#I cannot promise anything but I've definitely thought it over before because I do feel like also Lanolin is getting the short end of-

[true-blue-sonic]

This is not a request or anything, but just curious: have you considered the idea of rewriting at least a scene of this arc with a more IC Silver (and as a bonus a more sensible Whisper/a more sympathetic Lanolin)? Since you asked what can we do to convince the fandom that Silver isn't a cute idiot, and my first thought was "spread your headcanons and write your fics with your ideas of how Silver would act".

Personally, I rewrote the Sonic vs. Surge fight in #50 to fix Sonic's awful characterization and show how in pain Surge actually was, and there's a certain joy in saying "yeah I get the idea but this is how I believe it should work".

Not trying to distract you from your projects! :P but since you keep explaining very well all the flaws of this plot, and how Silver suffers from it, I think it really needs a fix-it fic, and I trust your vision.

I have definitely thought it over before, but the work seems a bit daunting, haha. I immediately want to go Very Big and rewrite Lanolin from the ground up, but in the same vein I don't like her enough to really want to do that, if that makes sense? But there's definitely a lot of ideas in my mind about how things could go different (for example, let Duo dig his own grave more and more in issue 63 where only a "I'm so sorry! I panicked! I didn't know what to do!!" is enough to get the others off his back but leaves them all suspicious) while giving the heroes respect still. I could definitely make a document or so tonight with things I feel would have gone differently, and see if anything ever comes from it🍀

Fun fact: when we got the blurbs of issue 63 and 64 and I got annoyed at them, I actually did begin writing a fix-it fic... but I foresaw that the issue would be Duo, not Lanolin. And so I wrote a scene wherein Silver is training and Duo comes in and Silver offers to train together, except Duo is peppering him with so many compliments and interest in his powers that Silver becomes super uncomfortable by it and increasingly gets the sense there's something off. Funnily enough, we got a lot of that in issue 63 itself! That was quite interesting to see, actually.

[joypawz]

Zombie. Aka a Undertale Yellow fic cause my brain cannot handle the horrors even though I was warned about them lol

So basically, this all originated from me seeing iilmunchkiin's comic of Martlet, Starlo, and Ceroba's reaction to Clovers rotting corpse (MAJOR GORE. VERY GOOD GORE BUT GOOD LORD) at four in the morning the night before. SO, I MADE A FIC TO FIX THINGS IN MY BRAIN LOL!

Anyways not promising this is good. Not beta read other than by me who is dyslexic lol

Is it accurate to the characters??? No this is the first time I've written about them lol

Anyways enjoy this fic lol

Quick warning Starlo explains what a zombie is and what they look like lol just to the extent of what I said above lol

Zombie

Martlet sat next to Starlo and Ceroba awkwardly. It wasn’t that she hadn't hung out around them before! She definitely had! Just… You know… Not like this… Usually she was invited over for dinner or she would run into the two when she was in the Wild East or the two were visiting Snowdin. But today was very different.

Something really weird had happened to the whole underground and the idea of Clover’s coffin being damaged horrified her so much she decided she needed to check up on them instantly. She hadn’t really been prepared to see Ceroba and Starlo there though. They of course were polite and made space for her; it was just a very different atmosphere… You know sitting next to the stone coffin…

“Why’d you come ‘ere?” Asked Starlo trying to make small talk. Ceroba promptly lightly smacked him on the back.

“What he means is did you come here because of what happened earlier too.” She translated.

Martlet nodded slowly. It had been about just a couple hours ago. She had been sitting in her house working on a jigsaw puzzle when suddenly she had the oddest feeling. It felt like her very soul was shaking around like it was trying to leave her body and then suddenly she was out like a light. She swore there was something that happened between her soul shaking and then waking up but she couldn’t remember. She had decided a walk would be good but when she walked out of her home and saw other monsters were getting up from the ground, she had begun flying over to check on Clover's coffin.

“Yeah… The whole weird soul thing happened and I thought maybe it was an earthquake!” Martlet explained.

Starlo nodded, “Yeah had the same idea…” 

The conversation was silent again.

For a while.

“Do you think anyone has lifted the coffin lids trying to see what they look like… I mean monsters turn to dust… Some monster probably got curious…” The thought of it made her sick.

Ceroba and Starlo just stared at Martlet.

“Well if they did they saw something real disgustin’.” Starlo said, looking away awkwardly.

“What do you mean?” Asked Martlet, a gross curiosity taking control.

“A lot of movies travel their way to the underground… Seen a few of em. Personally only keep the westerns. But I saw something called a “horror” movie when I was a little kid and it had something they called zombies and their flesh was rotting off of em.” Starlo explained.

“Star. Don’t ever say anything like that again,” Ceroba said, sounding like she was trying to forget what he said and was now horrified.

“Oh…” Martlet felt sick to her stomach… “You mean…”

“Maybe…” Starlo mumbled regretting the words he had let out.

Ceroba stayed quiet just staring blankly at the coffin… What had she done…

BAM!

Martlet flew back letting out a shriek and yelled, “ZOMBIE!” While Starlo jumped back just as quickly trying to pull Ceroba back -who’s ears instantly pinned back at the loud sound- away from the coffin that had just made the loud “BAM!” sound.

The banging continued until eventually with one last “BAM!” the lid went flying to the wall and made another loud BAM! And shattered.

From the coffin rose a perfectly not rotted Clover who stared blankly at the three before saying only one word, “Brains.” And put their hands up in the classic zombie fashion.

Starlo wasn’t sure whether to cry or burst out laughing while Martlet just stared in shock and Ceroba sat blankly trying to process what just happened.

Starlo eventually chose both. Practically tackling Clover as he hugged the poor kid while laughing and sobbing, “My deputy’s back!”  

“Zombie deputy,” Clover corrected Starlo in their flat way of theirs earning them more laughter from Starlo.

Martlet soon joined in the hugging and crying.

Ceroba while quiet for some time with only her tail wagging just the slightest bit until eventually she let out a the ugliest and loudest sob and joined the hugging and crying pile.

“You’re crushing me. Please don’t kill me again,” Clover eventually had to say as they were in fact being crushed by three full grown sobbing monsters.

[mx-pastelwriting]

Can I request Khonshu x reader? Angst to fluff? The reader has been hurting herself after all her fights while being a servant with Khonshu. Khonshu doesn’t know but decides to check up on her one night to find her using a weapons to cut herself. Khonshu immediately shout at her and scares her, and he takes away her weapons to nurses her back to health. Seeing her cry makes him stop before he goes further and so he comforts her in the bathroom until she can sleep peacefully. Over the next 3 weeks Khonshu restricts her involvement with his “justice” and the reader one day having enough demands to know why she can’t serve him. Khonshu blows her off and tells her because he said so. But the reader fires back saying how he’s acting like the gods that imprisoned him. Khonshu gets angry and snaps at her and tells her why. He says because he’s scared for her, he’s scared that she does this to herself and she doesn’t even think for a second on how he feels about it. The reader says he wouldn’t care but Khonshu pushes her down on the bed and yells that he does. He starts shaking and whispers saying more than she knows, and more than he wants to. While he can’t cry, but when the reader hears his voice break she knows she’d hurt him. He says that he loves her, loves her more than anything, and seeing her like this hurts more than any sinner could do to him. The reader sees the sky begin to blackened as Khonshu says what is a god if he cannot protect his own. The reader hugs him and says she’s sorry, and Khonshu hugs back and the sky brightens. Khonshu orders her to never do that again, he can’t stand to see a mortal…no his mortal do this to herself. She promises and said the reason why was because he was always pushing her and she thought cutting herself ease some of the stress away. Khonshu tells her if she ever needs a break tell him. She nods and kisses his beak saying she loves him to. Khonshu disappears and reappears beside her before he puts her on top of him saying he knows he’s always known he just wanted to hear her say it.

I didn't feel too conformable with the cutting, so I changed it a bit. I've definitely been in a place like that myself, so I hope you're doing okay. Sorry for the late post!

Khonshu x GN! Reader

Summary: Request up top!

Warning: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff Ending

You hissed from the pain of unwrapping your wounds as your body ached with the familiar feeling of pain. Taking the disinfectant, pouring it on your wounds, trying to make a straight face, almost enjoying the pain

"Such a waste!" A deep voice boomed from behind you, snapping at your neck. Seeing Khonshu, he stood over you as he tightly gripped his staff. His head moves as if he were looking over at you again. Moving quickly, he snatches your weapons, taking away your purpose for him.

"You know your limit," he says in disappointment, pushing you gently back on your bed. Feeling his touch on your old and new wounds, shame bubbles to the surface. Hot tears build as your lip quivers and his hand covers your eyes. "There's no need for that; rest now." Closing them and holding back your cries, you slowly slip into a much-needed sleep.

-

Staring out the same window for the past three weeks, you felt the anger rise in your chest, "Khonshu" calling out into the air as you do every day. "No," he stated once again. Smacking your lips against your teeth, you sit up and say, "What is the point of having me around if I can't do anything for you?" You yell out.

"Because I say when," his words ring in your ears, making you look at the ground feeling like a troubled child, fine, then I'm done." You say that getting up from the bed makes your body still ache, but you dismiss it. "I'm done being imprisoned by you, so no more fighting justice; you can find someone else." You yell out in the room.

Grabbing stuff, you start to feel weak, making you fall to your knees, your head feeling light. "I will not allow you to hurt yourself once again," he says, now appearing in the room.

"I fear for you, allowing yourself to be hurt by my fault." He looks down at you and continues, "Does my feeling not matter?" Anger surfaces in his voice. "Why does it matter to you?" You struggled to say getting back up; he wouldn't have noticed if you didn't slip up.

His hand comes to you, helping your weak body onto the bed. "You matter more than your little mind could know." He whispers in a stern voice as his head shakes, "More than I would like." His voice cracks, making him back up and sit on the foot of your bed.

Silence falls on the room; he is no longer looking at you. "What do you mean by care? I doubt you really care for me." Your words are trying to get a hit on him, but all you get is a deep sigh from him. "Caring isn't the word I should have used," he said, making your stomach sink. "It's what you humans call love; such a strong feeling it is." His voice was calm; not a doubt leaked from it.

"Seeing you in a state close to what I first found you in hurts more than any sinner could do." As he finished confessing, you heard thunder roar from outside. Your neck snapped to the window, and the sky turned dark. "What god couldn't protect their own?" His voice is low and steeped in sadness. Moving to him, you wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"I'm sorry, I needed something to just feel something." Breaking the hug, you both look at each other with a new understanding: "I order you never to do it again." He states, making you smile, "I couldn't stand seeing you like that ever again. No mortal—my mortal shall never be alone with that pain." He makes his thoughts stand out, making sure you know.

"I promise to respect that order." You reassure him, "A break sounds needed. What do you think, love?" His words make your brow rise. "Love?" you repeat, making him chuckle deeply. Feeling his arm pull you closer, you smile and kiss his beak, making him stop.

Pushing you down onto the bed, you look up at him. "Do it again," he says, almost sounding like he was in a daze. Doing it again, he hums almost like a purr. "Again," he says, making you laugh, knowing you'll be here all day.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

[cousmemes]

dialogue starters from DOCTOR WHO SEASON 8. feel free to edit for context / continues under the cut.

"I'll wager you've not seen anything like this before."

"Listen to me. You need to calm down."

"I'm not flirting, by the way."

"What have I done wrong?"

"Are you judging me?"

"Just because my pretty face has turned your head, do not assume that I am so easily distracted."

"Whatever it takes, I will keep you safe. You will be at home again."

"I'm cold. There's no point in us both being cold. Give me your coat."

"Are you cross with me?"

"You were talking about me?"

"What is happening right now to you and me is more important than your egomania."

"Nothing is more important than my egomania."

"You've redecorated. I don't like it."

"You can't see me, can you? You look at me, and you can't see me. Have you any idea what that's like?"

"I was being funny. I just do that."

"How long have you been there?"

"Are you going to look that terrified when you take me out for a drink?"

"You were smiling at nothing. I'd almost say you were in love."

"I need you."

"An anti-climax once in a while is good for my heart."

"We cannot waste this chance. It won't come again."

"Isn't the universe beautiful?"

"I think you're probably nice. Underneath it all, I think you're kind and you're definitely brave. I just wish you hadn't been a soldier."

"I don't know if you're a good man. But I think you try to be and I think that's probably the point."

"Old-fashioned heroes only exist in old-fashioned storybooks."

"Do people ever punch you in the face when you do that?"

"Well then, draw your sword and prove your words."

"People are so much better at sharing information if they think the other person has already got it."

"Right, you do that again and you'll regret that."

"We can't just let them kill him!"

"She should not have told you any of that."

"Perhaps others will be heroes in our name. Perhaps we will both be stories. And may those stories never end."

"I wasn't making assumptions about you."

"You just have to squeeze through."

"How did you get in?"

"You know, you should have more than one chair. What do you do when people come round?"

"The deep and lovely dark. We'd never see the stars without it."

"I mouth off when I'm nervous and I've got a mouth on me. Seriously, it's got a mind of its own."

"Tell me the truth - because I know when people are lying to me."

"I am not going to leave you in danger!"

"Sorry, who put you in charge?"

"However this goes, whatever happens, don't let me end up like that."

"They have no power over you now. You can do exactly what you want to do now. Exactly what you've always wanted to do."

"Go and enjoy yourself. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"There's no way out of this. We're going to die here."

"Why are you being nice?"

"Every time I see you, it's like you're in a rush."

"The next few days are all about you. I promise."

"Human beings have incredibly short life spans. Frankly, you should all be in a permanent state of panic."

"How can you think that I'm her dad when we both look exactly the same age?"

"He's my boyfriend. I thought you'd figured this out."

"Why wouldn't I be okay? I was fine till you blundered in."

"It's funny, you only really know what someone thinks of you when you know what lies they've told you."

"Please, tell me how I fix this."

"I'm bored. Let's go somewhere fun. What do you say?"

"I know men like him. I've served under them. They push you and make you stronger, till you're doing things you never thought you could."

"Is there some sort of fancy dress thing on this evening?"

"I am so sorry. I've had a wobble. It's a big wobble, but it's fine. Forget about it."

"Where are you and are you in trouble?"

"Lying is a vital survival skill. And a terrible habit."

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"We're in the bad news! I'm living the bad news!"

"Why can't you just say it? Why can't you just say I did good?"

"You are enjoying this just a little bit too much."

"Don't make me say it."

"I don't want to be the last of my kind."

"I don't want to see more things. I want to see the things in front of me more clearly."

"I just want to know the truth. I don't care what it is. I just want to know it."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up. I need to talk to you."

"Oh, everything is better when you're here."

"Please speak to me. This is - this is killing me.

"I love you. And you are the last person who's ever going to hear me say that."

"By now, I'm sure you've heard the rumours, and it is with great sadness that I must confirm them to be true."

"He was alive, and then he was dead and it was nothing."

"Don't. Be very, very careful with that."

"I know what you're doing. You're trying to take control."

"I am in control. Do as you are told."

"I was curious about how far you would go."

"You betrayed me. Betrayed my trust, you betrayed our friendship, you betrayed everything that I've ever stood for."

"Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"

"Speak for me again, I'll detach something from you."

"This isn't possible. The dead don't come back."

"Be strong, even if it breaks your heart."

"Say something only you could say. Tell me something only you would know."

"Whatever it takes, I will be with you again, I swear."

"So you know who I am, right?"

"Look, are you going to help me? Because I can't do this alone."

"And didn't all of those beautiful speeches just disappear in the face of a tactical advantage?"

"I wasn't very good at it, but I did love you."

"There's something that I have to tell you and, er, it's not good news so just - just listen, okay?"

"Never trust a hug. It's just a way to hide your face."

"Thank you for making me feel special."

[halles-notebook]

Hiiiii again!! It's me. The Spiderman person. 🤭 I've finally worked up the courage to request something! 🥹 If it's okay with you, I was thinking of maybe some fluffy headcannons of Spiderman🙆 I do feel like the real main difference between the characters is their age. Tom feels like a high schooler, and then Andrew is more of like a college guy if that makes sense 🤷‍♀️ because in their movies, Tom was always seen as a kid by the other avengers and Andrew's Peter went off to college which is kinda why I think I prefer him over Tom. Besides the whole love for Andrew Garfield that I just have. Sorry for the rambling!! I hope it's alright that I said all that😅 Feel free to completely ignore me if this is too much🙆

fluffy spider-man headcannons (andrew’s)

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

a/n: hey hun!! you don’t need to apologize at all, i love the request and feel free to chat with me whenever! i’m so sooo sorry it took me so long, i just made a post mentioning how i took a small break but i hope you enjoy this <33

warnings: veryyy brief mention of blood, nothing else?? super soft🎀

summary: just some fluffy headcannons for andrew’s peter ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

since he loves photography he would definitely snap pictures of you when you least expect it😭 just laughed at a joke your friend said? captured. focused on your homework? deserves a pic. cuddled up with a pillow? you best believe that one’s going in his wallet.

you cannot convince me that when this man shows up at your window all bloody and in need of patching up he doesn’t have the super guilty kicked-puppy expression on😞 he knows you hate it when he gets roughed up but it’s kind of spider-man’s job!!

will 100% try to teach you how to skateboard and promises you that his spidy-senses will stop you from falling before you even know your going to fall. caught you about ten times before bro gave up😭

he will send you spider-man selfies from 100 feet up in the air just to let you know he’s thinking about you <33 (you always text him back saying to watch his surroundings. does he listen? no.)

if there’s a super crazy villain on the loose he will try to text you updates whenever he can to ease your worrying (it doesn’t work but it’s the thought that counts!!)

i feel like it’d be so super important to him that you and aunt may are besties!!🤍 if he comes home and you and may are laughing in the kitchen his life is complete.

physical touch is 100% his love language. he loves to just be held after a sucky day.

he is constantly worried about your safety because of your connection to him. if you are anywhere near a fight then he can’t focus on anything else until you’re out of harms way.

cinnamon roll to the max🤍

[four-armed-bandit]

I wanted to let you know that to fall before we fly is THE best fanfic I think I've ever read, i seriously cannot name another fic that has made me feel as intensely as TFBWF has, I come back to it every couple of weeks and your writing floors me everytime :' I DO wish I could relive the fanfic all over again because there are so many moments that made me gasp out loud, a favourite will always be when cal stopped the ship from crashing with the force - its stuck with me ever since! your prose is phenomenal and my friends are definitely sick of me ranting about how GOOD you are at fleshing out characters and their relationships, the whole thing just feels canon to me and my brain has fully accepted it as so. I'm soo excited to sit down and read your other jfo fics when I FINALLY have some free time, which will be very soon EEE :3 i can't wait! also I was wondering if you'll be playing/watching a playthrough of jedi survivor when it comes out? Or what you thought of the latest gameplay trailer, if you're happy to share :)

I hope you're doing okay, you're amazing!

Thank you so much!!! I am still here and doing well, I took a teaching job at my daughter's school at the end of summer and ended up in that up to my neck (it's very good and I'm having lots of fun, I love teaching and I love my classroom, but I miss the free time of being a stay at home parent) , but I promise the story is still very much on my mind, and I've been trying to chalk out the time for a full replay and a return to the next chapter (it and the next arc are both very clear in my head, it's just a matter of finding the time.)

Thank you again for the message! As proof positive that I am still over here and doing the writin' thing when I am able, here are the first two hundred words of the next chapter, and I'll have more as soon as I can! I wish you the best of the holiday season and I hope you enjoy your free time!

The difference between a live Jedi and a dead Jedi is that the dead Jedi is better in a fight than Cal’s ever been. From the top of the hill, there’s the low, rising whine of a gatling blaster beginning to spin up and a synthesized, cynical chuckle. The Droid has the high ground and a bright point of light reflected from his visual aperture gleams in the darkness. “Two Jedi? Shame only one of you’s worth anything. Oh well. Dead is dead.” The hollow laugh from the back of Cal’s throat isn’t his, and there’s a dark edge to it as Ithan echoes, “Dead is dead.” Cere has the back half of his lightsaber, but once Ithan begins to move, it’s like she isn’t even there. The whole of reality shrinks down into the distance between him and his target, time slows until it can be measured by the space between heartbeats, and the blade in his hand is an instrument of consummate will. Not a tool, nor even a weapon, but a pure expression of the intent of the Force, in the hands of someone who was never a Jedi Master, not even a Jedi Knight, just a Jedi Padawan who has six years worth of training that Cal never got.

[impeccablebackside]

you just dropped the best f*cking fanfic i ever had the privilege to read. no honestly. i CANNOT put my appreciaton into words. i've been feeling down lately and this work of art just kickstarted me. actually i would like to send you a virtual hug for it. thank you, thank you. plato is too lucky. thank the everlasting cat this blog exists.

You are most welcome anon. It makes me very happy to know that the fic had quite the decidedly positive effect on your life, especially if you were at a low point. No one deserves to feel that way. At the end of the day, if I accomplish nothing else with this blog (not that it is really meant to achieve anything specific aside from horny thoughts), I now know that my words and writing have had a definitive positive impact on at least a few people over the years. That is immensely rewarding to me. This blog is meant to have an aspect to it that serves those who choose to interact with it, even if it is not immediately obvious.

As with previous messages like this or this or this, I do genuinely appreciate the kind words anon. Kindly read those linked posts over to hear about my general thoughts about the vehement appreciation from others so that I do not have to rehash them (not that I mind at all).

I do try to make each fic better than past ones (which are still good and very worthy of pride), so your praise is welcomed after the longer writing processes. This newest one comes after quite the long drought, but that is simply how things go anon. I am quite thankful to anyone one who follows along with what I post and helps directly contribute new thoughts, and all of your patience for new content is never taken for granted.

I have said it before, and I will continue saying it: This blog serves me quite well (as I made it for me) but has slowly grown to be a subjectively important / noteworthy (but incredibly small) aspect of the fandom as (what I believe is) the only ongoing NSFW spot for Cats. It serves the greater needs of the fandom as a whole in a way to have that side reflected, but obviously in a very niche way. Even with the limited followers, this blog is still important for what it represents. I am honestly proud of that. More people need to be openly thirsty and horny about the sexy cat people in my opinion.

I do sometimes feel like there could be more I could offer when not answering asks, and if you have been following this blog for a while, maybe you have your own perspectives as to what that is. I do not think too much is truly missing, but I know that a few followers have had some very good thoughts that may not have gotten exposure over time. I still greatly appreciate them and everyone else who chooses to follow this blog. It is a gift for me to read what others confess of their interests and live vicariously through that. My asks are always open for that, and I promise that this is a judgement free place.

If the only thing I can properly offer the fandom is the posts and fics that come from this blog, then it is fulfilling its intended purpose wonderfully indeed.

Virtual hugs back to you anon, not only for the horny comradery but also because we all deserve to feel supported and accepted in whatever we are interested in. Thanks as always for joining in on the fun. Knowing that there is an audience for my content is added encouragement to the satisfaction I already get from this blog, and I will continue to be the horny representative the fandom never realized it needed.

[kcdodger]

I know how you feel. Promise.

This is my fursona, Saladin Faliya. If you want to know about her, she's an Ace Pilot, she's an independent starship captain, and is the single most wanted individual from her homeland, in which she was its navy's greatest pilot in history. But she was also a man.

So was I. There's a school of thought, in transgender spaces that's lost traction in the last five years, "I was never [Gender at birth]" and... I never really did agree with it. When I look in the mirror, I see a woman. When I look down, I see a woman still, but I cannot deny what I was. But there's no shame in it, or anything. I know I used to be a man, who's name I won't repeat because I'm not comfortable, with the type of person they were. But I was Him. At one point in my life, that was me. But not anymore. They're not here, anymore. What's here is a woman named Kara, and maybe she, I, have a lot of work to do, to become who I really want to be. But that is who I am. Kara. I cannot and will not deny I was someone different before. Weren't we all? The symbol, above. The downturned-to-female-position, male symbol, is my gender marker of choice. Because I am not... Female. I'm a woman, but I'm not - I don't necessarily identify as Female. Definitely not really male, but certainly not both, as is the popular gender marker for trans people. Because I'm not both. I am a Woman Now. But I Was a Man. And I cannot erase that - not, "No matter how hard I try, I cannot erase that." I don't want to. No, I want it to be known, that I was a man once. That I was Him once. That I was something else. Why, though? Why do I acknowledge it, why do I want to nearly embrace this fact? Because it gives me Power. Power over myself, my identity, to say, What I was is not What I Am. To say, "You, onlooker, seeing this woman whom you respect and look up to" (there are many that do.), "You, onlooker, who see a woman, a friend, a gal pal.", "You, onlooker, who see the object of your affection in a woman that is me." "You tomorrow, do not have to be who you are, today." You can change. You can become something else. I did not align my spirit with who I was meant to be. I Chose to be Kara. I am Kara. Not because it was destined or designed by a greater power, or because it was something that I was fated for - no. I am Kara. Of my own volition. Of my own choosing. But I was once, him. And I could not be Kara, without first having been him, because he made the decision, to be me. To let me exist where he could have. He is gone, I am not. It feels eulogistic, to say this so definitely. But it is also, distinctly, correct. I was not always Kara, but I am Kara now. And I will respect that. It would be dishonest for me, particularly, to do otherwise. You, dear reader, are free to refer to yourself past present and future as you see fit. Because how you do it, take hold of it, gives you power over your own destiny, which is yours to decide. I believe I've rambled on long enough. Thank you for listening.

If you don't mind me asking, why is it that you choose to refer to yourself in the first person as Scout, but then you refer to yourself as Chase in the third?

The human body is a phenomena of individual atoms, molecules, fungus, bacteria, rot, and entropy coming together in a single space over an indeterminate amount of time. Both Scout and Chase have occupied this form. At two different points during this one's window of existence, it has been accurately described as Chase, and I'll honor that for the rest of my life, as it would be disingenuous to do so otherwise.

Make no mistake, this is not a matter of split personality, or any other sort of plurality. I know, in basic terms, that I'm the same person. I'm the same form, and I have the same tastes and aspirations as I did before I transitioned, but when I use the first person pronoun "I" when speaking about things this one had done before it became Scout, it's inaccurate. Because "I" refers to Scout, not Chase. Scout can speak for Chase, and Scout is responsible for Chase's actions, but Chase cannot speak for himself anymore, because Scout isn't going away, and there is only one voice between the two.

I don't find it weird at all that most people don't view things this way when they change their name, as it's often done for a very private and personally important reason. When I'm called Chase it does bother me, because that's not right, I'm not Chase. I'm Scout. But Scout knows that Chase existed, and Chase knows Scout currently exists, even though he physically does not.

[melissa-kenobi]

Where would the Bad Batch go on Vacation Headcannons?

Vacation [Bad Batch]

A/N: AHHHHH this was a difficult one but nonetheless I love it, turned out very soft for all of them, well :) not proof read sorry xx

Crosshair

Bespin

Crosshair would enjoy the skies of Bespin, the freedom that came with it so to say.

You just think he liked to be high up in the sky, it gave him a better view of everything, including yourself.

There wasn't much to do on Bespin considering it was a giant gas planet.

Crosshair had a slight routine you noticed. He liked to wake up quite late, relax in bed with you in his arms before eventually getting up, after having a shared shower.

He would then proceed to help train you to use his sniper, he'd set up targets across the empty bases and platforms so you could snipe from above. His favourite thing was trying to distract you, while he stood behind, pretending to adjust your position while you took the shot.

"Mesh'la, your legs are too close, you need to have a wider stance."

His favourite part of the day would be watching the sunset rise and fall for the next two hours from your shared balcony. You wrapped up in arms as he leaned over you, a small blanket wrapped around the two of you as he watched the sunset rise.

"Mesh'la, you're missing it..." - Crosshair would tease looking down only to find you watching him. Thr colours of the sunset reflecting upon his own face as you smiled dreamily at him.

"I've got a better view..."

Echo

Mandalore

I like to think Echo would go to Mandalore to visit his roots and explore where his maker was really from, and what the clones follow so deeply.

He definitely takes you along, the two of you would be immersed in the culture and Echo takes in so many things that's he wishes Fives and the rest of his brothers were here to see.

Echo cannot keep his eyes off anything, he's just so intrigued by it all and is always grabbing your hands to show you something.

He's way too excited.

"Mesh'la, look at this!"

For example, you'll be walking down a street with several vendors and Echo's legs will just walk into another direction, tugging you along with him as he mumbled about beskar and loads of other things.

You'd be finding out new things about Echo's culture and making you fall in love with him even more.

Echo would secretly have a Beskar necklace/pendant made for you. He knew how much he adored you and was ready to drop everything for you.

Essentially, it would be a marriage proposal. Giving someone a piece of your Beskar, promising them that you would be with them forever. But his little plan was cut short, they were needed back with the Batch, but Echo kept the necklace/pendant safe.

When the time was right he would do it.

"Soon mesh'la."

Hunter

Naboo

I think after hearing Skywalker and Rex talk so much about Naboo, it seemed it was Hunters only choice. And it was the best, the nature that surrounded him made him feel at home.

The peacefulness that surrounded him, along with your gentle aura was all Hunter could have wished for.

Hunter would often make trips to the waterfalls on Naboo, he loved the sound of rushing water and the smell of salt surrounding the area. He'd make sure you brought your swim suit along because he'd make you go in the water whether you'd like it or not.

"Let me show you cyar'ika..."

He'd soon find out you were scared of water and couldn't swim, and his heart melted. So he gently helped you in, holding you against his bare chest as you hovered in the water.

You'd be the first to initiate a splash on his face before he retaliated, ready to splash a huge wave over you.

Hunter would show you a small location he found once while exploring, it was hidden and remote, somewhere behind the waterfalls, where the view was stunning and the sound of the waterfall was serene. He carried you on his back while he walked thought the water, occasionally splashing you.

You held tightly onto his shoulders, one hand threaded through his wet hair.

"Hunter, don't you dare let go of me!"

"Never in a million galaxies."

Tech

Aldeeran

Ooof, now Tech was a pain to get on vacation, this man would never stop fidgeting or working on something. You'd literally have to bribe him to go.

You told him that he had a choice of either Aldeeran or Corellia with the technological advancements and that he had to pick one.

Naturally he chose Aldeeran, well, more like you had swiftly convinced him that there was a new development that was calling his name.

Once you were there, you kind of regretted it. Tech was barely ever with you, his focus was on the project he so happily assisted on, although you're pretty sure he'd deviated from their original plan.

He did take you along with him, holding your hand as you watched him work, mumbling about how the workers were heading in the wrong direction with the design. It wasn't fun, per se.

Nonetheless, you were making a choice right now, you'd give him an ultimatum because this was not what you had in mind.

"Tech?" - "Yes mesh'la?"

"I'm not doing this. This is supposed to be a vacation! We're supposed to be having fun! Not just you, both of us."

"You're not having fun?"

Eventually you'd blurt everything out, feeling slightly disheartened that he didn't want to spend time with you and would rather focus on his project. You went to bed early that night, ready to call Hunter to pick you early next morning.

The next day, Tech had come to his senses and realised he was being selfish, that you wanted what was best for him, but also for you. So he had spent the entire night planning and making reservations for the two of you. He woke up before you, bringing you breakfast in bed, where he made it up to you with kisses which led to morning sex.

He'd take you to the grand park where he'd blurt out facts about everything, as you hung onto his arm, enjoying the peacefulness. Tech realised how much he needed this, the peace and serene joy that he got from your small vacation. The same night, after dinner he'd settle with you in bed, after an amazing session he'd whisper...

"You can tell Hunter we'll need a few more weeks off mesh'la.."

Wrecker

Lothal

Wrecker was a big softy, he wouldn't mind anywhere you took him. As long as it didn't involve being anywhere too high up.

I like to think Wrecker wouldn't stray to far from home, meaning his brothers, so he'd like to go some place joyful and warm. Eventually you two had decided on Lothal.

You would probably explore everything, taking pictures, sending them to Tech so he could show his brothers what they had been up to.

"Mesh'la, let's make them jealous with this!"

Giggling you'd join in on his adorable antics, knowing it would get on thier nerves that they weren't able to enjoy it too.

Wrecker wouldn't care what it was that the two of you did because he loved spending every second with you. The long walks down the streets, hand in hand, trying every single food there was on offer?

Man that was the dream and he had the perfect woman to share it with.

"I love you cyar'ika."

💕

Send in some headcannons for the Bad Batch here.

Main Taglist: @tobitofunction @pinkiemme @lysawayne @shadowfoxey @starwarsworld @theeicedamericano @darthmama1618 @justanothersadperson93 @liadamerondjarin @captain-rexs-girlfriend

Bad Batch Taglist: @ahsoka1 @wildrosewolf

[andypantsx3]

hello!!! tysm for the fic advice, it really really helped!! im in the process of tryna fix up my blog layout and such, may i ask what your first fic was? or what was your first published work and how was it? the feedback, how'd u feel & stuff? i have multiple fics/ideas written down already and i just fr need to post them atp 😭

IM SO SORRY IF THIS FEELS LIKE AN INTERVIEW!! i promise i don't wanna intrude, and you definitely don't need to answer at all!!

Not at all, I’m happy to answer!!

The first thing I ever posted was my fic savvy, which is an aged-up fic about a reader in the UA business course trying to wrangle Bakugou into cooperating on a senior project, and falling in love along the way lol. I only had an ao3 for maybe the first 6 months of my fanfic writing career, so I think at least my first 7 fics were published there exclusively, before I eventually backfllled them here when I finally made a tumblr.

I can say that on ao3, everyone was very kind to me. I would get like one to two very nice comments and a handful of kudos per chapter at the beginning. It's so addicting, realizing people like your work, even if I knew it was unpolished. I would save people's comments in my inbox and read them over and over throughout the day (still do lol. If you're nice to me, I will hold onto your words literally forever). I cannot even properly describe how heady the feeling of appreciation from other people is. It really stays with you forever and ever, and makes you want to grow and learn and be better and keep delivering for those people who were kind to you.

I really like the variety of comments people give on ao3--they range from compliments, to theories about the next chapter, to personal anecdotes about aspects of the chapter, to pages-long analysis of your writing, to strings of emojis, to clarification questions, to well-wishes for your health and safety. It always makes it fun to log back onto ao3 and not be able to anticipate what kind of conversation people will be having with you.

The "negative" experiences I've had on ao3 were mostly invited by my own errors--writing my fic cover shot which is kind of exclusive of readers with darker skin tones, which I was rightly called out for failing to note. And also failing to properly note threats of violence in the first chapter of my fic statistically significant, and accidentally triggering one of my readers, which I still think about and deeply regret to this day.

I also asked for constructive feedback, which I might actually advise against for the first little bit that you are writing. Actually almost none of the concrit that I have received has been actual concrit.

In general, concrit is supposed to recognize the goal of your writing and help you achieve it. But most of the concrit that I have received has been people suggesting their own plotlines and character interpretations, and sometimes that has been phrased as, "Bakugou would never do [X thing you made him do]" or "I don't like that you made them say I love you to each other after just a couple months of knowing each other"--because while I'm sure those comments come from a place of wanting to be helpful, they're super subjective, and don't actually help me write the fic I want to write. And also they can make you feel like an idiot who doesn't understand characters or love or life as well as the next person might.

In general, though, people were very lovely and said that they thought my first few fics were good for first works, and that gave me the encouragement to keep writing!!

I don't know what it might have been like to post my works on tumblr at the same time too, although people have been generally very nice on tumblr as well. I really enjoy the community aspect of tumblr beyond anything, the opportunity to follow and get to know the sorts of people who read my fics!!

I think the one thing that you have to be prepared for when you post on tumblr is salty anons. While asking for no concrit on ao3 should be enough to ward off any more "negative" feedback, I've found tumblr to be just a liiiiiittle bit more hostile in recent months. I think this year especially, people are meaner than ever on the internet lol. I've answered 3 or 4 mean anons publicly in the last 8 months alone, but there are several more I've just chosen to block and delete.

There is almost no way for you to anticipate what kind of thing you will write or say that will upset someone on here, so if I had any advice for you (or past me) it's that you have to anticipate some bad with the good. Tumblr is just a different audience and a different kind of social media where you're judged a little bit more as a person than a writer. But know that the good is totally worth the bad!! The opportunity to really get to know people and make friends on here is the absolute best thing about the fandom.

Anyway I hope this helps and I hope this didn't scare you off!! Being a fic author has been the absolute best thing these past couple years and I totally want you to have the same experience too!!

[soulwillower]

tozier (vii)

(tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here’s my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, also minor violence, bit of blood, sub reader AND dom reader, BOTH baby, light choking, mild mild cumplay, oral (fem recieving) 

part 7 of the tozier series [  i  ii iii  iv v vi ]

guys!! finally the last part, thanks for all the love on this series :) this was rly so so much fun to write for yall, pls let me know how u feel about this/the series in general

(losers and reader are 20+ and in college in this)

4.5k words

♡

"i fucked your friends, anyways." you say with a grin. 

"funny, y/n. as if any of them would settle for you." richie snarls, smirking as if he's proud of what he'd said. it makes you smirk, shaking your head. if only he knew. 

"richie, i don't think she's joking." ben speaks up. everyone's eyes turn to ben, and your heart pounds as you bite your lip. you look at each of the others quickly - ben's gnawing on his lip and looking at richie uncertainly, mike is staring at the ground in thought, eddie's staring at his lap with an amused grin, bev is smirking between the two boys with her eyebrows raised, and bill is looking at ben with a small look of realization.

your eyes land on stan, who's staring back at you intently, a suggestive look on his face as he tugs a small part of your underwear from his front pocket as he thumbs it with his finger. you send him an intent look back, trying to beg him not to do it. 

when you look at richie, he's shocked, mouth agape. "what?" richie says quietly. "you fucked my best friend. it was only fair." you say with a shrug, smiling at him. he looks like he might punch you. 

you stifle a laugh, trying to keep a straight face but failing. richie looks furious as he walks up to you, the two of you standing in the middle of the make-shift circle the losers formed in the living room. 

"which one?" he says through a clenched jaw. 

"all of them."

the room is silent as everyone's jaws drop except yours, bev's, and surprisingly stan's - the latter of whom are smirking. richie looks like he's in utter disbelief. it's silent for a few moments, until someone breaks the quiet. 

"who was the best?" 

you turn bright red at that. 

"shut the fuck up, eddie!" richie yells, no sign of joking on his face; he's red as he stares you down. you don't cower at all in front of him - in fact, you're definitely the one with the most power in this situation, and you smirk. 

"so... a-all of us slept with y/n?" bill says in shock. everyone looks around and you're just smirking, your brother furious. "i can't fucking believe you. this isn't funny at all." richie snips. 

"this isn't any different from what you did, richie. c'mon, it was just some fun. it's not like it meant anything more to any of us." mike says. you're shocked that they're all taking it so well.. you never expected them to find out, but they seem to be on your side. thank god. 

your eyes dart to stan, who's still sat on the couch. he meets your eyes and doesn't back down, his gaze piercing and intense. his eyes course over your figure and you feel a twinge of emotion as you remember his hands on your skin, his lips.... you clear your throat as you look away, hoping to god nobody will notice your lace undies sticking slightly out of stan's pocket. 

"-why are you taking her side?" richie hisses, shoving everyone away. his eyes barely leave yours, his fists clenching down by his sides. 

"because you are in the wrong, richie. you cannot possibly be mad at me for this." you say with a grin. "sorry, you're just overreacting. plus you're not just fucking cecily, now you're actually dating her. which is way more shitty. and clearly they all wanted me, richie. i'm an angel."

bill snorts from where he's standing, "yeah r-rich, you're the one who always says that girls who suck fingers without being told to go to h-heav-"   

richie throws his empty cup towards bill, missing by only an inch as he yells, "can it, denbrough! shut the fuck up!" 

you're bright red from bill's words, looking from him, to richie, and then catching stan's eyes again. you swallow, throat dry. 

"-wait, who was the best?" comes from bev this time. you bite your lip, watching as richie shoves her lightly. you grin, "well, ben was the sweetest, but mike was the most surprising-"  "you better shut the fuck up right now y/n." richie mutters. you shrug, "you talk about cecily all the time to me!" you yell. "plus, i'm not finished. eddie... well, that was the dirtiest." you smirk at him and he grins at the ground, richie moving towards you. you back up swiftly, still talking. "-eddie fucked me in your bed, you know." 

richie shoves you hard, looking the angriest you ever have seen him. everyone else gasps or rushes towards the two of you, but as your back hits the wall near the fireplace you barely wince, laughing. "then there was bev... that was the hottest. you were in the other room." you wink.

bev gives mike knuckles out of the corner of your eye and you almost laugh, watching richie as the others tug him back from you. "y-y/n, stop. we get it, r-richie's gotta calm down." bill says as he holds back richie's seething form. 

you tilt your head, grinning at bill. "what, you don't want richie to know that you have the best dick game?" 

everyone stops, and richie freezes in bills arms. "wh-" bill starts with a cocky smirk, but then richie's wrestling bill to the ground, and your eyes are widening. "richie, knock it off!" bev yells, laughing as richie shoves bill's head and bill just laughs on the ground. 

mike and ben get him off of bill, who's sitting up with a disheveled shirt and smirking. "jesus, richie." stan mutters, still on the couch seemingly unbothered.  

you feel the need to make it worse, just to rub it in. "richie, it's okay. he felt bad at first, fucking me in my bedroom while you were asleep next door-"

"shut up y/n!" richie yells, loud enough that you think the neighbors could have heard. stan laughs from the couch, and richie turns to stare at stan, who's lounging as if nothing's happening, looking entirely amused and unbothered. it’s hot. 

it's quiet for a moment, and it seems like everyone thinks you're done. you mutter, "but stan was the most recent, like ten minutes ago, actually." stan doesn't even really react to your words, he just grins devilishly at richie, dimple popping in his cheek. 

you clench your thighs. 

richie turns to you again. "you're a fucking bitch. you’re so disgusting, it's no wonder you couldn't get any of my friends to want to date you. so you just tried to fuck them all instead. you're embarrassing." richie spits. your eyebrows draw together and you almost quip back but a movement makes you look to your left. stan rises as he states, "richie. shut up." you and richie both look to stan, as do the others. 

"i don't want to hear shit from you, uris. fuck you, i've told you for years to keep your paws off my sister." he spits, and stan tilts his head. 

"she's a grown up, richie. she's not just your sister. if she wants me to go down on her in the backseat of your car, why the hell would i say no?" 

and then richie's swinging at stan, punching him hard in the face.

"richie!"the others call, bill and mike pulling him away and holding him firmly this time, shocked that he really did it. "stan?" you call, moving toward him as he flexes his jaw and holds the side of his face. he stands all the way up and licks his lip, a smear of blood leaking from the fresh split on his lip. richie's shaking his hand, face bright red under his glasses. 

"fuck all of you." richie hisses, turning and shoving eddie and ben out of the way as he grabs his car keys and storms out the front door. 

it's quiet after richie leaves, and everyone decides that he needs cool off time before he comes back or before anyone tries to talk to him. so they then get the message to trail out and head to the basement in groups of two or three until just stan remains. "stan, i'm sorry." you say weakly, offering a hand. he lets you lead him to your bedroom upstairs, silently looking at the ceiling as you re-enter the room with a shitty first aid kit. 

stan is impossible to read as you tear open a wipe to clean around the cut. your hands shake as they rise to his face. "i'm sorry." you whisper, the guilt getting to you.

 you jump a bit as one of his hands lands on the bare skin of the back of your thigh. you meet eyes and stan stares directly at you, "i'd do it again."

you smile shyly, looking down and swiping across his bottom lip to collect the blood. "i never meant for this to happen, i guess. i was just so angry, and i- yeah."

it’s quiet again. 

"when did you and bill fuck?" is all he asks after the silence. you blink at him, thinking. "um... a few weeks ago? when we went to kiera gross's party." 

he hums, his hand still rubbing your bare leg and making you feel weak. his fingertips graze the skin of your ass before moving back down, making you exhale shakily. you feel like you want stan to know that you don't have anything going on with bill - but you're nervous. "i promise, i- god, would you stop fidgeting?" 

your hand grabs his jaw, but he jerks his head away and he tosses you a glare. "i'm fine." he mutters. 

"i don't have to be doing this, i can just go back downstairs." you snap, crossing your arms. 

"yeah, perfect, why don't you go let bill fuck you again?" stan quips. "he was the best, right?" you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you look at his pouty lips. "stan, come on. and tilt your head up." 

it's silent again and stan's staring up above you, avoiding your eyes as you wipe a bit of alcohol over his busted lip. "y'know, i hate to say it, but this is kind of hot." you whisper. 

he stares at you dryly. "you think your brother socking me in the face is hot?" 

you laugh, "no, i think me telling you what to do is. you take directions well." his face blooms light pink at your words and you feel proud. he’s watching you carefully, "really? that's cute coming from you. i seem to remember you begging for me to tell you what to do not even an hour ago." 

you swallow, cheeks going red, but you notice his are too. "maybe you just need to be put in your place, stan." you whisper, leaning forward to capture your lips together. he winces slightly, his busted lip tender against yours, but his hand grips your ass immediately, tugging you towards him. 

you slide onto his lap, straddling him easily. the kiss starts slowly, but quickly heats up when he pulls you down to grind on him, causing you both to let out shaky moans of pleasure. then you gently push his shoulders back, “wanna feel you inside me.” you whisper, noticing his knowing smirk as he lays back, propping himself up on his elbows to watch you. 

you slide back on his lap, undoing his pants and sliding them down his legs. his cock springs up and you bite your lip, hand wrapping around his base. you pump slowly, watching as he bites him lip and tilts his head back. you're filled with desire as you take in his size, desperate to feel him. then you're pressing a kiss to his lips, balancing up on your knees and teasing him against your slit, spreading your wetness. he groans, bucking his hips up but you shush him, kissing him again.

he pulls off your shirt, and you quickly do the same to him, taking in his toned torso. you silently thank whoever made stan so goddamn good at baseball. he groans as you place his hands down and off your body, gently sinking down onto him.

you both let out loud groans, relishing in the feeling of him stretching you out perfectly. his head falls onto the wall behind him as you start to move on top of him, stabling yourself on his chest. “fuck, y/n.” he groans lowly, eyes shut in pleasure. 

he looks so perfect under you and you move yourself quicker, loving how he fills you. one of your hands slips into his hair, pulling and making him groan, his hips stuttering. “stan…” you moan as he places kisses on your neck and chest, moving your hips as you bounce. his teeth nip at your skin, his hands rising to grip your ass, hiking up your skirt. 

leaning forward, you find a new angle and bite your lip to keep from screaming at the feeling. stan's biting his own bruised and split lip, his face flushed and chest heaving. he’s hitting deep inside you and you feel full, moaning as you bounce up and down. you moan into his skin, sucking dark marks up and down to column of his throat, 

you lean to press your hands against his chest, changing the angle again. “fuck.” he mutters and you moan, your legs burning but the pleasure flowing through your body. he all but growls, his head falls against the wall again with a groan of pleasure, his hands raising to your hips and fucking up into you, eyes scrunched. his hips are stuttering and he’s flushed, looking like heaven under you.  "stan," you moan, "you feel so good, fill me up s'good." you whisper, unable to stop yourself as you moan. 

through breaths, he's whispering into your ear. "sorry, who did you say fucked you the best?" he asks as you clench around him. 

"shut up." you whisper into his ear as you bounce on him, your hand rising to his throat.

 his eyes lace shut, screwing with lust as he moans, hands hard on your hips as he fucks you down onto him. you squeeze his throat lightly, feeling him swallow under your palm. your lips meet and he bites down on your lip hard, moaning at the feeling of your hand on his neck. 

"who fucks you this good?" he says, and you can feel his voice vibrate under your palm, his lips in a sexy grin as his eyes flutter shut. "shut up, stan." you say again, "don't make me leave and let you finish yourself off." you whisper in his ear. 

he moans at that as you move your hips, your hand still around his throat. 

his hand rises up your back, palm sliding over your bare skin and then gripping your breasts, starting to thrust up. you moan loudly, forehead falling to his shoulder at the new angle as stan stretches you and hits perfectly deep inside you. your hands fall to his chest, clenching around him as you whimper. 

your legs burn and it's almost like stan can tell, because he's lifting you off him and then swiveling you so that your back falls onto the mattress. he hums, "no, you won't leave." 

you raise your brows as he grabs your legs, pulling you down towards him on the bed. "what makes you think i won’t just get up right now?" you ask. 

but then he's sliding into you, one leg held by his hand and the other behind him. he fills you up and makes your toes curl and your vision cloud in pleasure with one stroke. and then he's thrusting, your whole body bouncing as he pounds into you, hitting your g spot perfectly and making you gasp sharply in pleasure. 

"because," he whispers into the shell of your ear, "nobody can make you cum like i can." 

you let out a shaky breath, the last ounce of dominance gone from your body as he fucks you into the mattress. he slips his thumb into your mouth and you wrap one hand around his forearm, sucking on his thumb and swirling your tongue over the tip of the finger as he stares into your eyes. 

he bites his lip, grinning. "what was it bill said? that girls who suck fingers without having to be told go to heaven?" 

you blush at that as he thrusts into you, and he coos as he slips the finger out of your mouth with a light pop. "yeah, guess he's right. you are my good girl."

and then he's rubbing your clit gently with that thumb, his hips rocking into yours and making your legs shake. you moan loudly, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut. 

he hums, "you'd better be quiet or everyone's going to know who's really your favorite." he whispers cockily against your lips, and your eyes roll back as you moan quietly. 

he smiles at you, other hand smoothing your hair. your eyes fall to the marks from your fingers around his neck, and you get shiver of pleasure knowing the effect you have on him.  "you need me. say it." he whispers against the skin of your chest. 

you let out a strangled, "n-need you, stan... i n-need you." you rush out, feeling dangerously close to your second high of the day. he smiles, kissing you sweetly as he thrusts deeper than before, making you moan into his mouth a low whimper. the aching need is becoming almost unbearable, and you pull him closer to you, clenching around him as you near your high. 

"it’s okay, i need you too, babylove." he whispers into your ear, kissing your hairline as he tugs your leg up more, hitting a different angle. the new sensation pushes you over the edge and you're moaning his name in ecstasy, eyes screwed shut as you pulse around him. you feel euphoric as he rocks you through your orgasm, kissing you softly. 

his name falls from your lips as you hold him tight, your nails leaving small half-moons in his skin. you come down from your high and stan's right behind you, only a few more thrusts until he stills slightly, his breath shake as he props himself above you.

 he pulls out and pumps himself, biting his lip as a bit of blood lingers from the split. you're breathless as he cums in spurts on your stomach, enthralled by the sight of his beauty. "god, y/n." he whispers, the david star charm on his necklace glinting in the light against his bare chest. 

"didn't want to cum inside you." he whispers against your lips, but you pull him closer, "it's okay, i'm on the pill anyways." you whisper. he swallows, sighing in relief as he collapses next to you. "good girl." he whipers breathlessly. you smile into his neck as he pulls you closer to him, your naked limbs warm against each other's bodies. you lay there for a few moments, listening to his rapid heartbeat calm down as he plays with strands of your hair. 

he gets up suddenly, though, and pulls on his own underwear and then pulls your own from his pocket of the pants on the floor. you swallow, watching him as he slowly slides your underwear up your legs slowly. he watches you, too - "did you fake it?" he asks. 

you blink at him. "no, actually." you admit, face red. "never with you." 

he smirks, kissing your bare legs as he makes his way up your thighs. you swallow, heart beating quick. "wh-what are you doing?" you ask. he shrugs, "you look so beautiful when you cum. i want to see it again." 

your throat dries up as you try to swallow to avoid choking at his words, shock coursing through you along with desire. holy fuck. "but your lip-" but he shakes his head, "-don't care." he says, eyes already focusing on your heat. 

"o-okay." you say shakily, "god, please," you add, looking at him as his breath hits you. he watches you as his tongue sticks out, licking a stripe up your pussy before swirling on your stimulated clit, making you gasp in pleasure.

the feeling is sharp and pleasant as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks lightly, tongue running over your folds. his hands move to hold your thighs as he delves in, your moans quieting as the pleasure increases after already being so overstimulated. 

you're already shaking. his mouth moves on you expertly, his tongue sliding to fuck up into you and making your hips buck, his nose brushing against your clit. you tug on his hair and he groans, sending vibrations through your body that make your toes curl. "stan, f-fuck," you say quietly, whimpering. 

its soft as he looks up at you, his tongue working you so well that within a few minutes, you know you’re already about to cum. your fingers tug his hair hard and then he's reaching to cup your face.

 his thumb presses against your lips and you kiss it softly, making smirk in between your thighs as he kitten licks your clit and draws a gasp from your lips. “stan, oh my god, i’m so close.” you sigh out, overwhelmed by how good you feel, by the pleasure coursing through you and the affection for the boy you’re with.

he just holds you tighter to his face, lapping your juices up and flicking against your clit before sucking, your thighs tightening. “stan, please, i’m gonna-” and but yourself off with a high moan, hand covering your mouth as you hit your high. you cum for the third time on his tongue, your legs shaking as you ride it out, your fingers combing through his curls. you sigh in bliss as you come down from your high, full of affection and need. 

stan rises from between your thighs, pressing a kiss to each before pulling up your lacy underwear and kissing your lips. 

he's wordless as he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a warm washcloth to clean himself off your stomach. you watch him the whole time as he smiles, your handprint fading from his neck. your stomach flutters as you pull on a sweatshirt and press a kiss to his nose. 

but the door opens and shuts from downstairs and you both share a look: now is not the time to test richie. 

stan looks to your window, then back to you, "i'm going to go. it's probably best." 

you pretend not to be disappointed. "y-yeah. makes sense." stan stares at you for a second with a gentle smile before standing and quickly getting dressed the rest of the way. 

you watch silently with an aching heart as he pulls his shirt on, grabbing his shoes and then leaning to kiss you quickly. "hey." he says softly, and you meet his eyes. "i'll... see you soon." 

"okay." you whisper as he slips out your window and down to your roof. 

you don't see stan for almost eight days after that. he doesn't phone the house, the losers don't come by much, stan not at all. richie doesn't speak to you, only in passing and only micro aggressions. it's lonely.

it's almost sunset when the door knocks, and you take your time walking to open it. 

you swing the door open and do a double take as you see the boy standing on your doorstep, hands in his pockets. he looks nervous, but when his eyes catch your figure, his face turns red. 

stanley uris looks devastatingly gorgeous in the dying light of the afternoon. 

"-oh, i thought..." he clears his throat. "i thought richie'd be here." he says, swallowing. you raise your brows, "he's at work right now, actually." you respond, toe drawing circles in the ground. "why did you even try to come and talk to him? he's a nightmare right now, he'd definitely try to beat you up again." you say softly. he chuckles a bit and your heart keels over and surrenders to him. 

stan shrugs, "he's been my best friend since we can remember. it's not as bad as he seems to think, i know we can get through this." 

you nod, heart then deflating as you realize that stan's intending to apologize to richie and beg for him to forgive him - of course friendships are more important than hook-ups, but after last time... and the way stan had stood up for you when richie was being mean... you'd hoped things would be different with him. 

because you think you've loved stan for a long time. 

"anyways, he has to learn to accept that i have feelings for his sister. i'm not going to sacrifice my happiness just because he's acting like a child, or that he's mad that i spend all my time thinking about you." 

your head snaps up to him and your eyes widen, heart soaring at his words. "wh-wait what?" you ask, suddenly shy. "you-" you just smile, not knowing what to say. stan shrugs, as if it's as simple as saying the sky is blue. 

"i think about you all the time, y/n. i like you as more than a friend, more than just a good fuck. i want to be yours, i want you to be mine. always have." 

you smile so big you think your face may split in two. "i think about you too, stan. haven't stopped in a few years. i missed you last week." 

"then can i take you out?" he asks boldly. "promise i'll hold your hand and buy you dinner." 

"he'll kill us." you say, looking into stan's bright honey eyes. they're full of confidence and mischief and you think he's absolutely irresistible. stan's large hand finds purchase on your waist lightly as he smiles, "has that ever really scared you, y/n?" he asks. 

you smile as you take his hand. "of course not." 

he kisses your forehead as you step towards him, his arm pulling you closer and releasing hordes of butterflies in your stomach. "think we should go visit him at work? order a shake with one straw and make out in the corner booth?" stan asks, the light catching the purple and yellow skin of his fading bruise.

you laugh as you walk towards his car, shoving him a bit. "you're an asshole." you say, butterflies rampant. his laugh makes you warm and he leans towards you. "you can say that all you want, but i know you've had a crush on me since we were kids." he teases. 

you roll your eyes. "you're really testing me, uris." 

"it's okay, tozier. i think you're beautiful even when you're mad." he says, pecking you on your nose. "well you better get used to it, i guess." you mutter, and he chuckles a bit as he kisses your forehead. 

"i will never get tired of you, no matter what you do or what your brother thinks." 

tag list: 

@gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @psykronium-cube @ruefulposts @letmereid @topper-mostofthepopper-most

© all content belongs to soulwillower 2020. do not modify, repost, or redistribute

[esmealux]

Hi there! For the two-part drabble, may I request Deckerstar in situation 13 (someone does something stupid) with sentence 6 ("Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.") Thank you, and I've really really been enjoying your the updates on your Planning a Hell of a Wedding fic!

Hey! It took me two months (including more than one month of writing) but I've now finally finished your prompt. Another anon had requested 25 (being somewhere you're not supposed to) + 6 and dear @my-crazy-awesome-sox had requested 26 (a very cheesy date) + 6, so I've merged all your prompts into one 7K+ long 'drabble'. Hope you don't mind!

And I'm glad you like the updates on PHW! I'll try to write some more now that I've finished this.

Hope you like this!

Also, an immense special thanks to @my-crazy-awesome-sox for helping me with this fic. She truly has been a godsend, and a lot of the wording (especially in the later parts) is kindly and almost directly borrowed from her mind. Thank you again, babe!

Also thanks to @lightbringer-666 for assisting me with some French. If all the French isn't perfect, it's because I also googled my way to a lot of it. Apologies in advance (and please do let me know if there's anything I should change!)

Someone does something stupid + being somehwere you're not supposed to + a very cheesy date + 'Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.'

Rated M. Post 5B - contains spoilers!

Read on AO3 (includes list with English translations)

It’s ridiculous, really. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach like she’s a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. It’s not even their first date. It’s not even their second. The thing is, between becoming God and Consultant, revising a few laws of the cosmos, fixing some bugs in humanity, bringing Dan to Heaven, and going to therapy, she and Lucifer haven’t had much time for, well, each other. At least not in ways that didn’t involve discussions about the redesign of the afterworld and how to sate world hunger. So yes, she is a little giddy with excitement at the thought of having a whole evening to themselves—no celestial craziness. Just the two of them and a bottle of the restaurant’s finest.

If Lucifer would just show up.

She checks her phone. 06:14. Unlike last time she anxiously waited for him in a restaurant, there’s a text.

Running a bit late. Please forgive me. Can’t wait to see you ❤

And one more.

Sorry. Can’t wait to see you naked*

Chloe shakes her head, a stupid smile spreading across her face. She resists typing back a flirty reply—he’ll be with her in a minute, and she is nota schoolgirl—and puts her phone back in her clutch. Hands trembling a little, she smooths out invisible creases in the dress he’s bought her. It’s short and tight, of course, but perfectly so. Reaching mid-thigh, with a small slit revealing a bit more of her left thigh. Black, unsurprisingly; he still hasn’t gotten over how delectable she looked in the LBD she wore on their last ‘date’. And this one makes her legs look even longer, which is undoubtedly the primary reason Lucifer picked it. Still, it isn’t skimpy. He could have opted for a deep neckline and cold shoulders—she almost expected him to when he said he’d bought her a dress—but he didn’t. Instead, the short and skin-tight skirt is perfectly balanced with a high neck and long bell sleeves that are cut open just above her joints, making the soft fabric flow around her bare underarms. She likes it—would probably have bought it herself if it weren’t crazy expensive. Likes how it makes her feel both sexy and classy and most of all comfortable, likes that he knows her so well.

She fidgets with her earring and traces the rim of her empty wine glass with her fingertip, watching people as much as she can from their semi-private corner. She spots an Oscar-winning film director, a retired NFL player, that pop star Lucifer pretends to hate, and just how expensive isthis place?

She’s immediately distracted by the shift in the air and the sound of Italian loafers approaching her.

‘My me, Detective!’

His brown eyes roam her figure as she stands to kiss him. Their lips meet in a soft peck that could easily have turned into more if Lucifer hadn’t pulled away to look her up and down.

‘You look like a goddess.’

Chloe snorts and chuckles, not yet used to the title he insists is hers if she’ll have it. She puts a hand on his chest, gazing up at him with a smile.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

He hums and leans in for another kiss, but something comes between them this time. They both look down—at a dozen red roses.

‘Those for me?’ she asks, warmth spreading in her chest.

Lucifer hands her the bouquet with a nod and that soft smile she loves more than anything. He pulls out her chair, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sits down, and sits down himself.

There’s a card nestled between the velvet petals: ‘For the Detective & Consultant’, her old and new moniker scribbled side by side in his annoyingly elegant handwriting. The latter nickname, however, is written in smaller, cramped letters—an afterthought. She smiles.

She turns the card, expecting to find a dirty, eye-roll-deserving comment on the back. But there’s no lewd joke or naughty promise.

It simply says, ‘I love you.’

Her heart swells, filling her chest till it aches. It’s all so new still. Not the love between them, but how it’s uninhibited now. It’s not like they don’t have their obstacles—just yesterday they had a fight—but there’s no doubt anymore, no voices telling them some dreams simply cannot be. They might have a whole universe to deal with, but for the first time ever, things between them are easy. No words are left unsaid. No feelings are squashed. No time is wasted. Every day is spent wrapped in each other’s love. Finally.

‘I love you too,’ she tells him, and he lights up, amazed. Confident. Their hands find each other on the table, fingers intertwining.

A waiter comes by with two menu cards and a vase for the flowers. Chloe reads through the menu carefully, pretending to know what kind of food hides behind the fancy French names. Lucifer sees right through her, sighs, and orders some hors d’œuvres, two of something she couldn’t pronounce if she tried, and a bottle of red.

‘So, were you stuck in traffic, or…?’ Chloe asks him with a glint in her eye as the waiter pours her a generous glass of wine. The celestial being with the supernatural metabolism can drive home.

The being in question looks confused for a moment before he answers, ‘Ah, no. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ For a brief second, he looks at her as if he’s apologising for more than tonight, but she strokes his knuckles and smiles at him, you’re here now, and he moves on to explain himself. ‘I just couldn’t find this bloody suit. Only when I’d ransacked the house did I realise it was still at the penthouse, so I had to make a detour.’

He is a little excused; so many things are impossible to find right now, with more or less unpacked boxes spread out between her apartment, Lux, and their new home. In hindsight, moving in together while taking over the almighty family business probably wasn’t the best idea, but they’ll get settled soon enough. Besides, right now, what’s important is that Lucifer was late because of a wardrobe crisis, and she will not let that slide.

‘You couldn’t just wear one of your three hundred other suits?’

A flicker of hurt and sheepishness flashes across Lucifer’s face.

‘Well, this one is special.’

Chloe takes in his suit: the navy jacket, the matching waistcoat, the royal blue shirt.

‘Oh.’

He smirks at her as heat creeps up her cheeks (so much for not being a schoolgirl).

‘You remember?’

She does. Of course, she does. She remembers vividly—how shocked he’d been at first, how new and soft his lips had felt against hers. How they’d held onto each other until the sun was setting and she really did have to go home and feed Maze and Trixie.

She also remembers how she, later, behind closed lids, had ripped off the shirt and waistcoat in desperate need. How it’d earned her a husky chuckle and a breathy ‘D’tective!’, and the sinful Heaven that was his hot and open mouth.

‘You okay, darling?’ Lucifer looks at her, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused. His thumb brushes the back of her hand.

Chloe takes a sip of wine and clears her throat. Adjusts her necklace.

‘Yeah, just, you know. Reminiscing.’

He studies her flushed face for a second before his curious smile spreads into a full-blown Cheshire grin.

‘You had a wet dream about me, didn’t you?! After our first kiss?’

Chloe glares at him. ‘Say it a little louder for the people in the back, will ya?’ He opens his mouth, and she immediately feels the need to clarify, ‘Do not say it a little louder for the people in the back.’

His smile doesn’t falter. ‘I’m just ecstatic to know our first kiss left you all hot and bothered. I mean, not that I’m surprised.’ He brings his wine glass to his lips and lets go of her hand to gesture down himself.

Chloe rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, like you didn’t go home and wanked yourself blind that night.’

He laughs, surprised by her bluntness, and shamelessly answers, ‘Why, of course I did. That night, other nights. Before and after that kiss. This morning. You serve as quite the spank bank, my dear.’

She definitely doesn’t blush at that. But she does glance down at his waistcoat, at the soft skin and hard muscles she knows hide beneath it. She gives him a slow and dirty smirk, appreciative.

‘You too, baby.’

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening. Much to Chloe’s satisfaction, his neck and cheeks redden a little. Then he gives her a lopsided grin, smug and impressed.

‘Pray tell, Detective.’ His eyes glide down her face, her chest, her stomach, and slowly back up again.

In another time, she would have given him a stern look and told him it was none of his business, but she doesn’t. She also doesn’t tell him about lonely nights and long showers and crying his name into her pillow when they were still just friends. Instead, she leans across the table and half-whispers—

‘If you behave yourself tonight, I might show you.’

He gulps. Squirms a little in his seat, and���when he’s regained his composure and quite indiscreetly adjusted himself under the table—leans forward till there’s only mere inches between their faces.

‘Is that a promise?’ His voice is low and husky, his breath hot against her face. His eyes drop to her lips.

‘Pardon, monsieur, mais l’entrée est prête.’

They lean back in their seats and turn to the poor, young waiter, who’s balancing two seemingly heavy plates, a carafe of water, and a basket of crusty bread in his arms.

‘Lovely!’ Lucifer’s eyes follow the food as the waiter puts it down in front of them. ‘Merci beaucoup, Olivier.’

Olivier smiles at Lucifer, shy but with a look in his eyes Chloe knows all too well. She doesn’t blame him.

‘Ça va?’ Lucifer asks, his voice lined with genuine fondness.

Olivier nods. ‘Oui, ça va. Et toi?’

Lucifer looks to Chloe, beaming. He takes her hand on the table and interlocks their fingers again.

‘Tout va très bien,’ he answers, looking back up at Olivier with a dazzling smile.

Olivier’s eyes drop to their hands and, probably, to the ring, white and pearlescent, on Chloe’s third finger. His lips tug up at the corner.

‘Je peux voir ça. Félicitations!’ Before Lucifer can respond to that, whatever it means, Olivier gestures towards their food. ‘Et bon appétit.’

Lucifer replies with a friendly ‘merci’ and calls out something like ‘Salue ton père de ma part!’ as Olivier walks off.

Chloe stares at Lucifer, twirling the smashed bullet around her neck between her fingers.

‘What?’ he asks, curious.

She tilts her head, smiling. ‘French suits you.’

He smiles back, lasciviously. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mm-hm.’

The look he gives her leaves no doubt that, sooner or later, he’ll be whispering foreign phrases against her skin.

But right now, they have other appetites to sate. They dig into the first course, and the (assumedly) insanely high prices suddenly make sense, because it is frigging good. The main course is even more delicious—divine, actually, to the point where Chloe has to ask Lucifer if he accidentally spiked the food with a blessing or two. He assures her it’s all Olivier’s father, no holiness involved, apart from Chef Beaumont’s heavenly cœeur de filet de bœuf. Chloe moans in agreement, savouring every bite.

He watches her with a smile, jokingly apologising for not serving her grilled cheese, and she makes a bad joke about this date being cheesy enough as it is. Because it is cheesy. Him buying her a dress, bringing her red roses, the love note, the candlelit restaurant, the French food, not to mention the suit. It’s like a rom-com parody.

But it’s also perfect. It’s everything she’s longed for, an over-the-top romantic date night with her- with her partner. A date that isn’t cut short by a horny stewardess (may she rest in peace) or a failed attempt at exorcism; where Lucifer actually shows up and isn’t just trying to outdo another man; where Chloe isn’t trying to make him ‘do something good for a change’; and their parents aren’t tagging along on a headache-inducing surprise double date that is also a sting in disguise.

So, in some ways, it is kinda their first date.

And it’s a really, really nice date.

They laugh—they laugh so much. More than they’ve done in the past few months combined. Or so it feels, at least.

They laugh, and they talk. About movies they cried to, favourite drinks, and how they’re gonna paint the living room. About the summers spent under the plum tree in Nana’s garden, and all the pranks pulled in the gilded meadows of Heaven. About chasing Amenadiel through the clouds, and how Chloe always wanted a sibling. About her short-lived Hollywood experience and that one time she may have gotten a little high at a Backstreet Boys concert. (He seems impressed by that, her ‘abhorrent’ taste in music aside.) They exchange secrets they never told anyone, stories of bad kisses—Jed used too much tongue; Will was always better with words—and tales from drunken nights out. They reminisce on the first time they met—how annoying she’d found him, how compelling he’d found her—and the many, many cases, some really weird, that first encounter led to.

They talk about Dan.

About missing him, even though he’s making waffles with Charlotte now.

About Trixie, and how therapy seems to be helping her, too. How she still sometimes breaks down crying, but no longer crawls into their bed in the middle of the night, shaking and gasping for air. How she’d laughed the other day, and it’d made them both cry. How incredibly strong she is, that little urchin.

They talk about going to Paris one day, all three of them—the French do make excellent chocolate cakes—or maybe somewhere else she wants to see, once everything is calmer. They talk about some of the prayers Lucifer has been hearing, about faith and free will, what they miss about solving crimes together, what they don’t miss, and how they’re still very much partners, even more so now—in every corner of life.

They talk till their cheeks hurt from smiling and Chloe’s half-drunk on expensive Burgundy. Lucifer asks for the cheque, their food long gone, and pays with cash, making sure to leave a tip possibly the size of Olivier’s monthly salary.

They leave the restaurant giggling about a stupid joke Lucifer makes, his hand splayed out on the small of her back. Her own hand is placed much lower than what is decent for such a fancy place like this, practically cupping his ass, but she’s tipsy enough not to care, and he doesn’t seem to mind the attention. It’s his own fault, anyway, for having his pants tailored to hug his butt like this.

Naturally, Lucifer drives. He doesn’t hold back his comments on how slow and boring her car is, but at least he stays somewhere close to the speed limit. She wishes he’d also wear a seatbelt, and keep both hands on the wheel, but his palm is nice and warm on her thigh, and she trusts he’ll get them home safely. She leans back in her seat, her head comfortably buzzing from wine and him, and watches the blurry city lights through the window. He’s turned down 2ndStreet.

‘Where are we going?’ She looks over at him, curious.

He smiles in the shadows, his fingers stroking the skin left exposed by the slit in her dress. His touch leaves hot, tingling paths on her thigh.

‘I thought we’d go for a second desert.’

Chloe is beyond full, her dress stretched over her now slightly rounder belly, and she can think of other things she’d rather do (things that include pinning Lucifer to their bed and making him groan and beg and laugh), but she’ll never say no to a freshly brewed latte and watching Lucifer obscenely enjoy some Sicilian pastry.

She turns up the radio, fumbling a bit, and closes her eyes with a smile, more content than she’s been in… a long time. His hand stays on her thigh as they move through the night, fingers tapping to the beat of the songs against her skin, creeping higher, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch, but nothing more, and then back down again. Maybe they’ll just take that latte to-go.

The car comes to a final halt, and first then does Chloe realise they haven’t stopped outside the late-night café and bakery that’s opened down on Spring Street.

‘Lucifer, what’—she looks around, double-checking—‘what are we doing at the back entrance to the precinct? You said we were getting desert.’

He leans across the centre console, fingers spreading on her thigh, and brings their faces so close their noses touch. Chloe swallows.

‘We are,’ he assures her with a wolfish grin, his gaze lingering hungrily on her, and she could jump him right then and there. But he takes his hand off her body and clicks her seatbelt free, pulls the key out of the ignition and exits the car. He strides to her side and opens the door for her, gentlemanly as ever, and she watches him with narrowed eyes as she takes his hand and steps out, sceptical even in her cloud of lust and inebriation.

He heads directly for the back entrance and opens the black iron door with ease, rudely ignoring the state-of-the-art security locks. A part of her knows she should stop him right there and give him a stern talking-to about respecting human laws—he still can’t do whatever the hell he likes just because he’s God now. But another part, the part of her who helped him empty two bottles of French wine, really wants to step over that threshold, to intertwine their fingers and go on a late-night adventure. And that part of her must overpower the other, because she lets him snake his arm around her waist and lead her through the door and inside the familiar building.

She senses him grinning by her side, his fingers curling around her hip in a deliciously tight grip that only stokes the heat pooling low in her belly. He takes her down the corridor, around the corner, and then they’re there, in the middle of the precinct. Everything is covered in darkness, the wide, open space only illuminated by a never-resting info screen and the purplish glow from the vending machine. Still, she can make out the shape of their desk, the door to Ella’s lab, the interrogation room. The fridge in the breakroom still hums obnoxiously, and the air smells like strong coffee and sugary glaze—or maybe that’s just a phantom. Either way, it all tugs at her heart, beckons her down memory lane, and she lets herself be pulled. Through the good, the bad, and the crazy.

Lucifer is quiet beside her, probably lost in nostalgia himself, or maybe just letting her have this moment. But not for long. With titillating eagerness and a devilish smirk, he wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her by the hand—towards the evidence closet.

He presses her up against the door, his body hot and hard against hers, and pins her hand against the cold glass of the frosted window. His dark eyes sparkle with mischievous excitement.

‘There’s something we never got to try.’

Her pulse quickens, blood humming loud and hot.

‘Lucifer, we can’t.’ She tries to sound firm around her suddenly heavy breaths and dry throat, but he doesn’t seem discouraged in the least.

He leans in, closer, his smirking lips brush against her ear. ‘Can’t we, now?’

And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he takes her earlobe between his teeth and bites it.

Chloe smothers a gasp.

‘We shouldn’t.’ She puts her hand on his chest and pushes her head against his, nudging him away from her neck so she can thinkfor a second. He reluctantly obeys and settles for placing his hands on her sides, dangerously high, thumbs almost stroking the underside of her breasts. She pushes his hands down to her waist. ‘We shouldn’t have sex in Evidence—shouldn’t have broken into the precinct in the first place. I mean, do you want us to get arrested?’

He only laughs at that, of course. ‘I’m God, darling. I won’t get arrested.’

Chloe rolls her eyes. He would probably charm his way out of it if they were caught, God or not—but that doesn’t make any of this okay. She’s about to tell him as much when he adds-

‘But if you wanted to cuff me and tell me what to do, resisting would be the last thing on my mind. In fact, I’m sure we can find some cuffs lying about-’

‘Lucifer, no.’

Her tone is sharper than she’d intended. He pulls back a little, studying her face. His eyes flicker to her parted lips, her flushed, heaving chest, and then back to her determined gaze. His brows furrow.

‘Do you really not want to do this?’ His voice is soft, serious.

They stare at each other, hot breaths mingling. He’s still pressed up against her, a six-foot-three wall of muscle and love, and his scent—spicy cologne and smoke—floods her head like ambrosia, a dizzying fog of him. Her skin burns beneath his palms, his touch sending embers through the expensive fabric and down, flames licking at her inner thighs. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears.

‘We don’t even work here anymore,’ she rasps, deflecting his question. It’s a weak excuse, but she is fraying at the edges.

A salacious smile forms on Lucifer’s face. ‘We’ll just pretend we do.’

He takes a step back, putting a more ‘professional’ distance between them, adjusts his lapels and attempts at a neutral expression. ‘You wanted to show me something in Evidence, Detective?’

And there’s that word again, want—because she still hasn’t answered his question and her consent means more to him than anything. She loves him for that, she really does, but right now, it’s not that simple. She wants, every cell in her body wants, wants him to shove her into that closet and take her apart. Has wanted it for so long, thought about it for years—at her desk, in the shower, while sitting next to him during interrogations. Thought about it in the self-same evidence closet, as she was pressed up against the wall by someone else. Imagined tugging at his hair, feeling him between her legs—even had to swallow his name. She still thinks about it, thought about it the other night, briefly, wistfully, while making a cup of tea. Thought about how much fun they could have had, sneaking off to secret corners of the precinct like two horny teenagers—if it hadn’t been for, well, mostly Michael, and all the chaos he’d released upon their lives.

In fact, it’s only fair they have at least one reckless, semi-public rendezvous. Just one. To make up for the honeymoon phase they never really had. With all the hurt and heartbreak they’ve had to go through, alone and together, they deserve to have one night of stupid fun.

On the other hand, and this is why it’s not that simple, it’s a bad idea. It’s a really bad idea. And also, pretty illegal. If she asked him to, if she said no now, he would take her home and push her up against the nearest surface, bury himself in her faster than any of them could get their clothes off, bring her to ecstasy-

But it’s not the same. It just isn’t.

With as much innocence she can muster, she looks up at his anticipatory face and puts her hand on the doorknob. The cold steel is a soothing balm against her burning skin.

‘I do want to show you something in Evidence.’

He lights up like it’s a declaration of love, all unrestrained enthusiasm.

‘After you, darling.’

Their lips crash against each other before the door is even closed. He pushes her backwards in the semi-darkness, between shelves and boxes, hands low on her hips. His fingers dig softly into her ass as they stumble towards a sliver of wall together, panting and laughing against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t break contact with her lips as he quickly sheds his jacket on the way and throws it over his shoulder, for the moment uncaring of dirt and creases. Then her back hits the wall with a thunk and she’s instantly struck by déjà vu, until Lucifer grabs her thigh inside the slit of her dress, and the unwelcome memory quickly evaporates in the heat of their clashing bodies as he wraps her bare leg around his waist and pins her to the wall with the hard press of his hips. Their unison groans fill the cramped space.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she murmurs breathlessly against his lips before opening her mouth to let his tongue back in. He tastes like wine and crème brûlée.

He hums in disagreement. ‘We should always be here, Detective.’ With the hand still on her ass, he pushes their bodies impossibly closer together and rocks against her. She moans, despite herself.

‘We- I-‘ Chloe stammers, leaning her head back as he kisses his way down her neck, her mind and body pulling in different directions. ‘This is- why am I letting you get away with this?’

She feels him smirk against her throat. His hand slowly glides up her inner thigh—her pulse quickening with every inch—until his thumb brushes past damp fabric.

‘Because you like me.’ His beard rasps against her hot skin in the crook of her neck, a contrast to his soft lips placing slow, open-mouthed kisses from her jaw to her collar. ‘Because you love me.’

Chloe scoffs.

‘Do I love you?’ she questions, her breathing erratic, her eyes turned to the ceiling as he sucks a mark onto her neck. With the hand that is still between her legs, he pushes her underwear to the side and rubs against her, nice and slow. ‘Yes.’ Her gasped answer has a proud, almost victorious chuckle rumbling from his chest.

‘But do I like you?’—she bites her lip and stifles another moan as his fingers press just right—‘That’s still up for debate.’

He breaks off the assault on her neck and looks up at her, eyes black with desire.

‘Allow me to try and tip the scales, then.’

She’s bereaved of his fingers as his hand moves to the edge of her underwear, pulling it down as he sinks to his knees. She almost stumbles when he slips it over her feet, but he grabs her leg, steadying her, and helps her out of her stilettos. Once she’s barefoot, his warm palms slide up the side of her legs, pushes the hem of her dress up a few inches, and then his mouth is on her.

He licks her, slowly, tenderly. She reaches down to pull at his hair, commanding him to give her more, to take more, and he does. He starts feasting on her, all tongue and lips and-

‘God, yes.’

He chuckles smugly into her core. ‘I do love it when you moan my name, darling.’ Eyes fixed on hers, he gives her a nice, long lick before he dives back in. He kisses her clit, sucks it, circles it, laps at her like he can’t get enough, and she’s reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess. She bucks against his face, needing more, and he does that thing that she likes, tongue flicking her clit, warm and wet, as he pushes a finger inside her.

Her eyes clench shut, her head falls back against the wall. She doesn’t bother holding back her groan this time.

Lucifer hums against her, low and greedy, taking as much as he can, before he pulls away with ragged breaths. ‘Ma déesse, que tu as bon gout.’

The meaning is forever lost on her, but his hungry tone, the way his tongue wraps smoothly around the French syllables, the words dripping like sin from his glistening lips, sends warm shivers down her spine.

He slows down his pace inside her, places kisses on her lower belly, seeks her ticklish spots and the ones that make her breath hitch, and then trails down to her hips, studying her sharp bone with his lips and his teeth, before moving down to her thigh, stubble prickling her tender skin. As if he’s got all the time in the world, he lets his mouth travel to the insides of her legs, already spread for him, and kisses a path up her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where she aches with need,but never quite there. His finger, still moving slowly—too slowly—curls a bit, reaches that spot deep inside her that usually makes her see stars, but he pulls back before she’s even done gasping.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, a threat and a plea.

He places one last kiss to her sensitive thigh, nuzzles his nose against her heat, before his tongue finally finds her clit again and his finger starts pumping inside her, fast and hard. Then faster, harder, and, fuck, deeper.

‘Baby,’ she begs him to continue, fire spreading through her body, from her curling toes to her already heated cheeks.

He slows down for a second, and she reaches down to scratch at his scalp in frustration but quickly forgives him when he adds another finger and resumes his perfect pace, thrusting up in her to the beat of her racing heart.

‘Je veux te faire jouir.’ His thumb replaces his tongue as he looks up at her, eyes sparkling with lust and determination, but also patience. Like he could do this for hours, the whole night, as long as she falls apart around his tongue and fingers in the end.

He doesn’t need all night, though. She’s close, so close, can feel the beginning of that blissful high burning in her lower belly, between her thighs, where his mouth licks and nibbles and sucks. A building warmth pumping through her veins. She grabs at his hair, wraps her leg around his shoulder and pushes his face closer into her heat, needing that last-

‘Fuck, right there,’ she gasps. Right there right there right there.

He smirks against her, always eager to please, and does as she says. As she’s teetering on the edge, he curls both fingers inside her, goes impossibly deeper, and reaches the same spot as before, except this time, he doesn’t stop, and she comes with a shudder and a gasped ‘fuck!’ as he licks her through it.

‘Tu es tellement belle, ma chérie,’ he tells her, voice soft with awe as she comes down from her high and opens her eyes. She understands enough of the words to smile down at him, at his dishevelled hair, his swollen lips, and warm, chocolatey eyes.

‘You too, baby.’

She still hasn’t caught her breath when he, after wiping his mouth on her thigh, slowly rises from his feet and starts making his way up her body. His fingers skate lightly up her dress, his knuckles brushing against her rising and falling ribs as his hands sneak higher and higher, closer and closer. With a feather-light touch, he starts tracing the curves of her breasts, deliberately avoiding her aching nipples. He teases her with his fingers, kisses her neck, lips trailing, hot and slow, up to her jaw and the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

‘J’ai envie de toi,’ he says into her ear, his voice rough with want and determination.

Chloe can’t take it anymore. She fists his waistcoast in one hand and grabs him by the hair with the other to pull him up into a hard kiss. He tries to stay in control, to hold back his obvious desire for just a little longer, but he quickly loses the battle and lets a bit of hunger take over. They pour equal heat into the kiss, tongues pressing and teeth clashing as their mouths slide against each other. She threads her fingers through his curls, he bites her lip, and they both groan and gasp into the kiss.

Chloe’s the one to pull away, needing air sooner than him. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, both panting, when he says it again, ‘J’ai envie de toi.’ This time, breathy desperation shines through his voice. ‘Je veux être en toi.’

And then they’re kissing again and both of them are working at his belt and pants in a flurry of hands until he’s finally inside her with one quick thrust. He fills her to the hilt, deliciously stretching her inner muscles, warm and hard. For a moment, they’re both so overcome they can only pause and breathe, Lucifer’s forehead cradled in the crook of her shoulder as her hand gently strokes the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He pulls back to look deeply into her eyes, and starts off slow. Not teasing, just tender. He kisses her cheeks and neck, every inch of skin he can reach with his lips, and whispers sweet nothings against her skin. She can’t know for sure, of course, because it’s still in French, and she doesn’t catch all of it, the sounds alien and muffled—‘t’es incroyable’, she hears, ‘j’suis fou amoureux de toi’—but something about his tone tells her it’s not as dirty as whatever he was saying before. Still, it makes her just as wet, the words tingling across her skin.

He picks up the pace, wraps her legs tighter around him, and pushes her harder against the wall. His hand grasps her breast roughly, seeking purchase, then rhythmically strokes over her nipple in apology, and she moans her relief. The shelves on either side of them hit the wall with a consistent thump, thump, thump as he thrusts up into her, fucks her, their harsh pants mingling in the small space between their parted lips. Chloe claws at Lucifer’s shoulders and back, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Even through the two layers of fabric, she can feel his warmth and muscles, and a sudden urge bubbles up within her. With desperate fingers, she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, but it takes too long—she needs him—so she rips open both shirt and waistcoat and frantically pushes them off his shoulders. He pins her against the wall with a hard thrust, letting go of her thigh and breast to shake the material onto the floor, and Chloe scratches at his finally bare back and shoulders, nails digging into slick, freckled flesh. She arches back into the wall and bares her neck for him to nip and kiss.

‘Fuck, Lucifer!’ she whines. ‘Oh, God, baby, fuckyes!’

He growls at the sound of her noises and bites her ear.

‘J’adore baiser avec toi.’ One hand slides down to her ass, holding her and pushing her dress higher up as the other bites into the now bare skin at her waist. The sharp touch sends a jolt down to her throbbing clit, making her clench tighter around him. ‘J’adore ton corps. T’es vraiment une déesse.’ The last word is a groan against her lips as he kisses her.

It’s wet, messy, and so delicious they both grasp tightly onto each other’s mouths with lips, tongues and teeth, neither of them wanting to ever let go.

‘Je veux t’embrasser,’ Lucifer pants when they break apart for a second, his gaze fixed on her mouth as their lungs fight for air. His dark eyes soften when they look into hers. ‘Chaque jour de ma vie,’ he adds reverently as he leans in. ‘Pour toujours.’ And then he kisses her again, like he wants it to last for all eternity.

His thrusts turn slower and deeper as they kiss, harder, until kissing becomes panting into each other’s mouths and Chloe’s head falls back in sheer pleasure. He tightens his grip on her ass and runs the hand on her waist up her side, brushing his thumb over her nipple as he passes her breast, up her neck, and cups the side of her face. She lets their eyes meet, and the way he’s looking at her, with absolute awe and gratitude, makes her heart flutter and her hips buck against his bare stomach. Her hands slide from where they’ve been clutching his mess of a hair to his back, trailing down to where he’s most sensitive. She places her palms on either side of his spine and presses lightly, carefully.

‘Tu me-’ he cuts off with a gasp when her nails skim over his hidden wings, ‘Tu me rends- fucking hell, Chloe.’

She keens at the guttural sound of her name. He leans his forehead against hers with a grunt, the slight change in angle making his rhythm falter, one hand slamming against the wall next to her. She watches the rest of his control slip through glazed eyes. She did this to him. She rendered God himself lost to his own bliss. That knowledge itself is nearly enough to push her over the edge.

‘Close,’ she breathes.

He grabs both her thighs with strong hands and presses her flush up against the wall, going impossibly deeper inside her. She hisses through her teeth and sputters all kinds of incoherent, unholy prayers into the sweltering air between them. Every hard thrust pushes her closer to ecstasy.

‘You make me so happy,’ Lucifer whispers, sounding so wrecked and raw her eyes clench shut. ‘I want- I hope- fuck- I hope I make you, nnf, just as happy.’

‘You do, baby. You make me so- so-’

Heat floods her veins as she comes, the sweet tension snapping all at once. She cries out, arches her back, and moans long and low as he continues to fuck her through it. His thrusts are quick and inelegant, his arms and thighs trembling, and she knows he’s close. She intentionally clenches around him, whispers his name, and then he too is tumbling over the edge, the only type of falling she ever wants him to feel again.

They smile at each other as they try to catch their breaths, sweaty foreheads still pressed together.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘So much.’

She hums with happiness, her heart pleasantly aching at the sound of the words he couldn’t say the last time they were here.

‘I love you too, babe.’ She reaches up to lazily nuzzle the hairs at the nape of his neck, still smiling.

‘Maybe you even like me?’

She lets out a breathy chuckle and slides down the wall to land on her bare feet. Her legs are… wobbly, to say the least. Lucifer smirks at her.

‘We’ll see about that.’ She smoothes out her dress as he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his belt. ‘If anyone ever finds out about this, your chances are pretty bad, buddy.’

She collects his clothes from the floor and helps him into his shirt. Two buttons are missing, lost to the force of her hasty ripping. It gives her an odd sense of satisfaction, the fact that the shirt he wore when they first kissed—the shirt she dreamt of tearing off his body—now is marked by their little escapade. (At least until he gets his tailor to fix it.)

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep trying to convince you then, won’t I?’ He licks his lips and lifts his eyebrows as he offers her a hand to help her up from the floor once she’s put her shoes back on. Chloe bites her cheek so as to not smile at his suggestion and intertwines their fingers.

‘You can start by helping me assemble that new shelf system tomorrow,’ she tells him, waiting for him to groan in response, or mumble something about hiring some people to do it for them. But he doesn’t. He just opens the door for her and lets her go first with a soft smile on his still flushed face.

‘Anything for you, my love.’

The door shuts with a gentle click behind them.

[kasienda]

Hi! For the WIP ask game, oh gosh. I LOVE Restorative Justice, and I've been wondering if you were going to update it. I'm so glad it's still in the works and I totally understand the difficulty with writing that particular fic. And you know I recently discovered The Five Minute Adventures!!!

I suppose I'll ask about Rena Rouge: Secret Keeper, because I feel like that one would be very relevant to the current season (which I still haven't watched, just have had spoilers). So, what's the dynamic there?

Ahhh! Thank you! I love Restorative Justice, too!! The next chapter is kinda a monster both in content and size. I thought about breaking it apart, but so far I haven't found a good place to do that. But that's part of the problem in terms of an update. The other part, being what I already said - just having a hard time channeling the restorative circle experience when I haven't done one is so long! Haha!

...

Rena Rouge: Secret Keeper Preview (I couldn't choose between these two scenes, so you get both):

“Marinette, why didn’t you just tell him? I totally love that you have trusted me, but why did you never trust Chat?”

“I want to! I almost did! But it would be a selfish decision. He and I cannot know each other until Hawkmoth is defeated.”

“But why? Seems so arbitrary.”

“Yeah…” and she shook.

Alya held her as she cried. “There’s more to this than you just following the rules, isn’t there?”

Marinette nodded tearfully. “There was another timeline. He knew who I was. We were in love. Or that’s what he said, anyway. But… he was akumatized. And Chat Blanc destroyed the world. He said that it was our love that caused it to end. Bunnyx said he couldn’t know who I was. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Alya questioned. “Maybe it’s okay now?”

“I don’t have some metric! The only thing I know is that he can’t be akumatized! So I have to wait until the risk of akumatization is over!”

Alya was quiet, uncertain what to say.

“I almost told him anyway, Alya. I’ve hurt him so badly. He’s never going to forgive me! I don’t know how to do this without him, but I didn’t know how to convince him to stay. And now it doesn’t matter because I don’t know who he is! And I’m never going to see him again!”

Marinette crumpled into tears. And Alya rocked her but her mind was already awhirl. Marinette has seen the end of the world? Alya hugged her tighter.

“You’ll see him again,” Alya promised.

“How?”

“His kwami knows who he is right?”

“They all do! But they can’t tell anyone!”

Alya looked over at Trixx who nodded in confirmation.

“Can they give hints?”

Trixx shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter, Alya! I can’t know who he is either!”

“But what if you weren’t the one to know?”

“What?”

“What if I knew Chat’s identity? It keeps you from knowing each other but helps us coordinate. We could include him in the planning! I could help support him like I do for you!”

Marinette was staring. “I… I don’t know all the details. But yes, anything, please! But you have to never slip, Alya. You can’t tell me who he is. You can’t hint! You may have to lie to me to protect him!”

“I understand.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve already lied to Nino you know… to protect you.”

Marinette slumped. “I’m sorry.”

Alya shrugged. “It’s part of being a superhero, and I know Nino would be okay with it if I could tell him the reasons, and I knew it had to happen to protect you because you protect the whole city. I understand the stakes! And I’m telling you, that I can do this.”

Marinette crashed into her abdomen, her arms circling around Alya.

“You are the bestest best friend in the whole world!”

Alya laughed. “I don’t know if I would go that far.”

“I would,” Marinette mumbled. “So how are you going to find him?”

Alya opened her mouth.

“No wait! Don’t tell me! I shouldn’t know!"

...

“Chat, Ladybug needs you to come back.”

“Then why are you here?” He ran his hands through his hair. “If I’m so important to her, why did she send you?”

“Because she’s still convinced you can’t know each other’s identities.”

He throws his hands up in frustration or something. “I don’t understand what’s so different that you can know and I cannot? I know she says she trusts me, but her actions say something different. And I’m not sure what I did that she found so unworthy of trust—“

“It’s nothing you did!” Alya interjected.

“— but I didn’t take myself off the team because I think I have the right to know. It’s putting us all - her and me and you - in danger when we’re not on the same page!”

“I agree completely!”

He glared unhappily at her for a moment, then his eyebrows furrowed together.

“She wants to know, Adrien. And she wants you to know who she is, too! I promise you, she does!”

“She has a funny way of showing it.”

“She spent the last few hours bawling her eyes out about how much she’s hurt you and that you’ll never ever forgive her. And that it doesn’t matter because she’s never going to see you again.”

He sighed and dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Rena. I can’t come back. I’m a danger to her and to the whole team because we can’t communicate.”

“I agree completely,” she said. “Which is why I’m here! Will you let me explain?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice the calmest it had been since she had arrived. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take my frustration out on you. What did you come here to tell me?”

“Ladybug trusts you more than anyone. More than me.”

“But—“

“More than anyone!” she insisted. “Apparently she did trust you. You both knew each other’s identities at some point.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I know you don’t. She doesn’t really either. But she saw what it led to. Bunnyx… you know who Bunnyx is right?”

He nodded.

“Bunnyx came and got her and took her to a future where the world had been destroyed. Bunnyx told her the inciting event was you two learning each other’s identities.”

“Why did she never tell me this?”

“She’s never been one to share burdens.”

He winced.

“She didn’t plan to tell me her identity either, you know. She just had a mental breakdown and I happened to be there. I imagine being a full time super hero when no one knows, wears you down.”

He snorted. “Understatement.”

“When she was spiraling, I convinced her that we could find some kind of loophole. Show you that she does trust you. She’s only trying to protect you, Paris, and apparently the future. I figured I could know both your identities, and act as a go between. That way you’ll always be in the know.”

“That only works if I know who you are, too.”

“I’ll drop the transformation as soon as you agree, Kit Kat.”

He stared at her for awhile. “I will want to talk to Ladybug about all this.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay then.” He put the ring back on.

“Will you stop renouncing me every time you have a bad day?!” Plagg screeched at him.

“I’ve only renounced you twice,” Adrien being surly.

“Twice too many! And there was a third time you threatened to do so.”

“You’ve given up the ring before?”

“Ugh! I don’t want to talk about it. Are you going to drop your transformation or not?”

“Trixx, let’s rest.”

“Alya?”

“Hi, Adrien. I swear I didn’t know you were hurting this much. I’m sorry I’ve been so blind as your friend.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged it off. “I never told you anything was going on... Wait! If you’re Rena. That means Carapace is…”

She waved him forward. She wasn’t sure what she was allowed to say, but if he figured it out himself, it wasn’t her fault.

“Carapace is Nino,” he concluded. “Isn’t it weird that practically all the holders are in our class?”

“The same class where literally everyone except you has been akumatized?” She was proud of herself for delivering that line with a straight face. And felt guilty that she was already misleading him. But wasn’t that what she signed up for? To keep both Ladybug and Chat Noir on the same page while misdirecting them from each other?

Which was going to be way harder than she thought because they were together like all of the time. They saw each other every single day almost! They sat like half a meter apart in class! How had they not already figured each other out?

Some of this must have shown on her face because Plagg was laughing his head off at her. “Welcome to my world, kit,” the black kwami said.

She sighed. She definitely had her work cut out for her.

[shaggi]

if i could stop time, i would

info ; eren x reader ; soulmates ; 1.8k

content warning ; end of the world concept, mentions of not really wanting to live lol, gentle angst

Day one. 72 hours until the world ends.

The world is going to shit. I know it is because I can hear the panicked buzz of mothers holding their children close and reassuring them as the news practically burned "we're all going to die" into our heads.

My fingers twitched as they held the dark blue fabric of my jeans. I'm terrified ㅡ as is the rest of the people watching the news ㅡ and it most definitely doesnt help when they plaster a large timer onto the screen counting down our days and hours left on our beloved blue planet.

"We never thought this day would come.. Ladies and gentlemen, we've reached the end of the chapter." The words echoed into the back of my mind. 'The end of the chapter'? I havent even really lived my life? I'm only seventeen.. I barely made it to graduation. I suck in a deep breath, filling my lungs fully before releasing the built up pressure.

Theres a burning sensation on my waterline, tears threatening to roll down my cheeks. My hands begin to shake when I think back to all the sleepless nights I spent not enjoying life. I took life for granted ㅡ and now it's going to end in three days. In seventy-two hours, it's all going to go away. That's not enough time to say all the things I didnt have a chance to say.

Wasted opportunities.

Wasted chances that I now no longer have control over.

My legs suddenly feel like spaghetti and walking seems like a foriegn topic to me. I just need to sit down, take a breather.

Who am I kidding. The storm inside me is raging on tonight and my hands have a handful of messy locks.

I catch glimpse of inked red calligraphy spelling out the name 'Eren' that is marked onto the inside of my forearm in small writing just an inch below my wrist. My heart swells with sadness.

The sense of realization settles in, practically telling me to 'let this sink in for a little'. I'm not ever going to get the chance to meet my soulmate. I'll never get the satisfaction of weaving their fingers with mine, to lay on the couch on cold winter nights with blankets drooped over our shoulders. Never get the chance to tell them I love them over and over again, to brush their hair behind their ears, grab them by the smooth skin of theirs and feel the fireworks of pressing my lips against their own.

I wont feel the sweet electricity course through me like people explained would happen when they touched their soulmate for the first time. I've spent seventeen years searching for this perfect person in the happiness of this little town. The universe promised a perfect person, they never promised me to meet them though.

The younger generations were lucky, for they werent born with marks. They werent tied to someone, so they dont have anything to lose other than the fact that they're too young to leave this world.

A crowd begins to pull outside, staring at the sky with both a mix of admiration and fear. The blue sky has begun to turn itself into a peach color. My town's happy vibe has now turned uneasy, scared, unsure.

That day, I walk home slowly when the sky begins to darken, taking the scenery of the autumn leaves disarray upon the concrete sidewalk. If the world is ending in three days, I'm going to make the most of it. Soak it up like a sponge. Do what I should've been doing these past seventeen years and love life for once ㅡ despite all the wrong. Despite the fact that I'll never graduate, and never meet my soulmate. I force myself to disregard the nagging thoughts that tug at my conscious.

I dont think about the fact that I'll never get a chance to buy my first apartment.

I dont think about how I wont be able to wake up every morning to make my significant other breakfast.

And I most certainly dont think about how I'll never be able to take my lovers hand at the alter and say with great pride, "I do."

Day 2. 48 hours until the world ends.

Today, I woke up early. Early enough that the sun still hasn't peaked over the clouds. They say that if you wake up early enough the day takes longer to end.

The aching pain in my chest never seems to cease. I laugh a little bitterly at the calander on the wall, I feel like its mocking me now. A part of me wants to rip the thing to shreds and scream until my throat is raw ㅡ but I said I'd make the best of these last days. So, I push these bitter thoughts from my mind and start up a warm shower.

Seventeen years of not wanting to be alive, and now I only have two days to live until the entire world completely goes to shit. Ironic, isn’t it? Why now am I so angry? The water is warm trickling down my bare body, as my shower thoughts continue treading forward to how I could make life better in less than forty-eight hours.

I walk down a different road today, deciding that routine wasnt necessary when the world is going to end in forty-eight hours. The countdown continues on nearby TVs, the bright white luminous against the dark morning sky.

It makes me feel anxious.

Destruction clouds my mind, but I bite my lip and hold my ground. This situation will not drive me crazy.

The town is a lot quieter than I expected, then again it's only 6 in the morning.

The day carries on just as any other day, the air seems heavier though. It's the night time that brings chaos.

You see, I've been walking around town all day blowing that last little bits of money I have on little things that have no purpose. The sky is the same sunset peach as it was yesterday, only barely hinting at a blue color.

There's a faint noise a few blocks from where I am standing, and at first I chose the ignore it. The yelling got louder and louder until I felt my feet pull like magnets to what was going on.

Chocolate hair, smooth tan skin shining under the soft orange of the sky, handfuls of someones shirt as this mystery man pinned some junky against the rough brick wall. His eyes held a killer glow, practically fuming from the ears. I was going to mind my own business, but then I saw the other strike at the brunette ㅡ and I dont know why, but I stepped in.

A surprise attack, a blow right to the face, maybe a minor bruise on my cheek from when the other decided to attack back ㅡ but soon he left. I turn my gaze back to the brunette who still sits on the floor, palms pressed into the concrete.

"I didnt need your help," he hissed, dusting his hands against the black fabric of his jeans.

"Oh you're welcome for saving your ass, wasnt a problem at all." My hand lifts to my face, pressing onto the bruise and wincing before squatting next to this stranger. "Is it bad? Let me see," The moment my hand makes contact with the others chin I feel the rush of electricity course through me.

Overwhelming is an understatement. Sweet emotions flooded through my mind but I can feel the pounding of fear in my veins, and bittersweet it was. When I retract my hand, I see that he's mirrored the exact expression I have; eyes blown wide, fear in the darks of his pupils.

"Eren..?" trying to keep my voice from cracking seems hard, and it comes out more like a whisper. This situation leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Where the hell has he been for seventeen years? Why is he just now showing up?

Eren immediately sprung to his feet, taking a few steps back with no words to say. I snatched at his left arm, pushing the sweaters sleeve up and over his forearm to see my name inked in blue against his paper skin. "So.. you're my soulmate?" I promise I didnt mean to make it sound disappointed ㅡ but in a way, I guess you could say I was.

So many questions raced through my mind; but the biggest question of all was why? Why now of all times we could've met? Why must I be gifted with the worst luck.

Eren isnt a bad person though, and in the few hours we've spent together I can tell you this; His favorite color is red, he lives with his mother and a girl that his family took in when they were very little - who he loves dearly, he can play guitar very well, he looks absolutely adorable with his hair tied up, and that's only the stuff he's told me within the first hour.

Words cannot express how much I wished we could have more time together, but the bright TV clocks continue to remind me that our time is running out.

"There's nothing more I'd rather do than to spend my last moments with you," Eren whispered, golden flecks in his beautiful ocean eyes. His hand was held in mine as the pained expression washed over his face. Somewhere in the conversation led us to this point of heartbreak. We both explained how we wanted nothing more than to meet earlier in life, but apparently the universe had a different plan.

The idea of parting with Eren now just seemed like a waste, and I'd much rather take my dying last breath next to the one I looked for my entire life. Falling in love is easy when you've got nothing to live for.

The walk back to my house is silent, but it's a comfortable silence, and we never seem to let go of each others hands. The house is quiet and dark when we enter.

The rest of the remaining night we have is spent cuddled under the thick blanket of mine, Eren held me close to his chest as we whisper sweet things that wont mean much in a few hours. Chaste kisses are showered over the male as I remind him of how I never stopped searching for him.

He studied my face, moving a strand of hair behind my ear before placing his palm onto my cheek and rubbing his thumb across the smoothness underneath my eye. I could feel my breath begin to shallow and my heart skip a beat. I loved the way his eyes sparkled under my dim-lit room, the way I could feel his heartbeat pulsing from how close we lay where, how steady his breathing was, and how gentle he caressed me.

Its bittersweet, and I never believed in the after life, but with him - maybe, just maybe, we will meet again in the next life.

[doyelikehaggis]

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Allydia | Allison Argent x Lydia Martin (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @wonderdoves

Hosting a Christmas party is not something Allison ever really planned to do. She just figured that if parties happened to be going on, and she got an invite, she'd go. But throwing one herself? Absolutely not, for many levels of reasons.

Then again, she supposes she isn't throwing it herself. Technically it's not even her party, really—Lydia wanted to throw one, but her mom said no, so she asked to borrow Allison's house. Her dad's out of town with Melissa and won't be back until Christmas day, and her aunt Kate's flight was delayed, so she's still stuck in the airport for the next twenty-four hours or so. Leaving tonight totally free.

For the best, too. Right now, Allison can't even find her way through her own house. She knew it was big, but she didn't realize just how big until nearly a hundred people were crammed inside of it. And that's just a guess.

"Oh—sorry, excuse me," Allison apologizes as she knocks into someone with her shoulder while trying to wind her way past without spilling the cup in her hand. 

The person ignores her. She just hurries on, taking a drink. Honestly, she isn't that thirsty, but she needed something to do to feel less awkward and out of place. Plus, Lydia made the punch, and it's surprisingly good when it doesn't have the secret ingredient of wolfsbane. 

She narrowly avoids tripping over someone else's foot, stumbling slightly. When she turns back around, she spots Lydia quickly approaching. 

Allison breathes a sigh of relief and stops in front of a rather annoyed looking Lydia. 

"So, I've not only lost all of our friends in here somewhere, but I'm also ninety percent sure I've lost control of this thing entirely," Lydia tells her. 

"Fantastic." 

Allison moves a strand of hair away from her face, blowing out a breath. 

"Well," she starts, letting her hand swing back to her side, "it could be worse, right? I mean, nothing is totally out of control, and everyone's having fun?"

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "Except you. And now me."

Allison rolls her eyes. "I'm not… not having fun. It is kind of nice to be able to relax a little. At least compared to what we're usually dealing with."

Lydia just gives a little hum in agreement, still not looking entirely sure as she surveys the shouting group hovering near them in the kitchen. 

"Here—" Allison holds out her cup, nodding her head at it, "—have a drink. It might help."

"I'm stressed, not dehydrated," Lydia replies, but she still accepts the offer and takes a drink. "Though maybe a little bit of that, too. Thanks. I'm just glad I found you."

A small smile curves Allison's mouth. She tries to ignore the slight flush of warmth in her face. She knows Lydia just means because she's worried about the party getting out of control and she doesn't want to be separated with strangers. But it still makes her a little bit happier to think she brings her some comfort. That feeling of safety that Allison gets every time she catches a glimpse of strawberry blond hair or that smile or their eyes lock across a room. 

The eyes she quickly realizes she's been gazing at for a moment too long. 

Snapping out of it, she quickly looks away, swallowing. Her heart thumps against her ribs accusingly. It's silenced when her eyes dart up.

Oh. 

"What?" Lydia asks, spotting her expression, now fixed on the doorway above them. Frowning, she follows her line of sight before Allison can stop her. 

She sees the sprig of mistletoe. One of many that they hung throughout the house, as insisted upon by Stiles when he and Scott came over to help them get the party ready.

"Oh," Lydia says.

Allison's gaze drops back to Lydia. She just stares up at the mistletoe with wide eyes, her lips parted as if to speak, but the words are getting lost on the way out. 

"I guess we should have expected something like this," Allison jokes, giving a half shrug and a forced chuckle. Trying to disguise how pink her face must be right now and keep the butterflies in her stomach calm. 

Lydia shifts her eyes from their captor to meet Allison's gaze. She presses her lips together, chewing on her lower lip. For a second, Allison thinks she's going to say how it's just some dumb, old tradition, and that she is not going to be a part of keeping something so pointless alive.

But she doesn't say that. She doesn't say anything. Doesn't make a getaway excuse. Her throat shifts as she swallows and takes a deep breath.

Then in a rushed exhale, she says, "You know, hanging mistletoe in a doorway comes from a Norse legend."

Allison's heart sinks. She nods, and smiles. She promised herself that if Lydia didn't show any sign of sharing her feeling by the end of the night, she'd let it go and move on. And reciting a Norse myth seems like a desperate attempt to get out of kissing her without just rejecting her. Even if it would be unknowingly. 

"Yeah," Allison says. "The, uh… the legend of Balder. Loki tricked Balder's twin brother into murdering him with mistletoe wood."

Lydia looks startled that she already knows. But surely that gives her an easy out then, right? 

"Yeah! Yeah, um…" Lydia doesn't move. She still stands there, glued to the spot, back to chewing at her bottom lip. Her face lights up, and she quickly says, "Well, uh, there are other legends, of course! People tend to mix them up with holly, because they look so similar, so people think that red berries mean mistletoe when, actually, they're quite different. And everyone knows that mistletoe is usually extremely toxic, to both humans and animals. As we know… from past experience."

Allison's just staring at Lydia, her eyebrows raised. She thought she knew where this was going. This? This is not it. Before she can say anything, Lydia's continuing her rambling, at such high speeds it's almost hard to keep up.

"It's toxicity actually varies quite a bit based on region, though, which—"

"Lydia," Allison starts. "We don't—"

"—can actually be really interesting!"

"Lydia."

"There are many different types of mistletoe, with different scientific names. Viscum album, viscum cruciatum, even Phoradendron leucarpum, which is native to North America!"

"That's—that's really interesting, but—"

"Viscum album—the European mistletoe—is more toxic than Phoradendron serotinum, which is the kind that we're most familiar with."

"Oh, that's—I mean—"

"And, despite the fact that all one-thousand-five-hundred types of mistletoe are toxic in most situations, it used to be used for medicinal purposes to treat things like arthritis, epilepsy! It's still used in parts of South Asia, because the effects aren't fatal. Disturbing and, frankly, unpleasant, but not fatal! In fact, the effects tend to be more prominent in animals. Which, wouldn't be good for any of our friends. But—"

"Lydia," Allison finally cuts her off. Her eyebrows are as far as they can be on her forehead. "You're rambling a bunch of scientific facts to me, and honestly, it's a little scary."

Lydia nods, pressing her lips together again. "Yeaaah. Sorry."

Allison pauses, thinking, this is her one opportunity, there will never be a better time, and—Lydia isn't running away. She's nervous rambling science to her. But she's not using her usual methods of getting out of something she doesn't want to do. 

Shutting her brain off before she can overthink it, she goes for it.

"I want to kiss you," she tells Lydia. "If you don't want to kiss me, that's fine, we can ignore the mistletoe entirely and move on. Okay?"

The blunt confessions throws Lydia off her usually perfect guard. She blinks those wide eyes, her lips parting but nothing coming out. 

"Uh, y-yeah," she fumbles out, then shakes her head, "I mean—I'm okay with it. Kissing you, I'm okay with kissing you—that sounds so lame, oh my god—I want to kiss you, too!"

"Okay," Allison laughs, and leans in. 

Her skin is on fire before her lips find Lydia's, and her stomach is doing olympic style flips when she does kiss her, and Lydia's kissing back with an eagerness she definitely wasn't expecting. 

If anything, she was certain it'd be a quick, funny peck on the lips, and that's it over and done with, just a fun little moment to laugh about. But Lydia doesn't pull away, and Allison is not going to be the one to pull away first. 

Instead, they keep kissing. Lips moving together, Lydia's hands on the sides of Allison's neck, holding her closer. 

Next second, someone bumps into them. They break apart out of surprise, Lydia trying not to spill Allison's drink. The person's already stumbled away.

They both look back at each other, Allison's heart in her throat, and Lydia's eyes widening again. She draws her tongue across her bottom lip as she clearly falters for what to say now, but it's actually incredibly distracting.

"So…" Lydia starts, uncertain. Then a small smile forms at the corners of her mouth. "You wanted to kiss me? Any particular reason? Is it because of my lipgloss? It is especially appealing tonight, extra shiny."

Allison can't help but smile at Lydia's teasing tone. It appears her nerves have fluttered off and left behind her usual cool, calm composure.

"That is one reason," Allison says, nodding, and Lydia gives a curious little hum, arching an eyebrow. "But also… because I've wanted to kiss you for a while. Because I really like you. A lot."

"Yeah, I think I got that," Lydia says, barely containing the shake of laughter in her voice and absolutely failing at disguising the sparkle of delight in her eyes. "I just cannot believe that you confessed before I did. And under the mistletoe."

Allison can't even begin to comprehend the "before I did" part. She just laughs as well, shaking her head and faking a wince.

"Wow, of all the cliches," she jokes. 

"Well, personally, I don't mind a cliche here and there," Lydia says, with a smile that makes Allison's breath catch in her throat.

She pushes it out and quickly draws in another, returning her smile as she says, "Neither do I."

[bbq-hawks-wings]

hey! I've seen a bunch of posts on how HPSC is slightly corrupted and all, could you explain if you understand this? They're (die hard villain fans) usually using this as a justification to slam the heroes for raiding the army. I'm quite confused sorry

I’d be more than happy to, friend! I have a strong feeling it’s going to be a key detail in the story moving forward so it’s good to go back in reviewing everything we know now; plus, it gives me the perfect chance to offer up my theory that ropes in Aizawa, Midnight, and Present Mic. Buckle up, though, because this gets a little long.

The HPSC tells heroes what to do.

The Hero Public Safety Commission is a pocket of the Japanese national government in this universe, sort of like how the FDA is in America.

It’s important to note that HPSC is a separate entity from the heroes. They’re the ones giving out licenses, disciplining rouge heroes, overseeing hero training, acting as liaison between heroes and law enforcement, organizing cooperative efforts with multiple heroes across different regions, and managing the general image of heroes with events like the Hero Rankings Billboard.

Heroes have to obey directives given by the HPSC and hero schools have to align with guidelines set by the HPSC, but heroes don’t usually get a say in these decisions and often only get to complain about how things are done and are stuck doing it anyway. If someone is caught heroing without a license or not in hero uniform, you can be fined and/or jailed. If a hero doesn’t keep up with paperwork or runs off and does their own thing they can also be fined and have their license suspended. If a hero goes AWOL or completely flips out they can have their license permanently taken away and be jailed.

It’s actually even more important to note that way heroes are allowed to operate and answer to the government is actually closer in line to a militia than a police force. In fact, while heroes are allowed to make arrests and use their quirks, they are more restricted in what they can and can’t do on their own than the police. If a hero wants to work with other heroes on an investigation, they have to use the private network (administrated by the HPSC) or communicate in person. In the case with the Shie Hassaikai or looking for Kurogiri and the LoV where police cooperation was necessary to carry out the investigation and bring in the gang right away there was no choice but to be transparent with the HPSC.

However, the HPSC doesn’t have to be transparent with the heroes.

They require heroes to give up all their information to keep working as heroes, but they don’t have any accountability for themselves and have notably dodged scrutiny up to this point with public backlash almost always falling on the heroes who have little to no say in how they run things.

Starting back at the beginning of the series with the USJ incident, it understandably garnered massive media attention - it should have. Dozens of unknown, random two-bit villains poured into the most secure, prestigious hero school in all of Japan undetected and resulted in the serious injury of two teachers and could have included the students as well if All Might had not been there to fight and subdue the inhuman monster - the Nomu - who had up to that point had never been seen before.

It’s not unreasonable that UA initially got the blowback from this as it could have been chalked up to complacency causing a lapse in security that the HPSC absolutely wouldn’t have been accountable for. It’s treated like a one-off event and despite investigations going nowhere on it, it’s ultimately downplayed and checked out in the background while continuing with the Sports Festival in high spirits. However, things get worse.

After passing their semester exams the Hero Course first-years head off to do practical training in the mountains with a hero team named the Wild Wild Pussycats. Remember, because this is a hero training initiative between a school and a hero team, the HPSC is likely involved at least on some administrative level in regards to granting permission and securing the patch of mountainside to use even if this detail is not acknowledged in the series. Despite efforts to only include the staff, teachers, and heroes involved word somehow still gets out - resulting in more student, hero, and teacher injuries, and most importantly the kidnapping of one of the students.

This can no longer be swept under the rug. A lot happens in the secret hideout raid revealing lots of stuff with the plot, including All-for-One’s direct involvement, but it doesn’t add anything more to our notes besides the fact UA is once again blamed and heroes are thrown under the bus instead of the organization overseeing them.

Fast forward to the Provisional License Arc. This is the first time we see the HPSC acting explicitly. It’s noted that they passed significantly more students this year than previously. Yokumiru Mera, the tired proctor, is overworked. The HPSC has a reason to urgently pump more students into the “working force” now than it had before, though at the moment it’s written off as a result of All Might’s retirement.

During the Shie Hassaikai arc the only suspect detail we get is the fact that the raid on compound is inexplicably compromised, and somehow the yakuza knew the heroes and police were coming. We’ll come back to this and to the leaks in UA again later.

Skipping the remedial courses and school festival arc, we get to the Pro Hero Arc. Big lights, pomp and circumstance, and a massive powerful Nomu attack that nearly kills the freshly crowned #1 Hero. From this point forward, what we get of the HSPC is mainly through Hawks and his experience with him. After the fight, we get a flashback of the President of the HSPC herself telling him to ignore civilian casualties in his mission to infiltrate the LoV, that he has to do it solo, and that he can’t tell anyone. Briefly in the next chapter he says that despite his objections he can’t actually tell them no.

Hold up!

Did a government agency just tell a hero to secretly get in with the villains no matter what, and when he objects and asks whether he’s just supposed to ignore collateral damage in the process is told, “You can and you will”?! (That’s a verbatim quote from chapter 192.) I thought this agency was supposed to hep people and keep them safe!

We get smatterings of interactions between Hawks and the HPSC, and though we don’t get anything from there side we’re getting that every questionable or deplorable thing Hawks does or needs to get on the LoV’s good side is acknowledged and endorsed by the HPSC. “I’m in contact with the shady guy who loosed that monster in the middle of the city with no warning. He wants me to kill the other top hero who just recovered and to join the definitely-dangerous doomsday cult, and maybe THEN he’ll let me in on what’s going on.” Ok, sure. Nothing morally questionable about any of that...

Jump to chapter 267. Up to this point, this note about Hawks’ past has been hinted at, but is here finally confirmed with a chilling detail. Kids who enter hero work may get special coaching by their families when they’re young, but the threshold for entering formal government-regulated training isn’t until 14/15 years of age in the last few years of their education. Chapter 267 shows a little Keigo Takami no older than about 8, at best, being told by the HPSC that he doesn’t get to call himself by his own name anymore. From now on, he’s going to be a hero, and only a hero, and it’s going to long and hard. Back in 192, two mysterious figures promise the same boy, shown at the same age, that his family will be taken care of.

Whatever circumstances led Keigo’s family to end up in the situation they did, they accepted an offer from a government agency, the HPSC specifically - you can see their headquarters in the flashback - to take away their very young son, take away his identity (and implicitly his family), and groom him to be government tool for the rest of his life - a commitment he had no true say in and that he could not understand at the time.

And it gets worse.

Endeavor works with the HPSC regularly as all heroes have to, but his relationship with them and what they’ll let him get away with gets put into greater question the longer we look at it. He turned to eugenics to create a hero he couldn’t be and surpass All Might for the sole purpose of satisfying his own ego. He bought a girl from her family and forced her to have his kids, then subjected those kids to cruel training - passing over each one until he got to one he felt he could work with -, beat his wife as well, and some kind of action he was involved in lead to the death of his oldest son. While the domestic abuse could be hidden, the death of his child cannot. What’s more, shortly after (very shortly if timelines add up), his youngest son received a permanent burn scar on the heat-resistant side of his face and his wife was locked away in a mental institution for a decade.

And the HPSC never bats an eye. They could take away his license. They could call the police. They could have exposed him to the public or at least ordered an investigation. But they didn’t. On some level they knew, and they did nothing.

But it might be even worse.

I skipped over this detail chronologically, but it’s the linchpin for just how corrupt the HPSC might be if all this lines up. Looking at the Endeavor Agency Arc, we get a seemingly random confrontation with a guy called Starservant (chapter 243) who prattles off a prophecy about the Dark Lord returning and his Dark Stars conspiring against humanity which will bring the world to ruin. He calls out Endeavor specifically as the shining light that beckons the darkness, but this sounds an awful lot like the deranged wailing of some crazy old man, right?

Let’s jump over an entire series now to the spin-off serial Vigilantes. This series takes place in the same universe at an earlier point in the timeline of the main story - and take an extra little note that there’s an underlying subplot about unusual drugs meant to enhance quirks (that often result in mutating the user) and that someone may be using them to clandestinely run experiments on humans from the shadows. 

In chapter 59 we get flashbacked to Eraserhead, Midnight, and Present Mic’s childhood experiences at UA, and we’re also introduced to Oboro Shirakumo - their fellow classmate and dear friend. We get a few chapters establishing their relationships and their goals and dream for the future until chapter 63 where things make a drastic turn in tone. On what should be a routine hero training exercise as third-year seniors a giant, monstrous villain shows up and attacks while the UA kids are escorting a class of preschoolers around town.

In the scuffle, though Aizawa is able to single-handedly come out victorious, in the fight and debris Shirakumo is struck in the head by falling concrete as he tries to lead the children to safety and dies on the scene. Go back to main series, chapter 254-255, the villain Kurogiri is detained but the police are having no luck questioning him. They get a sliver of a lead and call in Present Mic and Eraserhead to interrogate him, and it’s confirmed that Kurogiri was a human experiment of Doctor Ujiko - the mad scientist bio-engineer responsible for the Nomu and outspokenly faithful servant of All-for-One - created from the corpse of their dearly departed Oboro.

Here’s the kicker, though, in Japan they don’t often bury their dead. Funerals next to never include an open casket - the loved one is cremated first, their ashes placed on an funeral shrine with their picture, and the loved ones mourn there. That means Ujiko needed to get to the body before it was cremated - which requires some fast work; but that’s not even the worst of it. Jumping one last time to chapter 270, Ujiko recognizes Mic as a friend of Shirakumo and boldly admits the entire time he was after Aizawa for his quirk.

That attack more than 10 years ago was premeditated. This goes back a long ways. How did he find this information - about their quirks and their movements and where to find them? How did Ujiko get the body out of the morgue without anyone catching him? Could it be the same way his fellow servants of All-for-One were able to get into the USJ? And the Training Camp? And the Yakuza raid? All-for-One has a lot of connections for his faithful servants to move about freely in this world of heroes despite every effort being take to stop them. 

Somehow, these shining lights can never seem to outrun the dark no matter how hard they try, as if there’s a conspiracy against them. But a conspiracy of that level would have to come all the way from the top! If you wanted to get poetic about it, you could even say the stars themselves are conspiring against us. But that old man was crazy, right? If he wasn’t crazy - if he was right at all - then no matter what way you slice it:

This is bad.