#boy you got me blinded

[im-still-watching-anime]

i understand that ace attorney has many characters that simply NEED to be bullied and that sometimes things slip through the cracks but i really think that we as a fandom have been failing severely by not clowning more on kristoph’s hideous ass white shoes

[lovinnelily]

Y'all do know you can't make Jason be NOT white without changing his whole character, right?

For other characters, yes, because their physical appearance are not that influential in their story, on how they are viewed by people, on their personality formation — you can have a black/asian/indigenous/arab/brown/latino/etc Nico and yes, the hate he gets will have a undertone of racism but at the same time nothing significant on his story, motivation or personality will need to change. This is also true for other characters: Clarisse risks repeating the "aggressive WoC" stereotype but the character itself doesn't change.

This isn't true for Jason, whose main character trait is how he is perceived by others and how he showcases himself to others based on that perception. (specially with how little effort Riordan put on him besides making him perfect-er Percy who's somehow also weaker and less important than him).

Let's not pretend a black, Arab, indigenous, Asian, Latin man, etc, in the USA would ever be treated with the universal reverence Jason gets from New Roma, you can't have the illusion of perfection and most of all, of invincibility they have about him when you see him suffering racism or xenophobia in the middle of a mission. Nothing in his life has ever gone wrong, that's his image, destined to be king, he is supposed to have no weakness on his peers eyes.

He is not trying to prove people wrong, he is trying to prove them right; he isn't worthy despite their prejudice, on the contrary, he only tried to make himself worthy to fulfill their expectations. He can't be a woman or an immigrant or have a visible disability or any other thing that strays him from a perfect ideal by western society standards, and be that same character.

[red-archivist]

At a friends hen do, and the combo of lots of prosecco and straight girl karaoke means my brain is telling me hit me baby one more time is a s4 jmart song

[moomeecore]

all the people behind the "it's not that bad you're just being dramatic" posts abt the new episodeesss. i wish i was you. i am being so dramatic right now but it is against my will. i tried SO hard to like them. this is why i have fallen into a state of disrepair upon realizing that i really, genuinely, don't.

[sysig]

Really digging out the old OCs now; Pan-na, Pilok, Azalea, squirrel boys Will and Damien, and Cupid and Venus <3 (Patreon)

[boxwinebaddie]

NINAAAAAAAAAAAA? DO YOU HAVE ANY MORE KYLEYB CONTENT? I LOVE HIM

nOOOOOOOOOOOONICA!

-- and do i EVA, dollface!

( edit: the spelling across the board is non-existent. so sorry. you are morally obligated to be nice to me; i have a tumor. also, my apologies for yesterdays post -- it is gone now *shudders at memory* --

i was very manic and upset and the jerseykyle in me that gets angry, really, really is convinced she can kill god...i do think that's still true, but it was very chaotic and embarassing to be like that on the dash.

but if you are worried about the tumor i am trying to have a ( bad ) sense of humor about, again, it’s benign, noncancerous, very, very small, to the point where it requires no surgery or radiation treatment at this time ( i do have a radiology appointment for another brain scan on the 26th so please keep me in ur thots if you can ) and i just have to cope with a lot of gnarly side effects.

i love you and hope you heal. <333 -the u.n.

so...i wrote this weird ~'thing'~ ( i'm not sure what else to call it ) because i was having a very loose and silly-goosed ( but as always, wonderfully and graciously soul-warming ) converslaytion in the dms

with dearest, darlingest teria ( whose work you should not only read and whose art is not only more immaculate than the piss-and-moan-a-lisa, but whose advice, council and conversation i enthusiastically urge you to enlist because she is truly, a little bit of heaven on earth )

and, i don't know, i was doing the silly kyley b voice for shits and giggles in my texts and...it never...left my brain ( is THAT what gave me the brain worms? ) and i had to write my weird ~'thing'~, which is my boy, THE BUOY, kyley bi-atch! talkin’ to the new kid and givin’ them some street-wise, beat-the-shit-out-of-you-poetic advice.

( if you want it...it's down at the VERY BOTTOM -- everyone say hoooola cuervostan ;) xxx -- of this post...i got weirdly passionate talking about kyley b and jersey in general, so you can read all of that if you WANT...but i'll leave the screenshots after everything, so you can scroll down easily and reach it; also...gender neutral, i promise, just girl-scout-squirrely-whirly nicknames, haha. )

cue a future me leaving this here where i left off:

*unfreezes tv screen and a feral past nina springs to life*

also, i am...so sorry in advance for this, bc, okay, look...

-- does he sound like ball bustin', good fa' nothing pauly d, soprano mobstaH? yeah...yeah he sure does, aND WHATTABOUTIT, BETCH?! ( i'm just kidding, you guys; mwah ) but like...is that not The Vibe?

like? he is not supposed to give your rough and tumble ol buddy nino down at the jewish-italian pizzeria who looks like he would rather fkn blow his brains out that take 'ya ordah' ( but loves his ma and his kid brother, and the counter guy got fkn shived, so there he is baby baby;

-- the worst man on planet earth...

…and The LUVH Of My Loife! )

...who repeatedly calls you 'toots', but he's not really hitting on you, he's just trying to size you up ( also, i love you pre-(ed)isordah jersey, the BIGGEST and the baddiest, baby! ah-baddabingbaddaBOOM! )

and he...( quite literally ) wants you to stay the fuck away from him and get the hell out of his shitty city, and, he is THE KYLEY B, BAY-BEE! he's the curliest, cuntiest, coppa'-ist ( do naaaught, howeva, group him in with the bootlickers, or he'll make you lick his...just so HE can call /YOU/ one...like...he is my BF, do you understA-- )

hooOOoo

( i am sorry; he is...my favorite mwob-buoy-bawhss xx )

but...on the inside, underneath it all, really is...just...a fine and truly beautiful specimen, the meaner he is to you, the more you like him...and...you accidentally fall in love with him ( oooY geVAULT! )

that is...in fact, what sweet, sweet stanley marsh did ( he is a genius and a visionary and I RESPECT THE FUCK OUT OF THAT SCARY BOY CRAZY CRUNCHY KALE SALAD KIIIIIIING; like, he really played The Long Game...AND WON!!! HE FUCKING WON, BABEY!!!! like

i have this pre-rm, childhood headcannon, that ( because he was trying not to say stan's name or acknowledge him -- very interesting to me because that is the Same strategy stan employed when he publicly gave kyle the jersey nickname, bc he knew he could not remain detached/unemotional if he said kyle's name --

that babyjk when he lived in south park regularly just called stan 'bambi' or 'sug' or 'masug'; short for 'masugganah' or crazy in yiddish

because rm!santanastan...

( which is what sharon called him, for the band and just to respect his chosen name, in spanish, without alerting randy's suspicions...i will start crying, i should talk abt the south park era of the rm fbs more )

was just this insane boy with gigantic fucking goldfish, cartoon dear eyes who would approach him when no one else would even DARE, was freshly obsessed with him and thought he was the bees knees.

so, because the reader, reminds him a lot of stan...he starts using those little nicknames and i wanted you to know the rm!origin. yes, he does still call stan 'bamb' and 'sug' ( which is cute, because as a nice pet name he likens it to 'sugar' sometimes, aw ) to this day

and i think, almost did it or actually one time with raven of crimson dawn and stan's gigantic fucking sugar glider eyeballs lit up and kyle was HORRIFIED because oh my god, that was a Stanley Marsh ONLY nickname and i used it on this fucking CELEBRITY MAN...like y'know actually bestie, you are a fucking genius…

— that's Your celebrity man.

BUT BACK TO BACK TO KYLEY B, BAAAAAAAAABEY!

who is the red-(H)ead-BIC of NUEW JOISEY, kid!

like my best description is that he's this fast-twalkin, street rat, night life, mortal ( but not really; he basically thinks he's god ) kombative, fucking feral, ruthless palooka-pummeling, curbstomping, pavement leveling, street-fighting piesa' literal gutta trash, or sort of like if luffy from one piece was a mad swole ( emphasis mad, he's pissed and humungous, holy shit ) scary freckled ginger new jersey pirate king

who ( bc i love a visual ) is typically out there, rocking:

a way too tight ( to the point of it almost being threadbare and rolling paper thin; he looks good tho; he's my lil diamond in da ruff ) worn out, extremely stretched out, skin-tight, faded/distressed

( that's fraying and unspooling in several along the mom-mended and barely held-together seams --sounds like a metaphor for something -- with the distracting curly font almost nearly peeled and cracked off ), probably heavily stained ( with blood...and whatever meager, worm-infested brain matta splattered on his shirt when he was bashing some bigshot's stupid head in with a tire iron -- rip; sorry ma -- sunbleached from scorching nj summers that it's almost...brown ) black affliction tank top

some huge, torn-up, baggy, aggresively rhinestone-studded, heavily sequined ( k.b, it's already so hard to see and street hardened, police siren, rough around the edges radiance is already blinding me, please have mercy [ never not once ] ) mike 'the situation' influenced, super quintessentially 2012 jersey shore adjacent ( in that they're very loud, vibrant, in your face, tacky and obnoxious ) faux americana, tattoo parlor-popularized, badly screenprinted, ed hardy jeans ( eyeconick! )

the M-o-s-t ( sigh ) hideous ( and i do mean fucking hideous, sheila broflovski is fashion blind; but she is so beautiful and kind, she is forgiven in every way ) men's size thirteen ( jersey has frighteningly large, monster-sized clown feet ) highlighter green-orange-purple basketball shoes you've ever seen

-- purchased, with love, from the sale rack of ross for dress for less ( where they were collecting dust; no one wanted those things ) and her widely amassment of store credit from...numerous previous returns ) by none other than, my favorite beehive-styling, cherry-red, new jersey hauswife, legendary broflovski matriarch ( she rlly runs that whole fkn house like the navy; choke gerald )

Miss Sheila Broflovski...

the only person who is not scared of the notorious k.m.b. kyley b and routinely, while they're out in public, ft. a baby-faced, mean-mugging kyley b jersey acting all big and bad, will pull him down by the tag of his tank top, go 'you've got some schmutz on your face, bubbula!'

hold down this gigantic, vicious, snarling, menacing, thick as brick, hard as titanium, six foot tall, juvenile detention center frequenting, frightening concrete wall of an eighteen year old boy who looks like he could gut you with his stare alone, like he's a cute, cuddly teddy bear, hawk the loudest, wettest, gnarliest lougie into a schmatta she fished out of her purse and proceed to volently scrub a tiny spot of 'sahwasce' her son's face while he squirms like a feral cat; i love her. )

and the crowning jewels ( or jewels really; not sure if they're real, but they're big and shiny, which is what matters ) duel-ery, which i call that because…

he literally weaves his way through the back-door inner-city system of crime in new jersey through info he mercilessly squeezed out of a coupla peabrained Gabbagoons, uses what little information he could decipher out of those fkn weasel's pathetic wheezes to deadpool square to wherever their bosses lair is…

makes them regret they were even born, beats them with in AN INCH of their sorry life, leaves them lying in a pool of their own gross blood, stamps a big, blingy 'B' on their forehead and browses the shattered, blood-soaked display case and five-finger discounts ( but really, if you just won a major battle or boss fight; clearly, you deserve kind of reward or compensation, right, guys? and by his logic...you're not rlly stealing what quite morally wrong, but rightfully...belongs to you )

...whatever the largest and most impressive ( or not, tbh, sometimes he's like 'ugh, really...a toe ring? that's your big come up?' ) piece of jewelry they're wearing is, sterlizes it, and flexes it it on his body and on the streets as a silent, but deadly warning to all other 'so-called' king pens and 'unstoppable' underground crime lords that

'oh, that guy YOU were scared of? i beat the piss outta him, he cried like a fucking baby, he bled like a stuck pig and is lying in the fucking sewer like a half-dead rat. and if you fuck with me; you'll be next ) and scare legit 60 y/o robert deniro level frightening men, who have been running the game since the crimson dawn of time…

-- Into SUBMISSION.

...at like...seventeen or eighteen years old.

LIKE HE IS A FUCKING LEGEND IN NEW JERSEY. they still whisper about him TO THIS DAY and have to look over their shoulders before they do...like he was that fucking Terrifying when he was out there.

and i need you to know that he is H-U-G-E. like the incredible hulk HUGE. he's not like, this scrawny, gangly, sniveling little ginger vanilla wafer cookie rolling up on you...he is like, this six foot two, gigantic size thirteen shoe wearing, slim-jim-ripping, gum and fist snacking,

NFL FOOTBALL FIELD PLAYER WIDE, like not just some measly, tiny-itsy bitsy football player -- oh, no; you wish -- he is STACKED AND JACKED, he is ten times wider than the widest receiver...he is the WHOLE DAMN FOOTBALL FIELD BITCH, fkn might-o-chrondia ( because he is the new jersey powerhouse of the concrete and hard titanium juvenille deliquient cell, which shakes when he walks, bro. )

tldr; KYLEY B IS FRECKLY, JEWISH, GINGER, NEW JERYSIAN 'THE THING' FROM THE FANTASTIC FOUR, COULD VERY EASILY BODY YOU, OR VIOLENTLY DISMEMBER AND KILL YOU AND MAKE THAT SHIT LOOK LIKE L-I-G-H-T WORK. AND I MEAN THAT.

but...he actually, believe it or not, does NOT...Kill People?

which, i honestly want to say, is stanley marsh's gentle 'post-mortem' pacifist influence still lingering around him like the sweetest ghost.

because, honestly, i think a lot of those people deserve to fucking die, not just for being extremely fucking cruel to jerseykyle for literally just existing, for how he looks of all things, his fucking APPERANCE!

( it's the teacher in me, but child and adolescent bullying, particularly in school settings, really makes me viciously angry and very, Very fucking sad because it causes soooo much psychological damage to the victim, who most likely did nothing to warrant such incessant and merciless taunting -- that was probably perpetrated because he was whip-smart, and therefore a fucking nerd, significantly larger than other boys, wore glasses, has a 'funny', loud, cartoonish voice...

( which is simply...a dialect and manner of speaking that he literally developed from growing up in new jersey and from his mother teaching him how to talk -- that shouldn't at all diminish the weigh his words carry or the meaning behind them; which, minus...a little...or a lot, of potty-mouthed sailor swearing -- which, again, only fucking happened because he was so viciously bullied, he had to adopt a harsh, slangy, malicious vernacular -- is often extremely profound, academic and reflects a very introspective perspective )

and because he's immunocompromised, had to report to the nurse's office frequently throughout the day to prick his finger and check his blood pressure for his diabetes and is often, very, very sick -- which i guess makes other kids view him as weak, but most damningly was that...he didn't fit into the mold ( or, uh, most traditional size ranges, sheila only bought him clothes from the 'big and tall' men's section of most department stores because he was so Large in stature,

like he could not squeeze into child-sized...anything; meanwhile ravenstan has itsy, bitsy baby feet and could probably slide his non-existent ass -- you are so sexy king, i love you, you needed a flaw -- into a pair of the largest sized black pair of skinny jeans they got on the racks of the junior girls section of target...like, he could and he would look damn Good too! like go AWHFF king!

HES SOOO BAD! i need to focus, but before i do~

btw; rs definitely sent jk a picture to laff. he was like damn, i am sorry it won't load; will you send five more from different angles? HELP )

but, anyways, my lifetime horny writer girl max security prison sentence aside ( and pending ), he just wasn't traditionally thin or tiny or conventionally attractive or healthy like most other boys or children and general were..so the other kids, probably ring-leaded by the most convention of the bunch, othered him, dedicated making every single day of his life miserable and made his life a living hell...

...just to have a little 'fun' at recess and laugh.

FUCK. THAT.

because, i don't know, bullying like that, creates what are usually painful lifelong feelings of self-inferiority, very difficult to remedialize through therapy and selfcare, social emotional issues with expressing yourself/emotions in healthy positive ways, militant self-isolation

and ALL of that happened to jerseykyle...and on top of just never hearing 'i love you' from his father, that hate he received from the outside world, forced him the keep everything inside and it's why he couldn't tell ravenstan he loved him, because basketball is just a game,

...but it never FUCKING ended and he could only alternate between being defensive or offensive, there was never a bell that sounded to tell him he could stop playing and that it was over, and return to 'normal', that was his normal, because, from all his overwhelming negative experiences with vulnerability, if he stopped treading water, every shark on planet earth would smell his blood in the water...

and spill it everywhere. :(

NINA, DID YOU HAVE A POINT? AND WERE YOU EVER GONNA GET THERE? i...think so? i think the point is that, these are bad people that kyley kg fucking b was putting the hurt on...and the point is that, because, like i said, he considers himself a 'debt collector' and appears villainous bc of his vicious disposition,

is really more like...

a misunderstood antihero than anything?

he's kind of like a red robin hoodie, if you will, because he goes after rapists, child molesters, guys who hurt women/animals/the weak, power-hungry bastards in suits who use that power for evil and take it out on those who are stricken with poverty, like, he is a violent criminal...but he takes out even More violent criminals.

hot boy shit!

and yeah, he does do it sort of vaingloriously sometimes, for street cred, to wear people's status symbols on his hand and placate that hurt place in himself by being scary and ferocious and making motherfuckers pay for what they did for him and how they treated him...and with all that blood in his eyes, he gets blind to the ethical portion of what he's doing...but, subconsciously...

he's doing it...

— For GOOD.

and killing people, the notion of it, not only made stanley marsh, punk rock pacifist prince, violently, violently sick, but it's also, one, too messy, a lot on his hands ( already quite heavy with his heisted and thieved jewels and video game loot ) but...i don't know? he really loves his mom, you know? batshit insane as that woman is, he loves her to death...and does spare bad-guys because of it. because everyone has a mom and not everyone's mom is kind and lovely like his, but they could...and he's sending their kid back home to them...

...in a [ BOX ].

it just...it didn't sit right with him ( he acts unbothered by the idea of murdering people...but, unless he had to, like if it was going to kill someone else and the only way to fix it would be to kill the thing about to kill them, he could do it, and again...he could do it easily. )

he also acts simultaneously above the 'laur' and studies it in school, but ultimately...what happens to this fuck-ups after he fucks them up...is not up to him. whether they live or die, that is. he gave them what was coming to them...and the rest is up to someone else.

and i won't get into it too much ( A LIE; but i have like 74937403 other blurbs about this in my drafts, i should not ferally release all that insanity in here ) but it's interesting...because rm!jersey, loses a lot of that subconscious 'good' in the process of being 'bad'.

because, after his drastic kyley b transformation into ivy league jersey, he, for the first time, is being noticed in a 'positive' way by people on the outside and he's getting 'positive' attention from them, and he feels...for once, powerful — even though, really, he's essentially rendered powerless and is chained to the approval of these people and destroys himself every moment of everyday...to be in a pretty, and small, and palatable package for them...

( yes, i want k*ll myself. )

but he BECOMES the very EVIL that he was hellbent on destroying and starts doing EXACTLY what those people did to him. and because he is so unhappy and morose and hurt and devastated, he finds outsiders, weak people, but mostly, just looks...happy? :((((

…unbothered, merely existing...and decides

to psychologically debase and torture every drop of happiness from that individual, to make his self esteem better and make him feel like, good, i am so much better than that miserable worm, squirming away, squinting at the light it once basked in...

now it can be as insufferable and small...

— As I Am. </3

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. BROTHERS, THIS SHIT MAKES ME SO SAD. I AM SOOOOO UPSET LOL.

NOOOOOO--

and they're both brutal, kyley b and jerseykyle ( who, really, do need that distinction because they are...VERY different ) jersey, one, is far worse than kyley b, i don't CARE if he could twist your intestined into rope and hang you with them...the things that jerseykyle can say, as the most beautiful man EVER, Using That Voice,

looking at you with the most disgust and contempt and unworthiness you've ever felt and completely debase you in a couple crisp, dififnued, academic words...and not touch you a single time, bc you're pathetic and beneath him...you can heal a broken bone in a couple weeks...but your mind? your heart? your self esteem?

your once…wealthy, healthy feelings of self worth?

when jerseykyle reduces you into ash with his eyes, when your body was a temple and he burns it down, like somehow, it will make his stronger where he feels weak and helpless or like it will some how vindicate stanley marsh...it is very, very, very difficult to make that rubble into a city again. like...that man will RUIN YOU LIFE.

( pleaaaAasee kiss me!!! pICK ME CHOOSE MESHSJ )

but jersey is scary in a very...bone-chilling, below-freezing, self-pleasing, self-destructive ( but in a more subtle, seemingly artistic, less 'unhand me, you big brute, ya no-good palooka' kind of way...

and, instead, it's this twisted, muted, shadowy…

...oh wow, you...really are the devil in a fresh pressed suit, college student siren who leads boys to their untimely demise, and drains them of their lifeforce in his bedroom they way he would a dry glass of wine or a cheap bodega cigarettes like in a tasteful, snake charmer kind of way...a dark academic, sleek, chic, fuck-and-succubus way )

like jerseykyle is a very pretentious, jane austenatcious, bond villian type of self-destructive...that revolves around mentally preying on the weak/innocent...because he hates himself and wants literally everyone to hate themselves more than him...so he can like himself.

and when he guts you its, in a mentally incapacitant, poisonous, cruel and insidious way, in a...classically trained, philosophical, fashionable, was...in the way a thorn on the most beautiful rose you've ever seen would gut you...or a delicate antique letter opener...might slash your palm open, gash you and bleed you dry...

whereas kyley b was a faaaar less tasteful or restrained ( in that sense but jersey is still unhinged ) destroyer of worlds...he was very hands on, ( jerseykyle will not touch you unless he has to, he'll only punch you if you will not shut the fuck up and touch you as little and impersonally as possible to sleep with you…which is ironic, i know )

kyley b is a very fast and loose, wild animal, loose canon, carnivorous 'i'll slice ya and dice ya and put ya on ice ya' and beat you until you are bloody and unrecognizable...but on the inside...

he's just this...Frightened Little Animal. :(

who hurts you because he is scared you will reach for him, and when you put food in your palm, bites it because he's scared it's a trick.

aaaaaaaaaaaaah....idk he is my special little man.

okay, shutting the fuck up now HERE IS YOUR SNIPPET:

( edit: LAMBORGHINI MERCY, ITS LONG; LO SIENTO! )

GOOD LUCK, BAMBI. </3 ;-;

( just a...branch in my eye. ) i also was worried about the nicknames being a little too...'fem...inine-ish?' which, i glawhSSED on earlier, but wrote this little extra dialogue as an example using all the little satana stan nicknames ( aw ) because i am gonna be honest, it's gender neutral and not personal, he'd tell you, straight up -- my man always keeps it one-hunna and 100% kosh, ketzele; --

something like:

'ya can throw daisy chains ova a pile of cowshit aaaaaalll you want, masug; but no matta how ya dress it up, when alls said and done; and all those pretty flowers keel ova' and die...all your fine exteria design... fuck: what's cityslicka for 'useless, fancy schmanchy holy crappola' uhhh...your...dainty lil'tle 'floral achootrama' or whateva';

gesundheit.

...means fuck awhll in new jersey, 'cause the freakin' se-wer systems! ( manure, really ) like all the people, are all totally wasted, loaded and gunked-up with broken needles, instant spray tan and crushed up cred cans; wow, golly gee whiz, dory. so...you mean to tell me...my whole life...is all a buncha crud, huh?

o-oh, no, shit i might cr--

HA! gotcha, sensodyne! cause one man's trash...is another man's treasure...and you better get comfy and rest your goddamn laurels on a street corner where a prostitute isn't going to give you freakin' hepatisis mauling ya for struting your stuff on her turf...

cause this, outta townie...

— is your new home sweet home. ;)

...wonderful little joint, ain't it? you should see when it's all lit up with gang violence...that'll really jumpstart your heart, sug. it's, uh, kinda like fireworks...if they were fucking HORRIBLE and KILLED YA.

so...and i'll talk real slow, because i'm not sure i speak malibu freakin' barbie: h-e-r-e....in...hoebroken, ( that's where we are...in case you forgot, bamb; don't look so scared, honey; the junkies will only give ya little nibble; not too many teeth there otherwise. or, uh, oxygen flowin' to the ole cranium, they're basically harmless! uh...not him. staaaaaaaaaay, the hell away away from him, sug. aY, YOUSE! SNAP CRACKLE POP! KEEP YOUR FKN DISTANCE OR I'LL CAP YA BI--

basically; v.i.p., between you...and me, there's crap...on crap...on --wait! could it be--oh no, just more CRAP lined from the rock bottom of nj all the way up to the ny-sea to shining sea skyline ( might be our fault, but the fuckin' big city biddies and hoity-freakin-toitys out there can hoof it a little; by that, i mean horse shit; fuck 'em. uh, no offense, bam. ) i shot that one outta the park a little,

ball-point is:

it's backed allllll the way...TA HELL. which, might even be kinda, uh, nice...well, compared to this fuckin' trash compacta. so take a good, long, whiff sweetheart; ‘cause here? everybody's shit stinks...

— even yours, princess.

which—OOH.

es-Specially, yours.

ever heard of a shower? you r-e-e-k."

hEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP THATS MY BOOOOOOOOOOOYFRIEND! look at him!!!! I MISS HIM EVERYDAY; KYLEY 'IF YOU AIN'T MAKIN' MONEY, TAKE! YA! BROKE! ASS! OUTTA! HOE(BOKEN)! BEFORE I BREAK IT SOMEMORE, BREAK IT SOMEMORE...(B)-I T C H!"

like and suuuuuuUUubSCRRIIIBE~

-uncle nina, the gay kyley lGBea(t)in'theshitouttayaBETCH agenda

[creepyscritches]

I'm still trying to get past how insane it is that my last doctor basically refused to officially diagnose me (he would tell me I had "rhupus" bc I had "SLE labs w RA symptoms"), then treated me w infusions I couldn't afford AND that made my condition worse, and then gaslit me for 5 years about it being impossible to be medically intolerant to oral chemo 🫠

Anyway apparently my teeth could have been spared some of their damage bc my new doctor definitively linked dental involvement to some of the autoimmune antibodies 🫠 been trying to save like $16,000 to get normal fucking teeth but I've been guilty abt it the whole time thinking it was a moral failing. It was. The Diseases. 🤡

[mastcrmarksman]

I loved the other one so ooooh thoughts on hawkdevil then 😊

Send me a potential ship with my/our muses, and I’ll give my thoughts on it.

also influenced by you.

a litle 616 canon context, although we aren't going fully with this four some event pulled from 616 some pulled from nmcu, you know the fusion universe. 616 canon, they actually don't have a lot of content history. besides the fact, they met in 1973; in daredevil vol 1, issue 99; because Daredevil had been dating Natasha at the time, and Natasha had Clint's only major love interest (besides his little crush on wanda and somee other flings) at the time; so as the decade goes, Clint was incredibly jealous and challenged Daredevil. You've probably seen the panels.

So first, they are kind of rivals and rub each other the wrong way. They don't really intersect a lot besidees Hawkeye and Daredevil existing in the same spaces after that. When Fractin/Waid era was going on, they seemto have reconciled whatever differences had, given DD would go to Hawkeye/Clint for leads and information; probably had some working relationship as Clint kind of plays both sides of the same coin. He is both an Avenger and hero who sticks to major teams, while also doing his own private "pro bono" hero work and acts as a street vigilante himself; so that's probably how DD and Clint got along, from mutual work spaces and such.

Finishing off this brief 616 canon look; we obviously have them being at odds again, and this is when Clint probably only major reference for knowing Matt as Matt (he probably knew matt a little through matt taking on other hero cases) is when Matthew is the PROSECUTOR / "For the People" attonery on the case and trial of Clint killing Bruce; which originally was looking at a possible death sentence, and heavily swaaying in the prosecutions favor. So much so that when brought up to Matt, he realizes that trial has not been fair/just. And the final time that DD and Hawkeye have crossed was when Matt headed the "Task Force" to hunt down and ended "Ronin's" activities in the city (this was when wilson fisk was mayor; so there was a major crack down on superheroes, both registered/super team and vigilantes with private/secret idenities).

So canonly, they don't have a lot going to thm, but like there is deftinitely something to be said between the two. As fanon expresses, you know they are Blind and Deaf, heroes with disabilties. That would be something for them talk about, to relate to in different ways, and ways with which means they do not mesh with the abled world. Additionally, and comics and otherwise, they are both kind of jerks who are disasters, who ultimately are at fault for their romantic relations failing. Additioanlly, they were both young boys mentored by older men (trickshot & swordsman, and stick), who manipulative and pseudo replacements for their dead fathers; whom ultimately when faced with their mentors again later in life, don't immediately see the manipulation or grooming done to them, or even forgive their mentors or their mentors are their weakness. i could also throw throw out. they both have major girlfriends that die that affeect for literal years in their comic canon. (bobbi & karen).

Going more specific with our boys, whom I love, and they havee a very time with each other. Clint's got some not unpacked religious feelings, because he grow up in middle of midwest, small conservative town iowa; he went to an orphange, Saint Ignautis, which sounds Catholic; and so there is something there that I have been thinking and exploring with Clint. I think he is raised under God, and he loses some of that faith and distance himself, andd more athetist in the sense that, he'd be anger with and think that god iss dead or abandonned, than anything else. So that's something that could be something between the two that gives them a deeper link, or thing to talk about with each other.

I think that with them, Clint and Matt kind of just happen, in this well that is the lawyer hired by the Avengers or other superheroes this one time or another; and Clint happens upon his offices or him in a bar, and Clint's a neighborly guy; teases Matt about lawyering for superheroe, but generally thinks he is an okay guy, and Clint doe his new age old gimmick of just "me? i'm just a guy" and that's how it is.

Then obivously, he knows Daredevil, DD's been invited to superhero functions and gatherings (i literally was just reading an issue where thre's a weddding with janet and yellowjacket who is hank; and you see DD in the background) cause vigilantes do get to weight and have a working relationship with super teams; and then Clint tends to cover Brooklyn and Manhattan (which hell's kitchen is a neighborhood in the manhattan borough) so he and DD end up running into each other, and on the occasion work together.

which only makes things awkward and funnyl; when clint is maybe dating one of Matt's idenities, and then runs into another. (the funniest thing is the idea of which clint finds out matt is dd. or dd is matt. is caue clint's "lips dont lie" (this is canon. this is canon. clint kissed "fake wanda (loki)" and immediately outed her as "not wanda" because he just knew by that kiss. has to kiss the other and he's likee "shit that's my boyfriend's lips" that'd be funny; but you know. eventually matt and dd are gonna collide in clint's life. but clint is good about secret idenities with people, and he tends to take reveals very well too.

i think of them just vibing on late nights, only form of communication between the two is touch; becaue clint's aids are out, so the only way matt reaches clint is touch, and through the same clint will reach matt with touch back. and both of their couchs are very familiar, and clint's allowed matt to rearrange his apartment and that's how everything stays, for the sake of matt when he's there, and clint will if asked ultimately givee up his apartment (not the building. he just won't be a live-in landlord) and be where his partner is. and just once they get over their (clint's) little egos and reasons to butt heads, soft and respecting, and i love them and it's your fault, ce (affectionate) <3

[soleminisanction]

I do not have the time or brainpower to go into it in detail tonight because it's part of a much longer essay I've been trying to string together for ages but.

Someday, I need people to understand that everything you think you know about the infamous "Batman and Robin are gay" section of Seduction of the Innocent is wrong. It's not about sex. There's not a single implication that the comics depicted or even implied a sexual relationship. And it's not some out-there interpretation that Fredrick Wertham pulled out of his ass because he was some weird, paranoid conservative weirdo.

It came from his patients. His gay patients. Gay men and boys who described, in interviews with Wertham and other psychiatrists, how they discovered their sexuality by reading comic books and finding themselves attracted to the idealized depictions of masculinity depicted therein.

With Batman and Robin specifically, the focus is entirely on their emotional bond, the way they care about and constantly look out for each other. There's a quote from one of the patients that starts with, "I think I saw myself as Robin," and ends with, "I thought I would like to be loved by someone like Batman or Superman" that's stuck with me for years.

Mind, this is still framed as a not-good thing, because this book came out in 1954 and homosexuality was still pathologized... but it's always stood out to me that Wertham is not the one going, "Ewww, the icky gays got their gay in my superheroes, so immoral, get it away." That was the mainstream audience's reaction to being told that some gay people were fantasizing about being in a safe, happy, and loving relationship based on that of a superhero duo.

[whomstved-yallaintve]

i finished the game.....

sobbing crying bawling

[killjoy-prince]

Manga and merch haul from today!!

[silasbug]

pretty in lace.

[liquid-geodes]

Here a prompt

Blind springtrap au

Brother you have to be specific that how my braincell activates you gotta trigger the sleeper agent hiding inside my autism it's the only way

[saturniade]

god i wish this whole shebang just wasnt about a fucking movie about fucking russians

[mechieonu]

v v personal but i love the hc of sunnymoony being aware and accommodating for disabilities

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

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