#-> warp whistle

[minus-world-of-love]

Hey.

Self-shippers.

Interact with this post if it's okay to send you asks or interact with your posts about your F/Os! I really do love seeing specific ship content for you guys along with general self-ship imagines and such, and I wanna support and join in on the fun of community.

[minus-world-of-love]

We really do need to better convey "I'm here with you" on a vent post since most users shut off comments...

But yes. The point still stands.

I'm not liking your vent post, I'll deliver you a letter from your F/O though ;3c

[xx-akubara-xx]

Kingdom Hearts crossing over with the Super Mario universe is an impossible yet lovely dream.

[sapphireraeburn]

Found an awesome wind instrument cover of Magic Knight Rayearth - Yuzurenai Negai (OP 1)

Thought I’d share 💖

[novantinuum]

man speaking of connverse fankids i really do need to like. draw them eventually. they're relevant in my post canon OC riddled storyline, and all lmao. i even have names picked out for them already

Jason Quinn, Aanya, and Riya

Jason's the firstborn- they both choose the first name, and the middle name was Steven's idea. At first he was envisioning like... starting a 'Q' middle name tradition, but then in practice he and Connie both realized what a mouthful this kiddo's name is with their last names hyphenated, and. Because of that, the next kids don't have middle names at all.

Aanya and Riya, identical twins, come next- and are named after distant family members on Connie's side.

I like to imagine Jason as the very ordinary, straight laced one who ultimately grows up to have the most Ordinary Human life ever. Like. He ends up being an architect, or whatever. Idk. (There's some Internal Conflict with him, re: being the absolutely ordinary kid of two very extraordinary parents, I might delve into later, though.)

Whereas Aanya and Riya both end up pressing more towards the extraterrestrial aspects of their heritage, in various ways. Aanya ends up doing engineering work for humanity's leading space agency, and Riya is the pioneering researcher on the theoretics of post-gestation human-Gem hybridization.

[kaweeella]

I have a very important question

[greymouse42]

let's get sad before session tonight. 33 and 15 for Detective Steadman please 😊

!!!!!

33. Something guaranteed to make him cry

[Redacted 😏]

Uh, for real, if we're being sad:

He'll cry if he's extremely & hopelessly overwhelmed by something. There's no one thing that's guaranteed to do it: dreams do it sometimes, Paul needles him into it sometimes, memory blackouts do it with decent regularity but under Normal Circumstances he's managing the memory issues fairly well, so the incidents themselves are infrequent (with the exception of this last week)... Mechanically speaking, hitting a Breaking Point drops him into a state where overwhelm-to-the-point-of-crying is 100x more likely.

When it happens, it's very much a frustrated spilling-over, a literal overflow. If he actually resigned himself and let it run its course, I feel like A Good Cry might actually be quite productive and cathartic, but he fights it the entire time and tries to rush it, which just means he winds up very brittle and unhappy afterwards.

Just for additional Angst Points: this has happened offscreen on three separate occasions during the game :)

15. Worst thing he's ever done

Silver Loop: dying in front of Jan.

In-game canon: responding to his dad's deteriorating health by moving across the country with next-to-no warning or apology. I think it took his mom several months to get his address.🫠

[oflgtfol]

i really wanna make warp whistle (by fartbarf) wednesday another blog holiday but i have like no idea what to set the music to to make a fun lil video for it. i need something fun + whimsical

[comatosebunny09]

— cw: kidnapping, torture, sedatives, abuse, mentions of r*pists, p*dos, & murder, angst, helplessness, heavy subject matter all around, language, mdni

— notes: a continuation of this blurb. something a little darker than what i usually write. please be mindful that there's some heavy stuff ahead. if i forgot to tag anything, please let me know in the comments. thank you for reading!

— now playing: dusty room - evgeny grinko

An insistent dripping draws you from the inky embrace of unconsciousness. 

It always does. It’s been your alarm clock for the past…three days? Four? Week? You’re not sure anymore. Time moves differently when you’re in captivity, and your mind is constantly invaded and warped.

At first, you could glean the passage of time by the moon or sunlight seeping through the small window in the corner—your captors had shoved you into a spacious room of rotting metal walls and only one entry point. It reeked of mildew and sweat, and you’d nothing but the creak of metal and that ceaseless dripping sound to keep you company.

But your senses are no longer reliable. They’ve poked around your mind so much that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to gauge the difference between reality and fiction. 

Only a few things remain constant during your stay here: the henchman of the day comes in to administer you a dose of something potent with a syringe. Something to ease the ache of your limbs, to curb the hunger gnarling in your gut. But it’s also to keep your Evol tucked in the furthest reaches of your mind. To keep you at their mercy. 

Next, two more men trickle in, sinisterly laughing as they deprive you of food and warmth and keep you lucid. And one of them constantly probes your mind, manipulating it to see and experience things that aren’t always real. Dredging up memories you had compartmentalized after taking up this new life, furthering your torment. 

You would be impressed—their ability is almost on par with yours and would certainly make a man clad in red and black whistle with appreciation—if you weren’t already clinging to your sanity by a thread. 

Your captors have been surprisingly generous, only hitting you a few times when you get mouthy. You’d once heard them say to each other they had to keep you alive long enough to lure your boss from the shadows. Still, you’re sometimes their human punching bag, suspended from the ceiling by chains rubbing your wrists and ankles raw.

They learned their lesson when they first brought you to this prison. When you’d called them pussies and, with what little strength you could muster, took three of them down before they subdued you with stun batons and a heavier dosage of whatever cocktail they’d been pumping you with.

Each time they enter, they ask you more questions. Interrogate you about Sylus and the inner workings of Onychinus. Splash you with frigid water to wake you, inject more serum, and sink their claws into your psyche when you display an inkling of resistance. All in an attempt to bring you to the brink of insanity. To break you. 

You’re a little worse for wear. Bruised and battered. It hurts to breathe when the medicine wears off. You’re constantly shivering, constantly blacking out. You’re sure they’ve shattered a rib or two. And you haven’t much strength left, stripped of nourishment and proper blood circulation for God knows how long. 

You have one good eye, the other swollen shut from their previous assault. Your lips keep splitting, so goddamn dry. They could’ve done much worse. Could’ve violated you in unspeakable ways. So you’re grateful the illusions are seemingly their most potent form of torture. 

No matter how many levels of hell your captors subject you to, you don’t cave. You’re still as haughty as ever. Piss them off whenever you can, fighting back with your tongue in a way that your body can’t. Anything to distract you from the unyielding torment and pain. From your thoughts creeping in, from your mortality looming over your shoulders. 

“He won’t come for me,” you bitterly laugh each time your captors taunt you. “He doesn’t care about me. You’ve got the wrong person.” To which they heckle like hyenas, looking at you as if you’ve said the most absurd thing. 

They tell you you are the right person. That it’s only a matter of time before your ‘boyfriend’ comes sniffing you out. You’re more valuable than any treasure, any amount of money. But you always push those words to the back burner. Those empty attempts to give you a flicker of hope.  

He’s subjected you to danger numerous times before. Thrown you to the wolves on several occasions. What makes this time any different?

One thought reigns supreme in your mind each time they torture you. Each time they fill your head with trickery, visions of him, and memories of past misdeeds. 

If he wanted to save you, he would’ve already come. 

The truth hurts, but it’s somehow comforting. Sylus will never find you like this. Never see how far you’ve fallen from grace, breaking apart at the seams, slowly succumbing to the cold and delirium. He’s got more important things to worry about—more important people to occupy his mind. 

You’re disposable. You’ve known this from the start. 

The notion only rooted itself deeper the moment a certain Hunter disturbed the monotony of your lives.

It was merely a matter of time before one of Onychinus’ most revered assassins was wiped out. 

In a way, your captors are doing Sylus a favor, ridding him of your presence so he doesn’t have to lift a finger to do it himself. You’ve always worried he would no longer find a use for you. Knew you couldn’t always be at his side. And now that he has someone else to play his bait, to bat their lashes at him and tug at those little heartstrings, you know you don’t stand a chance. 

Savagely, you laugh, your face turned up at the silvery moonbeams sinking in through the window. And it hurts, your throat dry like it’s been rubbed with sandpaper. Unbidden tears scorch down the sides of your face. Whether they’re heralded in from agony or hysteria, you don’t know. 

Your solitude in this room is as much of a reprieve as it is a cage. Sure, you’re free to collect what little coherent thoughts you have left before your captors are back at it, shocking you to hell and tearing your mind at the seams. But you’re also left with nothing to do but stew in thoughts of your inevitable demise. 

Maybe this is your punishment. All the lives you’ve taken. All the innocents you displaced when you were a fiery-eyed killer fueled by rage and fear. Murdering coldly, killing because you were told—forced—to. 

No matter how far you ran, the past always snuck up on you. But shielded beneath Sylus’ wings, you were able to delay its descent onto your shoulders.  

Sylus had taken you away from it all. Redirected your ire, your revenge, onto the scourge of humanity. No longer were you a gun for hire, taking out high-profile figures because your very life depended on it. No. Instead, you wiped the most vile men from the face of the planet. Pedophiles, rapists, murderers. And you supposed that served as enough repentance for your life before.

Still, no amount of justification will support what you’ve done. What you continue to do. And all for the love of a man who will never see you as more than a rook. A chess piece, lazily dragging across the board for use at his disposal.

The single door to your prison groans open, dispelling the nebula of your thoughts as a blinding stream of light pours in. You wince against its brilliance, your bruised lips canting up in a sardonic smile. 

Once the new presence clears the entryway, a shock of white greets you. And it’s followed by a wash of scarlet, moving through the bleariness. You huff a painful laugh as the figure nears you, agony swelling in your chest. This trick again. Weren’t they getting bored of using it?

Finding your voice, you grit out, “You’ve tried this one already. It’s getting old. Gonna have to do better than that.”

But your tormenter doesn’t err in their steps. Instead, they hasten their approach until the warmth they carry wades over your skin. And through the dank scent of your entrapment, you make out familiar notes of amber and sandalwood. As convincing as the illusions have been lately, they’ve never smelled this vivid before.

Searing hands curve around your cheeks. Angle your head back until your vision fills with red. Red eyes nestled beneath brows knotted with anguish. Pink lips parted with the effort of breathing. As you fully take in your tormenter’s harrowed features, you slowly realize that maybe you’re not hallucinating this time. And a thick film of tears washes over your good eye, the world blurring and bending.

“You’re getting better at this,” you sob-slash-laugh, still disbelieving. There’s no way he could be the real thing. There’s just—

—no way. Could he? Could it…

Suddenly, the metal chains of your shackles rattle and loosen. And you’re freefalling, loose-limbed and weightless, heading for the ground along with your restraints. But a pair of virile arms spread like wings beneath you, cradling you against a rigid chest, and a ferocious heart beats a war cadence beneath your cheek as you press further into it. 

Weakened by your time in captivity, you feel something prodding around inside your head. Something warm and feather-light creeps through the folds of your mind, chasing away the darkness. It’s a voice—an inherently masculine voice reverberating in your head, working like a soothing balm over your psyche.

I’ve got you, it soothes, dulling the ache in your bones, the maelstrom in your head. And its familiarity is enough to bring a smile to your lips. More tears pour in rivulets down your cheeks, and you cling to the silk of his shirt, unconsciousness pulling you under. He came for you. He really—he actually—

—came.

And as you succumb to fatigue, hypothermia, and hunger, two sentences pierce through the darkness like a lighthouse beaconing through the storm.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

[earthtooz]

hurt/comfort blurb based off an ask @missmeinyourbones received :3

gojo x gn!sorcerer!reader, he's ridiculous, lovesick and dramatic in the one but that's how we like him here so. enjoy!!

“where is our couch?”

gojo looks up at you from his phone, grinning at you gently with the small smile that he always wears; one you’ve come to adore over the years. this time, however, it does nothing but irritate you because there is a large, vacant space in the living room that has ‘gojo satoru’ written all over it.

“what do you mean?” he asks but the lilt in his tone tells you everything you need to know.

that one, gojo has everything to do with your missing couch. two, you have fallen for his bait, successfully tricked into talking to him because three hours ago, you refused to acknowledge his existence after a heated argument that ended with you promising to sleep on the couch. yet after one harmless trip to the supermarket, you come back to discover that your bed for the night was missing.

and you know him well enough to know that his giddiness stems from the fact that you’re finally giving him the attention he’s been craving for the past few hours.

“where. is. our. couch?” you reaffirm, emphasising each word so they can get through his thick skull. 

“is it not in the living room?”

he sounds almost delighted at this peculiar interaction, seeming proud of himself as his eyes shine with mirth. they bravely look into your frustrated and irritated ones.

“i am in no mood to bicker, gojo,” you begin, “either you tell me where our couch has gone or i kick you out.”

the sorcerer pouts from where he sits on the bed, curling into a ball as he stares up at you. the sight would’ve been more comical if you weren’t so mad. “that’s not very nice.”

“you don’t deserve nice,” you mutter, turning on your heels to walk away before gojo can melt you with those honeyed words of his. from the bedroom, you hear fumbling and rustling, followed by footsteps. 

instead of paying gojo any mind, you go to the kitchen counter where you left the many bags of groceries you bought.

he rests his elbows on the kitchen island, subliminally begging for an ounce of your attention whilst you sort through the bags. “would you like some help?”

you give him a brief side-eye before resuming. his pout worsens.

“if i tell you what happened to our couch, will you promise to sleep on the bed tonight?” pleads the white-haired, “with me?”

you sigh, “yes.”

“i warped it somewhere.”

“what?” you almost drop the carton of eggs in your hold. “what do you mean ‘somewhere’?”

“somewhere in jujutsu tech, i’m not really sure.” he cringes at the glare you shoot him. “i was gonna get it back if you agreed!”

that was your last straw. running a hand down your face, you don’t see the way that your lover stares at you with hope from the corner of your eye. 

“for goodness’ sake, why did you warp our couch?” you quiz. 

“because you were going to sleep there,” he murmurs, “and i didn’t know how else to change your mind.”

“you’re twenty-three, gojo. you should know a thing or two about how to reconcile properly by now.” 

his pout worsens at the use of his family name. “i am a man in love, y/n, do you know what they say about men in love?”

before you can even think of a snarky remark, realisation hits you like an anvil. whenever gojo uses his teleportation technique it always… leaves… something behind. 

rushing over to the carpet that used to be under the couch, you almost have a heart attack when you lift it up and see the scorched marks that occur as a byproduct. the white-haired leans against the kitchen island innocently, whistling.

“and what are you planning on doing about this?” you shriek. you try to remain calm, really, but it’s hard to do so because gojo has an affinity for driving you to the brink of insanity.

“i will get someone to fix it, i promise!”

“and will they not be suspicious that there are marks in our floor?”

“a little bribery never hurt nobody, and i have a lot of money to bribe someone successfully. plus, i have connections in the jujutsu world!”

you drop the carpet, giving up. “i’m calling shoko to crash at hers for the night-”

“-then i’ll warp her house.”

“can you even do that? a couch is pretty impressive already.”

“so you think i’m impressive?”

“gojo.”

“i don’t know if i can teleport a house but i’m always willing to try.”

you hate him, you decide. “even if you could warp a house, you shouldn’t, because shoko will kick your ass.” 

“but you’ll protect me, won’t you?” 

you say nothing, merely glancing at your boyfriend before reaching for your phone in your pockets. however, before you could even unlock the device, gojo is beside you, crouched down to your level. he maintains a respectable distance, one that does not invade your personal space whilst fulfilling his need to be close to you. 

“are you actually leaving?” he whispers brokenly, completely changing the atmosphere as his eyes begin to shine with tears that threaten to spill. 

your words are lodged in your throat at the pitiful sight. whilst some part of your brain curses you for giving in so easily, the other part that loves gojo (who are you kidding, all of you loves him) begins to feel a little bad.

he continues, reaching for your hand to play with your fingers, “please don’t leave. i’m sorry for what i said when we were arguing. i love you,” he pauses for a second before adding as an afterthought: “a lot.” 

gojo’s apology, although a little awkward and rushed, is nothing short of endearing, successfully quelling the waves of frustration and anger you’ve been feeling for the past few hours. although the hurt has not completely faded, it’s a little less suffocating to be around him now.

his life is far from normal, you understand that, and you realised that it would be something you had to deal with when you started dating him in your last year at jujutsu tech. but you fell for gojo because of his sporadicity. life may have not been the same ever since, but in a world where all you are gifted is targets on your back in exchange for keeping lives safe, his love is a refreshing oasis for you to return to when all is said and done. 

even though he expresses it through unconventional ways, such as teleporting your couch because he was heartbroken at the prospect of being away from you, you think it’s a fair trade. 

as a way of accepting his apology, you open your arms for him and the white-haired doesn’t even let a second pass by before he’s crashing into you. 

it’s comforting, the way he holds onto you like you’ll slip from his grasp otherwise. “i’ll go get our couch back soon,” he mutters into you, squeezing your waist a little tighter.

“we’re having a moment, gojo, please don’t mention the couch or i’ll be angry again.”

“sorry,” the white-haired raises his head to look at you, “can i at least get nickname privileges back?”

“you’re ridiculous,” you huff, “no.”

[lieslab]

Why is it that your love is like loneliness?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Hyunjin X gn reader

Summary: Your roommate asks you to be his while unaware of just how much the past has warped your view of love.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 3K

Trigger warning: Self-insecurities and fear of being loved/loving someone.

A/N: I hope you've missed angst because I acquired some of it for this. I assume Hyunjin wrote Quill Pen with hurt in his heart. Inspired by that and the deep-seeded terror that I will destroy everything I invest my heart into, good luck with this one!! <3

_ _ _

And you left him. You turned your back on his smile and hope-filled eyes. You spun around and rushed away because facing the weight of Hyunjin’s words was too much to process in front of him. How could you describe the truth of it all at once? 

You knew you were an asshole for running, but you couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing your tears. If he saw your tears, he’d realize who you really were; a lost coward. Holes riddled the personality you’d put on each morning. You carefully crafted it just for him, but you never thought it’d lead to a cafe confession; a full declaration of his indulgence and undying love for you. 

With your hands wrapped tight around your favorite drink, he offered you an ideal future with an outstretched hand. An understanding, a chance for growth, a supportive romantic relationship; everything a person should want. 

The scent of coffee beans had been comforting until that point. An eager bouncing knee and flushed cheeks; you should have known the signs. You should have picked up on them weeks ago. His love sprouted for you between the calm hours of the night and the quiet conversations. 

It crept upon him, not suddenly, but like the spring creeping into summer. His body grew warm, his back straightened, and suddenly every love song was about you. The finger taps along his steering wheel and his cheery whistles; all your fault. 

The two of you had been friends and then became roommates. You never saw Hyunjin as a potential romantic partner. You didn’t see anyone that way. You loved him, but not like the picture he’d painted in his head. 

The future was full of colors with you. Dustings of bright blue skies and hues of green grass. An oil painting where two rabbits leaped over grass mounds dotted with bright dandelions. The birds sang and harmonized. Bees pollinated more and more flowers, more growth, more life, and more happiness. 

In your head, it was the void. The future? Why would you plunge your thoughts ahead when tomorrow was hard enough as it was? A future with Hyunjin? How could he really love you? 

How could anyone see you through the dark haze above your head? Self-hatred corrupted your eyes. Every glance in the mirror, your flaws defined you. You were created via a book of a fallen god. Your sins weighed you down and no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t see the good that Hyunjin proclaimed you had. 

Rot coated your flesh and why couldn’t he see that? Why couldn’t he see you for what you were? Some lost child in a grown body. Playing pretend. Playing dress up. Lost in the illusion of adulthood, you didn’t know who you were. That’s what happens when you grow up never knowing. 

You think you know yourself and suddenly the years spiral by. Life is like an unmanageable fish at the end of a fishing pole. No matter how much you tried to reel in your thoughts and the events, life kept pulling. Your forearms ached and your back hurt from being dragged along the edge of the boat. When would you finally feel the relief of dropping back into the boat and catch the fish?

Your phone buzzed rapidly in your back pocket. No doubt, Hyunjin was messaging you or attempting to call you. You didn’t answer and you wouldn’t. The two of you were supposed to be mere roommates. Maybe best friends, but nothing more. 

You drifted through the crowd of people downtown. Murmurs passed, but nobody paid attention to the person with their head down. Head down, neck craned, arms cradled around themselves. A visual embodiment to the world that you weren’t comfortable with yourself in any way, shape, or form. 

Hyunjin got up, grabbing his drink and the one you left behind. He maneuvered through the crowd and tried to ignore the look of pity from a customer that heard the entire interaction. Outside, he looked left and he looked right. 

He spent so long planning today. Everything, including the weather, was right. The one thing he didn’t understand was you. Every laugh, every smile, every joke. Did he write the story wrong? Did he skip the plot just to focus on the ending? 

The small copper bell on top of the door dinged and swung shut behind him. Across the way, he glimpsed you and took off in that direction. He frantically apologized and excused himself after bumping into strangers. 

The closer he moved towards you, the further away you became. He could still see your hunched-up figure here. He called after you again and again and again. When you finally stopped, you stopped along a grassy path by the Han River. 

A flock of white ducks drifted down the river. Two cranes took residence a couple meters down. Beady eyes glanced over at Hyunjin’s call, but they quickly reverted to their bug investigation. 

“I’m sorry,” he uttered breathlessly. “I-I didn’t mean to spring it upon you like that, I-” He sucked in a wheeze. 

“Why are you apologizing? I was the one who ran off. I should be the one apologizing to you.” Your soft whisper broke his heart. 

“I asked because I thought we had something. I thought I was reading the situation correctly. If I would have known that you-” 

“I do like you like that.” 

“I never should have asked and…” His face softened. “You do?” He stepped forward to hear you better. You were speaking so quietly, like you were afraid to disrupt the sound barrier. 

“Of course, I love you, you idiot. You’re so stupid, you know?” Tears pricked in your eyes. Swiping at them, you sniffled. “You weren’t supposed to fall in love with me. I’ll destroy you. You’re supposed to fall in love with someone who actually has redeeming qualities.” 

Your words hurt him, but unexpectedly. He stepped in front of you, forcing himself into your line of sight. “What do you mean? You don’t think you have redeeming qualities?” 

A bitter laugh fell from your throat. Your hair wildly shook with a headshake. Tenderness clutched your heart and your system flooded with the first wave of defense. “How could you?” 

“You’re smart, Hyunjin. You’re talented, you’re attractive, and you’re everything an ideal man should be. Determined, strong, and not afraid to put effort into your dreams.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“There’s a reason you’ve always been the better roommate. Life's game: You understand life's game and you know how to play it. You don’t cower from love, you chase it. You look for love in everyone and everything. Have you seen me, Hyunjin, have you truly seen me? I can't love anyone as they deserve to be loved.

His eyes narrowed and his head shook. “Nonsense! That’s not true! You can’t possibly believe that, can you? You think you’re unlovable?” 

“Worse. I avoid it like the plague. I don’t know how to love anyone. I curl away from physical affection. I don’t know how to rely on people. I don’t–I don’t know how to trust!” You threw up your hands. “How do I trust someone if I can’t trust myself, huh?” 

Hurt squeezed from your soul as your voice raised. “I don't understand how to love you meaningfully! I don’t know how to say ‘I love you’ because the words are foreign to my tongue. I don’t know how to love and how to trust.” 

“You know how to love. You do it the same way you always do. I wouldn’t ask you to change and you know that. I don’t want anything different from who you already are.” 

“I want the crude nicknames that you give me. I want your smile and I want more late-night conversations. I want to hold you and I want to keep you captive in the palm of my hand.” 

“Somewhere safe and warm. Somewhere where the world can’t harm you and you can be untouchable. I want you to experience love, far more than what I do for you already. I-” 

“And what if I dare to say I don’t want that?” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I-I do,” you croaked. Tears slipped down your waterline and soaked the apples of your cheeks. I don't want anyone to love or care for me. I don’t want to rely on someone and get hurt again.” 

There it was. You had kept that bombshell hidden in your heart. You harbored resentment and it built in your heart; an awaiting bomb that Hyunjin just detonated without warning. 

A sharp knife sliced his heart clean in two. How could anyone destroy someone as precious as you? What happened in your life that destroyed you so much, it left you feeling like this was your only choice?

“I’m sorry.” The words came out in a broken whimper. “I’m sorry, but you have to find someone else. I can’t do this with you, Hyunjin. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.” 

When was the last time that you called him by his first name so much? What happened to the offensive and endearing pet names? Idiot. Asshole. Dipshit. Fuckwad. Any of those were better than the sound of his name coming from your mouth. 

His name was too formal. That’s what strangers called him. Colleagues. Acquaintances hoping to be something more. It’s not what close friends called close friends. Even a shortened version of his name would have been better than just Hyunjin. 

He liked his name, but at that moment, you poisoned it with something that left a sour taste filling his mouth. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to hear it the same way again. Your walls were up and your brain was on a lockdown. Someone was inching too close for comfort and your default was to self-destruct. 

“I’m not asking you to be someone you’re not. I’m asking you to be you. I’m asking you to stay the same and take a chance. We’ll take it slow, if you want to. Please don’t choose the path of alienation for this whole life. Don’t pick isolation.” 

“I don’t know how to accept love. I don’t know how to do it. I don’t understand being vulnerable and taking the risk of showing someone my heart. Is it wrong to pick safety and security?” 

“Is it wrong to choose love as a path of resistance?” 

His words hit like a wrecking ball. His familiar facial features blurred among your tears. Condensation leaked from the beverages in his hands. Fear enclosed your tender heart. Anxiety’s sharp nails clawed in the darkness of your stomach. 

“I’m so afraid of fucking it up. I don’t want to do it wrong. What if I say or do the wrong thing? What if you figure out I’m unlovable?” 

“What if I show you that you are? What if I prove that it’s okay to let someone bypass the security measures you put up? If I do everything right and I promise to do whatever it takes not to hurt you?” 

He spoke in pools of warm honey. Sweet. Soft. Sultry. A siren in human form and he was luring you overboard. The depths below became tempting. You teetered on a rail overhead with the world watching. 

Fall and take a chance to be loved. To find love. To heal wounds that ripped open a long time ago. Take the risk or stay on the boat. Captain it alone. Navigate the frigid and icy waters by yourself. Nobody to share warmth or take comfort in. Nothing besides the empty waves and the depressing echoes of lonely whales beneath the wooden hull. 

It terrified you and paralyzed you, but deep down, this was Hyunjin. The same guy you stayed up late talking to. The one you watched movies with on Friday evenings. Too many times, the two of you curled up on the couch’s opposite ends and fell fast asleep. 

You hated to admit that you knew he wasn’t lying about loving you. It’s embedded in his every action. The wool blanket thrown over you when you woke up on Saturday mornings. It was the souvenirs he brought back from his travels. Each one, he grabbed them because they reminded him of you in the spur of a moment. 

It’s laced in the instant Ramen he made for you while you were on your way home from work. Too many nights, you stayed over your usual allotted schedule. He did whatever he could to ease the burden of working more hours. Even when he himself had to stay over at his company, it didn’t stop him from ordering takeout and having it delivered to the apartment for you. 

Someone had to take care of you. He decided it’d be him a long time ago. Whether you wanted it or not, even if it wasn’t a romantic relationship, he planned on being there. He vowed to be by your side for a long, long time. 

“Why?” Your words were shrill and barely audible. “Why do you care about me so much?” 

“Because I love you.” 

“I’m damaged.” 

“Love can’t cure you of that. It won’t always take away those self-pitying thoughts. It might not stop that voice in your head that weighs you down. You know what love can do? It can carry you through everything, if you let it.” 

He leaned his head closer to yours, hoping you could see the genuine sincerity in his eyes. “Love is patient. Love is kind. You could describe it in a thousand different ways. Yes, sometimes it does hurt, but I’ve learned that it’s always there if you look hard enough.” 

“It can come back to you. It’s not perfect, but if you’re willing, it can keep you company. Love makes me feel safe and wanted. It clears away the cobwebs of my self-doubt. It challenges me and it keeps my head above water. It’s not perfect, but nothing in this life is.” 

His heart poured between the lazy blue waves of the Han River. Despite the squawking gull in the distance, he continued his confessional anyway. The sun cast a golden halo around his head. 

The thick layer of ice around your heart melted. Your initial reaction was to run away again. Leave it all behind and take off. Pack up the things in your shared apartment, block his number, and never see him again. 

“But I’m scared.” 

“And that doesn’t change my feelings. You don’t think I’m not?” He laughed and took a step back. “Look at how pathetic I look.” He shifted the beverages. Condensation soaked his hands and dripped onto the velvet of his long sleeve shirt. “Love confessions are pretty silly, aren’t they?” 

“Just yours.” 

He shook his head, but a playful smile was on his face. As you stared at him, you wanted the world to stop. Your teeth bit into the warmth of your lip. It did. The world stopped, at least, yours did. 

Looking at him in a new light, you felt stronger and more capable. Pinpricks of excitement tickled the underbelly of your heart. Deep down, what if it could be? What if this was the one thing that you were supposed to conquer in this life? 

What if love wasn’t supposed to be some romantic and sappy thing? What if it’s riddled with aggressive pet names, playful bullying, and silent actions full of support? Did it have to be so big and grand? So large and a constant show-off on social media? Proof of your existence and cemented proof that you were lovable? 

“I don’t think I know what genuine love is,” you finally admitted. “I’m terrified of fucking it all up. I don’t want you to hate me.” 

“We can learn together with baby steps. Just because I’m admitting it, it doesn’t mean I know how to love either. I read a lot of books and watch too much anime.” 

“You’re a fraud, Mr. Hwang. You’re an idiot. Who asks someone out when they’re just as clueless?” 

He scoffed, but the smile didn’t leave. He still loved your antics, even if this wasn’t the ideal time for them. You were a mosaic of a hundred reasons that he chose love time and time again. 

“I could be your idiot.” 

“Cheesy off the bat?” 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, remember?” 

“Where do we start?” 

“We could start with a hug.” He shrugged and held up his beverage-filled hands. “It doesn’t have to last forever. When was the last time we hugged, anyway?” 

“I don’t think we ever have.” 

His arms remained outstretched. He didn’t rush you or force you to take the first step. Instead, he remained a few steps back with his arms outstretched. Like a spooked deer, he waited for you to make the first move. 

Your body hesitated. Your brain screeched with loud alarms. What if you became hurt again? What if it all imploded? What if what once was became what you once had?

You stepped forward with caution. Arms looped around his rib cage. His arms returned the gesture. Warmth. A foreign confusion. Something unknown flickered in your heart. Butterflies replaced the claws in your stomach. 

You waited and waited for him to pull away, but he didn’t. When you realized he was waiting for you to act first, it startled you. You jerked back with wide eyes and blinked a few times. 

“So how was it?” 

“You smell like iced americano and that stupid soap that smells like the woods.” 

He grinned, “I’ll take that it means you like it.” 

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks shined a rosy red. Sunlight wasn’t the only thing lighting up your eyes. A new flicker, a longing, and a comfort appeared. He didn’t mind your teasing and your jokes. 

“So, are we dating?”

You shrugged, “I guess.” 

An abused dog always keeps its loud bark, sometimes they bite, too; but with the right person, they can always find a new home. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[minus-world-of-love]

Fall themed ask game? Fall themed ask game!

🍁: What are your favorite things about this season, and what are your F/O's?

🌧️: What's your favorite/ideal way to spend a rainy day together?

🎞️: If you have movie nights, what kind of films do you enjoy watching with your F/O?

🕸️: If dressing up in costumes for Halloween, what would your costumes be? Do you two do matching costumes?

🎃: How would carving pumpkins with your F/O go? What do you think their's would look like?

🕯: Who’s more likely to stay up later at night while the other's fast asleep?

🕷️: As it gets colder and more bugs enter your home, who's the one that deals with them?

🥧: What are you and your F/O's favorite Fall sweet treats? (Bonus: if homemade, do you make them together?)

🧦: Who puts their cold hands/feet on the other when cuddling? Unannounced, even?

🌬️: Does your F/O enjoy the cooler weather, or will they miss the warmth of Summer?

🪟: When on public transport, like on a bus or a train, who usually hogs sits by the window?

🔥: Who gets colder easier? And who warms them up?

📀: What songs would be on a Fall themed playlist for your self-ship?

🌄: If you were picking out each other’s outfits for the day, what would your F/O pick for you, and what would you pick for them?

🧥: When outside together on a chilly day, who offers their jacket when the other gets cold?

👻: What are your F/O's and your thoughts on ghosts? Do either of you believe in them or not?

🍊: What does your F/O smell like? Are there any scents you specifically associate with them?

🐌: Do you get along well with your F/O's family?

🌻: Who holds the umbrella for the other when walking in the rain?

🧸: When one of you is feeling down, how does your F/O cheer you up, and how do you cheer them up?

☕️: What are you and your F/O's favorite hot drinks?

🍂: Who's more likely to collect pretty autumn leaves and gift them to the other when on a walk together?

🪐: What small quirks does your F/O have that you love, and what quirks do you have that your F/O loves?

🍯: Between the two of you, who has the bigger sweet tooth?

🌰: What are your favourite hobbies/indoor activities to do together?

⛺️: Do you and your F/O enjoy going on camping trips together? Have either of you gone on a camping trip before?

🦇: What animals do you associate with your F/O, and which ones do they associate with you?

🌙: Do you remember your first Halloween with your F/O? What was it like and what did you do?

💭: If you've ever had a dream(s) about your F/O before, do you remember what happened in them?

📺: Who is more likely to cry when watching sad scenes in movies/TV shows?

🧡: Since it’s a funny and somewhat heated topic, do you think your F/O would enjoy candy corn?

🌾: On a date to the farmers market, what sort of things do you and your F/O buy?

🦔: If you and your F/O have kids, what's your favorite activity to do with them around this time of year?

🫶: What’s something you find the most comforting about your F/O and your ship with them?

🍄🤎: Free pass to gush about anything you want!

[thisthatpinkvenom]

IT'S SWEATPANTS SEASON, OH MY!

JOCK!SAN / BAND GEEK!FEM READER

⤏ Synopsis: Autumn has arrived; the season of pumpkin spice lattes, corn and—unfortunately for you—grey sweatpants. those pesky little things have attached themselves to your boyfriend's legs like glue, and you're having a hard time keeping your mind out of the gutter.

⤏ Genre(s): drabble*, fluff, humor(??), smut, smut, smut

⤏ Content: jock!San, band geek!fem reader (I know, I'm so original), you're referred to as "sweet potato" once—don't ask, just go with it, established relationship!au, college!au, non-idol!au

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): dry humping, unprotected piv (it's fiction, guysss. use your rubbers and stay safe!), creampie, just lots of build up because I'm down bad for a man in grey sweatpants 🙈

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

The mosaic of orange and yellow was striking below the dull blue clouds as the trees continued to shed their leaves. Your eyes swayed with the leaf you'd been watching descend its way patiently to the ground while you sat on the bench, shoulders jittering in the midst of the decreasing temperature. Your hands peeked out from the ends of your sleeves before rubbing together, the crisp morning air making your fingers tingle in the cold. You should've worn a thicker jacket, is what you mulled over in your head that you hadn't even noticed San until he enveloped his own padded jacket over you. The gust of warmth awoke you from your reverie and you hummed, meeting eyes with him when he lowered himself into a squat.

"You didn't have to come here," he said, a dimple indenting his cheek as he curled one corner of his mouth upward. After pulling the hood over your head, he tenderly brushed his thumb across your cheek. "I know you're not a morning person."

You struggled to fight a yawn until you decidedly gave in, white fog manifesting in your breath.

"I want to support you," you murmured. You were too busy blinking away your fatigue to notice how he looked on in nothing but fondness. Your conscience warped your thoughts when you scanned over the jacket engulfing your frame, your lips forming into a small pout. "Mm…aren't you going to be cold?"

San took a glance at his attire; he's only got a windbreaker left to keep him warm. Nonetheless, he shook his head and insisted he was used to practicing like this on the field. Despite wearing less than you and the flushed red on his nose and cheeks, you couldn't really tell if he felt the effect of the weather as much as you did. You couldn't fathom how he had the motivation to get up at the ass crack of dawn to run around with a ball, doing drills with his teammates while Coach Kim rapid-fired pointer after pointer without a stop to catch his breath. It truly was admirable how smiley he was at 7:00 a.m. without consuming any caffeine.

Coach Kim sauntered along the grass before he blew his whistle and commanded the team to group together. Your boyfriend looked over his shoulder before turning back to you, eyes squinting as the sun's orange glow began to blanket over the field.

"Well, gotta start soon," he observed. "Stay warm and if you're sleepy, just go back. I'm happy you're here but don't force yourself to stay. All right, Sweet Potato?"

You made a small noise of confirmation, unfazed by the odd affectionate nickname you had gotten used to over time. The heat of his palms skimmed over your ears as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead before standing tall. But what you didn't anticipate—whoa—had really slapped you awake right then and there. For the mere five seconds you'd managed to capture a mental image, time felt as if it'd been stretched to hell when your boyfriend's crotch had leveled with your eyes. You hadn't realized the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and now that you've gotten a face full of…that, you're acutely aware.

You're shook to the core.

Your gaze trailed after his jogging figure, following the path up his long and toned legs to his cute little bu—okay, whoa! It's only 7:15 in the morning. You had no business indulging in these thoughts right now. Get it together.

Oh, he's facing your general direction now.

Are you staring at it too much? It's starting to feel a little warm, all of a sudden; it's the jacket, isn't it? Just how long is this going to take?

You're trapped on this bench. It hadn't even been 10 minutes since practice started and Coach Kim was rambling on about the importance of warming up while you're glued to your seat, pathetically staring at your boyfriend's dickprint while he seemingly had no idea. God, you felt like a perv. Even though he assured you that it was okay, you didn't want to just up and leave. This was a relationship built on give and take, and there were one too many times when he watched your concerts while knowing little to nothing about orchestral music.

You'll just suffer, then.

"Just fuck him."

"Lisa!" you chided, pushing three fingers against your friend's arm as she rolled her eyes.

"What?" She swirled her tongue around the glob of chocolate ice cream sitting on top of her waffle cone. "He's a hot, charming guy. Your own boyfriend makes you horny and that's supposed to be a problem now?"

"Oh, my gosh, I just…" you trailed off, eyes searching elsewhere for your thoughts. "I'm not used to being all"—you waved your hands disorientedly in front of you—"dirty…minded. He's the one who usually initiates it."

"Sex?"

"Everything physical, really," you clarified. "I just feel like if I start it, it's just going to be off—and awkward."

You sighed. "How am I going to get through this season?"

"Oh, yeah, the sweatpants; that's what's been making you a sex freak," Lisa recalled with an airy laugh. "Those things are like lingerie for guys. Especially the grey ones…oomf. 'Dicktoria's Secret' is real," she snorted.

You gave her a blank stare.

"Look, just be honest," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—which it was. "You really think any guy is gonna find it offensive that his girl's drooling over his bulge?"

"I wasn't drooling—"

"You will be."

"Oh, my gosh."

You weren't aware that having a footballer-boyfriend automatically signed you up for three months' worth of almost nothing but sweatpants. You also didn't know how many he had stashed in his wardrobe until now—it's good to know he didn't wear the same pair everyday. But this meant he had enough pairs to flaunt his dick outline in your face whenever you were together.

Not good for your cavewoman brain.

Fingers danced along your neck and you squirmed at the intrusion, meeting eyes with San's own with your face sporting a frown. The same fingers belonged to the arm lazing comfortably around your shoulders, both of you having snuggled together into mush on his couch while you binge-watched one of your favorite shows. You whined his name in annoyance when you're kicked out of your thoughts.

He chortled. "Sorry, I just—it's Buffy and you don't even seem that into it. Is everything okay?"

Let's see: it's a Friday night. His roommate, Mingi went to visit his parents for the weekend and you're all alone with your hot, charming boyfriend™ who's clearly gone commando under his sweats. And you're supposed to be watching Buffy slay vampires…how?

"Y-Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" you stammered.

He hummed in feigned ponder, and the knowing smirk surging its way onto his lips would've sent a churn in your belly if you'd actually caught sight of it.

"You know that my eyes are up here, right?"

Your eyes snapped up in panic, and silence was the only response you had sitting on your tongue. You wanted to hide in a cave, where you could wallow in embarrassment without disturbance. Your own boyfriend had just caught you ogling his crotch like a perv.

San tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, suppressing a smile at how you resembled a deer in headlights. "You thought I wouldn't notice?"

Your mouth was stuck in a battle between opening and closing as you desperately searched for the right words. With a defeated sigh, your face fell into the safety of your palms.

"This is so embarrassing," you groaned, words muffled against your hands.

"Hey," he laughed softly, grabbing your wrists in an attempt to retract your hands away from your face. "It's not a big deal"—you sighed when the light from the standing lamp washed into your eyes—"it's cute."

You gave him a funny look. "Cute," you stated, doubt laced in your tone.

"Yeah. Usually, I'm the one doing all the staring."

He scanned you up and down with a pondering pout on his lips, continuing on to ask, "It's the sweatpants, isn't it?"

"Do you have to state the obvious?" you whined.

"What? I just wanna make things clear, so I know what to wear for you," he teased. He shifted closer and smoothed a hand up your thigh. "I'll wear more for you."

If he felt the goosebumps on your skin, he didn't comment on them.

"You say it like it's lingerie," you quipped, recalling what Lisa said a few days ago. You're saying anything to distract yourself right now, but you crumbled easily whenever he touched you. And he knew it well, especially when his hand moved dangerously close to your pyjama shorts. You're not even sure if you were breathing.

"If it's gotten you like this, then I'd say it pretty much is."

He moved on to say, "I like it when you look at me like that."

Your expression was frozen. "Like what?"

San's eyes changed ever so slightly, his hand finally slipping between your squeezed thighs.

"Like you really want me."

Your thighs parted for him. "I…I do," you murmured.

"Oh, really? Where do you want me?"

"Where else?"

"I asked you first."

You made a quiet huff from your nose, looking down at his hand that's aching to pull your shorts down. "Inside"—you hesitated—"inside me. I-I would like it if we had sex…please?"

His lustful gaze turned softer, eyebrows raised high at your interesting way of words. While you, on the other hand, visibly grimaced. San found your eyes shutting tight and your nose scrunching up all too adorable, and without a doubt, he would've bitten your cheeks if he could.

With a chuffed smile, he hooked his fingers at the waistbands of your shorts and underwear, waiting for you to lift your hips. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's have the sex now."

You sulked at his incessant teasing, knowing well enough that he was purposefully expressing his words awkwardly. He laughed and assured you he would stop there, before grabbing your now half-naked body by the hips and having you straddle him. His fleece sweatpants were rough from the continuous use, giving you some nice sense of friction on your sensitive nub.

But above all that, you could feel the presence of his cock hiding beneath his pants, your pussy lips spreading the slightest on his erection. Your breath hitched as his hands made their way under your sweater, then your shirt; reposed comfortably at your hips as if they made home there. The pads of his fingers kneaded your skin as he looked up at you with expectant eyes.

"C'mon, get yourself off for me."

You waited with bated breath for nothing in particular—you'd just been momentarily distracted by his intense stare. Nodding too many times in the span of a second, you began to move your hips under the guide of his hands.

"Oh…"

There was a minor ache in your hips when he dug his fingers deeper in your skin, but you were too focused on the soft chafing of the fabric against your clit. It was getting you in the right place; so rough.

"Are you doing okay, Baby?"

You released an unstable sigh. "Y-Yeah."

He eyed the way your skin slightly folded with every move you made on his clothed cock, teeth pulling at his bottom lip. Your motions grew faster and more impatient as you yearned for his mouth against yours, falling forward before your lips touched his.

He pushed you down each time he pulled you forward, earning growingly unsteady breaths from you into his mouth. You nearly choked when he bucked his hips upward, soft moans having no chance to escape when each were engulfed by his lips. You continued to do nothing but mindlessly grind your clit on him, humping his clothed cock like you were in desperate heat.

You didn't have the mind to warn him at this moment, unable to hear anything but your own moans until you were reaching your impending climax. And soon with trembling thighs, you came. Your skin grew rampant with shivers while your mind went elsewhere for the bite of a second.

San finally spared some mercy, separating from you with a thin string of spit connecting your lips before he's splitting it with a lick from his tongue. Stealing a glance at the dark spot you left on his pants, he served you a lustful, lopsided smile.

"This is what you'll get if you're just a little more honest with me," he chuckled.

Your ears grew hot at the sight of your arousal leaving its mark, adjusting yourself with your hands on the backrest behind him. You waited a few beats to gather your words before you muttered, "Well…can I be honest with you right now?"

"Of course."

San waited with patient eyes, his stare nearly melting you into goo while he thumbed your skin again.

"I'd like to have the sex—with your penis inside me…please."

He didn't try at all to suppress amusement at how you'd poked fun at yourself, hearty laughter producing from the pit of his belly. The dimples in his cheeks emerged from hiding as he grinned and nodded while pushing his waistband down, just enough for his cock to free itself. When his laughter had settled, he pressed a peck on the tip of your nose.

"Whenever you're ready."

You grabbed the base of his cock and pressed the tip against your entrance, pausing for a moment until you began to slowly but surely, sink entirely down his length. The stretch always started as an odd pressure between your walls, but once they'd completely swallowed his dick whole, it always left you wanting more. It's a feeling you don't think you could ever give justice to, if you were ever asked to describe it. He was just so right for you.

Your body gave into him as he pulled you flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like a tightened belt. His hushed groans were made only for you, and hearing them continuously by your ear sent shivers down your spine.

"So warm," he muttered under his breath. He slid his bum further down the couch with you in his grasp and spread his legs wider. And when he was sure of the angle, he rolled his hips to meet yours, finding a steady pace with the most agonizingly unyielding thrusts. With every slam of his hips, your moans rendered into off-key whimpers as you melted under his guidance.

It felt like you were experiencing the hottest temperatures of the summer; your cheeks were burning and at moments, you felt like pushing away just from the sheer heat of your bodies entangled together.

A cuss left your boyfriend's lips when you gnawed on his shoulder, the salty tang of sweat grazing your tongue. And as if he wasn't holding onto you tightly already, he pulled you even closer as his cock rammed relentlessly, his rhythm growing sloppy when he began reaching his peak.

Your back felt like it'd been bent beyond repair as his cum coated your walls, the familiar twitching of his cock presented inside you. But he didn't stop there, he wouldn't until you came as well. And with his jaw clenched, he fucked into you like you were his toy, white rings of his own orgasm spilling with every move and making way to stain his pants.

"C'mon, Baby," he grunted. "Cum, f-fuck—cum, fucking c-cum…"

And in a few more thrusts, all you saw were specks of white among darkness. Your pussy spared no consideration on his sensitive cock and clenched as you trembled, the string of swears leaving his lips going deaf on your ears. Your limbs fell limp to pure exhaustion, despite how much you wanted to just wrap them around him like you were a koala and he was the tree. You wanted to mark your kisses all over his face but not even your lips were functioning right now as you barely managed to muster out a "thank you".

It was clear that it took a moment for San to register what you'd said, before he let out a breathy laugh. Not because he found something funny, it was just one of those laughs you got when you felt so euphoric—like getting your balls drained until you were a moaning mess; that kind of euphoric.

He kissed the top of your head, looking ahead at the TV where Buffy was still slaying vampires as usual. His dick stayed inside you, soft and relaxed in your warmth, neither of you in any rush to clean up.

"Mm…remind me to buy more of these sweats."

[smallmariofindings]

In the original NES and the Super Mario All-Stars versions of Super Mario Bros. 3, if a Warp Whistle is used in World 6, it sends Mario to the second row of the Warp Zone, allowing access to World 5. This results in Mario warping backward, undoing some of his progress, which has been the topic of my previous post about the Quadruple Roy Route that results from this arrangement.

However, in the Super Mario Advance 4 version, this ability has been removed. While using the Warp Whistle in World 6 still takes Mario to the selection between World 5, 6, and 7, the pipe to World 5 is simply not functional and produces an error sound when selected. In the footage, Mario attempts to enter the pipe but cannot.

This heavily suggests that the ability to warp backwards was an oversight all along, as otherwise the developers would not go out of their way to program a pipe to not be selectable (a unique functionality not present anywhere else in the game) in such a situation.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: Zeldara109

[powdermelonkeg]

Cheat Code #4 for accommodating disabled characters in sci-fi/fantasy:

If you want to show a character's personality in the aids they use, you need to add customization, accessories, and/or specializations.

i.e.: You'll have a more three-dimensional character design if you take the time to consider what you can make unique about an aid; it should be as much a part of your design thoughts as the clothes they wear or the hairstyle they keep, and there are several ways to go about it. For example:

Customization would be things like colors and lights. A prosthetic arm can have colored guards that slide in and latch; a rich person might have those guards gilded, while a scientist might have a whiteboard arm panel to scribble notes on, and a stage performer could have theirs painted black with a bone on it to give the appearance of a skeletal window. A visor that replaces vision could have a screen that shows expressive pixel eyes for a happy-go-lucky hacker, or a practical black shield for someone in strict uniform. ⠀ To customize: make yourself a base, then take that base and imagine what each character you apply it to would WANT it to look like; prioritize aesthetics or practicality based on their personal preference. ⠀

Accessories are add-ons to your aid, rather than part of it. A cane could have ribbons wound around it if it's used by a magical girl, or a secret compartment stopper to hide notes in for a paranoid detective. A wheelchair might come with paragliding wings that open with a pullstring for a daredevil, canvas bags full of tools for a mechanic, or hubcaps that detach and can be thrown as weapons for a soldier. ⠀ For accessories, you're not necessarily thinking of "what can I add to this aid to make it special?" The process is better defined as "what would they want to have, and how can I merge the two in a way that's easy to use?" ⠀

Specializations are sort of a deeper combination of the two above features. They're a more advanced way of making your aids stand out, down to the materials they're comprised of or their intrinsic properties, that uniquely suit your character. They're typically hard to come by without being specially made, and can't be quickly modded in. ⠀ A spine brace being made of magic, living wood that grows to fill gaps when damaged would be available to a wood elf, and probably specially given to a warrior who WOULD damage it. A wheelchair made of magic-resistant metal could have use for a battlemage that can't turn to deflect spells quickly, or a witch hunter who wants immunity from the mages they're hunting. A cane that lights up when it senses radiation would be useful to a planetary explorer or warp drive mechanic, but not to a marine xenobiologist studying the starwhale population, who instead has a whalecall whistle built into theirs. ⠀ A specialized aid takes into account not only your character's wants and needs, but also their profession, their common risks, and occasionally their class—especially if you're using rare materials.

When you want to design an aid to be unique to your character, go through this checklist:

What do they want it to look like?

What would they want to add to it, and how do I make it convenient?

What would their setting offer them for their job or status?

What modifications would they have to seek out themselves, and would/could they?

Ask yourself these, and you're well on your way to making your disabled characters as varied as your abled ones.

Cheat code 1: How to avoid eliminating disability in your setting

Cheat Code 2: What kinds of aid to use to accommodate disability

Cheat Code 3: How to make your setting itself disability-friendly

[hellishjoel]

hi!! congrats on 7k, you deserve it! your writing is amazing and has brightened so many of my days!

Now: I was thinking 🍒 with prompts 9 & 10 for Joel, can’t wait to see what you come up with!

repeat it

1k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

smutty one-liners: “Maybe you could use that mouth for more than just talking nonsense.” & “If we weren’t in public right now…”

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), post-outbreak jackson, implied but unspecified age gap, swearing, size kink, praise kink, degradation kink, dirty talk, pet names, public-ish oral (m!receiving), pov switching, reader is described as having hair, but otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n 

---

Joel’s patience is thin as ice. 

Tommy follows his brother’s stare clean across the warped wooden floors of the Tipsy Bison. He watches as a young woman sways her hips to a song playing on the old jukebox with a glittery smile, with a body too gorgeous not to gawk at. 

“If we weren’t in public right now…” Tommy mutters before doing a low, appreciative whistle at the woman before him. 

The tension in Joel’s jaw is tightening, ready to snap. 

He wishes you were his, has felt that for quite a long time.

Perhaps it was after his first few days in Jackson, and he saw you milling around the market during winter with a small wooden basket. Or maybe it was when spring was finally turning its heel into the Wyoming weather, and you had shed a few layers to let the sun warm your skin. 

He remembers staring for what felt like too long, but not long enough for him. 

Joel was a man on the edge, a primal desire for you and only you. So how long was he just going to fucking sit here? 

He watches as you break for air, stepping out into the summer night for the gentle breeze to cool your skin. 

“Mr. Miller,” your voice coos, despite your back being to him. You know his presence by now. “Was wondering when you were going to ask me for a dance.” 

There’s that glittery smile again. The one that’s hard to say no to, the one he can’t say no to. 

“Ain’t askin’ you t’dance.” Joel’s voice is low, growled, and you see in his eyes what he wants. 

There’s not a lot of privacy in Jackson, so when he tugs you to the side of the bar in little protection of shadows, your eyes widen. He wants you here? Now?!

“Joel,” you whisper in a panic, but his mouth is already on yours. He can’t help himself. You look so pretty, bet you taste just as sweet. It takes a moment to adjust, but your arms quickly encircle around his neck as you tug the tall man ever so closer. 

You can hear people walking on the dirt road just feet away, the chitter-chatter of voices as Joel tugs down your shirt to put your bare breasts on display. You whimper as he tugs your fingers to his belt buckle. 

“Joel, people might see, we shouldn’t-”

“Maybe you could use that mouth for more than just talkin’ nonsense.”

That shuts you up real quick and forces a pool of saliva to fill your mouth as you work to undo his belt with need.

Joel’s hands wind into your hair as you sink to your knees, his body weight relying solely on the makeshift exterior of the Tipsy Bison. 

“Gotta be quiet now.” He mutters, watching as you unveil him and shuck his jeans down to his knees, along with his briefs. 

Joel takes pleasure in watching you admire his hard cock, your eyes softening and going doe as your hand works over him in earnest, spit dribbling from your lips as you lube him up. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, running his thumb along your cheekbone as you kiss along his beady red tip. 

He hisses as you wrap your hot mouth around his angry head, feeling him weep dribbles of precum into your mouth. 

You feel so fucking good, he’s holding himself together with nothing more but paper stilts. His chest labors as you hollow your cheeks and take his length in earnest. He relishes in the gagging noise that echoes from your throat whenever you take him too deep. 

“That’a’girl, take me so fuckin’ well, don’t you baby?” 

The praise forces a moan around his cock, the vibration going straight to his balls as he quietly grunts. 

Your eyes stray to the busy street from all the lewd noises you two are making. You sweat and whimper at the thought of something seeing you on your knees with Joel Miller’s cock down your throat. 

A pair of men wander past, drunk and falling out of the bar, distracted as ever as you burrow closer into Joel’s front. 

You force your nose to bury itself in the coarse hair below his stomach, attempting to hide yourself from curious eyes as you deepthroat him and attempt to breathe around him quietly. 

Worst of all, the Tipsy Bison’s hanging lamp sways with the breeze, sometimes shining light on the lower half of your body, your tits out and nipples hardening at the thought. 

“Hey,” Joel barks, “don’t look at them, look at me.” His harsh voice snaps you back to reality, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him faster as your eyes meet his own. 

You watch as they dilute into pleasure, his cherry lips parting as his eyes lose focus and finally dip close. His hips shift, half-bucking into your mouth and half holding himself back. 

He seems to like it when you take all of him, shaking your head from side to side as his fist tugs tighter and causes a prickle of pain along your scalp. 

“Holy fuck, I’m- sweet Jesus,” he grunts as bursts of his white hot cum shoot down your throat. You gag the entire time, but Joel holds you there, moaning discreetly. He’s salty and musky and all man. 

Your knees ache and your upper half is freezing, but you don’t care as you watch him finish deep inside you, wondering what it would feel like if he finished in your pussy. 

Your thighs squeeze together at the thought, Joel finally yanking you back as his cock falls wet against his thigh. You work through shaky breaths and wipe under your eyes, Joel helping you to your feet once he’s tucked himself away. 

“You keep that mouth just for me, got it?” 

You don’t trust your wobbly voice, freshly damn near face fucked, so all you can do is nod. But that doesn’t satisfy him.

“Repeat it.” 

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a/n: well anon thank you for THAT! PHEW!

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