#actually just curse tumblr in general you fucking suck

[friendo]

He's a ghost. But he's out there.

[kulemiwrites]

𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐄 | 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Genre: SMUT

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2k

Character(s): Sylus (Shin), fem!Reader

A/N: This is my first time in a long time sharing a non-yakuza, non-ss fic, so I'm super nervous! I started on this back in August and kept giving up on it but somehow today I managed to power through! I wanted to make this a little something more than just smashing a fave but as of now there's still LOTS to learn about Shin. Hopefully it's decent?

Too long for tumblr? Read on AO3!

You can't get enough of him and who was he to deny his sweet girl?

The rustle of sheets shifting beneath desperate bodies had nearly been silenced by the ferocious song of labored breathing and damp skin connecting. Sharp hisses, quiet promises and gratified curses pushed through swollen, parted lips. His– pink and plush– slipped between his pearly whites in a sad attempt to mute himself but he was unsuccessful. There was no hiding how good his cock felt buried deep within your smooth, sticky velvet. Greedy, spongy walls selfishly sucked him back in stroke after savory stroke.

It was too much, and yet, not nearly enough.

Tears of sweat raced along Sylus’ tall, sinewy body. The night lights of the bustling city you’d just spent a whole day exploring, peaked through the floor to ceiling windows. Neither of you had bothered to draw the curtains before you fell into bed, chasing each other’s lips and caress. Now, with the city’s blessing, you were graced with the sight of his muscles bulging and veins dancing with each deep roll of his hips. His fair skin shined like pearls of alabaster. The city’s illumination wasn’t too generous though. It softened his features and hid just how lust-ridden his expression actually was.

He’d promised himself when you checked into the hotel this evening that he would be on his best behavior, that he’d rest with you after your showers and keep his hands to himself. However, encouraged by the couple glasses of vino he’d ordered you at dinner, you stripped out the sexy red dress that he’d had painstakingly tailored for your gorgeous figure shortly after entering the room and dropped it to puddle around your feet. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself all day and the build up led you to mow him down the moment you had him all to yourself.

And who was he to deny the whims of his favorite kitten?

You had been writhing and moaning beneath him for no less than twenty minutes now and though you’d reached your peak twice, it was written in your starry eyes that you desperately needed more. Sylus had been dying to cum since since orgasm #1 but he always prided himself in being the one who could satisfy you like no other. 

When he took you to bed, he always encouraged you to use him to your heart's content. Each time he sank his long, thick cock inside your heat, he was convinced that this was what he was placed onto the planet to do. 

Nothing ever felt more right than this. 

The way his balls tightened at the thought practically confirmed that as fact and it drove him fucking insane. 

You spread your legs further, slippery fingers gripping at his waist in an attempt to pull him in deeper. A curt breath pushed through his nostrils as his lips curled in a jeer. How cute, he thought as he hooked his own deft fingers beneath your right knee and lifted it to rest your leg above his shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss against your ankle, your foot dangling above his ear. 

Sylus knew that if he kept up at this pace he would wind up spilling himself inside of you. Though he angled himself to offer you the final inch of cock that you’d been craving for, he softened and slowed his stroke. 

You let out a groan, expressing your discontent with this without a word but he continued as he were, flashing a teasing but apologetic smirk. It wasn’t lost on him what you wanted but for now, just for now, he had to ignore your desires until he could gather himself once again. Pressing a kiss to your lips, he mentally promised to give you what you wanted… in due time. 

You reached for his face, nimble fingers unknowingly trailing behind a bead of sweat that raced along his sharp jawline then dripped off his chin. “Sy, don’t stop!”

He craned his head to catch one of your knuckles between his lips, giving it a sweet peck, hips still rolling gently against you, “Sweetie, if I don’t lighten up, I’ll cum…”

The same fingers he’d leaned in to kiss, slithered up his neck then tangled themselves in the short, damp hair at the back of his head before pulling him down until he was but a breath apart from your lips. Lowering your leg from its rightful place above his broad shoulder, you wrapped it and its twin around his undulating waist. 

A sharp gasp escaped his lips, his scarlet gaze widened down at you.

You gripped the short of his hair tighter, all but snatching it from his scalp as you locked him in place using your heels to guide his thrusts for an added emphasis. 

“Dont. Fucking. Stop!” you panted, then sank your teeth into his bottom lip.

A pointed groan ripped from deep within his diaphragm. His dark, narrow brows twitched with nearly the same intensity as his body. Sylus’ large, clammy hand was shaky in its reach for the pillow haloed around your head. Loud moans sounded out as he managed just a few more deep, stuttering thrusts with your guidance and then his entire body stiffened…

Did he just…?

Horror chilled his body just as quickly as the lust that lit him on fire. 

He could barely count on his own strength to hold him up above you. Second by second his arms grew limp, practically useless. 

This… had never happened before. 

Did he really just react to you taking charge as if he were a virgin getting his cock wet for the first time in his life? Thoughts poured into him like alphabet soup– scrambled and senseless. What had you done to him? Surely he was capable of far more vigor than his…

Ruby red poured over your face, attempting to study you while maintaining his own composure. Was this the night he’d disappoint you? Would you believe him if he told you that this was exactly what he planned to do? He wondered.

A wickedness curled the corners of your mouth and delight flashed in your eyes.

For once, he found you impossible to read. Were you amused at his lackluster performance? Were you pleased with yourself for getting exactly what you wanted? Or… Was there something else? 

Once again securing your legs around his waist, song fell from your parted lips as you rocked into him, helping yourself over and over to his softening cock. Pathetic whimpers escaped him as he watched your eyes roll back, completely indifferent to the sensitivity plaguing member. Your nails combed at his scalp as you pulled him closer, giggling softly as you pressed a kiss to his lips. 

Biting back a groan, he whispered against yours. “Are you not done with me yet, kitten?”

His pulse was already out of control but the mind-numbingly beautiful smile you flashed at him as you shook your head was nearly enough to double it. A playful scoff brushed warmly against your glistening face. 

“That so?”

Sylus dug his fingertips into the pillow, gripping until he’d made a fist. Biting back the embarrassing moan that itched his throat, he wound his jaw. He steeled himself, resting his weight onto his hands that were stretched out to claw at the lumpy sheets surrounding you. Slowly but surely, he was beginning to roll his hips once again, trying his best to regain just enough composure to take back control. This sensitivity however, was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. 

His thick cock twitched inside of you, blood pumping in efforts to rejuvenate itself. He felt as if he was becoming more hard this time than he was right before he’d come. 

“Fuck, ____.” he grunted through clenched teeth.

It wasn’t common for him to use your name, especially in moments like this but now he’d been uttering it against your skin like a prayer. You were the goddess he was hoping would show him mercy. Of course, his prayers would go unanswered. He worshiped a selfish deity, one that saw no error in using him and received pleasure from his torment.

And he wanted it no other way.

The thought would have made him laugh had he not been dying from overstimulation. 

At what point did he become the type to all but beg to be fucked like this? Just exactly when did you come to wield such power over him? How did he allow himself to become so utterly pathetic? 

You pulled him in for a messy kiss as if sensing the whirlpool that was his thoughts and sought to silence them. He had become putty in your hands– Or perhaps, he always had been? Each time he fell under your touch, he watched him stray further and further from the Sylus he’d so ardently crafted. The man practically ripping a hole into the fabric of these very expensive sheets as he frantically pounded you was a stranger to him.

“Ah, that feels so good, Sy!” you whined, your hands slipping from his head back down to grip pathetically at his dripping waist. “Please, don’t stop!”

“Of course, Sweetie.” he panted harshly, his expression hardening as he glanced down at your sloppy connection. Both his cum and your arousal splashed back against his thighs, a ring of cream likely building up around the base of his cock. 

Then, he stared at your beautiful face. Pretty lips parted, brows needled together to signify your desperation, and your eyes, the ones that made his heart stutter each time they’d connected with his, were laser focused on the way he’d been splitting you. While you lost yourself to his cock, he lost himself within you. 

Who was he? Right now, who was he really?

He knew the answer to that a long time ago but right now, he didn't have the foggiest clue…

Sylus felt your walls contracting around him, the grip like a vice as his balls tightened no matter how hard he fought against the buckle of his stroke. He was intent on churning through that sensitivity, now utterly delicious, in an effort to usher his sweet kitten to the taste of bliss she was so fervently chasing. 

Focus, Sylus. Fucking focus. He told himself. 

You buried your nails deep into his biceps, crescent moons would soon fill with blood and he left them as it. He had no intention of faltering.  

“Comin–!” you forced out, sweaty back arching off of the bed.

He gripped at your waist, slamming you down to meet his clumsy thrusts. A stream of your juices sprayed out onto him but he continued to pound, guiding you to once again to wrap your legs around his waist. Once you did, a loud roar of your name left him as he filled you one more time. Together with him, a chorus of pleasured moans filled the air until soon he drowned yours out.

“Agh, AGH! aH!” he groaned, thrusting until he could no longer. 

Your hands fell from his arms, limp at your side and with a shudder, Sylus plopped down onto you, still careful not to squish you with his body weight. 

His brows twitched with frustration as he fought to catch his breath. Fuck… He was so certain he would be able to last longer that time.

He rested on his forearm then used his free hand to guide you to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” he managed through a huff. “Give me a bit and we can try again if you’re still not satisfied.”

An almost derpy smile spread across your lips as you ran your hand through his silver strands, so sweaty that most of it slicked back with ease, showing off his tired but oh, so very handsome face. Shaking your head, you whispered. “No, you were perfect… That was amazing. Thank you.”

His scarlet eyes bounced between yours as a smile that could rival yours spread across his plush lips. You didn’t miss the way they glimmered with pride as he stared down at you. 

“No need to thank me, Sweetie.” he whispered right before giving you one final kiss, one to communicate the adoration he felt for you at that moment. “You’re welcome to use me anytime.” 

Please do not reupload/repost/rewrite. Reblogs always appreciated.

[precambrian-sea-pancake]

Gonna infodump about my D&D character

(Sadly forced to keep things confidential because my party members follow me on tumblr…you know who you are 👁️👁️)

I’ve only had Gawain for a short time but OH MY GOODNESS I FUCKING ADORE THIS SILLY GUY!!

Also kinda shocked that the moodboard I made for him got that many notes. That’s a first…

Also please enjoy the drawing @hootbon made for me. I will never shut up about their art.

So…for what CAN post publicly…

Gawain is your token Lawful Good Paladin TM. Bonus points for being a protector aasimar I guess. (Though I might multiclass into a bard depending on how things go. It would fit him well. They’re my favorite spell caster.)

His personality is gonna be SO fun to play. Before I explain that, I should mention that he’s actually the youngest of the group at 24. The second youngest is the Kobold (Maran) who’s 37. So he’s a lot more naive and still understanding himself and the world around him. People often dismiss him due to that unfortunately. But, you know, imagine a dumb collage age boy and you get somewhat of an idea.

He’s a very sweet and compassionate guy, extremely extroverted and fun loving…maybe a bit flirty at times. Definitely cracks witty comments and one liners in battles ranging from something clever to “suck my dick” or something dumb like that. That doesn’t mean he can’t be serious, he absolutely knows when he should. Ironically he’s the most “normal” of the group, often being the straight man. Overall heart of gold and just wants to help people.

He has a bit of a rebellious and impulsiveness to him. As clever as he is, he’s mostly driven by his emotions. It’s always a “do what feels right in the moment” rather than logic. In general he’s just very emotional and struggles with hyper empathy. This also causes him to question a lot of the authority around him.

I’d also say he has that Disney Princess syndrome. Gawain is convinced that he has some grand destiny and is meant for more. He’s always wanted to explore and learn more about the world, meet new people and cultures, live a life of glory and adventure. Maybe he’s in over his head or maybe he’s not…we’ll see.

However, another big reason for doing all this is that he wants to understand who he is…more accurately WHAT he is. He was born to humans, raised by humans, and grew up in a mostly all human kingdom. So he grew up thinking he was one despite some strong differences between him and the others. Aasimar are VERY rare, and more like myths to most people, and others don’t even know they exist. So people either assumed he was blessed or cursed, some treated him like the messiah, and others thought he was a freak and dangerous. So yeah, he never felt like he belonged and wants to learn about himself.

Somewhere in his life he ended up becoming a squire and completed his training just before the start of the campaign…

And that’s all the backstory information I can post because my friends will see this.

I guess I can do a bit of trivia:

It’s still D&D lore, but the world itself is homebrew. Humans are actually not the majority race, far from it. Most humans live in a large archipelago with various human nations. I remember the DM said the estimated population of humans was 20,000 to 30,000. The two mainland continents are one dominated by dwarves and the other by elves, along with other races being far more common on the mainland. Not really about my character but I LOVE that detail. It’s somewhat relevant I guess since I said Gawain grew up in a human society.

The god he venerates most is Ilmatar.

His eyes reflect his emotions and power. When using any of his abilities or when under intense emotions (both positive and negative), his eyes will turn a solid gold color.

Prior to his training, he was a courier. His parents ran his town’s postal service and that’s one of the things that got him into the idea of adventuring.

He’s more of a cat person than a dog person. He likes both, but I feel like he’d go for the cat.

The first weapon he ever used was a bow rather than a sword. The specific sword he uses is an arming sword.

He is a wonderful singer, his voice is almost ethereal in when he sings (little aasimar headcanon of mine).

His favorite study is anthropology, but also really likes history and geography. He’s always collecting little souvenirs and trinkets from everywhere he visits.

He keeps a diary and loves to write stories and sketch things. A lot of story inspiration comes from his dreams, which are often very vivid…and he remembers them super well.

Neither of his parents have blonde hair, nor is it a recessive trait they had. It’s actually part of his aasimar traits.

He talks in his sleep because I think it’s funny.

If this wasn’t a medieval fantasy world, he’d definitely use Gen Z slang. Maybe even tell someone “L + Ratio” or “Skill issue” after besting them in battle. In that same hypothetical reality, his favorite band would be Starset and The Score.

He takes good care of his appearance and health, so he does enjoy certain beauty products. A spa day is his ideal day off.

He hates salmon. He thinks it tastes bad and prefers catfish. I don’t know why I even thought of that fact but it’s there.

[wannabegwenstacy]

Eden's Favorite Scoups Tumblr Fics

updated: 5/2/2023

A/N: check out the full svt fic recs masterlist for some of the other members. warning i'm a baby carat so its not super full yet and i currently have only some members posts created currently. will be updating with more fic recs periodically. :)

A/N: Also, I don't have a lot of fics linked yet. :( Will continue reading and updating periodically.

.

.

⇣Below cut⇣

Terrifyingly Innocent by @twogyuu

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, fake dating, slowburn, older brother’s best friend!Seungcheol, badboy!Seungcheol, innocent!reader, older brother!Jihoon, non-idol!au, university!au, low-key Crazy Rich Asians!au (Seungcheol is RICH - implied chaebol lifestyle, Jihoon and reader's family aren't chaebols and are commoners but well-off)

Warnings: PG-13, specific warnings will be listed per chapter.

Summary: Fearful of losing her, yet unwilling to leave; this agreement between Seungcheol and his best friend’s little sister was meant to be casual and temporary, yet he finds himself growing more attached to her day by day.

.

.

.

push it down (sooner or later it all comes out) by @dontflailmenow

Pairing: Seungcheol x fem!reader

word count: 50,301

genre: smut (18+), enemies to lovers, camboy au, angst (with a happy ending)

Warnings: adult language, excessive use of petnames, copious amounts of banter, e2l antagonism/shenanigans, camboy!cheol, strength kink, size kink, blink and you miss it sir kink, reader likes being a brat and cheol is into it, brief discussion about/hints of potential sexual power dynamics (but they're pretty tame imo), two instances of ass-swatting, mutually consensual possessiveness, semi-public touching, explicit sexual content: masturbation (m. and f.), manual stimulation (m. and f. receive), oral sex (m. and f. receive), protected and unprotected sex + creampie.

Summary: thirsting over your ex’s best friend in general is a bad idea. given that you and seungcheol have never gotten along, it’s even worse. when you accidentally stumble across his stream, though, and he finds out? all bets are off.

.

.

.

baguette by @bwinnies

Pairing: choi seungcheol x reader

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: FLUFF , some cursing , food is mentioned (they’re in a grocery store) , seungcheol may make u kinda weak ngl

.

.

.

FINE DINING 101: STEP ONE (s.c) by @ncteez

Pairing: seungcheol x afab reader 

Wordcount: 3.6k

Warnings: pussy eating (he gets in there), masturbation in the form of humping the mattress and then into his hand, finger fucking, there isn’t any penetration or anything but like– maybe in a part two they can actually do more??? idk it depends on if y’all want a part two.

Summary: Is it weird that no man has ever given you some good head and your best friend is a bit annoyed by that? Probably not. Is it weird that he offers to eat you out after a particularly bad date? Oh yeah, for sure. You’re still gonna let him though. 

or the one where seungcheol proves to you just how good he is at giving head.

.

.

.

Remind Me by @milfgyuu

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k

Genre: fluff, humor

Warnings: mc gets drunk, cheol sleeps in underwear only (u can fight me on this), like one (1) unintentional innuendo.

Summary: You’ve had a little too much to drink at your sister’s wedding and can’t understand how or why Choi Seungcheol of all people is assigned to babysit you.

.

.

.

ice cold, cabin fever by @smileysuh

Pairing: Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader

Rating: 18+ explicit

Wordcount: 25.9k

AU's: e2l, s2l, step brothers Jihan, non idol, ski resort, roomies, etc...

Warnings: threesome, daddy issues, mean/tsundere cheol, wet dreams, spanking, marking, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex, pain kink, dacryphilia, breast play, praise, degradation, fingering, oral, hand job, blow job, multiple orgasms, overstim, edging, orgasm denial, manhandling, size kink, cumplay, finger sucking, spit roasting, hair pulling, voyeurism, | petnames: (hers) princess, bitch, whore, baby (s.coups) cheol, douche, dick, daddy (mingyu) gyu.

Summary/Preview: "come on, let’s just go back to snakes and ladders and you can pretend we’re not snowed in with no firewood and a dude you hate locked in the bathroom."

.

.

.

inflection point series by @lovelyhan

Pairing: jeonghan x reader x seungcheol

Wordcount: 6.3k + 8.3k + 7.6k

Tags: unresolved emotional tension, friends to lovers on the hannie side of things, lovers to exes to enemies to lovers again on the cheol side of things, established relationship, angst, smut

Warnings: | pt.2 : implied alcohol consumption, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!) | pt.3 : graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

Summary: you love yoon jeonghan. no, scratch that. you fucking adore yoon jeonghan; so much that the moment he asks you to be in an exclusive set-up with his current partner, you accept the offer in a heartbeat. what you fail to consider, however, is who your boss’ boyfriend actually is.

.

.

.

Bite That Lip | One-Shot (Seungcheol) by @beahae

Pairings: Seungcheol/S.Coups x Reader(f)

Rating/genre: M18+, friends-with-benefits to ???; smut 💖, mild angst/fluff

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: Explicit smut, unprotected vaginal penetration, spanking, dom!Cheol and sub!reader, finger sucking, Cheol and Mingyu both lift and carry reader, reader wears workout clothes (sports bra, leggings), sorta sweaty sex, creampie, degradation, kind of breeding kink (depends what you consider a breeding kink to be), reader is referred to as ‘brat’ and ‘a hole’, pet name ‘baby’, begging, possessiveness/jealousy but it’s like hot and not crazy in my opinion, reader is a tease and brat but only before the smut lol

Summary: Seungcheol knows you're really close with his whole friend group. But now that things have... quietly been developing between the two of you, he would love it if you'd cool it with the heavy flirting with the other guys.

.

.

.

in the eye of the beholder by @cheolism

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Wordcount: 6.2k

Tags: boyfriend!cheol, dom!cheol, possessive cheol. wall sex, fingering, oral; unprotected sex. worshipful sex. cheol's crude mouth, dirty talk. crying during sex from pleasure, mating press, spitting, hair pulling, consensual choking (just a little). pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart, angel, pretty girl, beautiful). simp seungcheol, his real spending addiction. he's going to tell you you're beautiful until you believe it.

Warnings: MDNI. fat/chubby!reader, insecurity, internalized fatphobia, anxiety. mentions of fatness, stretchmarks, love handles.

Summary: when you don't like how you look in the mirror, your boyfriend decides to take it upon himself to worship you.

.

.

.

F*ck, Marry, Kill: With the Experienced by @bitchlessdino

Pairing: fem!reader x ex!mingyu x seungcheol x wonwoo

Genre: smut

Wordcount: 5.6k

Tags: poly, exhibitionism, voyeurism, degradation, pet names (princess), unprotected sex (except cheol), praise kink, spanking, clit slapping, fingering, oral (rec. and giving), u, pussy slapping, ass play, triple penetration

Summary: one dumb party game makes a comeback.

[voxofthevoid]

Vore Wednesday#2—revamped 🦷

Tumblr ate my original post for this, which I found out last week while looking up that snippet for an ask response. Since it'll be July or something before your resistance, prophetic self-destruction goes up on Ao3, I figured I might as well reinstate the post.

For folks who haven't seen this before, here's the fic I started the WIP Wednesday snippets for. It's kinda wild remembering how quiet the JJK side of my blog was back then. For folks who have already read this, there's still new material since I've doubled the length of the excerpt.

(Links for Snippet 1 and Snippet 3)

Have some chosoita ft. Gojou and goyuu:

He mouths at a bruise, too much teeth for it to be soothing, but Chōsō pushes his chest into it anyway, his fingers curling into a fist in Yuuji’s hair.

Yuuji digs his teeth in harder before letting go, dragging his lips up to Chōsō’s shoulder. The skin there is pulled taut over straining muscles, and they flex under his mouth, almost a flinch. Yuuji can understand why, given what he did the last few times he set his teeth to Chōsō’s shoulder. But he also knows it’s not dread that’s trembling in Chōsō’s muscles but anticipation.

He sucks lightly, and Chōsō shudders against him, around him.

Yuuji’s mouth waters.

It’s fucked up. He shouldn’t like this. He doesn’t even know if he actually does. He sure as hell isn’t hungry. And he said he’d eat anything, but not like this—this isn’t power, it’s just pleasure. And it shouldn’t be.

Monster, purrs a voice in his head, infuriatingly familiar because despite ripping free of Yuuji’s body, that bastard is still here haunting his mind. 

But fine. Yuuji will be the monster.

He clamps his teeth around Chōsō’s flesh, tearing out a bloody chunk.

Chōsō jerks against him, crying out hoarsely. His dick’s leaking where it’s pressed between their bellies, making a mess of what’s left of their clothes. Yuuji swallows, mouth still pressed to the hotly bleeding wound at Chōsō’s shoulder. He’s keenly aware of Chōsō’s cursed energy mingling with his own, and it’s not the revitalizing rush it was back in Shibuya when Chōsō was making a concerted attempt to transfer it to Yuuji, but even in this passive state, his power is potent and it burns inside Yuuji—blood and rot, life and decay.

Under his lips, Chōsō’s flesh is starting to knit back together. Yuuji licks at it, blood wetting his tongue, and Chōsō squirms on his cock, scrabbling at Yuuji’s shoulders as if that will give him any leverage. Yuuji bites deep into the healing flesh.

Chōsō gasps his name like a curse and a prayer.

“Well,” says a voice that is distinctly not Chōsō’s, “this isn’t what I was expecting.”

Yuuji freezes, but so does Chōsō, and that’s a bad idea given the position they’re in. His dick doesn’t care that Yuuji’s veins just iced over; the blood fattening it up is as hot as anything, as the blood still slicking his mouth.

He lifts his face from Chōsō’s mangled shoulder, staring over it at the dark room. The only illumination is the faint moonlight from the open window, but Yuuji’s eyes adjusted to the darkness long back. He can see all too well the figure slouching in the darkness by the door—the still-locked door, which sure as hell didn’t open and close without either Yuuji or Chōsō noticing it.

But when has a paltry door ever stopped Gojou Satoru? How many times did Yuuji wake in his dorm room to find a body looming over him, a mouth stifling his shout before it could rend the air and probably bring Fushiguro running?

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji chokes out. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

Gojou shifts, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against. He’s still not wearing his blindfold, and his eyes are eerily bright in the dark, as if they’re generating their own light. It leaves the rest of his face discomfitingly shadowed.

It’s perverse how the sight makes Yuuji’s dick twitch where it’s buried inside a frozen Chōsō.

And it’s Chōsō Gojou is staring at, appraising his half-dressed body with a hot, heavy regard that doesn’t feel sexual so much as predatory, and Yuuji feels his heart lurch to his throat when those gleaming eyes linger on Chōsō’s shoulder and slide slowly, inexorably to Yuuji’s gore-stained mouth.

“Six Eyes,” Chōsō hisses, voice low and furious; he’s turned his head, probably glaring at Gojou. “Get out.”  

A curse, maybe a warning, dies in Yuuji’s throat, his thundering heart still plugging it up. He stares at the taut line of Chōsō’s throat, then at Gojou’s dangerously bland smile. Back and forth, over and over.

“No, I don’t think I will,” says Gojou, and Yuuji knows the particular edge of that serrated amusement on his tongue, and he can’t help how his fingers sink into Chōsō’s hips, gripping hard enough to make Chōsō’s legs twitch around him. And it hits him then, more of a shock than it should be: Chōsō’s still on his cock, Yuuji’s still— “To answer your question, Yuuji, I came here—ran here, really, because I’m a good teacher like that—because I sensed your cursed energy doing some freaky shit. And him, of course. This isn’t what I thought I’d see, but you definitely don’t look like you’re in need of a rescue.”

His eyes drop pointedly to where Chōsō is seated on Yuuji’s cock.

The traitorous thing throbs.

Chōsō makes a soft, shuddering noise.

“I…” Yuuji tails off. What the fuck can he say?

I can explain? He can’t.

I’m sorry? He’s not.

And he can’t do that to Chōsō, especially not when Yuuji’s the one who dragged him into this.

“Yuuji’s brother, was it?” Gojou asks mildly, not a question at all. “Now, I don’t know how it is for curses, but among us lowly humans, this kind of thing is pretty pathological.”

“Sensei!” Yuuji snaps before he can help himself.

The full, furious force of Gojou’s attention descends on him, freezing him twice over.

Gojou takes a step forward, then another.

Chōsō grows impossibly tenser, warm marble in Yuuji’s arms and a molten constriction around his cock. But Yuuji can only watch Gojou’s slow, stalking approach with a strange sort of exhilarated horror.

Gojou comes to a stop right behind Chōsō, whose discomfort writhes in the air. Yuuji meets his eyes for a fleeting moment, helpless need crashing into helpless fury. There’s nothing Chōsō can do, impaled on Yuuji’s cock with Yuuji’s hands holding him down.

I’m sorry, Yuuji wants to say, but he already knows, doesn’t he, that Chōsō will forgive him anything?

Above Chōsō’s head, Gojou’s eyes blaze blue.

Yuuji runs into them headfirst.

An arm reaches over Chōsō’s shoulder, carefully not brushing skin. Chōsō tenses anyway, pulling a throaty whine out of Yuuji that’s crushed the next instant by the fingers curling around his jaw, too tender to be anything but cruel.

Gojou’s thumb wipes the blood off Yuuji’s lips.

For a moment, they all seem to stare at it.

“Six Eyes,” Chōsō growls, and it’s angry, almost as angry as he was the one and only time he tried to kill Yuuji, but underneath that, there’s something Yuuji can only label fear.

“Yuuji’s brother,” Gojou returns, calm and deadly. “Hush now. My business isn’t with you.”

Chōsō jolts, furious, but maybe he forgets he’s still sitting on Yuuji’s cock because the motion makes them both groan—Chōsō obviously failing to stifle it, Yuuji too far gone to even try.

Gojou’s pupils grow cavernous.

Motion, a blinding blur.

Lips press to Yuuji’s, and they don’t belong to the body now crushed against his own. It’s the most aggressive kiss he’s ever had, even if it’s close-lipped and three seconds long. He gasps into it, but Gojou’s already pulling back, and Yuuji doesn’t think it has anything to do with the spikes of blood erupting from Chōsō’s torn shoulder to shatter uselessly against Infinity.

Gojou pays them—and Chōsō—no mind.

He says, “Come find me when you’re done playing with your…brother.”

And then he’s gone, an absence more sudden and absolute than his appearance earlier.

“Fuck,” Yuuji says, softy and with feeling; his whole mouth is burning, electric.

“Yuuji,” Chōsō says tightly, “you need to—”

Let go, is what he probably plans to say. Pull out, maybe.

Yuuji doesn’t do either, doesn’t even let him finish, standing in a violent rush that strangles Chōsō’s words and Yuuji’s common sense both, and it’s a few, harried strides to the door, Chōsō’s back impacting it with a loud thud that reverberates in the too-quiet room.  

Chōsō’s answering shudder bites into Yuuji’s cock.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a strained, barely audible whisper.

Yuuji kisses him because he doesn’t have an answer, fucks into him because he doesn’t want the questions, and Chōsō gasps into his mouth and tightens around his cock, and Yuuji’s body knows how to take it from there, even if his mind is a maelstrom of white and blue.

Are you there, are you listening, is this what you—

A particularly harsh thrust makes Chōsō rake his nails down Yuuji’s back, and Yuuji hoists him higher in response, fingers digging bruises into thick, taut thighs, and it’s better, the angle, Chōsō held at just the right height for Yuuji to plunge madly into, and he growls, the sound half lost in their wet, open mouths, but Chōsō still claws him open and squeezes him tighter, and there’s a cry thrust down Yuuji’s throat—a hurt little noise.

What am I doing, why am I punishing him—

Why is he angry?

[swearyshera]

So we are at the end of the road on something that has always been about the journey, not the destination.  I’ve taken my time to gather some thoughts.  This blog has meant a lot to many people, not the least of which is me.  I’ve had a hard time these last few years – I think it’s been hard times for everyone, in one way or another.  Personally, I seem to remember discovering this blog not too long before I had a breakdown and handled it very poorly, making bad decisions that cost me a lot of friends, or at least people whom I thought were my friends up until a breaking point.  (Your blog was unrelated to this).  When I came out of hospitalization I had a few things to rely upon – a video therapy group was one, certain family members and, well, as silly as it sounds, hitting up tumblr for my daily dose of Sweary She-Ra to make me laugh. And then in mid-January, 2023, one of the people who was closest to me in my entire life died suddenly of technically unknown cause but considering his health issues, probably a heart-issue. It was sudden and devastating.  We shared She-Ra and the Princesses of Power together because he was kind of curious about it and I was a nostalgia-fan of the ‘80s series.  We both became massive fans of Entrapta.  In fact, my nephew / best friend got me into the fandom in the first place because he had a silly idea for a fanfic about Entrapta wrecking havoc in the Fright Zone just post first-season and had little confidence in his fanfic writing, but decided to pass along said idea to me, an inveterate fic-writer for many fandoms.  I was put through the wringer this year – it’s the first time I’ve been in partial charge of a memorial service.  I am feeling better now than I did at the beginning of this year because I’ve found the strength to keep doing things that he and I liked to do together and time helps.  And again, in all of this, I had a silly little comic where a sparkly purple princess calls people “twattingler,” others make liberal use of the word that originally meant Fornication Under Consent of the King, one character swears all the time but apologizes for it, one character is contractually obligated to use Ned Flanders style cursing and there’s a fourth wall breaker and an incompetent boss with indecipherable accent and Marxist unicorns and all the rest.  No matter what was happening with my emotions I could just… take a little break and look at the funny fancomic.  Sweary She-Ra for me has been like a warm mug of tea on a cold day or a bowl of baked macaroni and cheese with a butter-cracker crust made out of the old 1960-70 something Betty Crocker cookbook.  It’s been Internet comfort food that has been sorely needed at times.  So thank you.  I just want to thank you for this funny little fan project.  I don’t think you have any idea how much it has meant to your audience.  @freedfromthegalactichivemind

And I don't know if the audience has any idea how much it has meant to me!

When I started this, things were pretty shit, weren't they? Here in the UK we'd just come out of the second Covid Lockdown, with the third expected to happen imminently; the weather was miserable, we'd barely seen our friends in months, the world in general just sucked. And I'd love to say that I felt a calling to break through that with some humour, but no... it was nothing like that. This is what happened...

And so it all went from there.

I almost just went for random scenes as I thought of them, rather than starting from the beginning. But I thought "Eh, fuck it, let's see how far I get", and the rest is history.

Even as the storylines got more complex (bear in mind, I started purely with the intention to do the original script with a few swear words peppered in), I always wanted to keep things upbeat. The painful moments are those 'this is the good stuff, hurt me more' moments rather than actually horrifying things - I know there's been a couple of exceptions, but in general it's held true.

But I've always been driven by one thing - the world isn't very funny right now; it's stressful, sometimes downright terrifying. And if I can alleviate that for ten, twenty seconds per day and make that tiny bit of difference to someone, then I consider that a job done. I'm not out here claiming to have the cure for depression, or some kind of plan to save the world, but I (hopefully) can make a few people smile in the midst of all the shit that's happening, even if it's just for a moment.

So much has changed in the last three years, but this blog has been such a central part of my world, it'll be weird when it's over (maybe that's why I don't want to stop there!). But if this coming Friday really is the last chapter in this part of my life, I'll still be happy that it happened. And if you've ever smiled or laughed at the blog, I'm happy that happened as well.

[abyssal-author-and-artist]

ugh i feel like shit right now i'm gonna vent a little bit, sorry, this can be ignored and i'm not actually sure if people do this on tumblr

trigger warnings: anxiety, possible eating disorder, foul language (I curse a lot in general), fandom drama, accusations of sexual harassment

so me and a friend run this roleplay blog, a Bipper the character one from gravity falls, right? and this person comes up and starts acting like they're dating Dipper which is weird because our dni says not to do that and blah blah they're 12 and write fanfic and it's a whole thing at this point that i'm not going into here especially because they blocked me. like me. the person who didn't do anything. i literally want to pop into their asks and be like "hey I'm mod Abyss of this blog, there's a whole thing going on and I just wanted to say, I'm sorry for my minimal involvement in it, I don't think you should have been harassed, mod Waffle and I yelled at the person accusing you of sexual harassment. I'm sorry this happened and, for what it's worth, I liked your posts when they showed up on my dash and reblogged them when I could. I thought your fanfic was cool, if a bit riddled with grammar errors and I was against shaming you for writing smut. Maybe you shouldn't write it and publish it this young, but honestly, I was doing worse at your age. Your only mistakes were not apologizing to us when we got uncomfortable and doubling down." Like seriously they doubled down so hard and i know i would have been fine with a "sorry" because like. it was a mistake. we said "hey we're uncomfortable." and you respond with "i wasn't flirting though"??? like come on. we wanted an apology because you made us uncomfortable.

and my mom made me promise to eat and i really don't want to. like i feel naseuous just thinking about it and like ughhhh i promised so i gotta eat but like i don't want to. i hate eating and i don't know when that happens and like. i'm having one of those flashes? like sometimes my brain just checks in like "hey you're deeply mentally disturbed and you've probably got an ed" and others my brain just says "nope, not wanting to eat is normal, food is evil, this is all fine" and I'm having a flash of "this is fucked up" right now but like that doesn't make it easier and i still hate that i promised but i was a girl scout growing up and i still hold to scout's honor though i hate girl scouts and everything

i'm getting off track but like i'm so messed up sometimes and it's hard to think and especially this week it's so hard to think normally my brain wants to think the Bad Thoughts and yeah.

this sucks. i suck. thanks if you read this. i'm fine and i will say so unless you press.

[transfaabulous]

This is so weird. Under my "For You" feed I'm getting like. a strange amount of Turkish Instagram-esque photo posts.

Likely because a spamtagger showed up with generic pictures of conventionally beautiful butterflies* and a couple of the tags stuck out because either they were not in English or they were another step in spambot evolution in trying to add unique tags** so I tapped on one to see and it seemed to be an actual tag. So, okay, just another language then. Cool!

And a few posts later, despite my stepping into the tag for two (2) seconds only, I'm inundated with photo posts with Turkish tags and captions, I recognize the language now,*** and I know from experience that blocking the two users whose posts Tumblr is putting on this feed will not stop the avalanche**** so I just have to suck it up and keep scrolling by until they disappear from my feed forever.

* INSULTING. Absolutely ZERO interest in any part of the insect that wasn't the wings. Give me some body shots! closeups of the head and mouthparts! They're insects let me see the cool parts!! And stop tagging them as cottagecore what the fuck???

** Though not a monolingual I suffer the Western European curse of knowing only Germanic and Romance languages, and didn't see any of the special characters like ı or ğ or ş that would usually tip me off. Also in my defense I'm an idiot.

*** Very embarrassing I didn't recognize on sight actually, that I see written Turkish pretty often!

**** Got a pile of "x reader" stuff a couple days ago. Blocking did nothing to stem the tide of this type of post, just changed the blogs they were coming from.

[joels6string]

Coming at it as someone who hasn’t played the games & doesn’t know anything about it, this show is really well made and beautiful and well written. I realize that that’s the disconnect; there are games that I’m really into that if they made a show or movie of it, I’d be underwhelmed no matter what. But, even then, I feel like it’s important to realize that this isn’t supposed to be a shot for shot remake of the game, just in TV format. It’s an adaptation. Of course it’s going to be different; both mediums have different strengths, and the game is going to play to its strengths, and the show’s going to play to its strengths. Plus, changes were likely made to the characters to better fit the actors playing them. Shockingly enough, Pedro Pascal and Troy Baker are, in fact, not the same person. And on top of that, Pedro’s actually lending his face to the role, not just his voice, which is another divergence between how video games tell stories and how tv and film tell stories. I am rambling so I’m going to get to the point here lol

ALL of that’s to say. Everyone’s gonna have an opinion. No one is obligated to like anything, even if the general consensus is that the thing was good. Not liking the thing isn’t some sort of attack on the people who do like the thing. Pointing out differences between the adaptation and the source material (whether you agree with that difference or not) is not an attack on the people who like the thing. Anyway, sorry people are being weird in your inbox, Pedro’s not gonna fuck them for defending the show to one person on tumblr dot com lmao

I mean, Troy lent more than his voice lol. He did all the mo-cap for Joel and acted those scenes out just as much as someone on film would down to the expression, so let’s not lessen his work on it just because the face is different.

There’s two different versions of this character which makes it easier to choose which one I prefer. I don’t know why people fucking care honestly lol. Me not liking the way Joel is written in the series changes nothing for them, Pedro, HBO… no one. I don’t even blame Pedro, people act like I enjoy not liking this portrayal and it doesn’t suck for me to see my favorite actor be a version of my favorite character I don’t enjoy.

And yeah, Pedro doesn’t give a fuck you’re defending him on the Internet. And that goes for all the discourse I’ve been cursed to see on here lately.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. “You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I’m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.

[sixeyesgojo]

Why do you love Gojo so much? I’m sorry if this question has been asked before

Anon, don't worry about asking twice or even three times...

Are you prepared for this answer though? I don't know how long this answer will be... I'll try to keep it rather short though because otherwise it would entail a full analysis of Gojo's entire character...

TL;DR: Love me a man who's a little yum yum, a little cray-cray and uwu uwu.

Manga spoilers?

The superficial aspects I really like in fictional characters: appearance (especially the hair), the strength and teasing attitude. Gojo just happens to have all three of them.

If I take a look at my MAL favorite character list, I have 9 characters on there and 4 of them have white/silver hair. And yes, all of them are super strong in their respective verse, so at this point the formula is "white hair = strong" in my head.

Gojo is also a tease. I like that about him because he's not over the top where it's just mean, unless he's talking to an enemy or someone he hates.

His confidence is something I admire and long for because I lack it. His sweet tooth is also something I personally vibe with because I, too, have an insatiable sweet tooth.

On top of that... a character voiced by Nakamura Yuuichi-san? How can I say no?

On a rather deeper level?

From the first moment I got to know this man called Gojo Satoru, I just knew that his cheerful character hid something deeper. (Most of the characters I'm drawn to do.)

And of course, my hunch proved to be right: Gojo Satoru is such a deep, complex and multi-faceted character. He's also one of the few characters that are not defined by the series but instead, he defines the series. It's shown in the fact that the enemies wouldn't make a move just because he exists.

On the one hand, we have the goofy teacher that annoys the living hell out of Megumi simply by being himself and regularly giving Ijichi a heart attack. He also seems to be super cocky and pretty close to having a God complex or something like that (before you ask: no, I do not believe Gojo has a God complex but that's a post for another day... maybe).

That's what we all see at first.

On the other hand, if you dive deeper into his character, you'll quickly notice some other things.

First of all, he's a "shitty teacher". Gojo sucks at traditional teaching, alright? In that aspect, I think Utahime and Kusakabe do better. If you think about it though, Gojo does not suck at teaching at all.

He simply nurtures his students in his own, sometimes twisted, way, with the intention of bringing out their highest potential for growth with each mission or task he assigns.

He uses uncommon methods for this but not before making sure the students are as safe as you can be as Jujutsu sorcerer. After all, he treasures his students a great deal (as can be seen in pretty much every interaction he has with Yuji and also when Yuji dies).

I've said he strives to nurture his students' growth, yes, but he's also respectful about it: He expects great things from Megumi, yet doesn't train him but instead waits for the younger one to approach him.

Yuji is a different matter in this case. Gojo - as busy as that man is - takes in the student without judging him for being Sukuna's vessel and chooses to personally supervise his growth as a sorcerer when he didn't have to - it just adds one more burden onto his already stuffed plate - yet he did. Because he cares. He cares about not unnecessarily throwing another life away (Yuta + Yuji). And he cares about Megumi's opinion or else he wouldn't even ask?

As much as caring Gojo goes, he's also very much capable of being unhinged and feral, if there is need (Shibuya).

He doesn't seem like your typical shonen anime hero that protects people/is on the side of 'justice' "because it's the right thing to do", but rather, he recognizes the faults within this so-called 'justice' and tries to uproot the cause of it. He's capable of thinking and judging for himself and chooses to constantly go against orders that he doesn't think are appropriate - the execution of Yuta and Yuji are one example. Another one would be him and Geto deciding to call off the merger (and you know how important that was), should Amanai Riko express the desire to live on as a normal teenage girl.

Moreover, the drastic change in character is what makes him interesting as well.

At first, he's a cocky teenager who thinks of himself oh-so-highly, with every right. For the longest time, he believed he was undefeatable, only to be proven wrong in a battle against Toji, a man without cursed energy.

This fall from graces shakes him to his core because what? He's been defeated? And thus, he enters a mindset he probably never experienced before: instability and vulnerability first cloud his mind - and he's not capable of processing it at first, leaving him in a delirious state, to the point where Toji questions himself: "Is this man high?"

On top of all this, his best friend 'betrays' the side he is on and defects; that's gotta be a huge blow mentally... and then he has to finish of said friend as well.

That didn't go without consequences.

After Geto's defection that ultimately lead to death in later years... for the first time in Gojo's life, he displays a weakness that is exploitable, used against him in Shibuya.

His fall from grace is a fall from being the strongest to 'oh, maybe I was wrong'.

Gojo went from being a teenager with no apparent goal to being an adult that wants to change the world to one where his (already deceased) best friend can laugh from the bottom of his heart.

On a more personal note:

Generally, his (pretty easy-going) attitude just makes me happy and has actually brought me comfort in harder times.

Obviously, this manchild is also my biggest muse. I have written fanfiction for other fandoms before but I have never published them but Gojo just makes it so easy, I'm having a lot of fun with his character. Plus, without JJK and Gojo, I wouldn't have come to Tumblr at all and therefore, wouldn't have met the wonderful people I call my friends now 💕

All in all, I love the tragedy in his character as the strongest but his unyielding resolve of staying strong, being strong, being the best he can be. The cruelty he, without a doubt, witnessed over and over again, yet he stays kind and caring throughout all of it. Oh, how easy it would be for him to simply destroy everything? "But nobody would support a mass murderer," he is so big-brained for this.

I don't think there's a single aspect of him I do not love? I really adore this man so much.

-

And yes, this was rather short and I am sure I missed multiple things but I do hope my answer helped.

Maybe, MAYBE, I will post a full one on another day. But that one would be long as fuck...

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 291: The Endeavor Pamphlet

Previously on BnHA: Dabi showed up atop Gigantomachia’s back and was all “you’ll never guess who I really am!” and the readers humored him and were all “who?” and he was all “TODOROKI TOUYA” and we were all “WOW └(・。・)┘ OH MY GOSH I WOULD NEVER HAVE GUESSED”, except for Shouto and Enji who were GENUINELY SHOCKED. Anyway so Touya was all “and guess what I’m doing right now!” and before anyone could even try, he was all, “STREAMING MY EMMY-NOMINATED MINISERIES ‘HELLO, I’M EVIL BUT ALSO TRAGIC AND SEXY, NOW LET ME TELL YOU ALL ABOUT MY DAD WHO SUCKS’’, THAT’S WHAT.” And everyone was all “oh my god” and Touya was all “ヽ(⌐■_■)ノ♪” for basically the rest of the chapter, and that’s pretty much it! Oh, wait, except for the part where he also doused himself in bleach in a fit of pure theatrics, which is actually pretty much the main takeaway from the entire chapter really because it was just wild af. ANYWAYS.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi introduces Baby Touya, the world’s most enchantingly sweet character, and is immediately all, “I sure can’t wait to tell you guys all about how his fucking jaw burnt off.” Thankfully he doesn’t (YET), and we cut back to the present pretty quickly, where Dabi explains how he took all of his brain cells that should have been used to stop him from pouring bleach over his head, and instead put them all toward his big brain plot of releasing an elaborate video detailing Endeavor’s various abuses and crimes, and even throwing Hawks under the bus as well because WHY NOT. He then leaps off of Gigantomachia’s back (like I said, no brain cells) all set to blast them with a Prominence Burn, only to be stopped by none other than THE LEGEND HIMSELF, MOTHERFUCKING BEST, PRETTIEST, NICEST, MOST OUTSTANDING MOTHERFUCKING JEANIST. Who’s no doubt outraged by the crime against hair he witnessed only moments earlier. GO GETTIM JEANY BOI.

so I haven’t had time to answer any of them because this has been the stupidest week, but I just wanted to tell you guys that I received no fewer than nine asks about Dabi’s hair. which, in a week filled with election memes and tumblr’s most cursed fandom briefly rising back up from the dead, is a pretty impressive feat for him if you ask me. like, I know I was making fun of it basically nonstop, but it sure did generate a lot of discussion so maybe I should rethink my opinions on Dabi’s PR strategies now, idk

anyway. it’s Saturday. time to catch up on this shit. let’s see how fucked the Todorokis are

OH NO HE’S CUTE

HOLY SHIT THIS IS TOO MUCH TO FUCKING PROCESS. I’M JUST TRYING TO ENJOY MY DAY HORIKOSHI, ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO TRAUMATIZE THIS POOR CHILD RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SALAD

“thanks for being all right” the fuck

who allowed this child to be so cute. I’m serious. who signed off on this

how could a child this adorable possibly want to murder his equally adorable baby brother. please, your honor. there must be some mistake here

guess how prepared I am to read all about Touya’s tragic past. mm. that’s right. zero ready. none ready

anyway. TWO THOUSAND DEGREES LOLOLOL. NO TRACE OF A CORPSE HOW CONVENIENT. A PIECE OF HIS LOWER JAW BONE FFFFMSGHKLSh. LOVELY. LOVELY

LMAOOOOO

listen you guys. I just want to take a moment to appreciate that Horikoshi Kouhei did one of two things here. either (1) he planned it out FROM THE VERY START that Touya would be born with red hair Because Fire Powers, but would then have his hair turn white due to trauma, thus making the Dabi/Touya connection very slightly less obvious, although Let’s Be Real Who Are We Kidding. OR, (2) the anime got it wrong and gave him red hair, and rather than allowing this plot hole to continue to exist, Horikoshi took it upon himself to concoct this elaborate storyline and pretend it was never a plot hole at all! in which case I sure hope someone at Bones is sending him a VERY nice Christmas card this year. got this man sweeping up all your messes for you. you’re just lucky he has some sort of wild compulsion to address these things

anyways!!

FATHER AND SON. how sweet. :| still zero percent ready for any of this btw

STOP BEING CUTE

THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I’M SO MAD RIGHT NOW. HE IS THE SINGLE CUTEST CHARACTER IN THE ENTIRE SERIES, and do you even know how many other baby characters I’m betraying in order to say that?! baby Kacchan, baby Deku, baby Ochako, baby Shouto, Eri, baby Hawks. I’M LOOKING YOU DEAD IN THE EYE RIGHT NOW AND TELLING YOU THAT BABY TOUYA IS CUTER THAN ALL OF THOSE PLEBS. AND YOU’RE LOOKING BACK AT ME RIGHT NOW ALL “YEAH IT SURE IS A PITY ABOUT HIS JAW MELTING OFF THOUGH.” THAT’S IT, I QUIT THE SERIES

and Enji’s smiling at him. he’s so proud of him. but then Touya won’t be able to do it, and Enji’s gonna stop training him, and Touya’s gonna feel like a failure and keep pushing himself in order to try and win his dad’s affections back, because that’s all kids fucking want, all they want is just love, that’s fucking it, you couldn’t just give him that?? and then he’s gonna immolate himself fflkdlskfh THERE YOU SEE HORIKOSHI, I KNOW THE WHOLE STORY ALREADY, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THE WHOLE “SHOW THEM THE DEAD DOG” THING YET AGAIN YOU PIECE OF SHIT

OH SNAP THERE GOES THE TWIN THEORY. R.I.P.

BABY FUYUMI. PRETTY CUTE. NOT AS CUTE AS TOUYA THOUGH. HEY LOOK, NO REASON TO GET MAD AT ME I’M JUST STATING A FACT HERE

YEAH THIS IS GONNA GO REAL WELL OH BOY

I keep pressing the emergency stop button but this industrial tragedy machine just keeps on chugging along anyway, I’m pretty sure this thing is not up to code

:| I am so sorry sweet boy, Horikoshi is only getting started with you

FUCKING HELL WITH THIS NARRATION

but he wasn’t actually a child to you, he was just a little puppet child for you to live vicariously through!! and then you went and did the same fucking thing with Shouto afterwards and never learned your lesson until just six months ago!! fucking hell, Enji

so now he’s all “Touya is dead, that’s an unforgivable lie” fflkdhflk motherfucker does he look dead to you. if you really think that, tumblr and twitter have got a little over five years’ worth of archived theory posts to show you

oh shit Touya’s countering with “it’s an unforgivable truth”, which, damn. I actually think Horikoshi’s dialogue is one of his weaker points as a writer a lot of the time, but that comeback was snappy as fuck

actually guys, now that I’ve seen how ridiculously fucking cute baby!Touya was, I can almost understand why Shouto and Enji never put the pieces together before lol. any passing similarities would have easily been dismissed on account of he’d need to be at least 10x more adorable in order to get the full resemblance

OH MY GOD

NOW YOU SLEEP??? SO YOU POINT BLANK REFUSED TO PASS OUT WHILE YOU WERE BUSY MAIMING ALL OF MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS, BUT NOW THAT THERE’S AN OPPORTUNITY TO SEE YOUR REACTION TO THE “YOUR LIEUTENANT WAS SECRETLY RELATED TO ONE OF YOUR WORST ENEMIES THE WHOLE TIME” BOMBSHELL, YOU FINALLY DECIDE TO GET YOUR FORTY WINKS. I SEE

WOW DABI

I’M SURPRISED YOU DIDN’T ALREADY HAVE YOUR ANCESTRY.COM RESULTS PRINTOUT READY TO FOLD INTO A PAPER AIRPLANE AND ZOOM ON DOWN TO HIM

LOL NEVERMIND

gotta say, so far The Endeavor Pamphlet is just about as spicy as I could have hoped

(ETA: Natsuo’s face as he watches his beloved dead brother come back to life only to literally and metaphorically set everything on fire in one fell swoop is :/. why must you do this to me Natsu. can’t you see I’m trying to throw a Welcome Back Jeanist party here.)

HAVE YOU READ THIS?! TODOROKI ENJI ABUSED HIS OWN HEIR, AND DABI WROTE IT DOWN RIGHT THERE

WELL HE’S NEVER GON’ BE NUMBER ONE NOW / NEVER GON’ BE NUMBER ONE NOW / THAT’S ONE LESS THING TO WORRY ABOUT / THAT’S ONE LESS THING TO WORRY ABOUT

btw I neglected to mention this last week, but yes I do recognize and appreciate that this is Can’t Ya See-kun himself whom Horikoshi has chosen to be the face of this existential crisis which the general public is about to experience. rip CYS-kun

OOF

excuse me. putting aside the implications of Dabi sharing this context-less murder video of Hawks with the entire world for a moment, I just have to pause for a sec here, because when exactly did he get a chance to edit this all in?? complete with voiceover that seamlessly ties in with the prerecorded footage of him with DNA test results sans shirt?? you’re telling me this motherfucker, with all the smoke that was in the room thanks to his own quirk, somehow got a PERFECT SHOT of the PRECISE MOMENT when Hawks drove his feather knife into Jin’s back, using his MAGIC CAMERA THAT HE I GUESS HAD THE ENTIRE TIME IN THE POUCH RIGHT NEXT TO HIS BLEACH BOTTLE, and then immediately somehow got this very next shot as well FROM AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT ANGLE

ALL THE WHILE IMMEDIATELY RUNNING THROUGH SCRIPT REVISIONS IN HIS HEAD, WHICH HE THEN PROCEEDED TO RECORD... WHERE, EXACTLY?? WITH SKEPTIC, WHILST RIDING ON MACHIA’S BACK??

AND THIS IS ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF???

and this after I just wrote that whole long paragraph positively GLOWING about this man’s ability to plug up a plot hole. jfc. just scratch out every damn word I said lol. just forget all of it

are you fucking kidding me, the footage was from the cameras Skeptic planted on Hawks??

that’s... actually... okay you know what, it still doesn’t make any sense in the slightest, but the determination to address it nonetheless... just, dammit... I feel like I’m constantly at war with myself over whether or not I want to shake this man’s hand or slap him lmao. whatever, then!!

anyway, since Shouto and Enji can’t actually see the damage that Touya is dealing to the hero industry even as they speak, Touya is taking it upon himself to give them the highlights

I think it’s a testament to how much Endeavor cares about Hawks that he managed to zero in on that comment even amidst all the craziness of his eldest son returning from the dead to announce how he’s been carefully plotting their destruction for years and years. like, he heard “Hawks” and his face immediately went like that. you think he’s worried that Dabi did something to him? because he’d be right to worry lol

so the Endeavor Pamphlet narration is now explaining all about how Hawks totally killed the Number 3 Hero Best Jeanist as well! yep... he sure did... totally...

OH MY GOD WE’RE CUTTING TO HIM AHHHHH

Hawks, that is. lol. not Jeanist. NO, JUST MY POOR HALF-DEAD WINGLESS BABY SON

NOOOOO HIS LITTLE WING STUMPS. BUT SOMEHOW HIS FACIAL HAIR IS STILL INTACT. OH TO BE AN ANIME PRETTY BOY BEING SET ON FIRE. “HEY, TAKE IT EASY, WATCH THE FACE”

EXCUSE ME WHAT

interesting! we suspected as much, I think, with the clues that Ending dropped, and the little flashback right after the name reveal. still not clear how Dabi found out about it though!

looooool okay here we go, breaking out the heavy-handed holier-than-thou shit now

you know, I do find it interesting how trying to model themselves after All Might’s noble Symbol of Peace image has kind of ended up being the heroes’ undoing here. like, I could write a whole essay on this, but what it basically boils down to is that they were all trying too hard to be perfect. All Might went out there and did his thing and was amazing, and so the powers-that-be built an entire system centered around this seemingly-infallible person, and they acted like the system was infallible as well. and so most of the population ended up becoming complacent over the years, and meanwhile the people who were unfortunate enough to fall through the cracks understandably wound up disillusioned and perceiving the heroes as these false idols

anyway, but I think one positive takeaway from this is that the new up-and-coming generation of heroes represent a breakaway from that system. like, imo what we’re witnessing is the downfall of the Perfect Hero, and the rise of the imperfect hero. and this new generation doesn’t shy away from their failures or pretend like they never happened. they pretty much can’t pretend, because their failures are all right out there in the open for everyone to see. Bakugou Katsuki, just to name one example off the top of my very biased head, has had his own personal character journey basically play out right in front of the media’s eyes. his humiliation at the sports festival, his kidnapping by the League, and all of the fallout afterward. this isn’t someone who can ever go out there and convince the world that he’s perfect. but what he can do, instead, is show the world that he’s trying. that he’s trying with everything he has to do his best, to be the best. rather than this untouchable godlike image, it’s instead the image of someone painfully human who is nonetheless striving with everything he’s got to keep moving forward, flaws and all, and work his way to the top

and ultimately I think that’s going to be a much more positive image to send out to the world when all’s said and done. because rather than merely inspiring awe, heroes like that inspire people to take action themselves. or at least that’s what I hope! and not just Bakugou, but the others as well. we’ve got Shouto, whose own personal trauma is being aired in front of the whole nation even as I sit here ranting. we’ve got Deku, who cries at the drop of a hat, and who fought to become a hero despite being quirkless (and I think it’s only a matter of time before that eventually becomes public knowledge as well). tl;dr because I’m getting way too long-winded here, but these kids have effectively been humanized in a way that the old generation never was, and I think that’ll go a long way towards building trust between them and the people they’ll someday be protecting, and inspiring the next generation in hopefully a much healthier way

anyway so where were we. ...oh yes, Dabi was explaining that heroes only protect themselves, and is presumably building up to his grand conclusion of “therefore you should all just let the villains take over and burn down the world”

omfg. YOU GUYS

DOES CAN’T YA SEE-KUN’S SHARK FRIEND ACTUALLY CALL HIM “CAN’T YA SEE-KUN.” HE HAS A NAME YOU KNOW!! UNLESS HE LEGALLY GOT HIS NAME CHANGED TO CAN’T YA SEE-KUN. OH MY GOD

ALSO, IS THAT CAN’T YA SEE-KUN CRYING IN THE BOTTOM RIGHT THERE OMG. GIVE THIS CHILD A HUG. EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING RIGHT NOW AND HUG HIM

BAKUGOU IS BARELY HANGING ON THERE LOL. GOTTA STAY CONSCIOUS... SO MUCH TEA BEING SPILLED... FOCUS... CONCENTRATE

IIDA’S ANGLING HIS HEAD IN A WEIRD WAY, LIKE DUDE. LOOKING SUSPICIOUSLY SNUGGLY THERE. MMM THESE IIDABAKU CRUMBS

HADOU IS ALL “WHAT EVEN IS ACTUALLY GOING ON” LMAO

LASTLY, POOR SHOUTO OMFG. WHEN YOU’RE ALL FINISHED HUGGING CYS-KUN THIS CHILD NEEDS YOUR ATTENTION!!

so now Dabi’s leaping off of this ninety-foot-tall gargoyle man like that’s a normal, smart thing to do. unless he can fly too now? saw his dad doing it back at Fukuoka and was all “hmm”

OH MY GOD SOMEONE TELL ME RIGHT NOW WHAT WORD SHOUTO IS USING TO ADDRESS ENJI, THESE TRANSLATIONS LOVE TO MESS WITH MY HEAD

ENJI GET MOVING DO YOU NOT SEE THOSE TEARS!!! SNAP OUT OF IT YOU BIG TREE

AHHHHH

OH KACCHAN YOU WOKE UP A LITTLE MORE THERE, HUH

lol he and Deku both look so determined but they’re basically sitting ducks. their “oh shit” faces do look remarkably like their “TIME TO SWING INTO ACTION” faces but don’t be fooled, they have one good arm and about six pints of blood left between the two of them. looks like this one’s all on you Shouto

-- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH --

BAH GOD... WHAT’S GOING ON HERE... THAT’S BEST JEANIST’S MUSIC

y’all. can’t even talk right now, my brain has completely shut down lol. just. ...

  °˖✧◝(￣▿￣)◜✧˖°

[monstersandmaw]

Christmas Dad-fic (kind of) anyone? When I started writing this, 'naga' was winning the poll, but orcs and uruks seem to be in the lead now (by two points). I hope this will suffice anyway! Thank you all for your support, and I wish you all a very safe and merry time. I can't see family this year, but we've got a little family on Discord and Tumblr too, so I don't feel so bad! Thanks for being so consistently wonderful.

Content: penetrative sex (gender and body neutral reader though), brief background mention of a fleetingly missing child, single dad Wordcount: just shy of 6k words

Preview:

The  crash of falling packets and tins that filled aisle three brought  boiling blood to your ears and you just had to stand there, one aisle  over, clenching your jaw and trying not to swear out loud for a long  minute. Retail work at Christmas fucking sucked. A tin can rolled out of  the aisle as you rounded the corner to survey the damage, and you  stooped to pick it up. By the time you’d straightened, you could hear  gentle, hissed cursing emanating from the source of the crash.

There in aisle three, a monstrously thick and long tail coiled up in embarrassment, was a naga,  their warm, tanned skin flushed pink from ears to neck as they began  scrabbling to pick up the remnants of the Christmas display. “I’m so  sorry,” they cringed as you appeared and they took in your uniform.  “Really, it’ssssss… I’m… Gods, I’m so sorry. I’ll clear it all up. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s  fine,” you said, trying to be professional. At least they weren’t  somehow trying to blame you for it, which had been known to happen in  the past when people dropped glass bottles of gross mulled wine or  frothing bottles of beer. “Nothing’s broken…”

“Thank the Godsssss.”

You looked a little more closely at them and had to twitch your mouth into a tiny smile. They really were enormous, even by naga standards. Guessing he was male, from the clothing and general  appearance, you had just opened your mouth to tell him again that he  could leave it to you, when a much smaller voice from behind him  groused, “Oh my Gods! Dad? You’re so embarrassing!” The tiny, reedy  voice drew out the final word into a long and scathing rebuke.

You bit your lips together and fought back the rising urge to laugh as a young naga,  perhaps six or seven, slithered round the other end of the aisle with a  big bottle of orange juice in her hands, which she’d presumably been  tasked with fetching.

“I know, I’m sorry sweetie. Will you help me clean it up?”

“No  way!” she snorted, and dumped the orange juice in the trolley before  bolting as fast as possible from the scene of the crime.

He  let out a long, slow breath through his nose and rubbed his fingertips  between his eyes. You risked a glance up and saw that he looked suddenly  exhausted. He wore his shiny, black hair long, as many naga did, and tied back in a plait that fell most of the way down his back, and he was duffled up in a chunky, dark green cable-knit sweater. From this angle - where  you were stooped on the floor and picking up packets of chestnuts and  ready-made stuffing for Christmas - you were struck by just how  attractive he was.

When he caught you looking at him, he sighed again. “I’m so sssssorry,”  he said. “I just… wasn’t paying attention to what the rest of me was  doing. Really, you don’t have to clear it all up for me. I promise to  put it all back where it came from.”

“It’s fine,” you said, and found that you actually meant it. “You should probably catch up with your daughter…”

His  eyes darted to your name badge and you saw him read it before he smiled  at you. He had thick, slightly pronounced canines and a glimmering  white smile that made your insides swoop. “You’re probably right… Thank  you. I’m so sorry…”

And  with that, he was gone, pushing his shopping trolley around the corner.  Well, his torso disappeared, but it was a while before his massively  long body vanished completely. If he’d lain out flat, he must have been  at least ten metres long from head to tail tip, if not longer.

The  regular, lyrical slithering of his body, the way his muscles bunched  and shifted to propel him forward, also did unexpected things to you,  and you found yourself tingling all over. The diamond plates of his  scales shimmered like patinated bronze - a warm, coffee-brown with  darker, mesmeric spots - and it was clear from his upper half that he  was in really, really good shape. You licked your lips and hoped he  hadn’t noticed your private lusting after him, and turned to the last of  the packets just as your manager appeared.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. “I heard a big old crash. You alright?”

You  laughed. “Yeah,” you sighed, straightening with a grunt, and hand to  your lower back. You eyed his tail too and chuckled. He had to have been  half the width and length of the anaconda naga, and where the latter had moved slowly, with ponderous, undulating movements of his muscle, Osman was a golden-brown viper naga, and twitchy as a bird. “A naga forgot to keep track of the end of his tail, I think. Sideswiped the Christmas display.”

“Ahh,”  Osman sighed melodramatically, clearly relieved that no harm had come  to you, his shop, or to a customer. “Well, we’ve all done it at one  point or another.” He shot a glance up at the speakers in one corner of  the store and glared at them, as if the venom in his gaze would make  them drop off the walls. “And if I have to hear one more rendition of  ‘All I want for Christmas’, I think I might take my own tail to the  Santa display over in aisle four… Could be most satisfying…”

You grinned, and headed off to start restocking the frozen food aisle.

Read the whole thing over on Patreon, and don’t miss your last chance to read everything else on there for just $5 before I mothball it on 31st December 2020!

[neon-junkie]

Duality - Chpts 1,2&3

Summary: There's a handful of things you hate, like the men who continue to pester you at the Saloon after you've told them no, or the way strangers look at you when you decide to wear pants. But the one thing you hate that most is Micah Bell. But if you hate him so much, then why are you allowing him to wrap his hand around your neck as he grinds his crotch down against yours? Is he using you? or are you using him?

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 8837 (ongoing work) 

Rating: NSFW Warnings: Depictions of Violence (Reader is fine)

Tags: Dead Dove: Do not eat, Fights/Arguments, Slow burn, Hate sex, Enemies with benefits, Enemies to lovers, Pity sex, Vaginal sex, Outdoor sex, Creampies, Blood kink, Knives, Choking, Breath play, Rough/Manhandling, Heists & Robberies, Nipple sucking/licking, Making out, Sloppy kisses, Dirty talking, Grinding.

Notes: This fic was inspired by the gang of children that recently decided to start hurdling abuse at me simply because I enjoy Micah character. If he bad then why he make my pussy go brr?? I ain't ever gonna stop writing for him, somebody's gotta love the ratman so I guess I'll volunteer as tribute. This piece is inspired by @deputytrash​ and their work called ‘Micah Bell is a Rat Bastard,’ that I can’t actually link here because Tumblr hates links:))) so please go stalk them for the original fic. shoutout to all the other Micah fuckers out there; we're kinda fucked up but hey, we ain't hurting anybody<3

[Chapter 4]

Some men are born with the purest of hearts; they're full of good intentions, kindness, willingness to help others. They want to see the world go round, they enjoy watching the days go by with their loved ones around them. They want nothing more than love and equality, happiness for everyone, and they strive to achieve that. Those men, such as Arthur, are ones that you obviously enjoy for such reasons, and you enjoy watching them on the sideline, smiling at the way they make everyone happy. You've tried dating those men before and something felt... off about them, almost fake; you wish to enjoy such relationships with the purest of men, but you've never been able to sit in that saddle comfortably. The leather smells off and something constantly jabs at your tailbone. It's fine, honestly, to not sit comfortably in that saddle. Others can enjoy those men, ones who deserve them, ones who are just as pure and wholesome as those men they seek out. You're happy for them, you enjoy seeing them enjoy each others company, they really do deserve it. Only that leaves you with the problem of 'who the hell am I meant to fall for?' There are others who are sometimes split down the middle, with good and bad intentions, men such as Dutch who eventually crack under so much pressure, as expected. But these men have never really taken your fancy either. You curse the Gods for creating you with no intentions to seek out those pure of heart, or even slightly pure of heart. Why can't you be considered normal? You're a good person, yet you don't long for someone as good as you. 

Instead, those who have only ever walked the darker path take your fancy. Those men who have no good intentions in them, who only look out for themselves and sometimes (but rarely) the few people closest to them, if you're stupid enough to get close to them, to begin with. You enjoy the challenge, you enjoy taming the beast, being the one person that someone so wild can trust. It's a generic trope that you've read in romance novels where the princess falls for the villain, but they always seem to have the happiest of endings? and the stories themselves are so juicy, so rich and full of layers. The generic happy couple trope gets so boring, nothing to read into. But if you're given a story about a well-layered villain who softens out within time then you'll eat said story off the dirt if you have to, it's always so rich and fulfilling, though you never expected to end up in one. "Which book are you reading today?" Mary-Beth asks you as she joins you on the beach, leaning back against the log you're leaning against. You do miss sitting on the cliff at Horseshoe Overlook, peering up at the landscape whenever your eyes need a break from being so engulfed in whatever book you were reading. But there's something just as good as looking out at the water, hearing the waves lapping against the shore as you read, enjoying the river breeze on a hot Lemoyne day. "The same as last time, that one centered around the villain," you tell her, your eyes momentarily peeking up to watch as she sits down beside you. "Still? Oh, you and your dark fiction," Mary-Beth replies with a laugh. She'd given your book that nickname after you explained the plot to her. Mary-Beth, as wholesome and pure as she is, couldn't quite understand why you'd get so engulfed in a book where the princess falls for the villain, completely ignoring the stud hero and running off with the bad guy instead. After explaining how layered the villain was, and how his actions were the result of past trauma, she somewhat understood but decided that she's happy with her sappy romance novels. That's understandable, your taste isn't for everyone, and you'd both agreed on that. "Like I said, I just find it more interesting," you reply, your eyes trailing over to the landscape. "Which book have you got?" you ask. "Oh, the same still. I've almost finished it! The poor man in it has finally been turned away from that woman, though they're both in love," she replies. "But from what you've told me, she's not exactly... the best person in the world?" you ask. "I guess not. Maybe I am into a little bit of dark fiction then, hm?" Mary-Beth questions with a soft laugh, finally opening her book to pick up from where she left off. "Maybe-" you begin to speak, but the sound of shouting draws your attention back to camp. You and Mary-Beth peer over your shoulders to watch the commotion in the distance. Ugh. It's Micah again, screaming at Bill for being so kind to the poor dog Jack had found, Cain. He's hollering away, something about not being soft on strays, that they'll only follow you around for food, whatever. You try to hold in your laughter when Micah does the last thing you'd expect, literally barking at Bill before storming off. "That man sure is evil," Mary-Beth comments. "I still ain't sure why Dutch allows him to follow us around, a bit like Cain really," she frowns, turning her gaze away. "He is, funny that he can't see just how much of a dog he is," you laugh along, returning your focus back to your book. "Has he bothered you again recently?" she questions, knowing that your last run-in with him was only a few days ago. "No, he ain't spoke to me, he ain't even looked at me." "Good, probably because he's still got that black eye you gave him," Mary-Beth replies, trying to hold back on her laughter. "Well, he did deserve it." Micah had pestered you a few days ago, stirring up some shit simply because he was bored. You were sat by yourself in camp, playing a solo game of solitaire whilst the wind was quiet, your cards not blowing away for once. He waltzed over, as always, looking like he owned the place; he only acts that way because he sucks up to Dutch, a bit of a teachers' pet, though he's definitely never stepped foot in a school. "Hey," Micah says to you. Well, you were unsure if he was speaking to you as your head was down, focused on the cards, so Micah quickly snapped when you didn't reply. "I said hey. You deaf?" he asks, lightly tapping the back of your shoulder. You let out a long sigh as you roll your eyes and look up. "I didn't know you were speaking to me, Micah," you reply. "Well, who else would I be speaking to, doll? There ain't anyone else around here," Micah says with a laugh, waving his hands about to gesture that nobody was nearby. "I can see that now," you sigh. You begin to put your cards away, knowing that if Micah's here then there's no way you'll be able to play this game in peace. Whatever, you were stumped anyway, considering calling this game quits, and Micahs appearance had encouraged you to do so. "What're you doing?" Micah questions. "I was playing solitaire," you reply, shuffling the cards back together and returning them to their container, an old mints tin that you found fits the cards much better than their old paper box. "And why have you packed up, hm? Is it 'cause I'm here?" Micah asks, knowing the answer. "It is," you say as you stand and put the tin in your pocket, beginning to walk off. The last person you ever want to talk to is Micah, but it seems he really wants to talk to you as he begins to follow you. "Where're you going? I ain't that bad. I know we don't exactly get along but you can't fault me for trying to right these wrongs with you," Micah begins, playing the white knight card as always, batting his lashes as if he hasn't made a handful of remarks towards you in the past, ensuring there's a thick barrier between the two of you. "I ain't interested in making friends with you, Micah. Now leave me be," you snap back, picking up the pace as you storm past Dutch's tent, hoping he'd pick up on the small commotion but his head is buried deep in his current Evelyn Miller book. "Such mean words coming from such a pretty face," Micah pouts, still on your trail, letting out his generic laugh. "Wouldn't you rather have friends than enemies?" "I'd rather have nothing to do with you, Micah," you tell him as you come to a halt, stopping in the dead center of camp. If Micah won't leave you alone then hopefully someone will step in, as their eyes had begun to peer over to the commotion; even Dutch has put his book down. "Easy there, sweetheart," Micah coos with his generic laugh. He goes to speak again but you're quick to cut him off. "I ain't your sweetheart, Micah. Quit calling me those names," you huff. "Of course, you ain't. I like a bit of fire in my women but you're just a bit too reckless for my taste," Micah tells you, his tone slowly turning to frustrated. He's quit the innocent act, lowering his hands as he had them raised as he followed you throughout the camp. If he can't win you over then he'll ensure you never even slightly consider him a friend, beginning to insult you to burn whatever was left of that bridge. "Good, I'd hate to be your taste. What an unlucky woman she must be for the likes of you to have eyes on her." Micah lets out another laugh as he takes a step closer to you, a little too close, and you're quick to cut him off before he can open his mouth. "Back off, Micah. Don't you try and get close to me," you order him. "Why not, hm? You scared someone is finally gonna put a woman like you back in her-" That's enough. Without hesitation, you clench your fist and swing for that vermin of a man, if you can even be kind enough to call him a man to begin with. You were aiming for his nose but hit his cheekbone instead, which is just as good as his eye had swollen up from the impact. Micah stumbled back and hit the ground with the most satisfying thud you'd ever heard, the sound still making you smile whenever you think about it. You didn't stick around much after that, burning the image of Micah lying on the floor clutching his eye into your memory before turning heel and marching off, wandering off into the trees so you could cool yourself off and devilishly admire your bruised knuckles. You refused to bandage them up, even after Charles had practically begged you, but you were eager to show off your trophy, even flaunting it at Micah from a distance whenever he came into your line of sight. His eyes hadn't met yours since, but you could feel his burning glare on you whenever you two were within ten feet of each other. You'd even overheard him attempting to bitch about you to Kieran, who simply nodded along to prevent himself from getting pulled into this mess. Needless to say, you and Micah do not get along. There's a handful of camp members that don't get along, but your burning hatred for each other seems to stand out the most. You're always eager to step in whenever Micahs attempting to chew someone's ear off, and he always gives you that same laugh as he attempts to mock you, but he often turns heel and storms away, calling you a bitch or whatever petty insult he has on his mind. But since that interaction, Micah has stayed well clear of you. Dutch probably told him to stop pestering you after you'd almost knocked his lights out, though you doubt that as Dutch ended up doing something that only seemed to make your 'friendship' worse. ----------- Another day, another dollar, or whatever the civilized phrase is. It's a quote you've heard within towns and cities, something bosses drill into the minds of their workers to stop them from realizing that they're being used as workhorses for less than pennies. At least out here you can work on your own terms, your only boss is Dutch and he always ensures that everybody gets a fair cut. Why slave away in a factory when you can rob some folk that needs robbing and make a few hundred off them? Dutch has a heist planned for you today, one that he says needs a woman touch. Karen is the only other gunwoman in the camp but Dutch has told you that she's a little too reckless for the job. Dutch knows that Sadie is also a gunwoman but she's still in mourning, arguing with Pearson every so often, but she isn't ready to step up to that rank yet.  "And that's why I need you for this job. It's genric and old fashioned of us, but there's a payroll heading up into Rhodes and I was thinking you could play the damsel in distress, hunched over at the roadside, pouting sweetly as you ask them for a ride into town," Dutch tells you outside his tent, a week or so after your last run-in with Micah.  "And if they don't stop?" you question.  "Why would they not stop? A pretty lady such as yourself asking for a ride? When they're already heading that way? They must be some cold-hearted folk in order to turn down such a simple request," Dutch explains.  "What will you and the others be doing?"  "We'll be hiding nearby, waiting for that opportunity to rob them. Once you're on board then they should hand over the cash, I don't see why they'd want a poor innocent woman to be hurt. Hosea will be waiting in Rhodes to bring you back to camp, and you won't need your guns for the job. A kind, working woman such as yourself wouldn't carry them anyway," Dutch replies with a grin, stubbing out his cigar with the toe of his shoes.  The plan seems simple enough, and what have you got to lose? So, you agree to the heist, heading into your tent so you can change your appearance to look like the average working woman. You dress in a simple skirt and shirt, your hair neat and your makeup simple, just how the women in Rhodes dress.  Arthur gives you a ride to the location, your horse staying back at camp, as well as your guns. You feel a little uneasy heading out of camp without them, but the boys are hiding behind what's left of a wall nearby. You overheard Arthur protesting with Dutch, saying they shouldn't be robbing folk so close to camp, but Dutch assured them that this would be fine.  Dutch has brought along Arthur and Lenny, and unfortunately, Micah, who still hasn't spoken a word to you, but his eye is now unfortunately better. Dutch didn't even mention to you that Micah would be coming along, seeing as your paths weren't meant to cross. This was meant to be a simple holdup job after all, only this gang seems to be cursed as things always go wrong.  You're walking along the road, acting as if you're exhausted. The sound of a wagon approaching can be heard, and you peer over your shoulder to see it coming into view. You begin to wave your arms, signaling for them to stop, and thankfully, they do.  "Are you alright, Miss?" one of the men questions, the one driving the wagon. There are two more men on horseback behind them, not many guns for a wagon that's carrying payroll.  "I do apologize to ask such a request but my horse bucked me a while back, I'm only trying to head into town. Are you heading that way? Would you be able to give me a ride?" you question. You play out the usual body language, slouched shoulders, batting your lashes, and pouting your bottom lip. This is a mans world, after all, but you know exactly how to play the game. The driver and the shotgun speak to themselves quietly, clearly bickering about the fact that they're carrying payroll, but they eventually come to an agreement.  "You're welcome to climb on the back of one of the horses, though we can't let you on the wagon, Miss," he replies. Well, that's good enough, at least you're still somewhat of a hostage. "Oh, thank you! I really appreciate it!" you smile sweetly, heading over to the nearest hired gunmen and climbing on the back, loosely holding onto his shirt as you get comfortable on the horse's rear.  They return to their journey, barely making it a few meters down the road when one of those slimy Lemoyne Raiders appears from behind a boulder and attempts to hold them at gunpoint. Your eyes peer over to where the gang is hiding and thankfully, Dutch steps in, one gun pointed at the driver and the other at the rival gang member. You're still unsure on what Lemoyne Raiders are. Inbred? Wannabe military? Either way, they're stupid enough to fire without warning, and completely miss Dutch, though Dutch doesn't miss him. The plan goes to shit and you're caught in the middle of the gang war, your gang and the Lemoyne Raiders fighting each other, as well as the wagon.  The gunman that you were holding onto slouches over his saddle, a bullet ripping through his side, thankfully missing you. You think Arthur had shot him, but either way, you're pushing his body off and stealing his horse, riding out from the commotion. What help are you now without your guns? It's best that you run away and fast. As you near the camp, you notice a small group of white hats approaching round the bend - lawmen, so you decide to keep riding forward towards Braithwait Manor, dipping off into the trees before they can notice you. You'll find somewhere to hide out until nightfall, riding through the thick forest until you find a shack down south, close to Shady Belle, but far enough from the commotion so the law shouldn't tread down here.  The stolen horse is hitched by a tree and you're about to head inside, but the sound of hooves approaching startles you. You hide behind the tree, not providing much cover, but hopefully enough so you can decide how to approach the incoming stranger. If it's a lawman then you can simply burst into tears whilst saying that the horse bolted and you couldn't steer it up into Rhodes, and if it's a fellow gang member then you'll be fine. Well, it is a gang member, just you were hoping for anybody but Micah. He slows Baylock to a halt as you come into his line of sight, stepping out from behind the tree looking like an angry kitten.  "You alright?" Micah asks, swinging his leg over the saddle and hopping off his mount.  "Go away, go find somewhere else to hide. Shoo," you wave your hands at him, only making Micah laugh instead. "What's a matter? Can't I hide here with you?" he questions as he approaches you.  "No, you can't. Go bother someone else, you're the last person I'd ever want to hide from the law with," you huff. Micah isn't budging, he continues to approach you until he's stood in front of you, grinning from ear to ear as he lets out that awful chuckle of his.  "You don't mean that. Besides, how're you gonna defend yourself without your guns, huh?" Micah questions, resting his hands on his gunbelt. "Well, you know that I can swing a punch, can't you, Micah?" you tease, giving him a smug smile which wipes the grin off his face, turning into a frown.  "And here I was just tryna look out for you. Nasty thing, aren't you?" Micah spits.  "I am, and I ain't welcoming to you, Micah," you huff again, resting your hands on your hips.  "Now, I'm gettin' real sick of the way you talk to me, girl. I ain't been nothin' but nice to you," Micah tuts, taking another step towards you. He's pressed up far too close to your chest, puffing his own out as his icy blue eyes scowl into yours. "You may be a big girl in the eyes of Dutch, but you ain't to me."  "I don't care, Micah. I don't need your approval, nor your company, so scram!"  This time, Micah goes for you, reaching out to grip ahold of your arm. He takes a firm grasp of you but before you can find out what he was planning on doing, you're pushing him away, shoving him back by the chest. He stumbles backwards but doesn't slump to the ground, catching his own fall as he glares at you. His death glare makes your face turn sour and you begin to foresee that one of you isn't going to make it back to camp. Micah lunges for you again, grabbing onto your shoulders as he begins to try and tackle you to the ground. You manage to shove him off and land a punch to the same cheekbone, only it's not enough to stop him. He continues to fight you, eventually managing to shove you to the floor. He tries to climb onto you, attempting to pin you to the ground but you land a swift kick to his baby balls. He lets out a choke as his body goes limp and you jump at the opportunity to shove him onto his back, pinning him down instead.  Micah attempts to grab onto you but you're quick, taking his own knife from its holster and pinning it beneath Micahs chin. He stops, freezing up and removing his hands from you, lying in the dirt with his swollen eye locked onto yours. There's silence, no words spoken from either of you, just heavy panting and the sound of the trees rustling. Micah licks his lips, tasting the blood that has trailed down from his nose, and eventually speaks.  "Go on, girl. Do it," he tells you, his Adam's apple bouncing against the blade as he speaks. You don't reply, so Micah jumps down your throat again. "I said do it! Show me what a big girl you are," he says with a laugh. "If I am to kill you then I'd rather do it with my bare hands," you spit at him, pressing the knife sharply on his neck. From the way Micah attempts to flinch back, you're certain you've managed to cut him. Good, he deserves it.  "Do it then. Go on, get rid of me already. Just do everyone a favour," Micah replies, his hands raising yet again, doing that generic innocent pose even as he has a knife held to his throat. As much as you'd love to, you know the consequences for killing other camp members. You could say he died in combat but Dutch knows that Micah can take on a bunch of Lemoyne Raiders with his eyes closed. Plus, it's far too suspicious for you to be the one breaking the 'bad' news. But you might as well scare some sense into Micah, maybe choke him unconscious then bail back to camp before he can wake. Hopefully, he'll finally get it into his thick skull to stay away from you, though you doubt it, but at least you'll have fun.  You remove Micahs own knife from his neck, stabbing it into the earth beside his head. He watches you with wide eyes, attempting to look at his knife but you grip onto his throat. You know how to choke someone to death, and you know how to choke someone unconscious, so you go for the second option and tighten your grip under his jawline, avoiding his windpipe so that he doesn't stop breathing.  He lets out a choked exhale as you begin jabbing your fingers into his throat, pushing more than hard enough to eventually knock his lights out. You know you look a mess, covered in dirt with scruffed up hair, a glare on your face that could easily kill a man; Micah looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he attempts to breathe. You can hear the pressure on his throat with every breath, his lips remaining parted, blood still trickling from his nose, and his eye swelling up more by the second. His clothes are just as dirty as yours, his hat has fallen off his head a long time ago, his white pants are almost brown from rolling in the dirt, and his red shirt is missing a few buttons from where you've grabbed him.  Micahs parted lips quickly turn into a grin as his eyes begin to fall shut. You've never seen him pull a face like this, but he looks... pleasurable. He somehow has enough energy to reach up and grip onto the waistband of your skirt, trailing his fingertips along the band before settling each hand firmly on your hips. He's... enjoying this, isn't he? Your thoughts are confirmed when Micah opens his eyes again; his pupils are blown, wide and full of lust, gazing up at you like a piece of meat, ready to pounce on you (if he could.) You want to feel sick. Why don't you feel sick? Why isn't your stomach turning at the sight of Micah taking pleasure in your attempt to kill him? You push down harder on his neck, wishing you were gripping onto his windpipe instead. His smile eventually fades away, his eyes rolling shut as he lets out slower muffled breaths. His grip on your hips falls limp and you know he's finally unconscious.  This was meant to be the part where you run, heading back to camp before he can wake, praying he never even looks at you ever again. But you remove your hand from his throat, noticing how his body twitches as he begins to breaths properly again, and using the same hand that you just choked him with, you land a harsh slap right across his face. It's loud and sharp enough that it echoes throughout the forest, startling the horses and scaring a few birds away. You instantly regret your decision, your hand throbbing from how hard you slapped him, but the way Micah jolts awake gives you a sickly satisfaction.  He begins coughing, propping himself up on his elbows as he attempts to catch his breath. You don't move off him, sitting back on your knees, his legs beneath yours, watching in delight as he returns to the conscious word. Micah lies back down, his deep breaths eventually turning into a chuckle as his eyes meet yours.  "I knew you were just like me," Micah says with a sniff, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His nose is still bleeding, turning his moustache red, and now his cheek as he's smeared his own blood across his face. "I knew you were sick..." he laughs.  "I ain't sick, Micah," you frown.  "If you ain't then you won't enjoy this-"  Micah somehow has enough energy to flip your bodies over, pinning you down to the ground, narrowly missing his knife that is still jabbed into the dirt. You attempt to push him off, trying to kick him in the balls again but he's pinned you down as well as you had pinned him down. He does exactly what you feared he'd do, wrapping his own rough hand around your neck, pressing on those spots under your jawline that you unfortunately enjoy.  You try and fight it, attempting to gulp down air, attempting to push him off. But the more you fight him, the more he holds you down, and the more you find yourself enjoying it.  "Give in to it, sweetheart. Just let it happen," he tells you, the words that you didn't want to hear, but only because they're sickly yet tempting.  Micah adjusts his grip and finally hits the nail in the coffin, your mind turning cloudy, the blood pulsating through your brain. That feeling in your stomach begins to burn, trailing down your body and making your pussy clench. You hate this man so much, yet you're allowing him to do this to you. "Atta girl," Micah praises you as you stop fighting him, letting your eyes shut and your mouth part.  You're weak enough for Micah to shift his weight, parting your thighs with his knees and sitting between them after he bunches your skirt up. One hand remains on your neck whilst the under sneaks underneath your waist, pulling your hips up onto his knees. His crotch pushes against yours, his hand trailing over your clothed thigh, moving up to your knee as he adjusts your legs so they're wrapped around his waist. For some reason, you cross your ankles, only encouraging him to grind his crotch against yours, rutting his hard-on against your pussy.  The mewl that escapes your lips is definitely accidental, but Micah tilts his head up to let out a hum of approval as he watches the colour continue to drain from your face. "Such a pretty sound coming from that pretty face of yours. You're goin' pale tho, darlin'. Least you ain't still spittin' venom at me," Micah smirks. The blood from his nose drips down onto your own face, painting your cheek, and the sight of his blood on you makes his pupils turn wide again, licking his lips as he finally removes his hand from your throat.  You gasp, gulping down air, letting out a few coughs as you manage to fill your lungs back up. Micah barely gives you enough time to come back to reality before he's crashing his lips against yours, pinning your hands on either side of your head, grinding his crotch down hard against yours. You let out a whimper as he manages to brush his crotch perfectly against your clit, making him chuckle against your lips as he kisses you. Are you kissing him back? Unfortunately so, but only because the taste of his blood on his lips is making your arousal grow, and he's grinding against you far too perfectly to ignore.  You eventually lap away at his blood, his nosebleed finally coming to a halt, and the feeling of his prickly moustache becomes more and more prominent. It's far too annoying for you to make out with him and ignore it, and it eventually irritates you to a point that you break the kiss.  "What'cha stopping for?" Micah pouts, halting his grinding for the moment. "Your 'stache is too long, it's itchy," you tell him.  "Well, I'll make sure it's trimmed for next time," Micah replies as he rolls his eyes. "There ain't gonna be a next time, Micah," you scowl back.  "Oh, that so?" Micah chuckles, doubting your claim. "Well, I'll just have to make this worthwhile," he informs you.  Micah moves his hands off your wrists, sitting up on his knees and pulling his knife out of the ground. He wipes the dirt off on his jeans then grips onto your undergarments, pulling the fabric away from your skin so he can slice down the crotch, ripping apart the garment and leaving a large hole right in the middle of them. "Micah!" you snap as you sit up on your elbows. "I'll buy you a new pair," Micah monotonously replies, a large lack of sympathy in his voice. You could have sworn he rolled his eyes as well. He holsters his knife and rips apart the hole even more, almost ripping the garment in two, exposing your pussy for his pleasure. Micah hums in appreciation as he gazes at the sight, pushing your thighs apart as he dips his head down and spits onto your folds. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it, and Micah picks up on the glisten in your eyes as he straightens his back up and begins to unfasten his pants, leaving his gunbelt on the ground beside you.  Micah pulls out his cock, an average looking one, rock hard and flushed pink at the tip. You're surprised that his pubes are neatly trimmed, just as dirty blonde as his hair, but he keeps his pubes neater for whatever reason. He ruts his cock over your folds, slicking himself up with his spit and your juices; to say you aren't wet is also a lie, you've been soaking the second he put his hand around your throat.  Micah finally pushes into you, slow and steady, letting out an "ooh" once he's fully sheathed inside of you. "It's always tighter if I don't finger you," he comments, licking his lips as he moves his hands underneath each knee, spreading your legs apart as far as he wants. Why are you allowing this man to fuck you? You're not sure, though you don't regret it, especially when he begins to thrust into you, surprising you with the way he rolls his hips, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside of you with every thrust. If someone had told you this morning that you'd end up spending the evening with Micah Bell thrusting inside of you, after the two of you had had a fight and ended up aroused by it, then you probably would have punched them too after informing them that they're drunk. But here you are, allowing Micah to fuck you senseless, pounding you into the dirt as he lets out surprisingly pleasant sounds. "Shit!" you gasp as Micah shifts his weight, moving his hands off your knees to wrap around your waist. He pulls you up into his lap, lifting your ass off the floor and angling your body perfectly so he's directly hitting your g-spot with every roll of his hips. Micah's fucking you like a rabbit, fast and unforgiving, eager to make your walls tighten around him so he can fill you up with his cum.  Micah begins to bare his teeth, hissing through them as he pounds you. You're a moaning mess beneath him, not holding back on the volume of your moans as nobody is nearby, and your volume level is filling Micahs ego more and more by the second. "That's a good girl," he tells you, his hazy eyes meeting yours. "I always knew you'd be a good fuck, the feisty ones always are," he chuckles.  You roll your eyes at his comment, making him laugh instead. Ugh. That stupid laugh of his, the one he always drags out only because he knows it gets on everyone's nerves. You think fast, moving one hand back onto his throat to cut that dreadful sound out. His lips remain parted, slightly smiling as he continues to fuck you, enjoying that irritated glisten to your eyes. You tighten your grip on his throat, forcing a choked moan from Micahs lips. Micah's already hunched over you but you pull him down to your level, speaking right against his lips as you order him to "fuck me harder." "With pleasure," Micah manages to reply, gasping and straightening his back the second you let go of his throat. Micah keeps one arm underneath your waist, holding you firmly on his lap, whilst the other moves between your legs. His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb moving down to begin massaging your clit, flicking the bud in circles, his cock throbbing every time your muscles begin to shake. He's returned to letting out moans, followed by the occasional grunt through gritted teeth. You've seen Micah come undone before, you've seen that feral look in his eyes as he loses his cool and guns down an army of people. But this? This was a different look, just as feral but fueled by a mixture of lust and spite. Is he just using you for a fuck? Yes, but you're doing the same with him. And do you think you'll end up fucking him again? Possibly, but only if you can watch the life drain from his face again. It's sickeningly arousing, but Micah seems to enjoy it too. "You're gonna make me cum," you sigh, your thigh muscles beginning to shake, your eyes scrunching shut as your head rolls back in the dirt. "I know," Micah confidently replies, rubbing his thumb even firmer against your clit. What a cocky piece of shit, though you admire the confidence. You can't believe you're moaning his name as you orgasm, panting and shaking, wrapping your legs even tighter around Micahs waist as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and earns his own release. His hands grip onto your hips, his forehead eventually slumping on your chest as he pants and groans, filling you up with god knows how many months worth of cum, maybe longer, depending on whoever else has been stupid enough to sleep with him.  Micah eventually straightens his back and pulls out of you, letting your legs slip from around his waist as you untangle your body from his. He looks debauched, his hair and clothes scruffy and dirty, not to mention the dried blood smeared across his face and moustache. You're certain you look just as bad, spending your evening rolling about in the dirt with the man you hate the most. Hate? Or hated? as you somewhat like the sight of Micah like this. Maybe you could tolerate him under these terms, and only under these terms. You attempt to sort your appearance out as you stand up, stretching your legs, hearing your knees click after being bent for so long. Micah does the same as he pulls himself up, tucking his cock away then picking his hat up. He whistles for Baylock who had wandered off into the forest, probably not wanting to be around... that. The horse you'd stolen has managed to unhitch itself and disappear, and you honestly don't blame them, but that means the only way back is hitching a ride off Micah or walking for an hour.  "Looks like you're riding with me," Micah tells you. "I don't want to be seen trailing into camp with you, not when we both look like this," you tell him as he mounts Baylock.  "How's about I drop you off on the edge of camp then spend a few hours away? Would that make you happy?" Micah offers, holding out his hand at the same time.  "It would," you tell him, swatting his hand away and climbing up onto Baylock on your own terms. "So, you'll let me fuck you but won't even take my hand?" Micah chuckles as he clicks his tongue, letting Baylock go at a soft pace as you ride side-saddle.  "Yep, and don't forget that you owe me new underwear," you remind him.  "Oh, I won't forget to buy you some new panties, Miss. I'll buy you a whole set of lingerie if it means I get to cut it off your body," Micah teases but you know he's serious.  "If that's what you want," you reply with a shrug.  "You'd let me?" he questions, peering over his shoulder at you.  "I would," you reply. For some reason, you lick your thumb and attempt to wipe some of the dried blood from his cheek. Maybe the sight bothers you, but Micah doesn't seem to mind as he lets you clean him up, his eyes occasionally flicking onto the road.  "You wanna give me a kiss when you're done with cleaning me up?" Micah asks with a smirk.  "No," you frown, pushing his face away from yours. He laughs as he looks forward, returning his focus back to driving.  You and Micah don't speak another word on the short journey back, apart from a "thanks," from you as you slide off Baylock. He drops you on the edge of the forest, letting you walk down the path back into Clemens Point. You manage to sneak back into the camp; the only person who saw you in your state was Charles who simply said "I won't ask," when you gave him a look that said 'please don't.'  You feel much better once you've cleaned yourself up and got cozy in bed, though your body aches from fucking in the dirt, and you're almost certain you're going to have bruises around your neck by the time morning is here. But the fresh memory of having hate sex with Micah only seems to arouse you again; just like Micah said, you are sick, just as sick as him. But if this unspoken arrangement is a good way of letting out anger then why not continue it?  --------------- It's been a week since your accidental encounter with Micah. He's still not replaced your underwear, nor has he spoken a word to you, but you've picked up on those disgustingly arousing glances he sends you from across the camp. You've been tempted to chew his ear out about not paying you back yet, but he's not been in camp often, and when he has been in camp, it's been during the day and around others. The bastard knows what he's doing, and he definitely knows that you're still angry that he hasn't repaid you yet. You've been assigned guard duty tonight, doing lap after lap around the outskirts of the camp until 3am, which is when you can tap Bill awake and send him on his way to take over. Well, 3am is here and that's exactly what you're doing, prodding Bill awake and handing him the shotgun.  You somehow didn't notice that Baylock had appeared amongst the horses, but you do notice that distinct white hat on the edge of camp. Micahs stood on the beach, looking out at the water with his arms crossed, a cigarette between his fingers. Finally, the opportunity to chew his ear off. You stroll over, ensuring nobody else is awake, not wanting to question why you're eagerly approaching the man you despise.  "Micah," you greet as you stand next to him.  "There she is, just the girl I was looking for," Micah greets you as he exhales his cigarette smoke.  "You ain't looking for me, Micah. You're stood here having a smoke," you roll your eyes.  "I was hoping I would have fucked that attitude out of you. Seems I ain't fucked you hard enough," he says with a laugh. You peer over your shoulder, reminding yourself that nobody is awake, nor nearby, but you don't want to risk your chances. "We don't talk about that in camp, alright?" you threaten. "Fine, whatever you want," Micah shakes his head as he finishes off his cigarette, flicking it onto the floor and stomping it out. You're about to begin questioning him on your missing underwear but he begins to walk off, heading further along the beach.  "Where are you going?" you scowl as you follow him.  "Over here so I can sit down. Was gonna ask if you're joining me but it seems you are," he says with a laugh, leaning back against a large boulder. You frown at him but settle beside him, turning your attention to him again.  "I only came over here to ask you-"  "-s'on your bedroll," Micah tells you.  "What?" you question.  "That new underwear I promised, I've just placed it on your bedroll whilst you were on guard duty. Plus a little something extra to make up for how long you've waited for it," Micah answers, his eyes fixated on the water.  "Hmm..." you ponder, unsure if you believe him.  "What? Don't you trust me?" Micah questions as he finally looks over at you.  "Not at all," you scowl again.  "Well, you'll see that I'm telling the truth sooner or later. Go check now if you want, I don't care," he shrugs.  You stare at him again, trying to look for any signs of lying, but he gives you none; his nose doesn't twitch, his eyes stay glued to yours, he doesn't rub the back of his neck. Micah is probably telling the truth, knowing that you'll whack him over the head with a bottle next time you see him if he lies to you.  "See, told you I ain't lying," Micah snickers as he looks back out over the water. You don't reply, you just lean back against the rock and turn your attention to the landscape. Your brows remain furrowed, arms loosely crossed, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the moonlight only just providing enough light as you're far enough from camp.  A few minutes pass and Micah turns his attention back to you. "Why're you still here?" he bluntly asks.  "I ain't sure, I'm going to bed," you shrug. You begin to stand, barely getting off your ass when Micah reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you back down onto his lap with a slight thud. "What do you want?" you snap, picking his hands off your waist in disgust, making him laugh at the sight.  "Just wanted to spend some quality time with my favourite camp member," he replies, though you're unsure if he's being sarcastic. "Well, you ain't my favourite," you huff.  "Always so feisty towards me, ain'tcha? What's wrong? You still hate me even after you let me fuck you?" Micah questions with a throaty laugh, grinning from ear to ear.  "I hate you even more now," you tell him, shuffling about on his lap until you're straddling him, one leg on either side of his hips, your chests almost touching.  "That'd explain why you've just got comfortable on my lap rather than walking away," Micah chuckles again, knowing he's damn well in the right. He slips his hat off his head, placing it on the ground beside him, not wanting it to get in the way. You let out a sigh as you roll your eyes. "Ain't I allowed to just take some attention from you, Micah?" you question, batting your lashes and removing the frown from your face.  "You're allowed to take whatever you want from me, s'long as I get something in return," Micah tells you as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. "So it's agreed? That we'll just... enjoy this pity sex? But only because it lets off some steam," you place the offer down, finally trying to decide on this agreement.  "It is agreed, sweetheart. You can call it pity sex or whatever else you want, but maybe I'll just fuck you so good that you'll end up likin' me?" Micah chuckles, pulling you onto his lap more as he speaks to you in a husk tone. "I ain't your sweetheart and I ain't ever gonna like you, Micah Bell," you spit. "Sure you ain't," he grins. So, this is what it's come to. You're sleeping with the enemy, pity fucking the man you hate the most, allowing him to pry into your private life and between your legs just for a little bit of satisfaction. Do you care? No. Should you care? Probably. But you're getting pleasure, finally, after waiting for so long. The gang is always on the move, running from the law and whoever else is chasing you, depending on where you are and who you've pissed off. You've flirted with other gang members before but it's never escalated anywhere, so if sleeping with Micah means you'll finally stop humping your pillow every night then why not?  And maybe you can fuck some sense into him, maybe a bit of kindness of basic respect? You doubt it, but it'd be nice. A life where Micah isn't chaotic would be perfect, or one where he entirely didn't exist. But this is the way the world currently is, so you'll just have to make do with what you've got.  You're still going to bark back at him whenever he kicks up a fuss in camp. If anything, you're eager to put him in his place. Maybe you can punish him every time he steps out of line? Maybe this... enemies with benefits, or whatever you want to call it, could whip Micah into shape and prevent him from being such an annoyance towards everyone. Probably not, but you can still hope.  Micah tightens his grip around your waist as he lets out a pleasing hum, tugging you down to his level so he can kiss you. You're reluctant as his moustache was so irritating last time, but to your surprise, Micah has trimmed it to prevent the irritation, his 'stache brushing against your upper lip rather than prickling it. Micahs kisses are a lot more tender this time, not covered in blood and heavy breathing, not battling for dominance whilst both your minds are hazy from all that choking. Micah moves one hand up to entangle his fingers in your hair, cupping the back of your head.  Your lips soon slide open, your tongue greeting Micahs. He bites your bottom lip softly, letting the skin slowly slip from his grasp before kissing you again, earning himself a soft moan as you shuffle onto his lap more. Things are slowly turning heated, Micahs kisses getting sloppier yet firmer by the second, drawing more moans and whimpers from your lips as he continues to make out with you.  You pray that nobody has woken up, not wanting them to see... this. How would you attempt to explain this? Could you say you tripped and fell into Micah after not seeing him sat there, and you'd just accidentally kissed him on the way down? Could you say this way a new way of fighting, to show him what he's missing out on if he'd just be a good boy? Yeah, those excuses are rubbish. But you're sure you'd hear anyone approaching, not unless they're stealthy.  Micah moves his hands to your chest, unbuttoning your shirt, stopping at your lower ribs. He breaks the kiss so he can pull your shirt open, cupping each of your breasts and leaning his head into them. His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking at it surprisingly gently, flicking his tongue over the nub, tenderly kissing it. His hand massages them, kneading them softly. Micah moves onto your other nipple, repeating the process, sucking on your tits as he lets out a satisfying hum.  "I ain't sure what my favourite part of you is, these things, or that nasty bite of yours," Micah says with a soft laugh between kisses. "Oh, you have such a way with words," you roll your eyes. "You know, I think we'd get along much better if you'd just tease me with these things in camp," Micah replies, returning his focus to your breasts. "I'll remember that in the future," you say, making a mental note. Maybe you could find a way to manipulate him? Using your womanly charm to tame this beast? It's a push but it's worth a try. He continues to suck at them, making your arousal grow, and you know he's getting aroused as you can feel it pressed against your thigh. Micah moves off your breasts and gently pulls your head down, enjoying another kiss, still tender, not the style you expected a man such as Micah to have.  Micah breaks the kiss, urging you off him. "Now, come on. Before I start thinkin' with my dick and fuck you right in the middle of camp. But you'd like that, wouldn't you, you whore?" he questions, buttoning up your shirt for you.  "You admit to thinking with your dick, yet I'm the whore?" you smirk, pointing out the flaw to his logic.  "Real smart, ain'tcha girl?" Micah mocks, shooing you off his lap once your shirt is fastened. Micah stands first, pulling you up afterward. His hand lingers for a little too long in yours, though you don't move your hand away either. He begins walking with you back to camp, readjusting his hat as he walks. Micah dips before you approach camp, not wanting to risk anybody latching onto your agreement. Thankfully, nobody is awake, but you head straight to your tent anyway. You fasten the tent flaps behind you, lighting your lantern, and begin getting ready for bed. You notice the tailor box on your cot and open it up, revealing the replacement underwear, as well as the 'little something extra' that Micah had promised you. It's a full set of lingerie, an expensive-looking set too, a frilly white chemise, corset, and stockings. The chemise is definitely that short for a reason; you wonder what Micah's planning, though he did say that he wanted to cut it off you. You hope to at least get some use out of it before he does that.

[alexzalben]

What do you think of all the backlash the last Riverdale episode received? I’ve never seen the writers speak out like this before on all the hate.

This is a pretty complicated topic that I probably can’t do justice with one Tumblr ask, but I’ll try to address some of the broad strokes ideas here. And hang tight, because this is gonna go long.

First of all, a caveat: I have by no means read through every comment the writers were responding to, nor do I know what they discussed or how they’re feeling about things, nor do I speak for them in any way.

However, I do think one of the joys and downfalls of making TV in the social media era is the accessibility of the creative team to fans. Joys because it opens up new ways of understanding how a show is made, demystifying the process, which is always a good thing. Downfalls because to some fans - not all fans, by any means - it makes them feel like they have a say in what happens in the show.

On the latter, it’s not to say that the writers aren’t listening, on many series they’re well aware of what fans think about their show, the plots, the ships, etc. Sometimes they’ll even shift where they’re going based on fan feedback. Nikki and Paolo on Lost are the example I always go to, where they were introduced to show the outside perspective of what other survivors were doing while Jack and his gang were going on adventures... And everybody HATED THEM. So much so that plans changed and they were literally buried alive on the show by the end of the season, in a very unsubtle metaphor.

That said, there’s a difference between what I perceive to be the tone around Nikki and Paolo, which mind you was pre-Twitter days, and what some shows have to deal with now: one is constructive criticism presented as “hey we don’t like this”; the latter sometimes veers into “you suck and you should kill yourself.”

I want to emphasize again: this is not everyone. Usually there is a small section of any group of people that delves into hyper-negativity, and they always get an outsized focus to the number of people who actually do that. Again, example here, but for a while I was part of a pretty popular online sketch comedy group. We got tons of views, tons of comments, I’d estimate 95-99% of those comments were great. Did I internalize those? Of course not. I internalized the one comment out of 100 that told me what a shitty writer I was. That’s the one that rolled around in my head all night, because it seeped into the fear that most writers have that they do suck and will never be successful, at any level. It’s Imposter Syndrome, plain and simple, and it affects everyone no matter how famous (or not) they are.

Reason I mention that is it’s entirely possible that 99% of the comments to the writers of Riverdale this episode were mostly fine, but if 1% of them were of the “fucking kill yourself” variety, that hurts, a lot. It’s not on everyone, by any means, but that pulls the focus, and it’s horrifying every time no matter how often it happens (and believe me, it happens far too often).

Specifically with Riverdale, there are another few factors that are exacerbating this. One is, and I don’t want to diminish this: the pandemic. We’re a year in and people are crumbling mentally. Nothing has been “normal” for a year, that impacts every single aspect of your life, and some things are easier to lash out at than others, like a TV show. If a deadly virus is causing inconsistency? Not much you can do about that. If your fave TV show is shaking up the broadcast schedule and changing your favorite couples? Complain to the writers, the directors, the actors, etc.

The other is the arc of this season so far, which I do think is driving people fucking nuts. This again gets back to the pandemic, but ending with episode 19, waiting months, and then coming back for a premiere that is actually the third to the last episode of the season? That’s unsettling. It throws you off kilter, because it’s not the right rhythm. I know this sounds a little silly, but it’s actually very important: stories have a rhythm to them, and a lot of TV shows in particular have had that rhythm broken. Riverdale had three episodes that were all essentially climax, then upended the show with a time jump, and has continued to mix things around almost every episode. And then it’ll be going into another three month break.

This is definitely the point where someone says “mix things around? they’re doing the same couples they always did.” Sure, theoretical person. But having sifted through fan comments and tweets over the past couple of weeks, every single week one section of the fanbase has been 100% sure it is their ship’s time to shine, and the next they’re being told it’s done forever, and then the next they’re back on, then the next they’re done... It’s an emotional rollercoaster ride, and that’s how the writers designed it, and it’s frankly not over yet. But add in that pandemic uncertainty above, and you have a recipe for people panicking.

Also, and again, this is a small section of any fanbase, but it’s very clear that because of this hyped up panic, some people are being absolutely terrible assholes to other fans. I know I don’t usually curse this much, but the amount of gloating I’ve seen from people on all sides, back and forth, is super gross. Personally, if someone is sobbing for whatever reason, my reaction has never been to quote tweet them with “you lost, get over it” and a peace sign emoji. It sucks when people are sad, and we have a moral obligation to make sure other people feel okay. Don’t know if you’ve ever heard this one, but “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Sort of an important life rule.

Overall, I think a fanbase is stronger is they support each other rather than engaging in ship wars, and I do think there’s a lot of people who do do that. Or just express their displeasure, without attacking people. But there are some people who do, and that’s overall making the whole tone of the discussion that much worse.

So what’s the solution here? I always emphasize to my writers that it’s okay to have a negative take as long as you provide something constructive about a way out of the situation, and I’ll apply that both to the Riverdale fanbase, as well as this extremely long Tumblr ask.

There are three things I’d suggest, and both of them are on you. By “you” I mean the general you, and the reason I suggest them, versus what the writers and creators of Riverdale can do is that “you” are the thing you can control and change.

The first is changing the tone of the discussion. Realize that there are people deeply, emotionally impacted in different ways by this TV show. Allow that they may be having different emotional reactions than you, and give them the space and the support to work through it. If you’re a Varchie fan, it actually makes you a better fan to check on a Barchie fan and see if they’re okay. If you’re a Barchie fan, it’s okay to be happy for a Varchie fan and sad at the same time. Mainly because none of you had anything to do with it. This isn’t even a case where you wore your lucky socks and your fave team won the game. The writers are writing what they wrote, and you are a passive observer, not involved other than the involvement you bring to it. So if everyone supports each other regardless of the circumstances, that will improve things overall.

The second? Disengage. Take a break. Stop watching the show. You have no obligation to tweet, or go on any other social media outlet for this series, nor do you have to keep watching the show if it hurts you. In fact, taking a show break if you feel too involved is a very good thing. Check out, clear your head and come back much later and look at it with fresh eyes.

Third? Think before you comment. It took me a long time to get here with this one, and I’m still working on it, but before you comment: pause, read it over again, and think “is this something I really want to send?” You do get that rush of taking whatever anger you’re feeling and getting it out of your body and mind, but ultimately it’s usually more damaging than either waiting, posting something a little more thoughtful, or not posting at all. It’s really thinking about what you’re adding to the conversation, and what you’re hoping to get back.

So there you go. Lots of thoughts there, and I’m sure there’s lots more to say. This is only my outside perspective on this, and I hope it’s helpful at least in some small way. And if not, that is cool, too!

[rosethornewrites]

Sunday & Monday T & G reading

The usual

Finished

Tumblr:

BSSR, by @withbroombefore

Song Lan and Lan Xichen, by @rhysiana

Teen:

Free to Face the Life That's Ahead of Me, by through_shadows_falling

“Why do you not want me to break the chains?” Lan Wangji asked.

“Because I need them. To keep the…the wolf restrained.” Wei Wuxian glanced up at the sky, and his throat bobbed. “This is where I transform. My adoptive family set this up for me.”

His family tortured him—and he willingly tolerated the abuse? Lan Wangji’s scowl deepened. That wasn’t right.

let the last of the blossoms free, by stiltonbasket

On the stroke of his thirtieth birthday, a legendary curse grants Wei Wuxian the ability to read minds through touch.

Truly Madly Deeply, by Sweetlittlevampire

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of red catches Wei Ying’s attention. He turns to look at the jumbotron screens of the arena and freezes when he recognises his own face, looking as bewildered as a deer caught in headlights.

His face, and Lan Zhan’s, who seems to have noticed it at the same time he did, surrounded by a bright red heart cut-out, adorned with the words “Kiss Cam” in a hot pink sparkly font.

Knitted Around You, by Liebing (2 chapters)

Wei Ying learns to knit and bestows a present upon his grumpy boss. No one thinks Lan Zhan will actually wear the scarf Wei Ying made him…

General:

Nights Like These, by sleepydragon03 (6th in a series)

Jiang Cheng has suffered a lot of sleepless nights, for a variety of reasons in his lifetime. So Has Wei Wuxian. On this night in particular they are having another sleepless night together, but somehow it doesn't look so bad when they're together.

(One shots in this series do not have to be read in order)

Accidental Baby Acquisition...x2, by Moonlit_dewdrops

Jiang Cheng, having lost his patience to get his brother and his beloved husband out of bed, had stormed into his brother’s room only to find both of them turned into children.

Brotherhood, by galenquerenzi (6 chapters)

The junior quartet goes on a night-hunt with Wen Ning and forged a brotherhood while they're at it.

Unfinished

Teen:

Nie Huaisang's Ten Steps to Fix The Fucked Up Reality, by cosmic_zephyr (astralcelestia)

1. Find the time travel array in the Nie library

2. Convince (manipulate) Wei Wuxian to use demonic cultivation to activate the array.

3. Transmigrate to the body of your 15-year-old selves with Wei Wuxian and Survive his wrath.

4. Come up with yet another exaggerated, slightly concerning, plan to save Lotus Pier, Dafan Wens and your brother.

5. Use Empathy to make the Wen siblings side with you in the mess that is soon to come.

6. Kill the main Wen family and make Wen Qing the new leader of Qishan Wen so innocent people are not killed.

7. Annoy the hell out of Lanling Jin just for funsies and also a political statement because Jin Guangshan can suck it.

8 Preferably, just for your own sanity, find a way to kill Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao.

9. Work with Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing to solve the sabre problem of the Nie clan.

10. Live a happy life with your brother alive and the cultivation world not being a huge fucked up mess.

Aka the fic where Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian (and Lan Wangji) travel back in time and save the cultivation world. Except the fact that nothing goes according to plan when disaster trio Wen Qing, Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian is involved.

General:

For When My Windows Ache, by stiltonbasket

“You can’t let Jin Zixun go to Qiongqi Road to ambush Wei Wuxian next week,” the boy tells him, before he has time to reach for his sword. “And you can’t use the Collection of Turmoil to murder Jin Zixuan.”

Jin Guangyao blinks uncomprehendingly and drags himself to his feet.

“Well, why not?” he hears himself ask. “Why can’t I?”

“Because if you kill him, Lianfang-zun,” the ghostly disciple replies, “you’ll kill Lan Xichen, too.”

Seven days before Jin Ling's full-month celebration, a reincarnated Jin Guangyao comes back to warn his predecessor about the aftermath of the ambush on Qiongqi Road.

Unfortunately, his present self doesn't have the slightest intention of listening to him.