#YEAH SO WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT!!!!!!! HOLY FUCK

[fluffmonger]

So, in my experience growing up as a deeply curious child in an Evangelical (tm) church..... We *did* read the Bible, we had Sunday school, and Bible studies, all kinds of things. My church used the New International Version as a standard, which keeps some of the poetics of King James, but is a lot clearer and cleaner to read, more modern English. Reading the Bible wasn't the issue at hand.

What we weren't taught was how to interpret the Bible in Context, as a document that was written by historic humans in historic societies and cultures, across several hundred years. There's... Depending on the church, and pastor or Bible study, you may get some emphasis on the difference between the gospels and the letters, or a rundown of the "parts" of the old testament ... But that's usually it. There's no digging into it, and absolutely no questioning. There's very little, if any, acknowledgement that it is in fact, a bunch of separate texts all compiled by a small group of Christians, decades or more after the death of Jesus. To many Christians, I'd wager it feels like the Bible just appeared fully formed out of the air one day, as their holy book. And of course you can't question it, it's *the word of God* so it has to be correct and right, and if you question you're Doubting and not Having Faith (etc).

I hadn't connected the fact that many of the writings of Paul, and John the Revelator were done in the Reign of Emperor Nero until recently, when my classicist partner saw the dates and went "wait what". And if you know anything about Nero well..... Is it any wonder that Paul might have some Concerns about things like morality, and public display of faith and other things? And again! I'm someone who was asking questions and such, all the time, even back then. I was deeply nerdy about it and trying to read it like I read in English class. This made me..... Unpopular. And also felt kind of blasphemous? Like, I always felt odd about that approach while I was in the middle of it because it was *not* standard.

Likewise, a lot of the old testament gets written off as "a collection of stories" and treated more like.... Parables or fables?? Instead of a written collection of Jewish oral history about their history, laws, traditions, and culture. It's all set vaugely "in the past, in Bible times" without any rooting to real history or landscapes or cultures. And of course, because the Bible is all that matters, most Protestants and evangelicals don't think at all about any of the scholarship that goes back millennia on any part of it, the writings of Rabis and later on Christian scholars. The Bible as I was taught, wasn't a living document or a record, it wasn't something to be debated about or argued with, or even questioned, no matter how weird it outdated it seemed. It was *law*, ironclad, and to the claims of many, perfect as is (despite being a work in translation with a lot of nuance and no understanding of translators bias or how a translation should work).

It's.... Pretty fucking dire, and horrific, especially to me now, because the things I've learned about the time periods that the Bible is from? Are actually fascinating, and make it *so* much richer as a text! And then understanding the world of early Christianity, how it became what it is today, how those beliefs and practices became established.... Man, it's fascinating. But again, there's this culture of "Christianity has always been like this and will always be like this" that's very present in those spaces that make it really hard to gain sight of it all.

And... Of course at the end of the day.... The reason people like me didn't realize some of this, is because we weren't told. We werent given the tools to ask the questions we needed to. You can't explore what you don't even know exists, and when you're just told that we don't associate with "those people" and are discouraged from thinking about other faiths except to convert them..... Well.

So yeah. It's not (just) that people don't have reading comprehension.... It's also that they quite literally arent taught the context and origins of their faith for.... Reasons. Also, American Christianity has always just been... Very extreme. Probably bc of the puritans but hey.

Since posting that "how many mass graves and extinct cultures" post last month, I've had multiple Christians in the notes whining that there isn't a "specific instruction of belief that Christianity needs to wipe out every other religion in the world" in Christianity's teachings, and that it's all just The Church/King James/etc.

And every time, I point to the literal text of the passages of The Great Commission.

And nearly every time, that shuts them up; the only time it didn't, it was to engage in some disgusting semantical goalpost moving.

But it's like...

Why do Christians not know the content of their own texts? Is your faith really so tribalistic and totemic around the concept of "Jesus" that you all don't bother to actually read the religious texts?

It feels like it must be--I've heard of too many instances of Christians walking out of readings of The Sermon On The Mount because they think it's "liberal nonsense" and the like, but I just find it baffling and more than a little sad that I, a Jew, apparently knows the New Testament's text better than the people who swear by it and ostensibly believe and follow it.

[nativegirltapes]

drew taking a honey packet by accident…

warnings: fingering, drew being sweet but eager (hot), p in v, kind cut short at the end lol. i know nothing abt honey packets, this is purely based on the 3 minutes of google searching i did

before your weekly movie night, drew was doing some snooping in your purse. in his defense he was looking for a phone charger, which he didn’t end up finding. but he did find some honey packets, which he was offended you were keeping from him. without any care for what he was about to eat, he tore the end and sucked up the honey. also in his defense, they tasted really good and just like regular honey he’d eaten. but unbeknownst to him, they were in fact sex enhancement honey packets, which would explain why he just couldn’t keep his hands off you the whole movie.

it wasn’t unusual for drew to have his hands on you during movie night, but tonight was definitely a little different. his hands kept trailing dangerously close in between your legs and under the waist band of your sweats. he waited till the movie was actually over though to finally make his move and get what he wanted. he looked over at you, leaning in giving you a kiss on the cheek, then his lips traveled down to your neck, giving you kisses and sniffing your neck. “you smell so good baby.” he groaned out. “you wanna go to the bedroom?”

you giggled, shoving his face away from you. “what’s gotten into you?”

“nothing, you just look really good.” drew brought his head back to your neck, kissing and sucking on your soft skin. “cmon.” his hot breath sent shivers throughout your body. “wanna feel you.” he whispered. his words always made butterflies emerge from the pit of your stomach, he made you nervous in the best way.

“yeah?” he repeated himself, making sure you wanted it too. “yeah, carry me.” you agreed, and without wasting any time drew scooped you off the couch bridal style and carried you to his bedroom, playfully throwing you on his bed. before he crawled over to you he tossed his shirt off. everytime you seen his bare chest is made you just as horny as it did the first time you’d seen him shirtless. he was perfect, and he thought the exact same thing about you. “you’re so fucking pretty baby.” drew whined while giving you sloppy kisses as he hovered over you.

his free hand wasted no time pulling down your sweats and finding its way in your panties. “you’re fucking soaked, holy shit.” drew whispered. “so fucking hot.” he rubbed circles on your clit before shoving a finger in. your body jolted under him in response. little moans came out in between your kisses. you toyed with your tits, drew shoved a second finger inside of you. “my pretty girl.”

you weren’t sure why drew was so eager today, but you were eating it up. he always talked you through it but today his words were just hitting different in the way that made you want to have his baby tonight.

after coming on drew’s fingers and watching him lick up your mess you were laid back on his bed watching him pump in and out of you. “you feel so good.” he sighed out. drew was obviously bigger than you, but when you were laid there under him he seemed even bigger and you loved it. everything about him was so sexy and big and buff. the way his arms would flex as they grabbed onto your inner thigh while trying get deeper inside of you, or the way his forehead vein would pop out because he was out of breath and focused on pleasing you. there was nothing about him you didn’t like.

“you like that?” drew asked as moans and profanities left your mouth. “yes!” your tits bounced as drew speed up, you were both reaching your climax. drew watched your face and the way it tightened up as you both came undone at the same time. you always looked so perfect and angelic.

drew finished inside of you and came crashing down on top of you, both of you breathing heavy. “you did so good baby. i love you.”

[frownyalfred]

Okay but about the pennywaynes in a/b/o, I'm still fascinated by the dynamic, and there's a scenario thats spinning around in my head and I need to tell you (Im the reader that sent you an ask about them yesterday)

I was thinking, not very long after a diamond sky Thomas has to leave for whatever reason for a couple of days, and Alfred just. Sinks into his beta instincts. He didn't even know they could get that strong, but he spends three days awake, guarding and marking the property, making sure his Pack Omega is resting and taking care of herself, and basically when Thomas gets home, he finds a stressed Martha because she can smell Alfred's anxiety and exhaustion, and a Pack Beta who has been working non-stop guarding the nest.

And here is where I can't decide what's better, Thomas manhandling a struggling sleep-deprived Alfred into the nest, or Thomas being soft, scenting his beta, telling him what a good job he's done, but that it's time to rest.

Idk, but I DO know that Thomas HAS to hold Alfed down by the neck and alpha command him to "stay DOWN."

And Alfred just going limp.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

What if I just screamed!!! Aghhhh you are speaking my LANGUAGE I swear you're like in my head? Yes, this exactly -- all of it, somehow Thomas manages to both chide/order Alfred into the nest AND he's also soft and tells him he did a good job. Because holy fuck yeah, imagine taking on that responsibility and three days later your PACK ALPHA is leaving you alone in the nest with the pack omega and she's PREGNANT? Instincts would be going HAYWIRE. Poor Alfred, he wouldn't sleep literally for days. He'd be so wired. Like Martha would try to drug his tea or something out of desperation and it doesn't even slow him down because his body and instincts are like must wait for the alpha, must wait for the alpha --

Poor Martha and Thomas learn very quickly after that adventure that they can't just expect Alfred to take on all these instincts but also invalidate them. Like yes is it kinda silly not to sleep for three days? Absolutely. But to a freaked-out pack beta that is the ONLY option. You asked him to serve in this role! He is doing the Thing required of the Role!

[pr3ttylittleslutt]

𝓣𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓒.𝓢

Pairing: Bf!Chris x Gf!black!reader

Summary: When Chris’s girlfriend gets his name tattooed on her ass

Cw: smut, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, profanity, p in v, dry humping, unprotected sex, pet names, pornography, dom!chris, sub!reader, ass slapping, hair pulling, name tattoos (duh) , BACKSHOTSS AYE.

I set my phone on Chris’s desk and bit record before calling for him to “ CHRIS” I yelled “YEAH” I hear him respond from upstairs sounds like he is in Matt’s room “CAN YOU COME DOWN HERE PLEASE” I reply before looking at the camera smiling nervously, soon enough I hear him open the door walking towards “Whats up babe” his lips come down on mine one hand going to squeeze my ass, I pull away when he notices the camera “Whats this about” he jerks his head to the phone “I have a surprise for you” i smiling looking up him “ouuuuuu a surprise” he sits on the couch waiting for me to show him his surprise. My hands grab the waistband of my sweatpants slowly pulling them down, Chris raise his eyebrows with a look of amusement on his face, I turn around so the little red tattoo on the side of my ass ‘Christopher’ in cursive. His eyes lit up turning around looking up at me “Your fucking lying” he practically jumps up off the couch “baby don’t play with me” he turns me around looking at it again “im not playing with you” I turn back around “do you like it?” He looks at me like I just asked him if the earth is round “Do I like it? Baby do I fucking like it? Are you seriously asking that? Ofc I fucking like it are you kidding me holy fuck” he huffs out grabbing my ass and pulling me in for another kiss, this one more heated than the other.

My hands grip unto his shirt tilting my head pulling him even closer to me, he taps my ass I gasp while he shoves his tongue in my mouth exploring every crook, cranny and crevice of my mouth. I moan into the kiss my brain getting fuzzy and clouded, I run my hands down his torso tugging on his shirt indicating that I wanted it off he pulls away looking down at me with a smirk before taking his shirt and helping me out my sweatpants pulling me into his lap on the couch behind us “Chris the camera” I say breathlessly “Leave it.” He says his mouth travel my jaw and neck I nod slightly enjoying the feeling of his mouth on my skin slowly grinding my hips down on him, he places his hands on my hips guiding my movements. I throw my head back as he kisses his way back up to my lips again.

“Mm just like that” he mumbles into the kiss before biting and tugging in my lower lip just hands still helping me grind on his crotch. I close my eyes focusing on pleasure he’s giving me, soon enough I feel the knot tightening in my stomach throwing my head back “Yeah you close princess?” I hum in response until I feel him stop my hips movements, I whine feeling the orgasm going away “lay on your back” I do as I’m told planting my feet on bed he moves in between my legs taking off my panties and throwing them across the room spreading my legs further apart, I buck my hips up impatiently waiting for him to touch me, he chuckles pressing feather like kisses all over my inner thighs slowly coming down to my core pressing a kiss on my clit I gasp as he start devouring my pussy (RIP that pussy ayeee) “Ah fuck Chris” my hands fly to his head my fingers tangling in his hair.

All you could hear was my moaning and him slurping up every single drop of my arousal. My orgasm builds up again this time a little bit stronger my legs clamp around his head “c-chris im g-gonna…fuck gonna c-cum” I breathe out he gums against me “go ahead ma cum all over my face” without wasting a second i release in his mouth the wave of pleasure crashing down on me, he moves his mouth up my body and captures my lips once again, he takes of my tank top and bra with ease as he flips me over on my stomach I hear him taking his pants and underwear off I look back to see him looking for something in his pocket. His phone. He props my hips up leaving me face down ass up as he slowly pushes his cock deep into my cunt “shit ma you’re so tight” he hisses slowly moving his hips, i then hear the clicking of his camera I look back at him to see him taking pics of my ass, specifically the tattoo of his name “Fuck you going around getting my name tatted on your ass…shit I swear I’m gonna marry you one day” my heart flutters at that statement. He picks up the pace practically slamming down into me my mouth hanging open little moans coming out every time he slams back into me, soon I feel him slapping my ass repeatedly the skin starting to burn deliciously “Yeahhh look at you, taking my cock so well with my name on your ass, it suits you baby” the knot in my stomach starts to form once again, im clenching down on him, I hear him hissing and grunting behind me “you gonna cum ma?” He questions me pulling my hair to look at my fucked out face that pretty sure is covered in sweat and my lace is probably lifting from him pulling on it, I give him a slight nod the words getting stuck in my throat. He lets go of my hair placing both his hands on my hips “cum for me baby let me feel you” my body starts convulsing as my orgasm washes over my entire body, as I’m coming down from the height I feel him shot his warm cum into my punani (im sorry I needed to) stilling inside me.

2 weeks later…

Chris just came back home, it’s been about two weeks since I got his name tattooed on me.

“Ok close your eyes and turn around I got something I want to show you” he says I can tell he’s excited by the way his voice sounds and the way he quite literally can’t stay still, I close my eyes I hear rustling behind me think about it could be he has up his sleeves “Okai you can turn around now” I turn to face him opening my eyes, he’s shirtless before me I eye his body until they stop on his chest, the plastic covering the elegant writing in red in his left pec (that sentence makes absolutely no sense but u get it). Its my name. I look at his face feeling my heart swelling I run up to him wrapping arms around his neck kissing him passionately “you like it?” He question between kisses I pull away looking at him “are you serious? Ofc I love it what you didn’t have to do that, I mean you don’t even have any other tattoos” i reply feeling a overwhelming sense of joy, he just got my name tattooed on him. On the left side of his chest. Where his heart is. I swear there’s is no man I’ll ever need beside him, he looks down at me a devious smirk across his lips “why don’t you show me how much you like it hm?” I look at him with the same smirk pulling him to my bedroom.

AN: I feel like this was lil short but eh

Random tags: @trevorsgodmother @nickgurl4life @chrepsi @chrisslluut @chrisshands @chrisprettybaby @chrissleftshoe @mattztrip @mattsleftball @mattsslvtzx @mattswrinkleton @mattscoquette @mattsturnioloismylordandsaviour @mattstattos @mattssluttywaist @mattsturnswife @chrissturnioloswife88 @chrissturnss @chriss-prettyygirll @chrissturnioloslvt @nickssidewitch @nick-stuxniolos-hg @nicksturniolopleaseatmeout @nicksturm-diamonsboy @nicksturnshoe @sturniolotripletlover @sturniolotwins @sturnswrites @sturni-stars @sturniolosconfesion @strnlslut @chrislilcumslvt

[jjsloverre]

bsf!jj asking you to be his girlfriend!

in which… jj takes sweetheart out to an arcade to ask her to be his girlfriend!

contains… cursing, ultimate fluff, and a TINY bit of smut, unprotected p in v (don’t do this), handjob & that’s it i hope! (not proofread)

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today was the day. today was the day jj would finally ask you to be his girlfriend. after waiting for years to do it, today he wouldn’t chicken out, you both would finally be happy.

“baby! hurry up we got 20 minutes!” jj yelled from downstairs. “i’m coming love!” you hurried downstairs. “holy fuck you look like a goddess.” jj murmured, kissing you while you walked out the house.

the drive to the arcade was bliss. you and jj were rambling about school, homework, work, anything that came to mind? oh yeah you talked about it. “so jayj?” you started. he looked at you for a second. “what’s up baby?” you took his free hand and fiddled with it, finally intertwining your hands together. “i’m happy to be with you, like a lot. i couldn’t ask for anything more and i already love this date bunches.”

jj looked at you with pure love and adoration. “y’know i adore you? everything about you just, makes me wanna protect you from the world. keep you in your tiny little love bubble you always got goin on, it’s just so sweet and precious.” your heart soared at his loving words. while the red light was active, you leaped into jj’s arms for a few kisses and sat back down. “i love you so much jayj.”

“i love you more sweetheart.”

jj took your hand into the arcade, buying the tokens and the gaming card for you both to play. “alright mama, what’s first?” he asked, while paying. “definitely basketball, you’re getting your ass kicked!” you say excitingly. “love your confidence baby.” he smirked, and took you to an available basketball hoop. “jayj this is gonna be so fun!!” you exclaimed, already swiping your card. “how much money did you put on here again?”

“don’t get mad but like there’s a good 500 points on there or some shit.”

“jj! that’s almost 200 dollars!” you screamed. you hated when jj blew almost a full check on you. “baby, it’s alright it’s worth it.” you sighed, he would continue to fight about it and you knew that. “okay fine, but next date is on me.”

“ok baby, whatever you’d like.” as you both played basketball and a ton of other games, you finally took a break for food. “baby!” you squeal. “can we pleaseeeee share a funnel cake?”

jj smiled and nodded. “yes ma’am we can. here, take my card and go buy it. i’ll get us a table and get whatever drinks you want ok?” you nod, and take his card. “do you want any specific drink?” jj shook his head. “get me anything you wanna get me, whatever you want sweetheart.”

“okay!” you walk to concession stand and order your food and drinks. you walk back a few minutes later and hand him his favorite drink. “there you go my baby!” jj’s heart swelled with love as you spoke and sat his drink down. “thank you beautiful.” even though pda wasn’t typically allowed, jj sat you in his lap and fed you some of your shared funnel cake. “taste good?” you nod. “wonderful.”

“how many more games do you wanna play baby?” he asked.

“ou ou! can we do one of those car games and we should do the go kart racing! and after that laser tags and then-” he cut you off immediately. “alright baby let’s just go and you can lead me to anything you want to do next.” you squealed in excitement. “let’s go!”

after another two hours, jj took you home and you both shared a shower. “finally! i’m so happy to be home i’m tired.” you yelled. “not done yet baby, i’m takin you out to dinner.”

“haha funny joke jj, you’ve spent enough money.”

“not a joke. i rented the whole restaurant just for us so we’re doing this.” you rolled your eyes. “fine jayj.” you and jj’s lips connected in the shower, sharing a passionate kiss. “mm love you.” he mumbled into the kiss. “love you more sweetie.” i reach down to stroke your hardening cock. “do y’like that baby?”

“i love it ma. cmon keep goin.” jj broke the kiss and buried his face into your neck, letting out needy whimpers. “my baby, you’re being such a good boy for me.” jj lets out another whimper, grabbing onto your plump ass. “fuck baby.. i can’t- i won’t last much longer.” you sped up your movements, cupping his heavy balls and squeezing just right. “f-fuck baby shit!” jj moaned into your neck, erratically thrusting into your fist.

with one more squeeze to his balls, jj came undone. in a swift movement, jj slipped his throbbing cock into your wet folds, his tip kissing your entrance. he pushed forward. “fuck baby i’m so sorry i need this..” you nodded happily and squeezed jj’s throbbing cock in more and more until he came, hard. he held you close while he emptied his load inside of your greedy cunt. “that’s a good boy.” cmon, we gonna get ready!”

“ma! i want you to cum though!” suddenly, jj felt your walls clamp down hard on his cock, realizing you did in fact cum. he moaned loudly and came one more time, giving you one more greedy load. “fuck baby, best sex i’ve had.”

“take it you liked it?”

“fuck yeah i did. now get ready for me, wear that red dress in your closet.”

you nod, putting the dress on after you get out of the shower. once you stepped out, jj looked at you in awe. “fuck yes baby! you look amazing! come on! i have so much shit planned for us.”

as you arrived at the restaurant, you immediately cling onto jj. “hey sweet girl, you’re alright.” he coaxed. he started to lead you to your seats and you both ordered. “pops is out of town again, so i can have you over and cuddle you.”

“exactly what i needed jayj.”

you and jj talked about random things for an hour, eating your food and happy overall, until he dropped a bombshell.

“so sweetheart.” he started. you turned your attention to him, letting him caress your thighs. “i didn’t think there was any better way to do this. i want you to be my girlfriend baby. the real deal, not this ‘friends with benefits’ shit. i need you, i need you like i need to breathe air or whatever they say. i just know… i just know that i’m in love with you and you’re where i belong, so will you make me the happiest man on this earth and allow me to be your boyfriend?” to your surprise he pulled out a small diamond ring. “now this, cost me my whole paycheck and more but it was overall worth it. and i think nobody deserves happiness more than you do.”

you cried pure happy tears. you threw yourself in his arms and cried. “i would love that! i want you to be mine!” jj captured your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. he poured his love and devotion into the kiss. “i love you so much.” jj muttered. “and i love you more maybank. always and forever.” with that, you leaned into the kiss more, celebrating your new love with the man you always dreamed of.

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taglist: @sturniologirlzz @sturns-mermaid @aaliyahsturniolo @ethanthequeefqueen @sophand4n4 @kieeslove @chalahyung01 @bee-43 @superlegend216 @masongetinmybed @eddxemxnson @always-reading @maybankslover @leaseyes @glitterybombshell @slut4rafecameronn @sttaejoon-blog @imsiriuslyreal @coalicionees

a/n: lmk if you guys want a fic of them getting married (like a time skip 3 years later & they get married & have a child) but yeah lmk if you want that in a few days!

more bsf!jj x sweetheart!reader here!

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[slut4megantheestallion]

⋆ ☆ Chloe price x 2000sbaddie!fem!reader gf

Warnings: Chloe price x fem reader, black!reader, 2000s, Chloe is a simple for the reader, fluff, reader is a baddie, wlw.

☆Chloe is down bad for you, and she doesn't even try to hide it at all. She didn't think she'd be the type to simp over someone so hard, but there she is, completely obsessed with you.

☆You are the baddest thing to ever walk into her life, and she knows it. Baby tees, low-rise jeans, fresh acrylic nails tapping on your phone screen, lip gloss always poppin' and a face card that never declines-yeah, Chloe never had a chance.

☆Your style is immaculate, and Chloe is constantly in awe. She'll sit back, arms crossed, biting her lips as she watches you put together an outfit like it's a runway show. She doesn't know how you always pull off the perfect look, but she respects the hell out of it

☆She's your biggest fan, Chloe hypes you up like it's her full-time job. The second she lays eyes on you, she's grinning, whistling, borderline drooling - it's ridiculous.

☆Damn, babe... you trying to kill me? Like, what am I even supposed to do when you look this good?

☆"No, seriously, how? How do you always eat like this? I'm conversation you sold your soul for this level of perfection."

☆If you take too long getting ready, she won't even complain. Instead, she'll be lounging on your bed, watching you like a lovesick idiot, head propped up on her hand. She eats this up.

☆"I could sit here and watch you all day... You're like a work of art, babe."

☆She's taking pictures of you ALL THE TIME.

☆She's got a whole album in her phone labeled "My Goddess" (yes, she's dramatic like that.)

☆She posts you on her story with captions like, "Life isn't fair. How am I supposed to function with this woman walking around looking like THAT?"

☆If you let her take Polaroid pictures of you, she'll stick them in her wallet, on her walls, and even inside her truck just to see your face everywhere.

☆She constantly brags about you constantly. You are her greatest flex, and she makes sure everyone knows.

☆She brings you up in conversations for no reason.

☆If Max or Rachel says literally anything, Chloe would be like,

☆"That reminds me - my girlfriend is so hot. Wanna see pictures?"

☆If you post a fire selfie, she's the first in the comments, typing out paragraphs about how insanely fine you are.

☆"Y'all see what I'm working with???? Y'all wish. Y'ALL WISH."

☆If someone randomly stares at you too long, Chloe is grinning like a smug bastard because, duh, of course they're staring. But they can look all they want - you're hers.

☆"They're just mad they could never pull someone like you. Can't blame 'em. I'd be sick, too."

☆She's obsessed with your style. Chloe loves how put together you always are. She can't relate, but she's obsessed with it.

☆Some days, you're Y2k baddie realness- velour tracksuits, tinted sunglasses, lips lined to perfection. Other days, you're in baggy jeans and a baby tee. Looking like you walked out of a 2003 music video. And no matter what you wear, Chloe is in the background, losing her mind over it.

☆At first, she acted like she didn't care about shopping, but now? She'll hold your bag, give outfit opinions, and even suggest pieces she thinks would look good on you.

☆"Okay, okay, what if we go for, like, the ultimate hot girl look? Low- rise jeans, one of those teeny little crop tops that show off your stomach? Ugh, I'm so fucking lucky."

☆If you do her makeup or hair, she's melting. Completely whipped!!

☆If you do a lil makeover, she's looking in the mirror like,

☆"Holy shit... You made me look so hot. How did you-?"

☆Chloe's possessive over you, but in the chillest way possible.

☆Chloe isn't subtle about claiming you.

☆Arm around your waist all times.

☆Hand on your thighs whenever you sit next to her.

☆If someone gets too comfortable around you, Chloe pulls you closer just to send a message.

☆"Yeah, babe, come sit on my lap- wait, you're already sitting? Okay, whatever, just be closer."

☆If someone tries to flirt with you, she's watching with the biggest smirk on her face. She's not jealous because she knows you're hers, but she loves watching people make a fool of themselves.

☆when you shut them down, she leans in, all smug, whispering,

☆"Damn, they really thought they had a shot? That's hilarious."

☆If you're ever upset, Chloe is ready to throw hands.

☆"Nah, who got you fucked up? Let's go, babe - I'll fight 'em right now."

☆She adores you, period. Chloe never thought she'd fall for you this hard, but here she is, completely wrapped around your finger.

☆She lives for your confidence. The way you walk, the way you talk, and the way you own every room you step into - it drives her crazy in the best way possible.

☆She secretly writes about you in her journal. Filling pages with little doodles of your name, random thoughts about how much she loves your smile, and notes like,

☆"I have no idea how I got someone this perfect. Like, I genuinely think I won the lottery. What the fuck."

☆If she's ever feeling low, she'll scroll through her pictures of you, read your old texts, or just stare at you like a lovesick fool.

☆If you catch her, she'll smirk and shrug.

☆"What? I just like looking at my girl, sue me."

☆Overall, Chloe is your biggest fan, protector, hype woman, and personal simp, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

[crazylittlejester]

Imagine: Zelinkle wedding (for public appearance, not their actual wedding), but Linkle is disguised as Wars. He's in the back in the silliest era appropriate equivalent to glasses, a big nose, and a mustache, shaking uncontrollably with laughter and trying not to cry from the hilarity of it. He probably also did her makeup because he needed the disguise to be perfect.

The lesbians have taken over my brain, I shot upright from nearly asleep to write this. I love them so much <3

I see your this, I absolutely adore it, and I would love to add:

Athena has been acting like she’s resigned to marry the captain, and Warriors has been doing his part too and going around like “yeah mhm I’m marrying the queen, isn’t that so grand?” and then ofc Linkle (while dressed as him) is like kissing her on the cheek and what not ‘sneakily’ (deliberately in front of nobles) to really really sell it (and also because she has the excuse to his her gf)

now Warriors can’t be seen around when Linkle is pretending to be him, so he gets a break from being the captain, the hero of hyrule, he just gets to be HIM. He can wear whatever he wants, not do his hair, not do his usual makeup, talk HOWEVER he likes, and walk around doing whatever because people don’t see what they don’t EXPECT to see. So if Linkle is going to dress as him just to hang out with her girlfriend, she also takes the expectations from the civilians for the day and he can actually experience peace and quiet

Also the “formal” wedding of Queen Zelda and Captain Link being a secret lesbian wedding with Warriors in disguise in the back is the most beautiful mental image I’ve ever been gifted, can I write a fic about this because this is SO fucking funny (i will 100% gift it to you)

and I am CRYING real tears over the idea of Warriors doing his sister’s makeup to make her look more like him for her wedding day (they definitely already got married before this where Athena had to pretend to not be the literal queen lmao) and when he’s done Linkle just looking at herself in the mirror for a second before hitting Warriors with his own damn lopsided grin and going “How do I look?” and him just losing it and crying because first of all its absolutely UNNERVING how much she looks like just a physically healthier version of him, but also this is his sister he’s so so so close with, and she’s getting married to his best friend

he also definitely did her makeup for her REAL wedding too

smacking my face into the hardwood floors i need to write this so bad actually holy Shit

[beef-brisket]

Adam slowly looked up at Lucifer: W-What are you doing...?

Lucifer: I'm making things right. I'm done thinking everything is dine- or normal, because it isn't! I'm sorry, Char. Really! But everything your mother said is a lie... I've made my foot share of mistakes... but I can't let you lice your life thinking... thinking she was a good person. Because she wasn't. She left us once she had no use for us anymore.

Charlie: I... I don't... why... why are you telling me this now-? How long have you known?

Lucifer: I... I've been slowly coming to terms with it... f-for a few months.

Charlie: ...A few months?! And you- didn't say anything?! I've been calling her- texting her- and... and you didn't want to say that she's in Heaven?! I went up there, dad! I could have... I could have SEEN her!

Lucifer: I... knowing Heaven and your mother, Char, I doubt that would have been possible...

Charlie sighed and rubbed her face: I need a minute.

Everyone parted to let Charlie through. Watching his daughter walk away from him was tough, amd reminded him too much of when she was a child.

Lucifer: Shit...

Angel: Just had to dump that on her all at once, short king?

Lucifer: I... I panicked!

Alastor smirked: Don't you always~?

Lucifer glared: Piss off, Bambi.

Kneeling ag Adam's side, Lucifer put his hand on his knee: Adam- please... I'm sorry. I really am... please stay, for a few days at least.

Adam: Days...? I... I guess I don't have anything on... okay- but you piss me off again, and I'm gone.

Lucifer quickly nods and helps him to his feet: Of course! That's all I can ask for.

Beaming, Angel ran up to Adam: I'm such a big fan babe- even after finding out you're Adam- you sound.so SICK! Could you sigh a few things for me, babe?

Adam laughed: How about tonight? I've uh... got someone to see.

Angel: Oh! Yeah, of course! We can chat! I'll even steal some of the good stuff~.

Husk growled: No, you fucking won't.

As everyone left, Adam straightened his clothes and took off his jacket, suddenly feeling hot and overwhelmed.

Lucifer: Am I the person you have to see~?

Adam: Pft, no. I'm going to talk to Charlie.

Lucifer: Huh? Why?

Adam: Fuck, you're blind. Lu, you just told her where her mother is, and you kinda sprung on her that her mother is a lie. That's... a lot to take in.

Lucifer: I... you're right...

Sensing the kings nerves, he petted his shoulder: I won't hurt her. Okay? Not again.

Lucifer nodded, and smiled: I believe you.

-

Charlie was pacing around her office, and she refused to see anyone, even Vaggie. There was so much to unpack, and she had no idea where to begin.

When there was another knock on her door, she was ready to tell them to leave. But they spoke before she could.

Adam: Kid? Can I talk to you for a minute? About everything?

Charlie was silent for a moment before opening the door: W-Why you? Why isn't he here...?

Adam shrugged: Because he's an idiot. And it will only make shit worse. And... Lilith's my sister, I'd understand her more than Lucifer. Now, anyway.

Slowly nodding, she opened the door and let him in. Taking a seat across from Charlie's desk, Adam looked around. There wasn't anything special in her office, apart from some pictures of a snake sinner.

Charlie: O-Okay. Holy shit... hi, Adam.

Adam smiled as Charlie sat in her seat: Hey. So. I... I know what it's like to feel lied to. Especially by her. But, I'm not here to bash her, pr put ideas in your head. I think you've had enough of that.

Charlie nodded. Poor thing looked so tired: I... I don't know what to make of everything.

Adam: I can tell. He shouldn't have dumped it all on you. He's a cock face, that's for sure.

Charlie laughed and rubbed her face: I can't believe Adam of all people is taking more time and care when talking to me than... literally anyone else...

Adam shrugged and crossed his legs: It's not that much of a surprise, is it, babe? I am over ten thousand years old and someone who had a lot of time on their hands. I've learnt a thing or two. I've also... spent some time with your mom in Heaven. So, if you have any questions, ask away.

Charlie: You... You did?

Adam scoffed: Not that I wanted to or had much choice.

Charlie: Hm... is she happy?

Adam smirked: Very. She's on a beach in Heaven. Who wouldn't be happy?

Charlie sighed: Did she mention me...?

Adam sighed: ...No.

Charlie: N-No? Nothing? She said nothing?

Adam: Nothing. Sorry, kid. Really, I am. But, that's her loss.

Charlie: ...What is?

Adam: That she doesn't realise how fucking great you are.

Charlie blushed and looked away: G-Great? Oh, I'm not sure...

Adam: Yeah? Well, I am. I... I don't mean this as an insult, but I think we're a lot alike. Growing up, I had no one. No parents, I had no idea what to do. And... I had a lot of expectations, and others used me before dropping me... but you're a great person, Charlie. I fucking hated coming here for the exterminations. Fucking hated it. But you-? Fuck, you have to deal with sinners everyday, I couldn't handle them for a day... even coming here was a pain in the ass...

Adam shifted in his seat: So, I think you're pretty amazing, kid. I do. Even though you fucked up my life in Hell but whatever. Water under the bridge.

Charlie sighed and wrapped her arms around herself: ... why have me if she didn't want me...?

Adam smiled: I asked that question a lot in Eden.

Charlie: Did you find out the answer?

Adam: shrugged: I was more of an object than a life. Like, a new cup or book. A shiny new thing is exciting for a few weeks, but it wears off... and... I think she wanted you, Char, she just couldn't get out of her own bullshit to put you first. There's only one person that matters to Lilith-.

Charlie: And that's Lilith... mom, I mean.

Adam smiled: You're getting it. And you're dads, just a fool that doesn't understand the basic needs of a child. But you're a good person, Charlie. And that's rare to find down here. Even in heaven. You're a rare breed. Just don't let people take advantage of that.

Charlie nodded: Thank you, Adam... I won't, I promise.

Succubus au

@beef-brisket

@fanofstuff01

(This au was originally on @things-aren't-what-they-seem66blog and was originally thought of by an anonymous ask)

The roaring of the crowd and the playing of his guitar deafened his ears but the incubus didn't care. He loved the way they cheered his name while he shredded on his axe. With one final strum, his song was done. He raised his arms and gave the horns, to which his fans reciprocated, and bid them all goodnight. He walked away his hands still raised until he was out of sight from them. Adam sighed heavily and wiped the sweat with his forearm as he made his way to his dressing room.

Once there he flopped onto the couch and groaned. Though Adam loved being a rockstar and having adoring fans, he wouldn't lie to himself, each performance, especially concerts, can be quite draining since he always had to prepare with mic checks and making sure he sounded right. Steve, his producer/manager/on-and-off-again fling, always assured him that these were mandatory. Just one of those sacrifices that come with being a star. Still, Adam felt a little like shit and he needed a drink, a hard one. Unfortunately, his evening wasn't quite over yet as knocking was heard from the other side of the door then a voice called out.

Assistant: Excuse me? Commander? I'm sorry for bothering you but I brought the VIP guests here with me.

Adam sighed completely forgetting about that. Almost all VIPs get access to meet him after every show. Though he loved his fans coming to him and saying how much they loved him, maybe even getting some head from the older crowd, tonight, he didn't want to. However, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice. Unless he wanted Steve up his ass, and not in a good way. Letting out a long groan he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and yelled out to her.

Adam: Bring them in.

He closed his eyes and sighed once again as he heard the door open and feet shuffle in. He prepared himself for the immediate responses of squealing and clamoring over to shake his hand. However, he was not prepared for a familiar voice to call out his name.

Charlie: A, Adam?

He opened his eyes and standing in front of him were Charlie, Vaggie, and a one-eyed sinner.

[deluluass]

It's all over now, baby blue (3/12)

Ushijima Wakatoshi/Female Reader/Oikawa Tooru

Multi-chapter sequel to "Red, like Blood. Blue, like Love."

General Warnings:  rape/noncon; nsfw; depictions of post traumatic stress disorder; a lot of negative self-talk (reader pov) Chapter warnings: internalized misogyny (reader pov); recreational drug use (by other characters); sexual content

“Do… you have a soulmate…?”

It was an inane question. You knew that, even before you uttered it. Ask the lady that called soulmates bullshit if she had a soulmate, why don’t you? However, as of this very moment, this woman was no longer just the same one that Hana Misaki had to impress; the one with the important title that went on for forever. 

To you, she was now the one to whom you’d committed every single social blunder that featured in your worst nightmares against– stuttering, throwing up, cursing, etcetera. You checked your pants to make sure that they’re still dry. You sighed.

Thank all that is merciful that you haven’t done that yet. 

Chief of everything, humiliation and stupidity included, was the current reality that she was now that woman whom you’re sharing a makeshift seat with, your thighs sharing warmth and shoulders leaning against each other– the only thing keeping the other’s unbearable weight from crashing. 

“Me? A soulmate?” she muttered. 

“A soulmate, yeah.”

“Nope.” The woman turned to you, smiled, before pointing to her eyes. “What would be the point anyway? These old things up here could never be trusted with blues. And other colors.”

Your heart seized. She was still amused, like she was waiting for you to laugh. You didn’t.

“I’m- I’m sorry–” Your hand, in want of other things to do, reached for hers. “That was so insensitive– I mean– I shouldn’t have just assumed that you’re–”

Her smile stretched, eyes becoming more luminous, until all of her teeth showed. This close you could see a chipped front tooth. At the confusion that must have spilled across your face, the woman threw her head back, and then laughter—the kind exhumed from the belly, bounced across the parking lot.

“God forgive me, kid,” she chortled, wiping away tears. “You’re just so easy— look at your face— I’m so sorry—”

You closed your eyes. A deep breath. Patience incarnate.

“Was that a joke?” you sought clarity.

“Yes.”

“Was that a fucking joke?”

“Yes!” she yelped, with a gasp that quickly devolved into sucked in guffaws.

You faced her, your knees knocking together. “Well, it wasn’t funny…!”

“Holy shit, kid! Live a little!” A light slap on your shoulder. “I swear, children these days would get their panties twisted about every fucking thing—”

“That was really not funny! There are people who live with color blindness or- or deficiency and their lives have been very difficult for—”

“Oh my God! Spare me, okay! Stop whining—”

“I’m not whining! Some cultures even go as far as to treat them like outcasts! It’s really not that hard not to make light of their struggles and not to be- to be- a- a dick about it!”

The woman sighed, reigning in her laughter (struggling to, you marked with a frown), then patted the back of your hand. “Alright, alright, let’s cool it?”

You grumbled.

“If it helps your… delicate—“

You rolled your eyes.

“—sensibilities,” she continued, “My cousin from my dad’s side couldn’t tell red and- what was it- green- to save his life.”

“It’s always a cousin,” you scoffed.

“No, it’s true…!” the woman exclaimed, sitting up. She clasped her hands over her knee and pulled it over the other. “Of course, this was back then, you know, people were a lot meaner—”

“More ignorant, you mean.”

“Sure was. There was the usual stuff. Some name calling. Teachers being a cunt. I knew. I grew up with the guy. Got held back when we were eight. Then, when we were fifteen, there was some kid in school who had a retired colonel for a dad— so that made him believe he was hot shit, pulled a prank on dear old cousin. After a game of baseball, while they were changing out of their uniforms, I guess he must’ve grabbed his arm or something. Then, you know… Everyone in that room saw it, but nobody said anything. ‘We’re soulmates,’ the kid told him. He must’ve thought it was funny, ‘cause they were both boys and my cousin was that kid. And then— “

Laughing, she resumed, “The funniest thing happened. Do you know what my cousin said?”

You shook your head.

“Cow dung, he said. Ever the country boy, my cousin. Y’see, he never had any trouble telling blues. Purples were a different story, but not blues. But nobody ever believed him. And red, to him, looked like—”

“Cow dung,” you snickered.

“Cow dung.”

“And then what happened?”

“He punched that little fucker. Got detention, but life was fine. Went as usual. He left when he was twenty. The country, I mean. But it wasn’t just leaving that made him realize…. Growing old made him realize too….” 

She looked at you, still smiling, but softer and less like she’s pulling a prank.

“He had his soul glow, contrary to all the assholes who said otherwise. He was— lemme see, about twenty-seven? He got married, too. But not to the same man. Different one. I asked him once, at a family function, why him? You know, not the other one. I even asked him if it was hard, making that choice. He looked at me like I was crazy. And then he said, ‘But it’s common sense! You choose the one who won’t put a pillow over your head when you snore!’ She shook her head. “I don’t know a funnier guy.”

There was a lady bug climbing up your leg. A beautiful, fragile thing; one that could fly off at any moment. You didn’t dare move.

With a gentle nudge, the woman then whispered, like she was consoling you, wiping what’s left of your tears despite having barely raised a hand:

“People live, don’t they, kid?”

Splinters came out of the shower head. It ran down your back as you pressed your head against the wall, sloughing off all debris and muck from this morning’s service. You reached for the knob and turned it higher.

A thousand frozen knives cut through every pore, every wart, every bit of tiny pimple that grew out of the sweat and follicles and dirt. 

Any moment now and even your bones would disintegrate and create a whirl pool around the drain.

The bar of soap in your hand diffused into the wet towel as you scrubbed them together. Bar of soap wrapped in towel—like baguette wrapping around fat blocks of ham. Squeeze between two hands and perhaps it would also be good enough to eat. The soap was just as pink as the ham fresh from the walk-in, too.

That’d been what you served the last customer in your shift. His hair was the same color as the imitation mahogany tables. They were actually made of plastic, just varnished to look like genuine wood. Anyway, his hair blended in too well with those tables that you even had the idea of slamming the tray over it.

You didn’t do that, of course. You went to his table and showed him the menu as usual. And when he’d smiled tightly and told you what he’d wanted, you even expected him to tell you, “Thanks, kitten.”

Weird.

His eyes weren’t as brown.

Suds and bubbles dribbled from your torso down to your toes. It slid off your chest, circulating around your breasts, and sinking into the crevices between the folds of your stomach as you scrubbed, slinking the towel around your neck, then pulling both ends together, its junction like a stone against the middle of your throat. You pulled to the point of drowning.

The pressure only eased when you let go, bleary eyed and lashes sopping, and began scouring between your legs. Your fingers clawed at the towel as you used it to get around the fatty thighs, like vultures orbiting above carrion. Each digit was wrinkly and as warm as a corpse’s. They brushed and stabbed and pierced through. You muffled a scream, and then it felt like falling off into a ravine.

Your belly was a cold, hollow pit. You parted your thighs and it salivated like a sick bitch that needed to be put down. You scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at each pit and crack.

Bits of scabs flaked off where your thighs pulled inward, making way for new ones.

Your skin split open. The soap soaked through. It stung. Maybe it disinfected everything it touched and bleached your bones along the way.   

Good.

The shower floor looked like you’d knocked over cranberry juice all over it. Fifty percent fresh fruit, fifty percent sugar. Beloved by the senior regulars.

That’s how you knew, then, that you were clean.

You got off the shower and promptly stormed through your closet. The nicest thing you owned was something from five years ago. Misaki-san told you they had their own make-up people, but you walked into a job interview once with nothing but a lip balm and was then shown the door.

Settling for the wrap-around dress, you sat on your bed and pulled out your work lipstick and blush.

Make-up looked nice on other women, but you looked at the mirror and, with that dress on, saw someone who habitually got on her knees for attention instead.

You pulled out wet wipes from your tote and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.

The sun was just beginning to set in the horizon, cranberry juice spilling all over the neighborhood, when you finally left your apartment. Your face was bare and the insides of your thighs bit into each other.

And you felt right, going on your way, because you knew then that you were clean.

It took you half a month to sign the contract. It took Wakatoshi a day.

When you finally got together in one room, his legal counsel on one side and yours, provided by the company, on the other, all that you had asked for was to make it clear— in bold, legible print— that you “will not be required to attend or make an appearance at any game involving, or of the interest of Ushijima Wakatoshi and other affiliated organizations, for public viewing or otherwise.”

Much talk went on for another week, or so Misaki-san had informed him. The contract was only granted your signature when that condition had been included in it.

Practice went on as usual. The Schweiden Adlers won a couple more games at the tail end of the season. Misaki-san had told him then, quite randomly, that you worked for a popular family restaurant, and that perhaps you would not mind a message or two, but it wasn’t anywhere within Wakatoshi’s inclination either to disrupt the day-to-day living of a person who had a far more demanding job than he did.

Neither one of you heard from the other, nor seen hide nor hair. Not until today.

“Excited?” Brandon’s voice popped in his ear. “You lovebirds haven’t seen each other in a while. Don’t get emotional. ‘Kay, big guy?”

His manager patted his chest before he went away.

From inside the café, he saw you descend out of the large van where you, according to Misaki-san, had gone to have your make-up and wardrobe fixed. They changed you out of the dress you came in with to another that stopped an inch above your knees.

The afternoon sun traced a blinding outline around you as you walked in. Your entrance disturbed the chimes above the door— tiny bells tied to ruby strings giggled lightly.

You greeted the staff with a soft ‘hello’, and your lips glittered as you gave Wakatoshi a faint, cautious smile.

The place was something out of a fairy tale book. The ones with boards for pages and watercolor illustrations of cottages hidden in forests. It was tucked somewhere along a cobbled path miles away from the main road.

Barely anyone walked by.

Misaki-san had only known about it because she was acquainted with its owner, or at least familiar enough to ask about the well-being of her sister without much preamble or niceties.  You hadn’t even been aware that a place like this existed in the city. One look and one might think that it’s one of those spots that drove up the price of the buildings within its vicinity. If not that then the product of it.

But, no. Its quaint novelty did not conceal anything calculated. It just was.   

The stones that made up its roof was overgrown with moss. Its chimney was in the same state. The brick walls showed signs of wear and tear. And being in it was like staying for far too long inside a dream, or a memory that you knew at the very back of your brain had never existed.

You were seated by the window. Purple wisterias flowed along the café’s gutter and cascaded against the glass like waterfalls. Everything about this place conveyed that it was, among other things, an heirloom, passed down with an unapologetically haphazard sort of care typically found among large families. There wasn’t a corner not occupied by black and white portraits, or colored ones taken in water and amusement parks, and bookshelves with mangas and novels that had creased spines. A place that had seen one too many daughters for it to be mistaken as some pastiche of a café designed to be a selfie studio— exactly how your group treated it at the very moment.

In front of you, Ushijima was being directed by the photographer, while the owner herself set a glass of matcha latte beside the cheese cake platter. With that, the tableaux of sweet coziness were complete.

“Then— cover your face with the phone— not too close—"

They didn’t have any problems making you do that pose. You’ve seen it countless times among the young couples at the restaurant. One holds the phone over their face, taking a picture of their sweetheart. The other mimics it, taking a picture of their sweetheart. Their cameras are pointed towards each other, so when they finally share it for everyone to see, it would have been as if they’d said, “I’ve been found. How about you?”

Ushijima, however, must not have gotten the memo for the past…six years. He seemed to not understand that the phone had to be far enough to create an illusion that it’s blocking his entire face, but that he also had to position his body in a way that made the whole thing look like he wasn’t trying at all, and not like some old man struggling to decipher what’s on his screen.

The goal today was to tease: post images that whispered coquettishly, rather than ones that proclaimed with its whole chest. 

“I think ‘soft launching’ is what people call it these days,” Misaki-san said.

The photographer, with silent permission, took Ushijima’s wrist— the one with the phone, one last time to communicate to him exactly where his hands should be, like a store manager posing a tall, overly tall, and flawless mannequin. Then, he draped his elbow over the edge of the table, as he was instructed to splay his long, muscular legs a tad. “Right! You got it, Ushiwaka! Hold that for me, please!” the photographer remarked.

You couldn’t help but wonder, as you watched him, if it was possible that Ushijima Wakatoshi was as much of a stranger to… dating, as you were. What you knew, you learned via osmosis. How much did he know? His breadth of knowledge seemed like a narrow one.

That conjecture, however, was immediately chucked away.

I mean. Just look at the guy.

With just a simple, brown-ish gray long-sleeved polo shirt hanging slackly over his broad frame, the buttons on top come undone, along with loose-fitting jeans, and his hair parted cleanly, artlessly in the middle— he was lethal enough to stop a busy street; or an oncoming traffic to a screeching halt.

You know. It was happening now.

People went on their merry way when it was you doing that. You were merely another beating flesh doing its job by the side, but with him, the mundane act of putting a phone over one’s face seemed more like a once in a decade astronomical event.

Everyone in the café had to drop whatever they were doing just to…see. Even when some of them had the view of the phone blocking his face.

It couldn’t be possible. Not him.

If he were like you, then what a tragedy, isn’t it? Someone as beautiful and desirable and accomplished as him deserved an equal on his first foray into intimacy. What sin did he commit in his previous life to be destined to a basket case?

What a relief that none of this was real.

“Ushiwaka, please, don’t move!”

The giant apologized under his breath because, apparently, you realized as you blinked, that he had turned his head to look at you.

Oh, no. Hold on. Not just look, actually.

He was watching, too.

You snatched the latte off the table and sipped, averting your eyes as they carried on. It was nice. Not too sweet. And once that was over, the photographer proceeded to capture the ensemble of caffeine and pastries between the two of you. He and Misaki-chan moved fleetly yet assiduously, like a ship captain and her second mate, discussing angles, lightings, and intent. “Do they look good here?” “I think this one looks busy” “Let’s stick to the mood board for now” etc. etc.

On the other hand, you and Ushijima were more akin to the ship’s bow and stern, as far away as you could get from one another. Not physically, though. You remained sharing the same table: Ushijima taking a bite out of a tart and you, sipping— as chatty and familiar as strangers forced by chance to breathe in the same lift. The two of you only got up to move, and acknowledge each other’s presence after the past couple of hours, when you’d been told to go to the café’s powder room, captain and second following behind.

Ushijima let you in first, opening the door for you. He had to duck to get inside that nook of a space. In there, the wallpaper was a muted shade of peach, doodles of rabbits in frilly dresses scattered about. The shelves surrounding the vanity were stacked with tchotchkes: porcelain kittens licking their paws, wicker baskets filled with buttons and marbles, and enamel portraits of beautiful women in gowns and ceremonial garbs and feathered hats.

It would’ve all been very comforting, a perfect, warmly lit spot for a prey animal to hide in, had it not been for the fact that you could practically feel Ushijima right against your back.

“For this one, we’d like to ask you to recreate—” From outside the room, they showed you an image of a couple in front of a bathroom mirror. The man was behind her, chin resting on her head and arms wrapped around her waist, while the woman held the phone. Again, both of their faces were obstructed. “Easy, right?”

It was your task to take the picture for the both of you. Maybe that’s why they thought that this’d be a breeze. You took the phone with a damp hand. He stepped closer and your heart sprinted. You wanted to close your eyes, but that wouldn’t be helpful. Some of the tiny kittens had fracture on their eyes, likely the result of being dropped by tiny, grubby hands. They smiled at you. ‘See,’ they tee-heed, ‘even broken things can manage to be cute.’ Then—

“Would it be alright to skip this?” Ushijima’s voice came rumbling.

Misaki-san, who leaned against the door frame, stood up in alarm. “O-Of course…!”

“Yeah, this does feel a bit…much,” the photographer agreed. “We can do this one some other time, Misaki-san.”

They decided to move on to the next and final location.

Ushijima waited for you to walk out first, his large hand propped above the door and keeping it from shutting on its own. You passed through with a quiet thank you, and as you did, the smell of fresh laundry and yuzu lemons wafted from above you. Bright and sparkly like a summer’s day. Dandelion fluffs waltzing with the wind.

Your fingers ached for calloused warmth.

You needed to peel off your skin.

The way to the flower shop that Misaki-san had called ahead for this shoot was just as whimsical as the café, another cobbled hill with steps made for teacup dogs, or, perhaps, elves. You couldn’t help but drag your feet climbing up, admiring the way tufts of Bermuda and wildflowers bloomed through the cracks, at the back of the trail with Ushijima behind you. A small, man-made creek ran down the side.

For just this one day, just this moment, the world felt light on your shoulders. You haven’t had one of these in a while. You would have hopped if it did not make you look all the more insane. Giggled, too. All that sugar must have finally rushed through your system.  

The photographer turned around. Although you were losing daylight, with a perky tone, he suddenly yelled, “Wait, miss!”

He pointed his camera at you. “This is a great shot! Can you look down a bit? Yes, thank you. This’ll make a beautiful candid photo, Misaki-san! Something her soulmate would’ve taken of her while they’re— uh…”

The man laughed. “Please, can you move out of the frame, er, Ushiwaka?” he requested, grinning impishly.

You looked back.

It took Ushijima a second to understand that he was being spoken to. Those sharp, penetrating eyes were— and maybe you were seeing things— soft, like dewy leaves after a heavy rain. And they were turned right at—

He’s tired. That must be it. He’d just won a game, too.

“Ah,” the giant muttered. “Apologies.” He climbed ahead of you.

The rest of the afternoon flew by.

By the end of it, Misaki-san’s team had accumulated photos that ranged from delectable to charming. The shot of the food was your favorite. The photographer had done an incredible job. You hoped, with the amount of attention that you were told this’d receive, that the café would garner the same. Maybe more. All of this would have been worthwhile then, you thought.

You were to upload most of the pictures from the café (at Misaki-san’s behest, of course) using your old account (the only one you had), which you mostly (only) opened to promote the restaurant’s special holiday group meals. Misaki-san didn’t see the problem with that. She said it would help make your pictures look organic.

The ones taken outside were to be posted on Ushijima’s account (that, upon seeing, you didn’t think the man even knew the password to). Your pictures would be a shock among still life images of volleyballs, courts, trophies, shoes, and products, for sure. The rare, sedate photos of other human beings: teammates, coaches, Ushijima flying in the air, Ushijima receiving an award, will be disturbed by you—

On the hill, looking at flowers like you couldn’t do any wrong.

Crouched down to the pavement, beckoning a stray cat to come to you.

Holding a bouquet of red tulips— “Symbols of passion, loyalty, and everlasting love,” the florist had said— their lush buds smothering half of your face.

It wasn’t until late in the evening when the company started showing signs of inebriation.

Brandon came to the izakaya after the shoot, as it was only a block away from where he had his appointment early in the afternoon. He, too, was drunk. And if the way Misaki-san didn’t mind playing bekuhai with him, then that meant, maybe, that so was she.

Her entire team, after all, was celebrating the successful first phase of their project. Even the ones who couldn’t come with them earlier showed up just for this party. They earned it, Wakatoshi thought, as he watched their group clap and sing, “The drunken god is an honest god! Please point out the beautiful one! Hey, point it out!”

The spinning top on the table stopped, pointing towards Misaki-san. The table erupted in fists and cackles.

“Ah, Tengu, Tengu! You’re so unlucky, Misaki-chan!”

They poured sake into the ceramic goblin cup, the largest one of the three, and cheered as she tossed it back. And even with all that whooping and yowling, Wakatoshi could still hear you chuckle behind your hand.

The two of you were at the edge of the long table, once again, facing each other. Your glass of mocktail was half-full and what little food you’d asked for was already gone. Ushijima had only one glass of beer and no more. He ordered another plate of gyoza.

“Hey, everyone!” Misaki-san’s assistant, if his memory served him right, shouted from the hallway. “The karaoke upstairs is empty!”

The group got on their feet like the floor had caught up in flames. “C’mon!” Misaki-san exclaimed his way, just as she did when they’d put down the bekuhai set on the table.

He chewed, then swallowed to say, “No, thank you—”

“—I’m okay right here...!”

He looked at you. You looked at him. Misaki-san looked at the both of you, then, with her whole face aflush, beamed.

“Okie-dokie!” Misaki-san’s thumb and index formed an O, three fingers up. From behind her, Brandon wiggled his brows at Wakatoshi as he slid out of the room. “We’ll leave you to it! Have fun!”

It got quiet, then. The TV by the bar droned on with its weather report. The few patrons around their table ate alone, or in pairs, conversing in mutters. Or not at all.

“Ushijima-san,”

You spoke.

To him.

Wakatoshi’s chopsticks paused from picking, as he shifted his attention to you.

“You can go anytime if you want to,” you muttered.

He dipped the gyoza in sauce. “I don’t want to,” he replied, admittedly puzzled.

“O-Oh. I didn’t mean, like, go go. I meant, go, join the karaoke upstairs, with Misaki-san and the others. Y-you can just go…if ever…you feel like it.”

“I understand.” He blinked. “So should you.”

“R-right.”

A beat. You finally plucked one gyoza from the plate.

Somebody did tell Wakatoshi once that conversations one does not wish to have are best buffered by food. One would have no recourse but to eat, just to avoid speaking. He watched, at ease, as your face brightened, humming discreetly when you nibbled.

“You don’t have to talk to me.”

You covered your mouth. “I’m sorry?” you chewed.

“I meant to say,” he said, “you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

“I- I see. Um.” You gulped, then smacked your lips. “You also don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

Your eyes were everywhere but on him as you told him that. You took another morsel as his phone piped up.

A text. “Takl 2 he rr !!!1!!!            111111 she looks LONELEY USHWAIKA,” it said.

“Many people beg me to,” Wakatoshi huffed, closing his phone. That was not necessary.

“Brandon-san?” you glanced to his phone, then winced. “Sorry.”

Wakatoshi placed his chopsticks to the side. This way, with nobody and nothing else demanding you to listen, he had all the freedom to study you as you were. All his own. It called to mind the turtle that their classroom once had, back in kindergarten. He’d forgotten what they’d named it, but it retreated to its shell every time he got close too.

He wondered what the difference was, between then and now. You did not have this reaction to him the first time you’d met. You hadn’t known who he was at that time. Perhaps it was the knowing that induced this. Besides, it wasn’t his place to compare. Then and now held minute differences for Wakatoshi too: before he’d learned your name and what you could possibly mean, and after.

Things seemed… muddled now, somehow. Like the point where colors are mixing together before they can transform into another hue.

“Do you mean that?” Wakatoshi crossed his arms together. He leaned back into the chair.

The bead of sweat that’d gathered on your forehead went to the shell of your ear. You stared back up at him, mouth agape. “Excuse…me…?”

“Why are you sorry?”

“N-no, no, I was just—” You dropped your chopsticks. “It was just an expression. I was only—"

You swallowed, then dropped your gaze. You sighed. “I am. Sorry. I do feel that I’ve been…Look, dude, can we talk about something else?”

His brow lifted. You’d raised your tone. That was new. “We don’t have to,” he reminded you. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Right. Sorry.”

There it was again. Wakatoshi frowned, but before he could say something back, the news that had been a white noise in the background became one that his ears could recognize in his sleep.

Shrill whistle, followed by a vociferous crowd. He turned to the screen. The Sendai Frogs were playing against the Tamaden Elephants. Wakatoshi tried to recall the date today. He must’ve forgotten. The camera panned to a blonde player wiping his glasses. “Folks, we have just entered the second set and the game is already this tense!” the commentator boomed. “No one is letting up! Especially Tsukishima over there! Talk about drive, eh, Miyake-san?”

Wakatoshi could hear Tendou cackling somewhere.

No doubt he’s joyous to see the blocker in a pinch, all the while impatient to see him overcome.

“Do you know them?”

He almost didn’t hear. Not just because Wakatoshi had been too engrossed, but also that you’d asked so bashfully. Again, you barely met his gaze when he looked at you. Nevertheless, at the very least, Wakatoshi was no longer confounded. Not as he’d been before.

So you did want to speak to him.  

“Yes,” Wakatoshi said.

“Like, personally?”

“Yes.”

“Th-That was stupid of me, of course you do, sorry—"

“Stop apologizing.”

“So- I just thought…I might as well talk to you about this.” You gave him a smile that didn’t reach your cheeks, eyes downcast. “Volleyball, you know. It being our common interest and all—"

“It’s not.” Wakatoshi felt the words deep in his throat. That was untrue. You did not care for it. Perhaps even averse to it. There wasn’t a need to lie for something as hollow and flimsy as keeping the conversation going. “And we don’t have to talk about it.”

You stared, face dimming. “Got it,” you mumbled, before taking the last gyoza on the plate.

It seemed that the more he talked to you, the easier it was getting for Wakatoshi to recognize the tells: the way your features sink, lashes flickering as if trying to get dirt out, the inflection in your voice breaking like fine china. He knew then that his response had brought about a sort of dejection. The last thing that he liked seeing on your face, he realized. Wakatoshi inched closer to the table.

He could watch a recording of the game tomorrow.

Shearing the edges off of his tone, Wakatoshi began, “Please forgive me. I wanted to say that I’m more than capable of conversing about other things. Not just volleyball.”

Wakatoshi had expected that that would soothe you, having expressed that he’s not being hostile as people often thought he was. It usually did the job in his experience. After explaining himself, he’d learned that most people can be quite forgiving.

What he did not expect was for you to laugh.

After that pause that looked to Wakatoshi like you’re trying to work out what he said, you suddenly broke into a snort, then slapped your hands over your mouth, then laughed.

“What?” Wakatoshi demanded.

“S-sorry-“ You snickered, coughing and shaking your head. He pushed a glass of water towards you. “T-Thank you- it’s just you- dude, you looked like you were having the worst time of your life saying that.”

 He should start getting used to surprises when he’s with you, Wakatoshi noted.

You looked like you were having the worst time of your life saying that.

Did he really? He hadn’t noticed. Nor did he feel like it. He couldn’t help but touch his face.

“I’m sorry,” Wakatoshi murmured.

“Stop apologizing,” you grinned.

His brows furrowed. He hadn’t known you were this…puckish.

“I think I get it, though,” you sighed, slumping on your chair. “Maybe. I could be wrong, but you love it, don’t you?”

You looked up at the screen. He followed you. The Sendai Frogs had won the second set. “More than anything in this world,” you continued. “Everything else must be very boring to you.”

Love.

Many people had called what he’d felt towards volleyball in a myriad of ways. “Ma’am, volleyball makes Wakatoshi happy,” his father had supplicated to his grandmother when he was young. “You only enjoy playing volleyball!” the girl he’d tried dating when he was fourteen had cried. From then on it generally oscillated between dedicated and obsessed.

But never loved.

It wasn’t a word that he— nor other people in his life, really— would ever throw around so casually, either. It had never even crossed his mind. You weren’t just throwing it around, though, weren’t you?

You’d meant that.

Not like earlier. This time you’d looked at him in the eye, and you smiled at him like you’d been there with him when he’s alone, on the rare occasions after a lost game, pondering methodically how he could make it up to his team in the next.

Wakatoshi could only nod.

“I’m saying you don’t have to force yourself.” You picked up your neglected mocktail. “I’m not completely ignorant about volleyball. I don’t know much, but I know some things. Like, that—” Gesturing towards the game, “Was their libero doing an underhand serve.”

He glanced at the screen, then to you. “That was an overhead serve.”

“Was it?” You pursed your lips.

“Yes.”

“And was he their libero?”

“No.”

“I see. Not their libero, huh.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure. Liberos wear a different jersey from their teammates.”

“Right, I remember tha— Ouh! The ball was in!”

“It was out,” he informed.

“But the referee went…” You put both arms forward.

Wakatoshi mimicked and raised his hands to his face, palm inwards. “It was out.”

“Hm.” You suddenly perked up. “That one, I know. That’s their setter.”

Sure enough, it was Hirabayashi, Sendai’s setter, that had tossed the ball to Koganegawa. A rally ensued. 

“That was a dump!”

The crowd roared as Tamaden’s blockers dove to the floor. Wakatoshi almost rankled at the sight, if not only for…

“What a powerful jump serve,” you said, almost to yourself. But, then, your commentary halted completely when the camera zoomed in on Sendai’s opposite hitter.

It’s as if all your interest in the game had died, and with it all the light and mirth that had set you aglow in the past couple of minutes.

“Another player that’s been the talk of the town,” the commentator supplied. “A dark horse, one might even say. Not as illustrious as his teammate Tsukishima, whose had an impressive high school career, but don’t you underestimate this guy! Kyotani Kentaro is one tough nut!”

Wakatoshi hadn’t had the opportunity to play against him, but he could recognize the hitter from Aoba Johsai’s game against Karasuno, all those years ago.

You looked back down at the table, but having nothing to distract you with, settled for feeding your teeth with the blunt nail on your thumb. You gnashed and tore. Wakatoshi tempered the instinct to pull your hand away.

That would be impolite, Wakatoshi reminded himself.

He contented himself with observing you.  

A lack of rudimentary knowledge about volleyball, as if all that you’d been made aware of were things that had to do with the roles and skills of the setter. There’s also that reaction.

The muddled colors swirled, melting into each other, once a muddied shade now becoming more distinct— something so unlike what it was, but unequivocally itself.

But not yet.

“Do you dislike volleyball?” he asked, jolting you back to him.

You discarded your nails back to your lap, before looking at Wakatoshi like you’d been scandalized by your behavior. He could make out the beginnings of an apology on your face, which you wrangled back with a grimace. How could he have ever thought you to be a mystery?

Everything is right there for him to see, isn’t it?

“Not- Not really… I don’t give off that impression, do I? Oh, God. It’s okay,” you prattled. “It’s okay. Really. I can’t judge. Clearly, I still have a lot to learn.” A frail chuckle.

“Do you want to?”

Your forehead creased. “Learn? To play? From you? As in, learn how to play? From you?”

Wakatoshi nodded through it all.

You barked, all smiles. 

“That is so generous, Mister Olympic MVP, but no! Are you insane?!” you giggled.

He shrugged. He tried.

“Why not?”

You swallowed. The light snuffed out. In a blink.

“…Got hit by a ball in high school,” you lied. “Square in the face. Brings back bad memories. I wouldn’t wanna embarrass myself like that…again. Especially not in front of you.”

The thousand-yard stare returned with vengeance.

Where do you go when you do that? And how do you do it so easily? Are you subjected to this capricious maelstrom that comes to pull you away without your consent? Or is it just that you’ve always been there— in that place that even Wakatoshi cannot reach?

Something like this happened to him once, when he’d finally been prepared enough to hike Orla Perć. He was halfway to climbing the peak, but then what was once a placidly sunny day became abruptly beset by a storm that had engulfed the trail, strong enough to knock him off where he’d been hanging. Worse, it had stolen the few slants of light that guided Wakatoshi to his destination.

Below him was a steep drop, and behind him only darkness.

Wakatoshi had not known the cold in that way before.

All he could think then, with his hands gripping the metal rungs, was that regardless if the storm had been there to stay, regardless if the few drops of sun had disappeared forever, Wakatoshi had no other choice but to drag himself out of there, and into the light— bleeding, if he had to.

And so, he thought the same now, looking at you. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

The shutters blew open. “I- Ushijima-san- I don’t…follow- I…”

Neither of you said anything more after that. However:

“…You make me nervous,” you whispered.

Wakatoshi breathed in, then nodded. “Many people have said the same thing.”

You huffed, smirking. “I believe that.”

“I’ve heard our opposite hitter from my last team once say about me that—” Wakatoshi tipped his head back in an effort to conjure the words front of his mind. You waited patiently, hanging on. “He said, ‘Pan Ushijima may not be the anti-Christ—”

Both your eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“—But I would not hang out with him willingly.”

You pressed your eyes shut, looking as if you’re about to sneeze. “Oh my God?”

“And not even with a gun to my head,” he continued, even when you’re already reduced to convulsions on the table. “Apparently I always made him feel like he’s never left the court.” Which, to this day, Wakatoshi still did not find the problem with.

That was lost on you, however, as it seemed that you’d been robbed of the ability to form a coherent sentence. Your shaking back was accompanied by shrill cackling that soon became a soundless, breathless thing. It made Wakatoshi fear that you might be on the verge of a cardiac event, but rather than asking if you were okay, or if you needed help, or water (again), he found himself smiling along instead.

Wakatoshi did not have the heart nor the desire to interrupt the sound. Although neither melodious nor the kind his grandmother would call appropriate for a lady, it was pleasant all the same.

It meant that you were here, with him.

“S-sorry, that was just so mean!” you gasped. “Why would he say that oh my god,” you snorted. Wakatoshi nodded. Indeed. “For what it’s worth, I- I think I’d hang out with you willingly, Ushijima-san, oh my god that was still so mean though!”

You laughed. Wakatoshi tilted his head slightly, pensively, looking at you. Watching.

“You think?” he pushed.

You stopped. Your mouth closed and opened like a fish. “Oh, um- yeah- you know what I mean-“ You touched both of your cheeks. He’d bet that if he held your face in his hands that it’d feel like a fresh cup of coffee. Wouldn’t that be something?

“I just think- now, you know, that we’ve- that we are speaking- like this- not like before- sor- I think that maybe- you’re cool? I don’t know. I think. Which is not to say that you’re not, Ushijima-san. All I’m saying is I’d do this again even if Misaki-san didn’t ask us to…”

You were already panting. “…I think.”

Wakatoshi smiled. “I would too. I would like to hang out with you again, please.”

For a second, he’d thought he’d said the wrong thing. You just stared at him as if he weren’t real. Then, your expression crumpled, a misty film over your eyes, and it was like your toes had been stepped on and the person who’d done it didn’t bother apologizing.

He felt the pain shoot up to his chest like it’d been his own.

“That—” you snarled, grinning ruefully, “is something I have not heard in a very long time.”

You grabbed your mocktail and chugged, finishing it, before swiping away its traces with the back of your hand. You looked up, keeping your tears unshed, then exhaled.

“Thank you, Ushijima-san, for saying that,” you croaked.

Simple honesty did not warrant such a reaction, but Wakatoshi chose not to say that. As such:

“I’ve been hit on the face too,” Wakatoshi told you at length. “Only that one time. In the middle of a game.”

You sat up, blinking. “No way?”

“Yes. I was ten. I bled and I had to run to the infirmary right after.”

Your eyes narrowed. “After you bled or after the game?”

“After the game,” he clarified. “I had to make the point.”

“What?!”

The couple nearest to the table turned to you, to whom both of you regretfully bowed your heads to. You leaned towards him. Wakatoshi did the same.

“What?” you continued, hushed this time. “So you played while bleeding?”

He nodded. He could see all the blemishes this close.

“That’s crazy!”

“I suppose,” he muttered. “It wasn’t a smart decision. I made a mess on the court.”

You gawked as if Wakatoshi had beheaded a man in front of you.

“Of course you did!” you cried.

“My mother had the same reaction,” Wakatoshi recalled. That was the first time he’d seen his mother yell at someone other than his father. He still owed a great deal to his coach for bearing it. “She was deeply cross with me.”

“I would be too! I can’t believe your coach forced you to play in that state! That’s very irresponsible.”

You shook your head and Wakatoshi wanted to pinch your cheeks.

“No one can force me to do anything,” he said. “I refused to leave the court.”

“What…” Your smile hung on your lips. “You were still a kid, you know?”

That was true. However, “I was also team captain.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” You nodded emphatically.

“But,” Wakatoshi conceded. “You’re right. That was irresponsible. And it wouldn’t happen now. I wouldn’t be allowed to.” It was reasonable. It was also, in Wakatoshi’s heart of hearts, quite annoying.

You chuckled, gazing at him knowingly. “Of course.”

Silence dawned, but not the kind that you didn’t know what to do with. Silence shared between the two of you, Wakatoshi had realized, was cushy enough to lean into.

“Were you close with your mom?” you asked after a beat.

He considered the question for a minute. “No,” he finally answered. “She didn’t like me very much. Although I believe she tolerates me now.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, delicate yet firm.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m sorry anyway.”

“How about you?” Wakatoshi asked this time, and was rewarded for it with a sure and even a tiny bit defiant smile, as if you were daring him to oppose you. He came to the conclusion that he liked you best like this.

“Yes,” you avowed. “Well, I like to think we are. She cares for me even after all the trouble I’ve brought her, so there’s that at least.”

Wakatoshi would’ve been more than happy to ask some more— Are you an only child? Yes, he would assume by the way your eyes lingered at the family pictures back at the café; Do you like your father? He couldn’t be sure, but he’d readily say that he does; Doesn’t alcohol suck? Yes, absolutely, he’d agree with you; Would you like to have a family of your own? — but the clambering return of Misaki-san’s party had taken the opportunity from him.

Both of you left to catch those who’d almost tripped on their way to the table. Brandon was being carried by two men whom Wakatoshi had never met before. They handed him to Wakatoshi with a winded thank you.

“Maaaaaan! You kiddies shoulda been there!” Misaki-san hiccuped as she tackled you into a hug. “We sang our hearts out! You are always gonna be my love! Itsuka-” Her assistant pulled her away from you, followed by an outburst of apologies. Hamasaki-san, who was tasked to drive the large team van, seemed to be the only one who’d stayed sober. The man only shook his head and laughed as he lugged his traipsing co-workers out of the restaurant. 

The entire company made a trail of drunken, rambunctious Utada Hikaru songs towards the parking lot.

With Brandon in his arms, Wakatoshi quickly retrieved his manager’s car keys in his (slightly moist) back pocket. He laid him at the back of his car and started the engine. You knelt to the floor to pick up some dropped wallets and makeup bottles, while Hamasaki-san set the team to rights inside the van. Wakatoshi went to you to help.

He picked up a watch, then another. You faced each other as you closed some loose caps, before placing them inside a bag that had his sponsor’s logo on it. He slipped his finds there.

“Being soulmates with me must be overwhelming.”

You paused, staring at him. “Not…really…” you lied, again.

But you just looked at each other and exchanged stifled chuckles.

“May I ask you something?” he then murmured.

“Hm?”

A few coins fell from your hands.

Wakatoshi retrieved them for you.

“Why did you run?”

He was looming over you, even as both of you were on your knees. This was how it must’ve been, that first time, but you’d just been too out of it to even be conscious of that. But his presence wasn’t as it was, wasn’t it? A mystery, how far a brief conversation can take two strangers.

It was no longer as fleeting and dream-like as the first, nor as daunting as the second and third.

Wakatoshi Ushijima felt more…tangible now.

There was a distance between the two of you, but you feel every one of his breaths like you’re the one catching them, wrapped in a blanket of yuzu lemons.

Why did you run?

Ushijima waited for your answer.

You knew you shouldn’t have done that earlier, opened a conversation like that. Dumb dummy. Was his smile, watching that game, really that striking? Like you were looking at a different person?

Really? Really, little girl?

Now look at what you’ve done. What will you tell him, huh? Not even the answer closest to the truth would sound believable from your mouth.

Dummy.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said as he put another a compact powder in the bag.

“No…!” Your hand trembled when you pulled at his sleeve. “S-sorry.” You let go.

You didn’t answer, in the end. Instead, you asked, “What did it feel like for you, the first time it happened? When our palms…”

Unlike you, it didn’t take him a meltdown to give a reply. “Weird,” he answered. “I’d long believed that it was impossible for me. So it was a shock when it finally happened. You?”

You looked up at him.

He wasn’t so bad: you’d thought that earlier. You were still thinking it now.

Wakatoshi Ushijima was an unscalable a tower as ever, perhaps not even years of acquaintanceship would change that for folks such as yourself. But you’d accepted now that he was also the type to pull a woman whom he didn’t know from a can of paint out of the hell residing in her mind; the one to say “You did well” and the one to give a forthright sort of kindness without asking for anything in return.

This unscalable tower, who’d bled from his nose when he was ten because he couldn’t leave his volleyball team without winning first.

So, would it be so bad?

“I was…” you choked. “I felt…” You breathed in. “…scared.”

You kept your head down as you got up, dusting off your dress, before pulling at the bag’s drawstrings. When you met his eyes, he had already been there expecting you, still on his knees. You haven’t watched any of his games yet, had never seen him play, but this must be how he looks at his opponents when he does.

It’s a wonder how anybody can survive this.

Wakatoshi stood, gazing down at you, as he handed you something with a closed fist. Something pink and translucent peeked through his thumb; it was the shimmery gloss they’d used on you.

You opened your palm for him. His warm, calloused fingers brushed forked and dashed lines and you’d felt like crying again. You almost caught them with your own.

He stepped forward, not too close, but he leaned just enough for you to hear.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he told you as he took the hefty bag from your hand.

Ushijima walked with you to the van, then bowed and thanked the team, leaving the bag inside the compartment. You watched him through the rearview mirror, watching the car leave, as you mulled over what he’d said.

Did he mean that you didn’t have to be scared anymore because he’s really not as scary as he seems? Or was it that you didn’t have to be anymore now that he’s here?

Was it a promise? Or a threat?

The line between the two seemed to blur with someone like Ushijima.

As soon as you got home, you’d called your mother to share about the things that’d happened at the shoot, how the people treated you (They were all very nice, mama!), how Ushijima had been (He was…nice, too!), what you’d done (We just took some pictures, then had a dinner party), and other gossip here and there (Did you know they have people in their teams who are dating but they’re not allowed to be public about it?). Finally, she asked you if you had fun.

You said yes, meaning it.

She also asked how you felt now that this wonderful and romantic thing was finally happening to you, as she’d always hoped it would. And you’d only said that you felt happy, keeping the other bit to yourself for fear that she might worry about you again.

Although you really did want to say it, that something much more miraculous than a soul glow had occurred, because it'd felt that, after all these years, like you had finally made a friend.

The sweltering heat melted Wakatoshi’s skin and clung to his shirt. Bass imploded under his feet, thumping an unending rhythm as he weaved his way out of the pack of swaying bodies.

Ahead, Nikola-san had already reached the couch where Matias Ruiz and his teammates were waiting. They embraced and clapped each other’s backs. A stark contrast to two days ago when they had been at each other’s throats on the court, crying foul and cursing at the referee.

The two had played together in an international league when Wakatoshi was still an amateur, and he could see them calling each other brother even through the pulsating kaleidoscope that engulfed the spacious room.

He picked up his pace, gingerly pushing the ones who’d knocked into him out of his way, apologizing even though Wakatoshi knew he couldn’t be heard among the din.

“Hey! Asshole!” An American accent. Wakatoshi looked down to see a woman. “Watch where you’re go—”

The woman seemed to have forgotten what she was about to say, gaping at him. He didn’t have the time to wait for it. The renowned outside hitter called out his name, and Wakatoshi speedily escaped the labyrinthine crowd.

Matias and Nikola-san flanked him, shaking him by the shoulders.

“Fédération Internationale de Volleyball’s Most Valuable Player of the Year!” they declared.

The men whistled, raising their glasses. “Salud!”

Andrzej, Janek, and Daniel were already sprawled on the couch. Their youngest grinned, yelling.

“…flacha!” he caught from Janek.

Nikola-san ruffled the boy’s hair, to the entire couch’s amusement, before offering a shot to Wakatoshi. He shook his head.

“Co tam?” the older man asked, scrunching his face when Wakatoshi answered.

“Git,” Wakatoshi repeated. Nikola-san nodded, then shoved the tiny glass to their middle blocker. Daniel accepted it gleefully.

Beside his teammates were Valentin Paez and Martin Cufré. The rest of them stood up to join the dance floor, while the others were engaged in arm wrestling. The only one missing was—

“Chabón!” Wakatoshi stooped under the sudden onslaught of Federico Muñoz’s arm. “Buenos Aires ni irasshaimase!”

Wakatoshi bowed slightly.

“The fool is drunk, please excuse him, Ushijima-san!” Matias hooted with laughter.

“Tomé bocha…birra….!" he caught from the intoxicated libero, who’d grinned at the men on the couch. Then, to him, “You gave us hell out there, brother! You are a… How do you say… tensai!”

He patted Wakatoshi’s chest and proceeded to slump on the low glass table in the middle.

Just behind the couch was a fire exit. Wakatoshi was filled with gratitude seeing it. He excused himself from his team.

The night air welcomed him in its cool bosom. He welcomed the sound of the muted honking of cars below, inhaling, but a trace of musk and a familiar burning smell prompted Wakatoshi to halt, and turn around.

Aleksander, a fellow opposite hitter, was there, leaning against the railing, head to the starless sky. Standing next to him was Klemens, who had something pinched between his fingers. Its end glowed and emitted smoke.

“Pan Ushijima,” Aleksander sing-songed, blowing out a cloud.

Klemens followed, smiling dazedly. "Zioło?” He extended the thin roll to Ushijima.

It was snatched by Aleksander, who’d then spat, “The MVP is too good for smoking. Winner like him, does not do things… such as this.”  

Yet another thing he’d gotten wrong about him.

“I have,” Wakatoshi explained. During his stay in America. His roommate had a habit, and he was quite adamant that Wakatoshi would take well to it, but, “It only made me hungry and unproductive.”

Aleksander sneered. “Idiota.” Klemens, red eyes drooping, glanced to Wakatoshi, and was about to reprimand the taller blonde, but:

“Excuse me, señor.” They all turned back to the door. “What a mean thing to say to your teammate.”

Nahuel Caneo addressed them with a smile, a bottle in each hand. He bowed briefly to Wakatoshi.

Wakatoshi bowed back.

His teammates, clearly perturbed by his presence, left in haste. Aleksander, however, grumbled along the way. Wakatoshi had never seen an angrier man who’d indulged in the purportedly calming drug. Fascinating.

“You must forgive him,” Nahuel told Wakatoshi as the door shut close.

He looked at him. “They haven’t harmed me.”

Nahuel laughed. “You’re just as they say, Ushijima-san.”

A frosty, unopened bottle was handed to Wakatoshi.

“Felicidades.” The setter beamed. “That was one of the most delightful games of my career.”

Wakatoshi felt his chest expand. “It’s an honor, Nahuel-san.” He bowed once more.

“I hope it’s to your liking. I heard from Nikola that you would only partake in beer.”

The one given to him had low alcohol content. He’s had it before. Andrzej must have told him. A quiet thank you, then Wakatoshi borrowed a discarded bottle cap and used it to break his open. Tangy sweet ginger refreshed his parched throat.

They rested their arms against the railing, drinking in silence as they watched over the traffic.

“Getting benched is one thing. Staying benched is another. A sort of death,” Nahuel suddenly uttered. “Sometimes death is better. Less shame to it.”

“Aleksander has not died. He’s just not good. Not right now. He is blinded by expectations of his potential.”

Nahuel paused from drinking. “Aren’t we all, at that young age? Aren’t you?”

“No,” he replied, sipping. “I only see what I can do and what I will. What others expect of it is none of my business.”

The older man shook his head, chuckling. “Spoken like a champion. That one only had his eyes on you, you know. You two— truly something else. You do acknowledge that it was a very close call?”

Wakatoshi huffed, smiling. “I do.” It was the best game of Wakatoshi’s career, too.

“A pair of prodigal sons,” Nahuel muttered around the lip of the bottle. “Your motherland must be weeping for the loss of you two.”

“Japan doesn’t hold a grudge against us.”

Nahuel laughed kindly. “No, no. Please excuse me. I mean to say…they must want for the both of you to come home and play there.”

He considered this. “Perhaps. But they can’t be wanting that much. We’ve no lack of competent players.”

A flash of pride in Nahuel’s eyes. He offered his bottle for a toast. Wakatoshi accepted.

“There are rumors of Romero…”

“A land of beasts.” Nahuel frowned, shivering. “Please, I take back what I said. Do not ever come home.”

Wakatoshi chuckled lowly.  

“But do you plan on going back?” Nahuel asked.

“…In a few years,” he answered.

After emptying the bottle, Nahuel patted his back to say goodbye. “I must get going. Matias might be undressing as we speak.”

Wakatoshi nodded, then, “Do you happen to know where the toilet is?”

“Take those stairs.” He gestured behind Wakatoshi. “The one for the customers smell. Use the one for employees. It’s okay. They’re fans too. They know you know us. And we know the guy who runs the place. Good guy. Wife and four kids.”

Wakatoshi bowed, thanking Nahuel.

Then, just as he was turning to leave, Nahuel called his name. He spoke, but Wakatoshi did not recognize the words. It must be his native language.

“It’s something my grandmother used to tell me,” he elucidated with a gentle, patient expression. “I hope everything that occurs to you will be as joyful as a dream.”

“You too, Nahuel-san,” Wakatoshi said.

Nahuel smiled, waving as he turned back.

What a man.

He followed the older setter’s instructions. The men’s room was unoccupied and, although dimly lit, was as clean as Nahuel had said. Wakatoshi washed his hands after having done his business. He was about to go, send a message to his teammates and retire for the night, when a loud thud alerted him to the cubicle at the farthest corner of the room. It was the largest one, painted a deep maroon like the others.

Another thud, then a groan.

“Hello?” His voice echoed back to him. “Is everything alright?”

A strangled cry prompted Wakatoshi to march to the cubicle and force his way inside. The door unhinged partly at the top. It hung open.

A man in a black shirt, with the club’s logo stitched on the chest, stared back at Wakatoshi.

He’s shoved against the wall, his wrists pinned above his head. His eyes were blown wide open, grinning blankly, as a large, veined hand smothered his mouth into muffled keening. The other taller man who’s got him there is on his throat, a thick head of brown hair facing Wakatoshi, as his hips thrusted in wild abandon into the smaller one.

“Oikawa,” Wakatoshi growled.

The hand left his mouth, and the man let out a sharp howl, his entire body caught in trembles. Oikawa whispered something to him, pulling an absent, empty giggle out of him, before he fixed his pants and stumbled out of the cubicle, then out of the room. Wakatoshi glanced at the sopping pile of rubber beside the toilet. 

Oikawa slumped to the floor; belt still unbuckled around his waist. A sheen of sweat glistened against his pale face. He looked up at Wakatoshi, who then knelt next to him without another word.

His pupils were massive, shining black marbles. He should’ve brought a bottle of water with him, Wakatoshi thought.

“What did you take?”

Oikawa bared his teeth to grin at Wakatoshi, then stuck his tongue out. A bright, bubblegum blue pill sat there, still perfectly round.  Before he could roll it back in and swallow, Wakatoshi grabbed him by the nape, pulled, and shoved his tongue inside Oikawa’s mouth.

His lips were pillowy and wet against his, and he tasted bitter, almost astringent, as Wakatoshi swiped the fat of his tongue to catch the pill. He pulled away, already hard in his pants, and spat it into the toilet next to them, slamming the lid down.

In the next breath, Wakatoshi is on his back. Oikawa is on top of him, fist wrenching his collar. “Don’t leave me hanging, you fucking dog,” he drawled, chuckling.

He spat into Wakatoshi’s mouth. “Just like old times, huh?”

Wakatoshi grunted. He found himself unable sit up, until he pulled Oikawa by the hair and sunk his canines into his throat. Copper and salt mingled in Wakatoshi’s tongue. Oikawa moaned, grinding his ass down into Wakatoshi’s stiff cock as he made quick work of his pants.

Around his fingers, there’s a tacky downiness to Oikawa’s chestnut strands that made Wakatoshi grin. It almost felt like coming back home. He tugged harder, until Oikawa is facing the ceiling. The brunette cackled as he swiveled his hips.

“My greedy, little virgin boy,” he groaned. God, he wanted to slam himself inside that tight heat so fucking bad. “A trophy isn’t enough for you, huh? Want my ass too?”

“Fucking tease,” Wakatoshi grounded between his teeth. Blood trailed down Oikawa’s throat. He licked it up, feeling his Adam’s apple bob under his tongue.  

Oikawa cackled, sighing, as he stroked himself. “Iwa-chan.”

The world turned red. Wakatoshi snarled, then grabbed Oikawa’s arm with the other hand, and lunged him to the wall, both of them a couple of scrambling feet. Oikawa barked, sneering, as he pushed Wakatoshi to the plank of wood dividing the cubicles, his arm locking Wakatoshi by the shoulders.

The divider cracked under the impact. The hinges of the door creaked in protest.

“You think you're all that?! Think you’ve won, motherfucker?!” Oikawa snapped. They heaved into each other’s panting mouths.  “You haven’t won shit!”

Hot flushes fluttered in Wakatoshi’s chest. He laughed. “You’re a sore loser.”

“Yeah, better a sore loser than a— fuck me,” Oikawa groaned, “—than a desperate one. Hm?”

He’s already got Wakatoshi in his grip, their cock heads twitching and leaking into each other. Wakatoshi felt each heavy drop of Oikawa’s pre-cum on the tip, then slithering down to trace every vein on his shaft.

His cock was as pretty as him. The pink, curved head caught around Wakatoshi’s thick girth. Their fingers probed and scratched against each other as Wakatoshi stroked along with Oikawa. They bucked their hips forwards and backwards in a slow, frenzied rhythm.

They throbbed against each other, the meat of their cocks grinding and kissing. Sticky, wet sliding noises reverberated across the room.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa moaned, those enlarged pupils laughing at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Wakatoshi growled, thrusting his fingers into the brunette’s waiting mouth.

He gnawed until they bled. Wakatoshi hissed, but watched anyway, transfixed, as Oikawa sucked them dry.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” he crooned around his fingers.

Their once measured movements became erratic, and his heart careened along with it. The light behind his eyes bursting, a volatile thing, sending shockwaves in his nerves.

“My baby? My prince? S’that what you want? You and that fucked up savior’s complex of yours?” Oikawa spat, sighing into his ear. “My prince? Have you come to save me? Ah, right there— My prince — fuck, baby, I’m so close—”

They spilled all over each other’s hands, shivering and gasping.

Oikawa fell to him, his damp forehead resting on his equally damp shoulders. For a while, there was only the sound of their strained breathing. Then, whimpering.

He wondered if the high had worn off and if it was causing him pain. Wakatoshi tried to shake him off just so he could see his face, but Oikawa stubbornly pressed into his cheek instead. He let him. Only for a minute though. They needed to clean up soon.

A steady trickle of sweat dripped from Oikawa to Wakatoshi’s neck.

Oikawa was blabbering something. He might still be up there after all, swimming in a river of adrenaline. However, the more he did it, that high-pitched blabbering, the less convinced Wakatoshi had been that that was indeed the case.

He was repeating a name, whispering it like a prayer, almost like sickly plea.

Wakatoshi understood then that Oikawa was no longer provoking him.

It wasn’t even Iwaizumi Hajime’s name.

It was somebody else’s.

One he couldn’t recognize.

And the sweat that flowed unceasingly didn’t seem to be just that.

[coveredinworms]

Completely batshit ask here but have you hear of irl zizian movement. If you haven't there's an expose at zizians.info. There's this woman named Ziz from the sf bay area who has started a murder cult that spiraled off of the rationalism movement in like 2022. Worm became really popular because it was shouted out in Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality in the early 2010s. If you read about her methods in fucking with people psychologically it is just. Simurgh Worm. Even her beliefs read as the Simurgh when she first appeared before she destroyed Lausanne. Do you think she named herself after Ziz. I do. She had to have, right. I feel insane.

Apologies for the delay in responding to this, I'll be real, i read this at like 6:30 in the morning right after waking up and straight up assumed I made this up. But yeah almost certainly lmao. The site you link says her whole way of viewing the world is based of a paper by Yudowsky so it'd make sense to me she'd be a HPMOR person, and as you say HPMOR is part of what helped spin up the Worm machine. Furthermore I gotta say, you really buried the lead on this one. I went to look up extra info and holy shit dude. TW // Incredible Violence

WOAH DUDE. THAT SHIT IS CRAZY.

[midnightshindig]

May we have rex splode pining for an oblivious hero/coworker reader? Don’t forgot to drink some water today! ❤️

Rex X Oblivious!Reader

(I’m like snarling and cackling at my request inbox oooo you bitches are NAWT ready for what I have cooking)

(also thank you, I drank my friends entire water bottle over a single lunch in so hydrated 💪)

Drabble below the cut!

Rex isn’t subtle, literally walked right up to you the first day of your new job as a Guardian of the Globe and asked if you wanted to “see my room?”

”Yeah, sure!!” You were bright and affable, look at you already making friends!

Rex is a little surprised at how willing you are, but Amanda clocks your naïveté and tags along.

she hangs off your arm “Yknow, I’ve never seen your room either, Rex!”

Rex is like Amanda why are you cockblocking me wtf

Amanda knows something he doesnt

You have no idea he’s flirting with you.

This sort of thing keeps happening, with Rex directly propositioning you and you accepting, thinking he means something else, and a teammate noticing and coming to your rescue

This comes to a head when fucking SHAPESMITH is stepping in on your behalf

”Hey Y/n, think you’re tall enough to ride this ride?” He smirks down at you, leaning an arm against the wall in front of you

You beam up at him with a tilted head “Why don’t we find out?” Assuming he’s going to give you a piggy back ride or something

Shapesmith over here like “Yknow *I* rode a mechanical bull for the first time the other day.” Interrupting ass

He can’t take it anymore.

“SHAPESMITH, fuck. Off.”

He just grabs your hand and pulls you away, somewhere every superhero in the building isn’t trying to sabatoge him.

Honestly, getting cockblocked so many times means he’s actually spent a good deal of time with you

Enough to know that you’re overtly oblivious but also like, cool and fun or wtv

he has a crush on you

oh my god! He facepalms internally

hes an adult man with a teenage boy crush on you holy shit

so now you’re alone with him in his room, with the door locked so nobody busts down the door, and he’s trying his best not to scare the shit out of you

you don’t even think to be scared, this is Rex we’re talking about, he’s a good guy

in your opinion, at least ^^ - so now he’s like “He Y/n, I know we’ve been hanging out a lot lately, but like I really like you and I think you’re the dopest mofo on this team”

you just nod and smile, blinking plainly

”And what I mean by that is that I REALLY like you, like a lot.”

”Awww I like you too, Rex!”

His eye twitches, he’s not sure how to get through to you

“No like- I like-like you!”

this is what he’s been reduced to. Schoolgirl confessions. At nineteen. Fuck him.

He throws caution to the wall and grabs your hands, encasing them in his own and looking intensely into your eyes

it would be romantic if he didn’t look so damn frustrated

”I want to kiss you and take you on dates because you’re super nice and hot as hell!”

oh?

OH!

Your eyes widen and your entire face goes red

”Oh- that’s so sudden!”

he could die.

”Of course I’ll go out with you!”

and the kickef

”I’ve had a huge thing for you since my first day, I’ve been trying to get some alone time but everyone else always interrupts us!” You pouted, folding your arms before playfully winking at him.

for his trouble, you give him a kiss of the cheek before standing up and straightening your shirt

”How’s tomorrow?”

He just looks at you in shock

”Tomorrow’s good. Uh, yeah…. Tomorrows good.”

”Cool!” And with that you’re out the door, skipping off to go gab about your date plans with Amanda and Rudy.

and he’s left on his bed like

”What a person….” fucking dizzy heart eye smile goofy ass

hes So excited

(sorry this high key plays out like a looney toons episode <3)

[the-acid-pear]

Whip... YA BASTAAAAAAAAA YA BASTAAAAAA. PAREN DE UNA VEZZZZ. Damn Sarah has some gorgeous thighs.

It's not worth dying for Whip please. David pleaseeee. Pa...

She shot his hip what is he dying of. This is gonna make me throw up. Mike you deserve to be hung. This was the plan. He never cared. He hates him. He always hated T-Bag he's not about doing this to him. Since when can he do that? This is so sick. David. Please. This is so fucking sick. Man alive. Holy God. This is literally so insane MIDDRIFT.

Mike is gonna make me throw up. My man pulling a Henry Miller I merely played with you, toyed with your affections. I am so. Beyond. Beyond anything.

What? What is Mike doing lmao. When did they have time to make this? Elvis? This is still a lot of work. What? THIS WAS THE PLAN. loooutugugugjhthtbt

Reframing me for the murder I actually committed goofy ass sentence.

I'm gonna develop an ulcer. Good choreography. Just 3? Not gonna do the 7? Also what's wrong w him?

Nothing matters to me because Teddy and Davey wait. Didn't remember that was his name when I made the Henry joke that's so fucking fitting wtf.

Well I don't care Mike. I don't care about you. I don't care. I wasn't there with you the 7 years. You're not the man I knew.

THINGS DON'T WORK OUT MAN. Oh. Oh man. I mean I'd have preferred if that I love you was a bit more. Why is Linc so distant? Everything legit feels so. Bittersweet. Like it's lacking. It's not happy. Teddy ... I know it's not bf him I'm just seeing him btw. But like LOSE THE SHOES sorry what. Yeah whatever THAT'S IT? HOLY FUCK. DID THEY RUN OUT OF BUDGET? WHAT HAPPENED. THATS SUCH A NON ENDING. CHRIST ALIVE

It's been forever. I'm starting season 5. It's time.

[yukimiyum]

yeah so i finished a court of mist and fury

[emmavakarian-theirin]

the way the music died at just the right moment made this so perfect

[haedshct]

btw u guys ever think about how bedmans first interaction with the real world EVER was by killing someone. you guys think abt how bedman uses the same terminology as the overture valentine when he refers to ariels errands. specifically that word, errands. do you think h

[magpie-22]

Oh uh… ok.. alright.. how long is too long?? Jelly I’m scared.

I’m sitting on the toilet with him.. we’re like way too close it’s really uncomfortable. Mostly just awkward though. He’s trying to make small talk but it’s just not working. Jelly why wouldn’t he just get on with business? I’m not here to be his friend I just want the money. I don’t care that his colonoscopy went well dude?? Like tmi I don’t need to know that? Oh great he’s talking about the weather. Not cliche at all man. Yeah yeah I hate the cold too whatever can we just sell this damn kidney already? It smells so fucking bad in here? Did you take a shit before I got here? No? Oh you can’t take the suit off? Ok weird… is there someone else in this bathroom rn? Hello?? Oh uh.. nothings going on I’m just selling my friends kidney dw about it. Hey actually do you have any gum? My mouth tastes kinda bad and I’m all out. Oh really? Thanks man!! Oh could my friend here have a piece too? How are you gonna eat it with the suit on? Ok whatever not my problem. Thanks for the gum dude, have a good one. Anyways back to jelly’s kidney… no I don’t want a snack I’m not hungry. Dude I said I’m not hungry stop. Ok. Wow. My relationship with my parents is actually none of your business?? You know what your business is? Selling my friends kidney can we get on with that?? Ok thanks damn. Yeah so she’s giving me her left kidney I think it should be in pretty good condition. $40,000??? OMG that is ALOT of money man. You can seriously get me that?? Holy shit yeah that would be life changing. Yeah I’m uhh… a member of the JPPA yeah. Mhm. Yeah ok great. Yeah here’s my number, let me know when you can get me that money Man, thanks so much. I’ll see you around? No. Probably not I guess.

1 am me had a horrible idea

but anyways i think we need to reclaim fleshy cowboy head guy by putting our own fandoms beneath our skin and allowing it to protrude out of our heads. if you read this i am formally challenging you to draw yourself with your own fleshy fandom head.

go forth! fleshy fandom head-ify yourself NOW