locking onto yours. There was a pause, a heartbeat of silence that stretched between you two. Then, surprisingly, his footsteps resumed, this time more deliberately, closing the distance between enemy lines. It was like you could feel the vibration of his footsteps, telling you your ultimate fate.
As Choso came closer, your determination faltered, the edges of your consciousness fraying under the onslaught of pain and imminent defeat. The world around you began to dim, the sounds of the crumbling warehouse fading into a distant echo.
With the last of your strength waning, your head lolled to the side, your eyes struggling to focus on Choso as he continued his approach.
Your mind screamed to stay awake, to remain vigilant, but your body betrayed you, sinking deeper into the cold, encroaching shadows of unconsciousness. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the blurred image of Choso bending over you, his hands reaching out—whether to help or to harm, you couldn't tell, you didn't care.
The sight of him, an enemy moving unchallenged through the debris toward you, was the last image that burned in your mind before the darkness finally claimed you, swallowing everything into silent oblivion.
ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
Consciousness returns to you like a slow, creeping tide, pushing through the haze of disorientation and throbbing pain. Your eyelids flutter open, revealing a ceiling that is unfamiliar—smooth, white, and utterly foreign. Panic grips you instantly. Your heart races as you try to move, but agony lances through your body, anchoring you to the spot with its fierce intensity.
With a groan, you grip the sheets as you turn your head, inspecting the room you find trapped in. You're lying on a soft surface, a bed, most likely, but the comfort it promises is overshadowed by the confusion swirling in your mind.
How did you get here? The last thing you remember is the explosive clash with Choso, the pain, and then darkness. Now, here you are, in a room that looks nothing like the battleground you last saw.
The walls are plain, adorned with only a few pictures, and there's a window with curtains partially drawn, letting in just enough light to illuminate your surroundings. Attempting to sit up, a sharp pain shoots through your stomach, forcing a gasp from your lips. It's then you realize you're bandaged heavily, your movements restricted by the swathes of gauze wrapped around your chest and legs.
You lift the sheets to be met wearing an oversized t-shirt with baggy sweatpants. Under it are bandages wrapped around what seems to be every inch of your torso, while some are found on your left and right legs. A hint of red bleeds through the plaster, making you reminisce on earlier events.
"Easy. You're not ready to move yet."
The voice is startlingly familiar, causing another spike of panic. Your head snaps to the side, and there he is—Choso, standing just a few feet away, his expression unreadable. How? Why? When?
"What are you doing here?" Your voice is a hoarse whisper, fear mingled with confusion. "Why am I here?"
Choso doesn't move closer, respecting the distance between you, perhaps understanding that his presence alone is enough to unsettle you further. "You were injured. I brought you here to heal," he explains, his tone neutral. It's unsettling.
"This is a trap," you accuse, though the effort of speaking sends a fresh wave of pain coursing through you. You're not even sure of your own words, but the distrust has deep roots, hardened by past conflicts.
"It's no trap," Choso replies calmly, face not marking any emotion. "You were in no condition to be left alone. Whether you believe me or not, I couldn't just—" He stops, seemingly searching for the right words. "I couldn't leave you there."
Your mind races, trying to process his words and his actions. None of it makes sense. Why would your enemy choose to save you? What for? Is he lying? Why? Why, why why? The suspicion lingers, but your body betrays your desire to act on it, too weak to even sit up fully.
Choso watches you struggle briefly, his gaze intense. "You need to rest. Your body hasn't healed enough for you to be moving around."
"I don't need anything from you," you manage to grit out, though the pain is draining, making it hard to focus. Giving up, you lock eyes with him.
For a moment, neither of you speaks; the air is charged with a tense silence.
Then, without another word, Choso turns and walks towards the door. Before exiting, he pauses and looks back. "There's food and water on the nightstand when you're ready," he says, indicating a small wooden table nearby laden with a jug of water and a bowl covered with a cloth. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."
With that, he exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. The sound of his footsteps recedes, and you're left alone, grappling with a cocktail of emotions—confusion, anger, vulnerability.
Each breath you take is a reminder of your physical state, the pain a constant, nagging presence that refuses to be ignored. If you could, you would run up and take him out from behind, give him a piece of the pain you've found familiar too. Your confusion of why runs deeper than your anger though.
Lying back against the pillow, you take a moment to assess your situation. The room is quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves outside and the distant clatter of utensils. Choso's presence in the next room is unsettling yet strangely reassuring in a way you can't quite understand. Why would he help you? What did he stand to gain from your survival?
The questions swirl in your mind, but the exhaustion from your injuries and the effort of the brief interaction weigh heavily on you. Despite your distrust and your instincts screaming for you to get up and leave, your body has other ideas. The pain pins you down, and the fatigue is overwhelming.
As minutes tick by, your eyelids grow heavy, the edges of your vision blur, and despite your best efforts to stay alert, sleep begins to claim you once more. Before you drift off, a part of you acknowledges the need to heal, to regain your strength. You'll need it if you're to confront Choso about his motives if you're to escape this place. If you're still willing to fight him after this.
But for now, your body wins the battle against your mind, and you sink into a reluctant, uneasy rest, the sound of Choso moving quietly in the kitchen a distant, almost comforting background noise. As sleep envelops you, it's with the faint hope that when next you wake, you might be strong enough to seek the answers you need—or ready enough to fight if it comes to that.
ૢ་༘࿐
Weeks passed in a strange, silent routine as you slowly recovered in the unfamiliar house. Choso was a constant, albeit quiet, presence. Each day, he would come into your room to check on your wounds, his movements precise and methodical.
He hardly ever spoke during these visits, only offering brief nods or the occasional instruction on how to care for your injuries. You, trapped in a mixture of convalescence and confusion, the only response you would give him was a curt nod. You watched him in a wary silence, your mind buzzing with unasked questions and unvoiced suspicions.
One afternoon, as the sun filtered through the curtains casting long shadows across the room, Choso entered with his usual tray of medical supplies. He approached your side, his eyes briefly meeting yours before focusing on the bandages wrapped around your torso. As he began to unwind the soiled bandages with careful hands, the silence felt heavier than usual.
You watched his focused expression, noting the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of the bandages and your shallow breathing. Something about the stillness of the moment, mixed with the weeks of pent-up confusion and frustration, made the words bubble up inside you, unbidden but unstoppable.
"Why are you doing this?" you blurted out, propping your arms up to get a good look at him. Your voice is a little hoarse from disuse in such conversations.
Choso paused, his hands stilling on the bandage. He didn't look up immediately, and for a moment, you thought he might just ignore your question and change of position. But then he straightens up slightly, meeting your gaze with a steady one of his own.
"Because it was necessary," he said simply.
"That's not an answer," you pushed back, your confusion turning into frustration. "Why me? Why save me, care for me, when all we've done is try to destroy each other? What do you want from me?"
Choso sighed a deep, almost inaudible sound. He resumed his task, breaking eye contact as his fingers deftly replaced the old bandage with a fresh one. "I don't expect you to understand. Not yet. But know this—I don't want to see you destroyed. Our enmity. . .it doesn't have to define everything."
"You expect me to just accept that? After everything?" Your tone was incredulous, expressing your anger and frustration, eyes searching his for any answer or hint of deceit.
He finished taping the new bandage and finally looked up, his expression earnest. "No, I don't expect acceptance, not immediately. But I do hope for understanding, eventually. There's more at stake here than our grievances."
You lay back against the pillows, processing his words. The idea that Choso, of all people, might have reasons beyond what you could immediately understand was difficult to grasp. It didn't erase the history or the pain, but it added a layer of complexity to a situation you had wanted to view in black and white.
"So, what now?" you asked after a moment, your voice softer, tinged with a reluctant curiosity, eyes drifting towards his.
"Now, you heal," Choso replied, his voice firm but not unkind. "And when you're ready, we'll talk. There's much to discuss, about why this all happened, and where we go from here."
As he packed away the medical supplies, you lay in silence, staring at the ceiling but seeing nothing, your thoughts a whirlwind.
There was so much you still didn't know, so many questions yet to be answered. But for the first time since you woke up in this unfamiliar place, you considered that perhaps there might be reasons worth listening to—even from a foe.
ૢ་༘࿐
Gradually, as your strength returned, the walls of the room that had confined you began to feel less oppressive, more like boundaries that could be pushed.
With cautious steps, you began to explore the house, curiosity tugging at you with each discovery. It struck you as odd, seeing Choso in such a domestic setting contradictory to the view you've always seen him as.
The house was simple and modestly furnished, but there were personal touches—a framed picture here, an old, well-loved book there—that made you reconsider the man you thought you knew only as a rival.
One afternoon, feeling stronger and more sure-footed, you ventured into the kitchen. It was neat and organized, with pots hanging in orderly rows and spices lined up like little soldiers. You touched the counters, the cool stone grounding, as a thought blossomed in your mind—a quiet thank you could be expressed in the universal language of a shared meal.
If you told yourself two months ago you'd be willing to cook Choso food, you would've cried from the hysterical shock of the statement. But as the days seem to pass, you can't ignore it any longer. The care he's bestowed onto you, you have to give something in return.
You found ingredients in the refrigerator and pantry—vegetables, herbs, some rice, and chicken. Cooking was a familiar, almost comforting routine, and as you chopped and stirred, you found a rhythm that felt meditative, healing in its own right. The aroma of herbs and simmering sauce filled the kitchen, weaving a warm, inviting atmosphere.
By the time you finished, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the house had grown quiet with the deepening evening. You set the table, placing dishes of steamed rice, herb-roasted chicken, and a side of vegetables neatly arranged. A note beside the plate simply read, "Thank you," a token of gratitude from someone who still harbored doubts but was learning maybe not all was as it seemed.
Exhaustion from the day's activities caught up with you, and after setting everything up, you retreated to your room, your body demanding rest. Sleep came surprisingly easy, a deep, restful state that enveloped you wholly.
When Choso returned, it was much later. The house was silent, save for the soft ticking of the wall clock in the hallway. He paused as he entered the kitchen, a hint of surprise registering on his features when he saw the spread on the table. A small hint of a smile graced his lips, rare and fleeting, as he read the note you'd left. He sat down, alone yet somehow not by your presence, and served himself.
As he ate, the flavors and care put into the meal spoke silently of bridges being built, even if those bridges were tentative and unspoken. It was a small gesture, but for Choso, it was a significant acknowledgment of the complex, shifting ground between you.
Tonight, the house felt a little less like a battleground and a little more like a home, even if just for a moment.
In your room, you slept on, unaware of the small breakthrough, the smile you'd brought to a weary face, and the silent thanks returned in kind for a meal shared in spirit if not in presence.
─────────
@siythn all rights reserved!
#ꜱɪʏᴛʜɴ#jjk#choso#kamo choso#choso x reader#jujutsu kaisen choso#choso x you#choso x female reader#choso x y/n#jjkau#jjk x reader#choso kamo#geto#gojo#nanami#angst jjk#angst#fluffy#parttwomaybe
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What the Lost boys think about vampire related media
Fluff, x reader but just barely
•While making conversation with your four Vampire lovers you were suddenly plagued with a question.
“How do you guys feel about vampire related media?”
-That question was an immediate head turner. The cave goes dead quite before Dwayne speaks up, “Well…vampires are in hiding so…”
-This sparks a conversation about how media representation of vampires may not be accurate, but that's a good thing. “If a book or movie comes out and it is shockingly accurate to what being a vampire is really like, the creator isn't going to last long.” David explained
-That's because there's a set of rules vampires have to follow and one of those rules is to never publicly reveal your double life identity
-”If something like that comes out, that means a vampire has broken that rule OR somebody knows vampires very closely and is creating media they know shouldn't exist.”
-Turns out if a vampire breaks that rule it's basically open season to kill and destroy their creations.
•You turn the conversation and begin to ask how they, specifically, feel about certain vampire representation
•Bram Stoker's Dracula
-Dwayne is the first to buy in his opinion.
-Dwayne feels that while it is a cult classic and well written, The characters are exceedingly dumb.
-”Johnathan spends a ridiculous amount of time talking about other characters ‘Breasts’ and trying to figure out why his host climbs walls ‘like a lizard's.”
-David is the next one to speak up
-David thinks it's not really worth the read
-”Unless you're trying to brag to people there's no point in reading it.”
-”Also why was Mina talking to that old sailor so much?”
-Paul laughs as he remembers “how fucking crazy he wrote Dracula to be”
-”I'm pretty sure the real Dracula thinks it's a heinous crime against him”
-Paul hasn't read it but have heard enough about it to know even the more obscure references
-Marko comments on the graceful writing style and the beautiful descriptions
-”I've only read it because Dwayne thought I would like it"
-Marko also loves how oblivious Jonathan and most of the other characters are
-All of them think the movie adaptation is hilarious and love the shitty special effects
•Interview with a vampire
-Paul chimes in immediately
-”God it's so homo erotic it hurts…in a good way.”
-Paul thinks its a nice horror novel mixed with a weird cozy atmosphere
-Dwayne thinks it's another well written classic and He actually begins to rave about all the themes involved within Anne Rice’s work
-”It's a beautiful Gothic thriller with a deep, sadly comedic energy.”
-He even offers to read it too you sometime
-Marko chimes in quickly about “Claudia’s rebellious behavior and persona”
-”imagine watching your family choose somebody else over you. It's so deeply upsetting but to an understandable level.”
-”I would have hated to turn so young. I look like a teenager and other people can respect that to a certain point. But being five years old with the mind of an adult, No one would respect you.”
-Marko relates to Claudia on an internal level and loves unraveling her character. When you ask why he quickly responds "Some people call me a cherub... You think I enjoy that?"
-David says he doesn't have much to say other than it was a decent read (That's his version of a compliments)
•Twilight
-All of them agree that it's laughably horrendous
-Almost immediately at the same time they say “This is the skin of a killer Bella”
-This leads to banshee like laughter
David speaks up immediately
-”Why do you humans want us to sparkle so bad?”
-”I personally hate the idea of being a walking disco ball, but to each their own.”
-Marko chimes in quickly
-”Would you like it if we sparkled?” He asked while leans on you affectionately
-Marko thinks the only reason to read it is to have a nice laugh
-”Why did Edward have such a violent reaction of Bella standing by a fan? That makes no sense…like I have mates and I enjoy the smell of you guys but…I'm not nearly clawing off my face at your smell”
-”Yeah yeah, I get he's trying not to overreact but running out of class to get away is crazy.”
-Paul even adds that even thought it's very dumb even he can appreciate the message it's trying to said.
-”something something, coming over adversary, something something, love wins, something something..”
-”Also that Jacob imprinting on Bella's infant daughter is super fucking creepy.”
-when you asked Dwayne about his feels he scoffed and said It's insulting at best and borderline sexual harassment at worst.
-He refused to go into depth
•You thank them for humoring you and they tell you that it's no problem
-David kisses the side of your head in an uncharacteristically soft way “We don't ever mind answering your vampire related question.” He tells you
-Marko turns to you “But seriously do you want us to sparkle?”
-”I think I have some roll on body glitter somewhere..” Paul says while getting up to look for it
Thanks for reading <3
#the lost boys x reader#david the lost boys#dwayne the lost boys#paul the lost boys#marko the lost boys#reader#the lost boys#vampire#fluff#books#lovers
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fic pride
Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.
thank you for the tags @anincompletelist and @firenati0n
(no pressure) pressure tags to : @cha-melodius @whimsymanaged @cricketnationrise @alasse9 @sherryvalli @nocoastposts
reading back at my work has only reminded me how proud and happy i am with the fics i have written, and i hope y���all enjoy them just as much as i do!!
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stolen glances with a string attached
Henry isn’t completely conscious of the fact that he is borderline stalking now, having been captivated by this man’s beauty. Even with the fair amount of distance between their office windows, Henry could still distinguish the prominent shadows cast on his cheeks from his eyelashes, and the sharp line of his jaw clenching every now and then. His skin seemed to glow exquisitely under the morning sun; looking practically magical against the gray of the city landscape.
That’s when the other man notices Henry, catching him in his trance for a split second before Henry turns his head to look down at the keyboard in front of him. That was close , he thinks to himself before slowly turning his head to look back at the window. And to his misfortune, the man is looking right back at him; his eyes squint, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow, and his face is wearing an expression as if to say caught you.
And he’s not wrong.
Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window.
The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read.
The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side.
“ALEX.”
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your body comes back to me in dreams [nsfw]
He comes back to himself in increments, the places where they’re touching becoming lighter and colder, and his vision softening around the edges. Henry grabs the other man’s shoulder with a vice grip, wanting to laze in the gratification of their love.
He surges forward to kiss him again, desperate to feel the warmth of his body, but he feels almost nothing. Henry pulls away resentfully, in search of brown eyes that bear unwavering devotion—but they’re gone, replaced by nothing, and he is faced with the iciness of the man’s absence.
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i became your device to name and soothe
June blushes violently and whispers, “It’s not the same when I do it to myself.”
The air is eerily silent for a beat, and June hates everything that is coming out of her mouth right now.
Nora’s face goes almost stoic, serious, but the sparkle of interest in her eyes never falters. “Tell me why.”
“What?”
“Tell me why it isn’t the same.”
June stares back at her staggered, at a complete loss of what to say, or how to say it. June has never had to explain the reasoning behind why she likes spanking. Hell, she’s never really thought about it in depth herself. Knowing that it brings her euphoric pleasure is enough acknowledgement for her.
“Well… I guess it has to do with the attention and— uh, being taken care of is part of it, too.” She chews on her lips subconsciously, looking down at her lap.
“I see,” Nora trails off, thinking deliberately before saying: “I can help you. Only if you’re comfortable with that of course.” Nora places her hand on June’s knee, it’s a comforting sentiment more than anything, and June realizes that she really does mean to help. Not in the exact way June wishes she would, but she’ll take what she can get at this point.
“Okay.”
“Really?
“I trust you, Nora.”
“Yeah, of course. I trust you too.”
June tries to swallow down the knot in her throat before speaking again, “It’ll be like, nonsexual, platonic—“
“Like a massage.” Nora’s expression is unreadable, the same face she makes when she’s in the middle of coding a script or calculating how many red bulls her body can tolerate without a wink of sleep in three days. Like a project she’s undoubtedly going to excel at. It makes June squirm in her seat. “I’m not an expert, so you’ll have to give me some… guidance.”
God. What has June gotten herself into?
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What are the chances? [nsfw]
“This what you wanted?” Nora whispers on her navel, kissing and licking up to the sweat that has begun to form between her breasts. The position of Nora’s fingers remain hooked inside of her, massaging repeatedly at her sweet spot, and June is seeing fucking stars. Her chest pushes into Nora’s face, giving her full permission to abuse them with her mouth.
Instead Nora pulls back, laying her hand flat on June’s chest to settle her back onto the bed again. She gives a light slap to one of her breasts. “How does it feel? You were so desperate for it earlier, huh, baby? So, tell me how it feels.”
June is unable to speak for a moment, her jaw slacked with no sound escaping. Her head is buzzing and her legs are trembling from how much stimulation her body is receiving. “Feels— oh fuck, ” she huffs, “feels so good, Nora. Please, don’t stop.”
Nora unties one of her wrists, still maintaining the consistent rhythm of her hand. Once free, June immediately reaches out to touch her face; running her thumb over Nora’s eyebrow, cheekbones and then her lips, feeling how soft and plump they are. Nora takes that as an invitation to kiss June again, this time with a more deliberate, loving touch—she can taste a bit of herself on Nora’s tongue.
#wordsofhoneydew writes#rwrb#red white and royal blue#alex claremont diaz#prince henry rwrb#firstprince#alex x henry#rwrb fic#rwrb alex#henry fox mountchristen windsor#june claremont diaz#nora x june#nora holleran#junora#red white and royal blue fanfic#red white & royal blue#rwrb fic recs#rwrb fanfic#rwrbsource
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i'm sorry but this is sending me into the goddamn stratosphere, if you send people to physically attack my mom, torture my sister, cut my six year old son's head off, threaten to murder my toddler, and then also threaten to rape my six year old daughter, i would be very happy and jovial in declaring war on your psycho ass for pulling that shit on people who literally didn't do a thing to you.
consequently, if i sent people to physically attack someone who never did me any harm, torture my sister who never did me any harm, cut my six year old nephew who never did me any harm's head off, threaten to murder my toddler nephew who never did me any harm, and also threaten to rape my six year old niece who never did me any harm, i would be very full of regret and sorrow for what i've done, because those are bad things that i did.
#personal#house of the dragon#hotd#like yeah no SHIT aegon's super gung-ho to carpet bomb rhaenyra and her side#you murder my kid and beat up my mom and make my sister go crazy and literally threaten to RAPE MY SIX YEAR OLD#i'll go apeshit i'll have the time of my life talking about how you're gonna suffer i'll be happy as a clam about it#like rhaenyra should absolutely feel bad and fear what she started! what she started was monstrous!#and by not thoroughly denouncing daemon and removing him from her side for it she's clearly endorsing it!#and people have the right to be happy about causing her bodily harm as a result for either tacitly or outright endorsing things like this#you know things like child murder and threats of violent rape against little girls#(and i mean even just the bad precedent to set of 'you did something that hurt me so i have the right to take it out')#('not on you or anyone who supported you but civilians who weren't even remotely involved in the situation at all')#like come on rhaenyra's side is in the wrong for blood and cheese and it's so fine for aegon (as the person most deeply affected by it)#to be happy about any retribution he could bring on her#just as it is both fine and actually really good for rhaenyra as a character to feel bad about it#as the wrongful party#be fucking for real
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has anyone played desdemona as a trans woman. or like written about transfeminism in othello generally. i haven’t looked anything up yet lol like i literally just thought of this and im like ohhhhhhh. that play makes me bonkers fr
#what it says about marginalisation and like. gahh#the way that othello and desdemona’s love stems from this shared desire to be multidimensional PEOPLE in a racist sexist society#and the conflict that comes with assimilation (shout-out to the rsc production with a black iago i think about u always)#and how othello becomes violently misogynistic towards desdemona and des and all other white charas become violently racist towards othello#like……. it’s so cruel and so tragic and i think about it all the time#god do i love othello and desdemona. god do i love them#and othello’s racialised gender troubles…… again the assimilation the inadequacy and insecurity he feels#it’s just so INTERESTING to me. like do i think billy thought about all of this??? certainly not in the terms im using#but it’s THERE and it’s INTERESTING and i THINK ABOUT IT#you know one of my big things with lit is how it serves history. i think othello’s great for that#just sososososososo interesting to me#one thing about billy shakes is he will write tragic het couples and they will make me feel crazy#like love his comedies to death but nothing does it for me like a tragic shakey couple#shut up daisy
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Two people are stuck in a timeloop. The way they handle being in the loop is opposite to each other. One person plays along like everything is fine. The other is violently against it, denying everything. They think the other is responsible for putting them in the loop.
#prince's talk tag#whenever im doing a task at work where i can kinda shut my brain off my head sometimes comes up with prompts i wanna see#this one is my most recent one#has this been done somewhere? i feel like it was#its not original but i love me some timeloops no matter how much its been done#adding more to it is like the person going along with it is losing their mind as much as the person violently against it#but keeps it together bc they think the other is the one causing it and doesn't want them thinking they're winning#on one hand i saw it as the one violently against it being the main focus with them trying various ways to get out of it but to no avail#and then at one point switching the pov to the one going along with it and seeing they are also stuck and putting up a good facade#on the other hand i thought the one going along with it being the focus#and they do something different each day making you think it's a different day each time#but youll see the date hasnt changed and they're just trying different things hoping this activity will get them out#but once you get to see what they're really thinking you can see them losing their mind#and the one going along with it thinks the one against it is responsible and vise versa bc they noticed they're doing different things#even though the day is the same and everyone else is doing what they were doing on repeat#the one violently against it tries to confront them but the one going along with it pretends not to know what they mean#while the person going along with it thinks the other person is playing mind games with them#idk im rambling at this point#if you read this far thank for sticking til the end
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"only other Hawaiians ever make me feel not Hawaiian enough--"
"Hawaiians from the islands are racist--"
"Hawaiians from the mainland have REAL aloha spirit everyone up here is just Hawaiian, no matter how much blood you got--"
okay but you understand that every single portion of what you just said is rooted in colonialism&the attempted murder of our people+culture, right. like you GET why kānaka from the islands have to be so protective of things as they are on the frontlines watching both our culture&our land get chunked for the proft of those who have no right to any of it, right. like you KNOW that hawaiian homelands requires a 50% blood quota to even get on the list&a 25% quota from anyone you leave that land to post mortem, &that the list is STILL decades long because the vast majority of the homeless kānaka back home MEET that requirement, right-- that the homeless demographic in the islands has the largest percentage of us left in one grouping in the world&it isn't surprising the families who maintained a higher blood percentage are also too poor to leave the islands even while dying on the streets, right. like you are CAPABLE of conceptualizing what all of that would do when confronted with someone from the diaspora who "doesn't understand why the aloha spirit is dead in the islands". right. like you can SEE&HEAR how it sounds when you say the nonhawaiian people&legacy of the colonizers that tried to obliterate your ancestors are the only ones who make you feel hawaiian now that they as a group have successfully taken up the primary position on what makes a good hawaiian. right. like you KNOW why there's even a push to properly exemplify kānaka maoli after literally hundreds of years of our people having to save us from cultural obliteration, &that the push to be a "real hawaiian" definitely didn't start with us, the people who you are trying to reconnect to&identify with. right.
like, i get feeling like the expectations are too high-- there isn't any right way to be kānaka, &there are most definitely kānaka who are shitty about that-- but coming back with, "BUT THE HAOLES VALIDATE MY HAWAIIAN-NESS" is just fucking WILD, like i don't know how to explain to you the haoles thinking they have a right to validate fucking anything in relation to us&our struggle&our people is just...
blood doesn't matter, but obviously not in the way you seem to think, lmao.
#OOF these conversations never get any easier.#my heart BLEEDS for the family that deny themselves like this but im constantly having to accept that im not the right person to help lmao.#i absolutely know what its like to not be hawaiian enough lmao. from both other hawaiians AND haoles.#my thing is that while it may be more insulting to have blood be shitty what exactly do you think you as a person are saying#when you take more issue w that than w haoles thinking they have a right to gauge your relation to blood&culture?#why is THEIR ignorance something to be handwaved but from US&OUR expectations its a deadly sin#that justifies throwing us all under the bus&turning your back on the ppl you claim to be apart of?#of COURSE the haoles think your '''aloha spirit' is the real kine its the kine that accepts THEM w no expectations LMAO.#of COURSE the haoles think youre a '''good''' hawaiian-- are you NOT EMBARASSED about that?#like how can you possibly be so fucking deaf to the words coming out of your mouth i dont fucking understand.#arguing w US is more productive than learning from your kin&hearing what we have to say??? okay.#... for context someone i know was arguing that glofiying the murder of cooke contributes to savage stereotypes#associate w us&ultimately makes things more decisive by encouraging the idea that we're violent to any foreigners#&'''well i felt foreign the first time i went to see the islands bc thats how ppl made me feel&it wasnt fun for me'''#okay but why didnt you grow up where you were supposed to-- on those islands.#okay but why do you feel separated at all from a culture&ppl that are being forced more&more into the diaspora.#okay but why did you need to reconnect to us at all bc it wasnt any KANAKA who decided to fracture us all like this.#maybe instead of focusing on your own personal bad feelings you could put in a modicum of effort into understanding your kin#instead of rushing back to the open&loving haole arms who accept you as a REAL hawaiian bc us mean kanaks are being racist. :'(
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