#but all voices matter mean ALL voices matter including ones you disagree with

[lucysweatslove]

I told my best friend about some of the school shit and how I’ve felt a little micro-aggressed and discriminated against bc disability.

Her: “I will fucking slap a bitch.”

Me: “At least I have two friends who actually care and value me for me and don’t suck and aren’t performative and just like, value being a good human.”

Her: “I mean, I try. It’s hard when others suck and you want to punch their face.”

☠️☠️☠️

[kysuguru]

cuteness aggression — gojo satoru x fem!reader

synopsis : gojo gets cuteness aggression.

includes / cw : biting

all mine masterlist

a / n : wow… haha… sweats.. hey guys

gojo isn’t really the rough kinda guy. or he doesn’t think he is. when one first looks at gojo they’d instantly assume he was the soft, kind type. but through his behavior, they couldn’t be more wrong. yet he swears it’s the opposite! obviously feeding into an outsiders first impression of him.

for example, when it comes to fighting he’ll show off a bit, especially if the enemy is underestimating him, before he deals with the problem quickly, swiping his hands to rid himself of whatever imaginary dust laid in his palms. or when he’s poking fun at someone, he’s sly and cocky, a smirk stretching his lips that could easily make anyone irate.

nearly everyone disagrees with this, and to an even higher amount whenever you’re involved.

could they blame him? you were cute no matter what you were doing, especially when you looked up at him through your lashes, pouting slightly at his incessant teasing. he always had to resist the urge to squish your face and kiss your puckered lips until you were breathless.

though he never resisted the urge to bite your cheeks harshly, ignoring your whines about his saliva as he nibbled at the fat on your face.

you’d rub your cheeks, small impulsive tears in the corner of your eyes that you tried ever so hard to hold back — aware of the smug expression he’d adorn.

this wasn’t a rare occurrence. which means you should have your guard up, but you don’t — always naive, assuming he’d stop. you couldn’t be that cute, could you?

gojo begs to differ.

you’re sitting in your chair, getting ready for class before you see a shadow tower over you. your turn to see gojo, and blink up at him obliviously, sending him a sweet smile as you speak in your sweet voice, “good morning!”

it isn’t long before he’s cupping your face in his hands, tipping you up towards him as he nips at your red cheeks, giving them a small peck right after. you squeak at the feeling of his teeth on your skin, appalled by his audacity. you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed at you pat at his chest.

geto’s scolding him for his behavior somewhere in the back, but he’s too focused on trying to satiate his cuteness aggression. you’re whining, pushing at his chest.

“gojo, you’re getting spit all over my face!! cut it out!”

he pulls back to kiss your face, mumbling, “if you really want me to stop, call me satoru.”

“satoru! please, class is gonna start soon!”

he hums, letting you know he heard you. yet he doesn’t pull away. you instantly realize you were tricked.

“ugh, satoru, you lying bastard!!”

it wasn’t long before geto grabs his blazer and harshly tugs him back. you don’t hesitate to get his saliva off your face, groaning while trying to hide how flustered you were.

you didn’t have the gall this time to berate him while asking why he did it, because his answer was always the same:

“you’re too cute to resist.”

and you’d be a bumbling mess, which was bad because he’d start nibbling at your face all over again, whispering against your cheek how you were only proving his point.

whoever said gojo wasn’t rough was a liar.

[freakingholland]

freakingholland's batboys headcanons part 1

A/N: Hi cuties! After posting some dc comics related imagines over the last couple of years I've decided to finally post a list of my own headcanons for batboys! Just a disclaimer - these are based on multiple dc related media (comics, shows, fan-made content) as well as just my imagination. I do not mean any harm with these! Also if you agree/disagree with these let me know in the comments/asks/rbs because I'm super intrested in what you guys think and your own fanons! Stay whelmed xx questions/ideas here! - rules here my AO3 archive is here If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland masterlist

Dick Grayson (25-29ish yo)

Wears contacts all the time when he’s out. His sight used to be perfect up until puberty. Only wears prescription glasses when he knows he’ll spend the entire day wearing sunglasses – has prescription on them (he does have an emergency pair of regular glasses though).

Has a deep set of dimples. More visible when he’s a dehydrated raisin of a human being. He has a special bottle for just water to force himself to drink more.

Is left handed. His siblings bother him for that matter when he accidentally elbows somebody while eating.

Is “silently” addicted to energy drinks. Has tried to switch to other beverages but ultimately always goes back to energy drinks.

Sings in the shower, has a genuinely good singing voice. Pretends to be shy when people suggest doing karaoke.

Has chronic wrist pain due to a bad fracture.

Is a minimalist. Hates clutter and frequently gets rid of things like clothes, unnecessary gadgets, kitchen utensils etc.

Loves rock climbing and bouldering.

Has pockmarks on his cheeks. Had tried different products to make them fade away, but gave up and accepted his fate.

Uses a lot of post-it notes around his apartment.

Jason Todd (22-24ish yo)

Jason is the only one with brown eyes. You cannot convince me otherwise. Don’t try to.

He’s the best cook out of all the guys. Finds it very therapeutic. Genuinely enjoys making meals especially if others can stop by for dinner or pick up his food. (always makes me think of those pics of him and Dick in the kitchen in Gotham Knights!)

Has type 1 diabetes, uses a pump. (As mentioned here!)

Has a private library stamp for his book collection because any time someone visits him, somebody borrows (steals) books from him.

Plays the violin, self-taught as an adult. It’s his “safe” hobby that convinces his neighbours that he’s just a regular guy.

Has a full arm tattoo sleeve, it’s his way of dealing with body dysmorphia and body image issues. His tattoos include book references, fav movie characters and different symbols for all of the siblings (not their super hero stuff though, for safety reasons).

Has reading glasses. (As mentioned here!)

Hates arugula, loves Italian cuisine. He is not afraid of carbs (his glucose monitor states otherwise) and makes noodles often.

Has wavy hair but doesn’t use proper products for his texture.

Has veryyy straight teeth naturally. Others are jealous.

Tim Drake (20-21ish yo)

Journals. Even when he’s severely sleep deprived. It’s his way of dealing with heavy stuff, but also his archive in case he goes missing.

Has a nintendo switch. Doesn’t really use it but he knows that Damian steals it that’s why he keeps it instead of selling it.

Has a proper skin care routine. It includes dying his hair dark every 4 weeks cause he has gray hairs due to stress.

Uses ktape regularly. Struggles with chronic back pain and uses a foam roller.

Is vegan. Doesn’t try to convince other peeps to switch to veganism knowing that they are barely capable of making food for themselves. Will make an exception and eat meat if it’s a meal prepared by somebody close to him.

Is a huge music fan, listens to music often. Mostly metal, but also pop, rap. Doesn’t really discriminate music genres.

Loves playing board games. Is the type to bring board games to social meetings of sorts in case people want to play.

Has a very pleasant, contagious laugh. Rarely laughs out loud, but those who know his laugh try hard to make him laugh for that matter.

Has really sparse facial hair. Would like to grow out a stache or beard but cannot.

Blushes very easily. Doesn’t like it. Despises cold temperatures for that matter.

[notiddygothgf]

munch!

★ pairings: wakasa imaushi x f!reader

★ synopsis: waka loves his fiancee. especially when her legs are around his head.

★ content warning: smut, pwp, porn without plot, cute porn though, simp wakasa, oral sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, pussydrunk!waka, unprotected sex.

★ a/n: all my juicy bitches wya 😩😩 thought id do some fan service. enjoy!! mwah mwah xo

★ w.c.; 3.8k

mdni! smut beneath the cut

"YOU'RE SO FULL OF SHIT," Keizo hummed. "There's no way you actually, genuinely think that's a good way to live."

Shinichiro shrugged. "I'm just not a fan."

"Fan of what? Eating pussy?" Wakasa chimed in. The three men were lounging in the living room of Shinichiro's apartment, sharing friendly banter. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I like receiving better," Shinichiro retorted.

Wakasa couldn't possibly disagree more. "Just say you're bad at it, Shin."

"Shin, you sound like..." Keizo began. "You sound like one of those guys who just want to be included in the conversation, but you actually have like... no experience whatsoever."

"Eating pussy is so much better than getting blown, man," Waka mused. "I mean really, you're missing out."

"Take it from him," Remarked the largest of the three, who sat back in his chair with his legs spread wide. "He's a devoted munch."

"For enjoying giving my girl pleasure? Alright, dude." Wakasa rolled his eyes. "The way the girls' legs grip your head, the way she squirms... you're telling me you don't eat that up?"

Wakasa had a sort of reputation around these parts, although it wasn't like he didn't have anything to do with it. He adored his queen. His beloved fiance. It was no secret to anyone from one end of Tokyo to the other that she was the apple of his eye, and that he lived to please her to the furthest extent possible. However, in more recent times, he had made a name for himself. The name in question?

"You know what that makes you?" Keizo remarked with a sharp exhale. "A munch."

The two men were seated in the lounge shortly after a meeting. Their coworker and boss, Shinichiro Sano, sat just off to the side of them, watching the exchange with a shit-eating grin.

"What does that even mean?" Wakasa furrowed his brows. Sinking further into the couch, he reached into his vibrating pocket.

Shinichiro decided that now would be the perfect time to chip in with his own two cents. "A munch is, like, the male equivalent of a dickrider, obsessed," he answered, although it wasn't like anyone asked. "Someone who's all up in one girl's pussy – metaphorically and sometimes physically. Like you."

After a brief pause, Wakasa's weary lilac eyes scanned the illuminated text on his screen. "Rather be all up in one girl's pussy than be getting none at all," He retorted, holding the phone up to his ears. The tone of his next few words was virtually unrecognizable from that of his previous statement as he answered the incoming call.

"Hi, pretty baby," He greeted. "How are you?"

From the other end of the receiver, he could almost see the way her face scrunched together when she yawned. She paused, and then in that sultry, soft-spoken voice that drove him wild, she said, "Hi, Daddy."

Shinichiro's eyes widened as he leaned forward in his seat. Although Keizo's surprise wasn't as outward, even he couldn't hide the quiet chuckle that escaped when he dampened his lips with his tongue. Wakasa clutched the phone closer to his ear, turning away from the two men.

"I'm with the guys, baby, behave," he warned her, although his tone remained as soft as ever. "Is something the matter?"

He heard his precious girl sigh on the other side of the phone, followed by a quiet rustling sound. He wondered where she was right now. It sounded like she was in bed. If that was the case, he could already picture her in all of her sculpturesque beauty – tangled in the sheets of their queen-sized bed, heart-shaped lips parted ever so slightly, face dusted with a hue of pink that matched her pretty pink satin jammies. He wondered if, then, she would be wearing his hoodie. Fuck, just the thought of that had him squirming.

"Nothin's the matter, um..." His muse trailed off. He knew she was fiddling with her earlobe, just as she always did when she was deep in thought. "Jus... I jus' miss you."

If it were even possible, Wakasa felt his exterior soften even more. "I miss you too, princess."

"When are you coming home?"

If she asked him like that again – in that quiet, beautiful voice of hers – he would be coming home within the next few minutes, no questions asked. He didn't tell her that, of course. The two of you had spent the entire night indulged entirely in one another. His neck bore the battle scars of such an altercation; two small red hickeys which had been tactically placed by a devious little gremlin without his knowledge.

"Not sure, why?" He asked, fighting off his internal monologue which had memories of last night on replay in the back of his mind. "You need somethin'?"

"No," Was all she said. There was a brief silence, during which Keizo and Shinichiro resumed the conversation they had been having.

He heard her rustling around in the background again – his phone vibrated once, signifying a new message, but he didn't go to answer it – and then she said, "Look at what I sent you."

Wakasa obliged, like the munch he was, and opened the message. It was from her, of course. He'd expected that. What he hadn't expected though, was the image that awaited him when he entered the private message with her.

Immediately, he shielded the phone from his friends (who were, in hindsight, far too deeply immersed in their own private conversation about the politics of gender roles and derogatory nicknames to care ). Feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck and the corners of his lips twist into a grin, he fought to regain his composure.

"You took that just now?" He asked, a little more quietly than before. "Have you been waiting for me to come back all morning?"

"Mhm," The girl mumbled proudly. "And when you do come back, that'll be waiting for you."

That was all he needed to hear. Wakasa stood up from the couch and dusted off his shorts. "Be there in 15."

"Kay," you giggled, and that was the last thing he heard before you hung up on him.

Wakasa sighed, pocketing his phone, and then turning back to his two friends. "I gotta bounce," He called, interrupting their conversation to announce his departure. "I'll catch you guys later."

Keizo crossed one leg loosely over the other, throwing his arms along the backside of the couch. "The missus calls?"

The shorter man – who was already reaching for the doorknob – flashed a small grin. "What can I say? I'm like superman."

Shinichiro, who was now against one arm of his loveseat while his legs were thrown over the other, commented on Wakasa's choice of words. "More like Supermunch."

Wakasa ignored his comment, pulling open the door. "Suck me." .

"Oh fuck."

Wakasa groaned in response, although the noise was muffled by her thighs. Buried nose-deep in the world's wettest pussy, his grip was like a vice, strong hands digging into the girl's hips in such a manner that he knew his fingers would leave pretty purple bruises.

His thick, beautiful goddess. He loved everything about her. More than that, he loved eating her out. When he'd run his tongue over the most sensitive part of her, her whole body would twitch. Her hips, painted with stretch marks, were his handles. He adored the way her soft, supple body careened into his touch.

She tasted like heaven, and god, she was gushing for him.

He sucked gently on her clit, which was flushed red with arousal, watching in awe as the woman arched up off of the bed. He could see this show a thousand million times and he would still be just as enthralled as he had been the day he had taken her like this for the very first time. Pressing open-mouthed kisses to her pretty pink pussy, his tongue found its way down toward her dripping hole.

Leaving not a moment to waste, she gripped his disheveled ponytail by the root, pushing his head in deep enough for the tongue to slide right in – like it was meant to be there.

"Please," His fiancee pleaded, although he wasn't entirely sure what she wanted. She knew full and well that he wasn't planning on slowing down anytime soon. "Mnnnh-"

And, just to tease her, he withdrew, replacing his tongue with two damp fingers. "Feel good, sweetheart?" He murmured softly, just up against her red-flushed skin.

While he wasn't answered with words, the response he got was nonetheless gratifying. With a gasp and a desperate rut of her hips against his mouth, against the low vibration of his voice, she sent a message as clear as day.

He made no effort to stop her. Instead, adjusting his hands to grip the meat of her ass, he allowed the beautiful, frenzied girl to shamelessly ride his face. Her hips jumped up and down, rubbing her pretty little clit on his lips and his nose, smearing her juices all over his face. She shuddered, opening her legs even further, and arched into the warm, mushy mess he had created with his mouth.

She looked so fucked out like this, so ruined. Her head was thrown back, hair strewn haphazardly over the satin pillow, pink lips parted gently to make way for her trembling breaths. The little red babydoll she was wearing – what started all of this – complimented the undertones of her skin in such a way that it made his head spin. One of the straps hung loosely off of her shoulder, just barely exposing her breast. She was too much; he wanted to touch everything. To say he was enjoying the view would be an understatement. God, he could paint it if he could – on some Van Gogh shit, but if he were a porn addict.

Her smooth legs clamped shut over his ears. He huffed a satisfied little laugh before prying them apart and continuing to make a ruin out of the poor girl in the open.

Unfortunately, as he was only one man, he had to pull away for some air. He plunged two digits back into her, curling them up against that spot that would make her purr. He knew her body like the back of his hand, having memorized every curve, every crevice. Moving forward to continue lapping at her clit, he tried sucking in more air without having to stop. He never wanted to. He could hardly breathe but, fuck, he wouldn't mind going out like this: squished between his fiancee's thighs, feeling her warm essence drip down his chin while she cried out for him.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. The way she took his fingers so well, sucking them in and then clenching around them like she never wanted to let go. The way she gasped out his name over and over like a broken mantra. He could feel the heat of his own arousal straining against the seam of his boxers, but he didn't care. Being able to see her like this was more than enough.

With a gasp, he pulled back. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're purring like a kitten for me."

She carded a trembling hand through his hair, taking some of it into her small fist and tugging on it. He arched into the sensation. He loved the pain.

"Please," She begged again.

Though his fingers never stopped, he paused his desperate licking to draw the moment out even longer. An hour wasn't enough. He wanted to be inside of her all day, in perfect tune with the rhythm of her body, every arch, every stutter of her hips spurring him on. He rubbed the point of his index finger over her sweet spot, pulling her apart from the inside. "Use your words, princess."

Judging by the way her walls were beginning to spasm around his fingers, fun time was about to be cut short. He wanted more. No, fuck, he needed more. But honestly, he wasn't so sure that she could take anymore. Her eyes rolled back, slurred words and broken moans pouring out of her mouth a mile a minute while she struggled to hold on.

Deciding she had taken too long to answer, he dove back into her, parting her lips with his nose and then forming a light suction seal over her clit. He had to readjust himself to fit his fingers and his mouth in such a small space.

She felt so good inside, so warm. He could die in this pussy.

His fiancee gasped, "Waka, stop, 'm gonna cum."

His lips departed from the woman's dripping wet cunt, but only to roughly slide her ass closer to his face. Then, completely disregarding her previous please, he devoured her. His hair was beyond disheveled, tangled in her fist, while the rest hung in damp strands around his face.

He peered up at her hungrily, pulling back and greedily licking her off of his fingers. "Say my name like that again," he'd practically moaned, running his hands up and down your trembling thighs. The poor girl was shaking like a leaf in the breeze and he was reveling in it. "Say my name while you ride my tongue, baby."

"Mmmfuck– wait," She gasped. Her body, however, sent a different signal. She yanked his hair – hard, too – and trapped his head between her thighs. Those pretty little noises she was making increased in pitch and became more frequent within. She was near the breaking point, broken pleas of his name tumbling from her devilish lips. "Wait, wait... Waka, baby."

He wasn't planning on obeying her, moaning against her now abused clit while his lips and tongue alternated applying pressure on it. The pleasure coursing through his veins was enough to drive him wild – fuck, if she kept swallowing him up like that he was gonna cream his pants. She was getting loud and, to be frank, that was turning him on like crazy. He wanted to reach down and palm the ache between his legs, rut his hips down against the bed – anything to release some of the tension that was building between his legs – but he was far too enamored by the sight of her to take any attention away.

Head thrown back, hand gripping his blonde (and purple) tresses like a vice, back arched up off of the bed while that red babydoll dress slipped further off of her shoulders... she was a sight to behold. He never wanted to stop, never wanted her to stop moaning his name. He didn't care if the neighbors heard – hell, the whole building.

His tongue swapped places with his fingers.

The way she was mewling for him like a cat in heat made his heart run wild with desire. She was beautiful, so fucking pretty. She always was. But nothing compared to the way she looked like this, spread open for him like a mouth-watering buffet. He whined, feeling her tug harder at his hair. Her guts were clenching around his tongue like she wanted more. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he got what he wanted from her, so he removed his mouth from the girl's dripping cunt, allowing his fingers to work her open – an obscene mix of her juices and his spit glistening as it ran down his chin. Somehow, he found the strength to utter the words, "I need you to cum for me."

He had power over her at that moment, he knew he did. He had her rocking her hips back on his fingers like a desperate whore, chasing that sweet release she so desperately craved. When she slapped her hand over her mouth to keep quiet – because she had gotten a bit louder, to say the least – he quickly grabbed her wrists, pinning them down into the mattress. "Let me hear you, baby," He panted. "Let the whole building know who's making you feel good."

And he continued the downright slaughter of your pussy with his mouth this time.

"Daddy," the girl mewled, curling into herself. He'd been edging the poor thing around for far too long. He knew that. He just didn't care enough to stop.

It slipped out. It must have... Yet, still, when his fingers curled up against a particularly sensitive spot with all of the ease of a harpist plucking at the strings of her core, her lips spilled praise of his name. "Daddy!"

His smirk grew in size. He licked some of her off of his lips, and then hummed, twisting his fingers around. "That's it, princess. Such a good girl for me."

And then he could see something in the girl snap. The coil of her release snapped with all the power of an oncoming freight train, slamming into her in such a way that had her back arching up off of the bed. Her hips jolted up against his fingers and his tongue, lips chanting his name like a mantra while savoring the slow strokes of his long fingers against her gummy walls. He could feel the shock tear through her in waves, ripping trembling gasps from her lungs while she clenched around him.

"Baby," she mewled. "Oh, fuck, baby."

He slid his fingers out of the girl slowly, savoring the way her pretty pussy clenched over his fingers one last time before pulling out. Taking the soaked digits up to his lips, he sucked them clean. God, he would never forget how she looked right now, even if he'd seen it a thousand times before.

"Fuck, I wanna feel you," He shuddered, pushing himself onto his knees and then reaching for his tee shirt. Seeing her cum on his tongue like that was enough to drive him mad, dick straining hard against his pants. His lips found their way to hers in a messy clash of tongue and teeth, slick spreading from his face to hers while juices dripped down his neck. He pulled back, "Wanna feel you so fucking bad it hurts."

His beautiful fiancee sat up with uncalled quickness, small hands grabbing at his wrinkled shirt. That was all he needed to push the girl onto her back, promptly tugging the damp fabric over his head and tossing it somewhere to the side. When he turned back around, he caught the way her eyes studied the linework of his tattoos with newfound hunger.

She reached a pretty manicured hand out to rest on his abs, fingers splayed open, roaming the expanse of his ink. She traced the lines down to his abdomen, down to the junction between his hip and his pants – where his v-line was peeking out. He felt himself twitch beneath her touch.

"Don't be a tease," He breathed, although that breathless smile never wavered. He had to make a conscious effort to regulate his breathing. If he didn't restrain himself, god, he didn't even know what he would do to her. He had spent the whole ride over here fantasizing about her, about his pretty girl. He could do so many things, but there was so little time to do them. At least, that's what he'd been thinking before he felt her hand cup his erection through his sweats.

He let out a pent-up gasp that turned into a breathy chuckle. "Ah, fuck."

And then he pulled the girl into another bruising kiss, gripping her ass in his hands and pulling at the flesh like he was tearing into Thanksgiving dinner. Her hand pressed further into his crotch.

She parted from his lips to mumble, "Want you..."

"Yeah?" He breathed. It was getting hard to keep his composure when her hand was palming at him through his pants. His hands slid over her waist and gently cupped her face. "Where do you want me, princess?"

She laid back against the bed, arching her back down. Her legs remained folded against his waist. He quietly observed her, mesmerized by the woman and the way she welcomed him with open legs. Sighing blissfully, he lowered his hand to the warmth between her legs, which had begun to drip

Wordlessly, she brought her legs up onto the table. The man quietly observed her as she did so. He was mesmerized by the girl and the way she welcomed him with open legs. He hummed, lowering his hand to the warmth between her legs. "Right here, baby?" He asked.

Instead of answering, she reached for the waistband of his pants.

He left no time to waste, sliding them down over his hips with a hand at her back and letting her tug his boxers down below his thighs.

Immediately, she pushed her hips back against his, rubbing the head of his cock between her drenched folds. Something in him snapped, or rather, something was about to snap.

"Put it in, Daddy," she whined, and, fuck, when she was getting his cock wet like that he had no right to refuse her. The way she was so desperate even though she just came... he was going to get her pregnant one of these days.

He sighed, adjusting her legs around his waist, running his hands down her stomach – which rose and fell with every ragged breath – to rest on her hips. He let one hand move down towards his dick, wrapping around the leaking tip and then lining it up with her entrance. She was dripping all over him.

Before he could put it in himself, the girl slammed her hips back, sheathing the entirety of his cock in her heat.

"F-Fuck," He gasped, although it came out more like a whine. He let her set the pace at first, sliding back and forth in a way that had his head spinning. Her walls were so wet, so warm, so gummy. Fuck, it felt like he was melting.

Fucking into his dripping-wet fiancee, he couldn't fight the strangled moans that were ripped from the depths of his soul. "Fuck," He whimpered. He slowed down to savor the way her pussy sucked him in, and then pushed him out, and then sucked him in again. It made him dizzy. "Fuck, fuck."

"Mmm," the little devil chuckled. "Feel good?"

"So warm," he panted in response, sounding like a bitch in heat. "Oh fuck, I–" He angled his hips upward, bringing his hand over her cunt to roll his thumb over her clit, relishing in the way she cried for him. "I'm not gonna last long."

He'd never put it in so soon after eating it before. Fuck, the sensation was indescribable. He wanted to die like this – buried eight inches deep in her warm, wet cunt.

"Kay," she giggled. Then she moaned, "I want you to cum inside, okay?"

He knew that if even thought about getting to paint her insides right now he wouldn't last much longer. Hell, this would mark the fifth time he'd done it this week, even if it was only Tuesday. But, shit, whatever the princess wanted?

"Okay, baby."

Princess would get.

a/n: hey heyyyy, I hope you enjoyed it!!! if you liked it, you would loooove my other waka fics which can be found here.

I obviously do not own tokyo revengers or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @tokyorevengersslut69, @mikeys-bike-slut, @midtwenties-angst, @sleepysnk, @enneadec, @noaabean, @galactict3a, @em1e, @drakensdarling, @wakashawty, @satanlovesusall666, @sin-and-punishment, @mztoman, @sanzuicide, @bontensbabygirl, @strawberrychrome, @scaraphobia, @bertholdts--butt

wanna join the taglist for wakasa imaushi? | or click here to read more

[vhygoxo]

What would it be like to be “—‘s” imprint?

Headcanons on what it’d be like to be an imprint to each members of the twilight wolf pack

Leah Clearwater

When it happened it took Leah by surprise for sure. She’d always believed she was the unlucky one of the pack, cursed, first of her kind. It was rare and once in a lifetime thing how could something like that happen for her?

That is until you walked into Leah’s life, shaking her beliefs, and opening up her world.

At first she was scared as hell, not of you, but of the connection. She knew it could be a beautiful powerful thing. It was all too much for her to handle unexpectedly. Causing her to shift and hide in the woods for 3 days.

During this time the pack took care of you while Leah sorted her thoughts. Warming you up to the idea of what was to come.

Once she realizes what an idiot she’s being she snaps out of it. Instead choosing to be grateful for even being blessed with an imprint.

After it all you get to see the soft side to Leah not many could see. She was very attentive and kind towards you but still strong minded.

Out of all the members of the pack she was one of the most possessive. After her fathers death she held a close grip to those she loves. And now you were included

Her jealously ran deep, she’d show it by being extra clingy, needing you and your attention only on her. She’d never act cold or be mean to you. But say if someone hit in you in front of her? Beware her wrath all who dare try

She’d always try and do her best by you. Holding herself accountable for any mistakes she makes. Her love is shown through her actions. Only when it’s the two of you is she very sweet with her words.

Most, if not all, of Leah’s love is reserved for you and only you. A lot of pampering and sweet kisses between you two. Overall your connection would be sweet and passionate. She’d treat your connection very delicately and hold it special to her heart.

Paul Lahote

Paul was very shocked when he imprinted, out of the whole pack, Leah and Paul were most similar. He refused to believe and accept it at first.

He was terrified actually. As much as he knows he loves you (at first sight believe it or not) he was scared of his true nature. Would he be able to control his self? Hold him self back to protect you?

For awhile he kept you out of arms reach. Even after he explained everything to you it was decided he would be away most of the time. You weren’t sure if you could even disagree with him, wanting him close as possible, he wanted to be close as well. But in his mind the farther he was away the better you were safe.

Once he got his thoughts in order he realized how much he wanted this. An imprint connection was rare and he was definitely lucky to be blessed with you. He couldn’t forsake you and what you had together

After that it was hard to shake him off. Not that you tried to anyways. He was always near you, leaving a hand on your waist, back, anything to keep you close.

Paul works his hardest to make sure you’re comfortable around him. He knows his reputation is nothing great. Everyone finds him scary, intimidating, a hot head. The only time he cared is when you believed in it. Which you did in the beginning until you guys got to know each other

But he truly did have a soft, kind, nurturing side to him. The whole pack knew that and they made sure you seen him as well. He has never and would never raise his voice at you or be physical in anyway

He didn’t even wanna play fight. No matter how hard you tried to rile him up. Paul took your safety very seriously. Leah may be the most possessive of the pack but Paul was the most protective. He treats you like you’re fragile and delicate.

Also Paul really loved your scent. Some days you would spend it bed together wrapped and tangled within each other. He’d inhale you in like you were life itself.

You learned his intensity and passion were good qualities from him. He was passionate about the people in his life, his duties, and role in life. He took it all very seriously. He also took protecting you even more serious. It’s one of the reasons he decided to stay away in the beginning

Paul will always strive to be the best partner to you. He knows he isn’t perfect, and that he will make mistakes, he just prays he’s enough for you and this connection. (Ofc he is)

Sam Uley

This is if Emily wasn’t in the picture

In the beginning he would be so whipped. But because of his sense of duty and obligation he wouldn’t be fast to pursue you. If anything he’d shut his self down. Denying his urges to see you

He didn’t want force his self on to you. He was obsessed right from the start, showing it before even telling you his feelings, didn’t sit right with him. He knew he couldn’t just scoop you away and live happily forever after. (As much as he wanted to)

Since he was the first of his kind he wouldn’t be sure what to do until consulting the elders and council. Once he knew what to do he wouldn’t hesitate to approach you.

After that he hardly denied his self and his instincts. You were now apart of his life and he’d make sure you were welcomed into it.

To be honest his actions towards you were quite princely in the beginning. He was serious in pursuing you, the type to court by buying you flowers, wine and dine a few times before anything else started. His manners were swift and graceful.

You were the first to pursue anything physical. Although Sam was sweet and honest he was also very respectful. A little too respectful since it took him almost 4+ dates to even try kissing you let alone try some hand holding.

Once you two were ok with physical touch he’d welcome it always. But since he was always so busy he’d shower you in gifts in his absence. Rest assured he’d always make time for you no matter how brief your moments are.

Not going to lie for this guy expressing his love in words is tough. He’d leave notes but it was hard for him to say much in person. Preferring to show his love through his actions and gifts. Only in spontaneous moments does he profess his love.

This guy didn’t care about PDA, if he wanted to kiss you, or hold you he wasn’t going to be shy. Didn’t matter where you two were it didn’t matter to Sam. What mattered was you were close to him.

Overall he’d be the ultimate provider and partner for you. He knew how to care for the pack, the community, and now you. Out of everything you are top priority

Jared Cameron

This is if Kim wasn’t in the picture

Out of all the pack members your connection with Jared would be the most fun and easy. When you first imprinted on each other it was a happy and joyful moment. Both of you knew what you meant to each other and the rest was history.

He’d always make sure to make you laugh, to him making his girl/partner smile, was important to him. As long as you were happy and laughing life was good to him

Although this guy seems like such the happy go lucky type as time passed you seen other sides to him. From what the other pack members have said “the only time Jared is serious is when you or vampires are involved”

The first time you got hurt you seen how serious he could get. It was a minor injury but it freaked Jared enough for him to drive you to the hospital. He was so silent and serious the whole time, he relaxed once he knew you were ok, but that day made you realize how right the pack was

This guy shows his love through his actions mostly. Also a gift giver taking note of what things you like and enjoy. The type to take you to a carnival/fair and impress you by winning a stuffed animal.

He liked travelling with you. Any experience like a concert, or special events, he took you in a date with him. All paid and taken cared of by him. It wasn’t until later on in life could you travel with him. Early into the relationship he showed you what he could. Secrete places like hidden water falls and beaches.

You couldn’t ever upset or make this guy mad. Annoyed? Maybe but he’d never admit it, but Jared wouldn’t avoid any issues with you, he’d find a way to get through your problems together. He hated to see you upset.

Life with this guy will be easy and carefree. He’d always make sure you’re taken cared of, if you need space, he’ll oblige. Whatever you need he’ll get it for you all with a smile on his face.

Embry Call

Such a bashful guy, he was so nervous, and awkward when he first imprinted on you. It took him a lot to even approach you. Even before he shifted he never really bagged many girls. Not that he wasn’t handsome, girls have always wanted him, but he’s always been shy

Secretly Embry always wanted an imprint, he seen how the others were, how they felt. It was a dream for him to even experience such a love. Embry shows his gratitude everyday for the fact you’re even in his life.

Although he’s shy he was the first to approach you. He seemed level headed and calm. It wasn’t until after you guys had been dating for a while before the guys told on Embry. About how nervous and sweaty he was the whole time. Embry didn’t show it much but he was an over thinker

Embry was very clingy, physical touch was his thing, he viewed it as as a need. Needing to touch or be near you as often as you’d let him. His favourite was craning to hug into your neck and chest,

He’d give you lots of his hoodies. To him when you wore them was a sign of proof you were his. Or gift you jewellery with hidden meaning, like his initials being on it, or some proof he was yours.

On that note Embry would be secretly possessive over you. He wouldn’t want you or anyone else suspecting his ulterior motives. See, Embry never really had anything of his own, as he got older that changed. But you were his he was yours that was final.

Hickies were this guys thing, you’d think it’d be Sam or even Paul, but Embry loved to give hickies. Onto your neck, nape, your chest, you name it. He was gonna leave his mark on you for sure. Embry always made sure they were visible in some way.

The more time passed the more dominate Embry became. Not in a toxic way, but he became more assured in his hole as your imprint, taking charge and holding his self accountable. He started to resemble Sam in the sense of how noble and dutiful he was becoming

Embry would always strive to be his best self for himself and for you. Wanting to serve the world on a platter for you. Like the rest of the pack rest assured he’d always take care of you. To the point he’d gift you the clothes off his back no problem.

Quil Ateara

Quil was similar to Embry in the sense he was super nervous in the beginning. He wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. He rushed to you but once he was in front of you he didn’t know what to say. Stammering and stuttering in front of you.

Unlike the rest of the guys he truly didn’t believe he’d have an imprint. It never even crossed his mind. Why worry about something that’ll never happen? You are definitely the best surprise for Quil

Once he was able to speak he was very kind. He told you everything up front with out hesitation. Hoping you’d accept him for who he was. Luckily for him you did

He’s whipped for you, anything you desire, he will get no question. Quil was more submissive than the rest of the pack. You took the lead more than he did.

The only time Quil was demanding was when it concerned your health and safety. Although he was softer and kinder than most of the pack he was still a wolf. If you were in danger or hurt best believe he was doing what he could to help.

Loves watching scary movies with you so you’ll rush to his side. He loves how he makes you feel safe. It validated him a lot and physical affection mattered to him the most.

He loves to tease you, playfully of course, he’d never say anything to upset you. But you getting riled up by him always got him going.

Quil would be the more submissive partner out of the pack. But don’t underestimate him, he still had the dominant possessive tendencies like the rest of the pack, but you were more than everything to him. How could he not worship you and the love you share?

Jacob Black

This guy was very stubborn even before he imprinted. He never expected to get one, hell, he didn’t even want one. Once he did, everything changed, change wasn’t something he liked yet he’d never admit it. But finally he understood how and why the others with imprints felt.

Instead of fighting against change he went along with it more than happily. That’s what surprised him the most. Was the fact it all felt so easy, easier than breathing, to be together with you. It was almost like it was all he ever knew.

This guy would be more intense than the rest, you’d think it’d be Paul, but at least he was aware of his self. Jacob wasn’t. He wasn’t ashamed to stare at you for long periods of time. Or to do any type of PDA. There was no shame in his game when it came to you

He prefers quality time together with you. If you can’t give it he’ll get upset and whine about it. Asking why you can’t hang or else trying to figure a way to you. He wouldn’t be the one to fully support your independence. But after some discussion he’d hold back.

Jacob got jealousy easily but he was easy to calm down. He’d never take it out on you. Jacob adored you and he wished to stay your only devotee. Others weren’t welcome to join him.

Surprisingly this guy was good with his words. He never failed to compliment you or serenade you. He’d always been affectionate and now that he had you he was able to show this side fully.

Best believe he’d be an amazing gift giver as well. Instead of just simple bracelets and charms, he helps fix your cars, one time he even gifted you one. He spent the whole summer and fall fixing a new car for you. “I didn’t feel you were safe in your old car” was all that he said before giving you the keys

After everything with Bella Jacob had it rough. He didn’t want to show it but it all took a toll on him. Having you in his life made it all so easy. Everyday he’s grateful to have you by his side and wondering why he was so against this imprint connection

Some new pack content 🙏🖤my own rendition on what it’d be like to be each pack members imprint. I plan to make more posts like these hopefully regularly. I am still working on my og fan fiction “pale moonlight” it’s just I take my time writing it. The story is more about the daily life of the wolf pack than it is a Paul x reader story. So I just want to fix and add things as I go which take time. Enjoy this for now! More posts to come in the future 🖤if you have any requests my inbox is open

[sailoryooons]

hiiii :3 i’m a VERY silent reader (i’m terrified of my irls finding me on this god forsaken app) but i just love your writings so much so i had to participate in the agust event!!!!

childhood bffs yoongi x reader smut where they’re definitely probably too close, way closer than bffs should be anyways. reader goes to yoongi one night complaining bc no matter what she does, she just can’t cum! good thing yoongi’s actions speak louder than words <3

pls pls pls get totally creative w this, i love ur brain sm and i love seeing what you come up with!!!

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi has always been your closest friend, but it’s always been a little closer than everyone else. He takes it one step further, offering to address a silly little problem for you. 

❀ Word Count: 2,320

❀ Genre: Friends to something more, PWP 

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, some feelings of insecurity but like barely, talking about orgasm struggles, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, nipple stimulation, a hint of choking, a lot of sucking on neck/throat, nipple play, mostly reader getting finger blasted sdfnodsifgj, reader is completely naked and Yoongi is still clothed, mentions of oral (f. receiving), a little bit of cum eating

❀ Published: August 23, 2022

❀ A/N: Okay so this was supposed to be posted way earlier than 10:30 PM EST but I completely forgot I had this sitting and waiting to post (it was a long day) but HERE IT IS!!! I love the idea of Yoongi casually just being like yeah I’ll get you to come or whatever, let’s do it sdfjdfogijdfrgi thank you so much for being a reader and requesting something - silent or talkative reader, I'm just happy you're here and that you enjoy my writing! Thank you for being here.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust |

“You what?” You ask Yoongi, breath shaky. “Don’t play around like that, it’s not very funny.”

It’s rare that you can’t tell if Yoongi is making a joke or not. Though his humor is quiet like the night sky outside and soft like the sweater he’s draped in, you know Yoongi. Know him well enough to detect the subtle notes of a joke in his hushed words, know to listen amid the loud voices of your friends for a quiet jest, spoken softly just for you. 

Now, though, you’re a little unsure. 

Everyone has said for years that your friendship with Yoongi is too friendly. You vehemently disagree: affection between friends should be encouraged and treasured. Being able to platonically hold hands, share beds, and offer physical affection isn’t something reserved for lovers. You adamantly believe in this - always have. 

But… it is different with Yoongi. You think about how you always hold Taehyung’s hand, how you let him curl into your side during movies, or how he nests in your bed when he grows too tired for parties. Taehyung is particularly affectionate, but it does feel different.

“Let me make you cum,” Yoongi repeats, as though he’s reflecting on the weather outside. He’s on his knees on the couch next to you, hands resting in his lap. “No one should have to go through their adult life without partners making them cum.”

You roll your eyes. “Plenty of people can’t cum for a number of reasons, Yoongi.”

“Okay, that’s fair. Let me try anyway.”

“Why do you care?”

He tilts his head. “Because you’re you. And I’m good at making people cum. It feels like an obvious answer.”

“We’re best friends.”

“My point exactly. Look, if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, I-”

You shake your head and wave him off. “No, I just. Didn’t expect the offer and it made me nervous.”

“Nervous how?”

Letting out a long exhale, you rest your head on the back of the couch and look up at the ceiling. Your warm mug of tea is abandoned and the drama on the TV plays on, silent in the background. You chew the inside of your cheek, wondering how to string your words together. 

With anyone else, you’d feel embarrassed or nervous. With Yoongi, your anxiety is significantly less. Even if you speak the words on your mind, you’re sure it won’t change things. You’ve been through your fair share of oversharing, never shamed, never turned away. 

It’s how you started this conversation about your sex life in the first place.

So you decide to be honest. 

“Nervous like, I’m into it and I want to try it out, but I don’t want it to make our dynamic weird.” 

“It’s not weird for me if it’s not weird for you. I’m sorry I offered so bluntly.” 

Your lips twitch and you reach out, taking his hand in yours. Yoongi has beautiful hands. Long fingers with knobby knuckles, blunt nails and gentle fingertips, calloused palms. You’ve mapped the structure of his palm hundreds of times, know the shapes of the lines on them, and watched a palm reader chart the stars on them. 

Yoongi’s hands are where you’re safest. 

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t violate a boundary.” His mouth is soft when he smiles, his eyes are dark when he watches you. He’s so pretty. A soft thing with round cheeks, kind eyes, and gentle smiles. Quiet. Confident. “You really wanna try?” 

Yoongi’s grin turns feral. “I do.” 

“Alright.”

It starts with him leading you to your room, hand holding yours gently. It starts with a shy smile and hungry eyes, Yoongi watching you as you sit on the edge of your bed, unsure and giving him a questioning gaze. His hands are confident when he makes you move backward, shuffling until you’re in the middle of your bed on your back. 

Yoongi joins you on the bed, kneeling next to you. He watches as he reaches out, brushing his fingertips over your thigh. His touch is featherlight, making you shiver. He doesn’t do anything but this at first, tracing the shape of your clothed hip, up the sides of your rips, under the curve of your breast. 

Your breath catches, fixated on Yoongi as he outlines your curves. His eyes flicker to your face, drinking in your expression when he draws his fingers over the swell of your tits and over your nipple. The stimulation is barely there but it spikes. You inhale sharply and he smirks as he keeps going, brushing over your throat, and under your jaw, feeling your pulse. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. He takes you by the chin, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “What do you like?” 

It’s hard to answer. Yoongi’s hand leaves your mouth and trails back down to your neck. He wraps his fingers around your throat but doesn’t squeeze. It’s a barely-there ghost of a grip and he raises his eyebrow. You nod, unable to string together an answer. He squeezes gently before continuing his exploration downward again.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth. This Yoongi is one you’ve never experienced. He’s quiet as always, but the silence is heavier. Pointed. He bites his bottom lip a little as he passes your stomach and dips between your legs, pressing against your clothed cunt. 

“Yeah?” he asks when your hips twice. 

You feel heat lick through you, pooling between your legs. Your fingers twist in the sheets in anticipation. Heat pulses from your pussy, panties getting damp and Yoongi’s has barely touched you. It’s the way he looks at you, the way he presses his thumb against your swelling clit. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, voice watery. “I’m pretty into it.”

“I can tell,” he teases. He leans down, keeping one hand between your legs, gently applying pressure and circling his fingers as his lips search for yours. “You’re already wet, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t let you answer. His lips capture yours and you sigh into his mouth, hands coming up automatically to wrap around his neck. It feels so natural. His hair is soft between your fingers and his mouth is warm, tasting faintly of the peppermint tea he drank earlier. 

Kissing Yoongi is heady. He controls the kiss, keeping the pace slow as if he’s savoring you. Your thighs close around his hand as he presses through your shorts harder. When he introduces his tongue to your mouth, it takes your breath away. 

Breaking the kiss, Yoongi mouths at your jaw. You arch into him, running your hands down his chest, feeling the warm skin beneath his sweater. One of your hands goes to his wrist pressed into the mattress by your head, holding onto him, the other goes to his hand between your legs, laying your fingers on his, pressing.

He hums, the buzz of his mouth against the underside of your jaw maddening. Together, you peel your shorts down your legs. Yoongi shuffles closer to you, your thigh pressed against his as he continues to kneel next to you, heat radiating from his body.

Yoongi traces the trim of your panties. You watch him, your mouth parted as you breathe unsteadily. He is solely focused on you. You can feel the slick sticking to the silk, watching as he drags a finger near your hip, his touch tantalizing. 

Maybe this is what you were missing. Yoongi takes his time, dragging out the feeling of his hands on you. Works you up as he removes your shirt and bra next. You feel drunk on him already, nipples pebbling in the cold room. His nails scratch lightly up your stomach to your chest. He smirks as he traces slow, lazy circles around your nipples, eyes glancing up to watch your expression. 

“Why?” you ask, hissing at the light stimulation. You want more. 

“No one is in a rush,” he mutters. His voice is low, raspy. “Are you?”

When you shake your head, he smiles, pinching a nipple between two fingers. A curse drips from your mouth and your hips buck. You close your eyes, letting Yoongi tweak one nipple then the other, letting him guide you through. The stimulation feels good - otherworldly, even, when he bends down and flicks the tip of his tongue over one playfully. 

“No,” you sigh. “Not in a rush.” 

His teeth scrape your sensitive bud and your head rolls back, pushing into the mattress. “Good. Relax, let me take care of you.”

Tension melts out of your body. You didn’t realize you were so tense until he pointed it out. You let yourself sink into the feeling of Yoongi sucking gently on the peak of your right nipple while his thumb brushes back and forth over the other. The stimulation feels good, your head lolling to the side as you breath shakily. 

Yoongi is slow. He takes his time running his tongue across your chest, air cooling is spit as he goes. You squeeze your thighs together, feeling your cunt throb for attention. He notices, nipping his way back up to your neck as he slides a hand down between your legs, pressing your panties into your sticky folds. 

“Fuck,” you sigh. He nuzzles your neck, tongue swipe over the sensitive spot of your throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking wet.”

“Good.” His words are muffle as he sucks at your tender skin. You angle your head, giving him better access. It feels like the bed is spinning wildly, a compass lost in an electromagnetic field. “Tell me at any point if something doesn’t feel good or you want something else.”

“Okay.”

You open your eyes and smile. It’s so Yoongi to make sure he asks what you want. So Yoongi to remind you that he’s here for you. That as he slips his hand under the waistband of your underwear, he’s determined to provide for you. To get you off. 

A moan slips out of your mouth when it comes into contact with your dripping cunt. He avoids touching your clit directly, fingers spreading your folds as he teases your hole experimentally. It feels good - whether it’s because it’s Yoongi or because you’re already worked up, it doesn’t matter. 

Yoongi circles around your clit deftly a few times, making your hips wiggle. A tingle settles in your stomach, fingers twisting in the sheets.

When he retracts his hand, you open your eyes. He watches you steadily lifting his fingers to pop them between pink lips and oh. He hums around his fingers, making a show of rolling his tongue around them, tasting your juices. He slides them slowly out of his mouth, hypnotizing you. 

“Mmm.” He grins and reaches to slide your underwear off. “Can’t wait to eat you out. First, I’m gonna make you come.”

Never in your friendship would you have imagined Yoongi to be like this. It would be a lie to say you’d never thought what it might be like to have him like this, his hands peeling your underwear off. The scrap of the silk on your legs is heady, every part of your skin extra sensitive. 

Lips parts, eyes fixed, you watch him toss the underwear to the side. He shuffles so that one knee rests against his leg, the other spread flat on the mattress for him. There is a split second where you feel vulnerable, spread open for him to see how much of a mess you are at the barely stimulation. You start to close your leg but Yoongi shakes his head, hand brushing down your inner thigh.

Slowly, Yoongi drags a finger up your slit to your entrance, massaging lightly with his finger before sinking in slowly. You let out a long breath, your walls clenching around his finger. It doesn’t provide a lot of stretch, but it feels good, the pad of his pointer stroking your inner wall. 

At first, Yoongi is slow. Familiarizing himself with your warm, wet heat. He picks up the pace then, stroking deeply, ensuring to push up against that soft spot inside of you. It drives you crazy. Crazier, still, when he leans down and attaches his mouth to yours, tongues tangling as he fingers you leisurely. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters against your mouth. “You’ve got a wet little cunt.”

“Not usually,” you admit. You card your fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends a little. Your entire body is radiating with heat, sweat slicking your skin. “Fuck, it feels good. Doesn’t usually.”

“No?” he sucks harshly at your jaw and your eyes flutter shut. 

“No. Usually they jack hammer their fingers into my pussy.”

His laugh is hot on your skin. “Nah, just gotta find the spot.” 

Yoongi has found the spot. Makes it ten times better when he adds another finger, giving you something more substantial to grip on. Your cunt grips his fingers like a vice, slick sounds filling the room. He adds his thumb to the mix, pressing down on your clit. You gasp his name, hips bucking against his hand, dripping into his palm.

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts. “Fuck yourself onto my hand the way you like.” 

Together, you work yourself up to the edge. Yoongi doesn’t pause for a moment, doesn’t complain that his wrist is tired, doesn’t stop tonguing your sensitive spot on your neck until you’re clinging to him, coming around his fingers in a wet, messy squelch. 

You shake as he thrusts his fingers a few more times, the slopping sound of his palms smacking your pussy intoxicating. You feel like liquid, blurry at the edges and warm. 

“Holy shit,” you sigh. Yoongi pulls his fingers from your hole and you immediately squirm, hating the empty feeling. “That was just from your fingers?”

“Uh huh.” You watch as he licks his fingers again, grinning around them. Your stomach flips, cunt still leaking, begging for more. “Now watch what happens when I eat this pussy.” 

[ryuichirou]

Why is Ortho included in ship art? He died as a child, and although he was rebuilt, his emotional intelligence and maturity level stayed the same as that of a child. Although I fully disagree, I do want to understand your reasoning. Especially since Ortho and Idia are related and I saw your art of them kissing. I am genuinely confused.

I’ll be honest, Anon: the amount of people who message us pretending to be genuinely confused while having ill intentions are more than I care to admit, and this is very tiring; this is why I might sound a little dry in my reply. But I don’t mind explaining it if you genuinely want to understand it. That being said, let this be the last time I am ranting about this topic because there is nothing new I can say.

Here is the short answer: Ortho is included in ship art because we ship him with other characters. Ortho having a maturity level, mentality and/or intelligence of a child is a myth that contradicts canon and only exists to antagonise people who view Ortho as anything other than Idia’s baby mascot with zero agency. The fact that Idia and Ortho are related is not a reason not to ship them: shipping is fictional and doesn’t reflect one’s views on irl matters. Exploring taboo and problematic dynamics and tropes in fiction is a part of natural human experience. What I care most about in shipping is characters’ dynamic that I find fun for shipping. Their relation to each other comes second, but I won’t pretend it doesn’t exist if it does exist.

Now I’ll give you a long answer. Starting with “Ortho is a child/8-year-old/5-year-old/toddler” argument.

We actually saw real 8 yo Ortho before his death in Idia’s flashback and, wow, we can see that AI!Ortho and flashback!Ortho aren’t the same Ortho. "My largest amount of birthday data comes from eleven years ago, when I was five” is the line that Ortho says in one of his Birthday vignettes, which indicates that even though he does have memories of dead!Ortho, he is not stuck in the age of 8 – he thinks and feels that his fifth birthday happened eleven years ago.

But also just in general, if you listen to him talk and compare it to how he talked in Idia’s flashback (both the voice and the manner of speech), it becomes pretty clear that he is older. He is younger-looking and has a high-pitched voice but it’s due to the fact that Idia designed him to look that way, and there are a lot of potential reasons why he could’ve done it (all non-canon and theoretical, so we won’t dive into them today), but he is definitely not 8 years old. Ortho’s AI constantly learns new information, learns more about being a human – he is clearly maturing as the story goes, thus showing that he is in fact capable of aging mentally, and he’s been doing it from the moment Idia first created him. He is naive and inexperienced, but that doesn’t make him an infant.

Plus, post ch.6 he is always being grouped with other freshmen who are also sixteen years old. This is his age group. This is how old Ortho would’ve been if he was still alive, and this is how old AI!Ortho feels. He’s a proper first year student just like Ace, Deuce and the rest of the boys, and the story keeps highlighting it in all the events that happened post ch.6.

Speaking of post ch.6. At the end of the story AI!Ortho and real/blot!Ortho actually merged a little, as far as you can remember. Blot!Ortho, wow, is also 16. He’s been stuck in the Underworld since he was 8 and he existed all those years and grew up as well despite his terrible situation and more than unusual company, so we can safely assume his age. His merging with AI!Ortho also influenced him (AI!Ortho) in a way, making him more human as a result as well.

Not to sound mean, but I think the majority of people who still insist that Ortho is mentally 8 either don’t pay attention to his character, his story and how he interacts with others at all, or straight-up choose to believe that lie because it makes it easier to attack shippers or anyone who likes Ortho in general.

But also guess what, none of that matters actually because ultimately he is a fictional boy, and fictional characters’ ages are irrelevant. Just like fictional characters’ family relations are irrelevant. Even if you don’t think it’s right, that doesn’t change the fact that it is irrelevant, and the only thing that could be done about it is that you can block people and/or tags that make you upset. There is no shame about it: I avoid a lot of ships and tropes that make me upset.

I would prefer people to stop accusing me, a real person, of actual vile crimes (or having dark thoughts about them? What the fuck is wrong with you?) because of fictional, made-up things. If I want to, I can unrelate Ortho and Idia, and my fanart would stop being incestuous with a snap of my fingers. I can make them enemies, I can make them kill each other over and over again, I can kill Idia instead of Ortho. I say this to show how little it matters, and no, ~the implications~ don’t count. People make them up and choose to believe that instead of listening to the person in question. About a real person, let me repeat myself. You (plural/neutral you, not you, Anon) cannot make shit up about another person’s thoughts, ideas, and views just because you find it convenient.

As for why I personally ship Ortho with Idia despite them being siblings, you’re in luck because in addition to this already long post I have an even longer post for you to read if you’re interested! It’s been more than a year since I’ve written that post my reasoning is still pretty much the same, so I think it’s a pretty good one to read if you genuinely want to understand us better.

But if you don’t want to read another long post but are still interested, here is a TL;DR:

I love their deep love for each other and don’t want to just explore the platonic aspect of it – there are a lot of other scenarios that I want to play with;

there are a lot of tropes related to this ship that we love (us two against the world; AI in love; causing an apocalypse for the sake of your loved one; unhealthy and codependent relationship; obsession, etc);

their story has a lot of motifs that could be read as romantic (i.e. Orpheus and Eurydice analogy) that we really enjoy;

personal reasons; relatability (not elaborating on that; not related to incest though lol);

they’re sexy lol I love robot parts, size difference and a lot of other aspects that I won’t mention here.

I hope that explained some stuff. Just to be clear: I don’t want to force anyone ship Shroudcest, in fact I don’t care if we are the only people in the world shipping them (that will never be the case though lol). I just love Ortho very much, and I think he is a very fun character that has a lot to offer, and I really don’t like that people want to create this aura of “he’s just baby don’t touch him” that stops people for getting to know his character better. He is cunning, he is smart, he is caring, he is psychopathic, he is a lot of things, and all of those things make me want to see him bossing Idia around, acting cute around Vil, bonding with Malleus over their differences and similarities, all of those things.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stricken 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, ostricization,and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you were scarred by a storm years ago and its bringer has come to upheave your life once more.

Characters: God of War!Thor

Note: I did this finally.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You always know when a storm's coming. The hairs on your arms stand and your skin burns hot. The smell of rain is tinted by another scent. That of burning flesh and ash. Your scars raze as if struck again and for a moment, you cannot hear or see. 

Slowly, the scent of rain returns to you and the noise of the patter, sometimes more a hammering, as if to remind you of its bearer. The thunder is his war cry. The lightning his wrath. You do wonder why then it should’ve come down on you. 

You keep your hood up, your chin low. Though you hide, the villagers know who you are, they know of your misfortune. The calamity wrought into your flesh in veined scars. Your face is marked with the storm, zigzagged with lines as your left eye is struck blind and white. 

Yet it isn’t your name they whisper as you stop at a stall to buy grain. It is his. The Prince of Asgard. The might God of Thunder. The monster who made you like this. 

The air is thick, roiling with unspent moisture, and the clouds threatening in a grey ripple. You should have come yesterday. You should not have waited so long.  

You trade your coin and move on, gathering the small rations you can afford. You’ll return to your hovel, gather what you can from the garden, and check the traps for rabbits. It should get you through, though the frost does eat away at your harvest.  

As you have it, between the chirping of your disfigurement, there is worse creeping from the north. The snows have fallen heavy and whole lakes have frozen to the silt. You do not believe all you hear but you know better than to disregard the nip in the air. 

Your basket remains like but you’ve spent your limit. Your cloak shifts with your movement and you shrink lower as you near the group of adolescents feigning at battle with sticks. Their audience glimpses your passing and you hear their voices mingle with laughter. 

“It’s that crone. The burnt one,” comes a bit louder than is meant. 

You don’t stop. You don’t show that you’ve heard it. There is nothing to be said.  

“Cursed, by Thor’s hammer,” another chortles, “it is said he was forging and struck the blade too hard. In his wrath, he sent a storm. A mongrel like her drew it upon herself, broken like the sword.” 

Certainly, that too is a story to be met with skepticism. One cannot guess at what the gods do in Asgard nor why they bring only misery and chaos to Midgard. You cannot disagree that the storm was no favour to you. A curse, certainly, though the meaning can never be known. 

You move along, leaving behind their whispers and their sneers. Off to your solace, to your safe. Out of the path of any wandering soul or any blowing storm.  

⛈

A storm rages without. Water swirls and batters your small abode, built against the wall of a cave on a carpet of peat. You cover your ears as the winds whistle and wail. You quake beneath your cloak, eyes locked shut as you cower away from the tempest so much as your own memories. 

The blinding white flash and the scalding hot pain. Your fingers creep up to your chin and feel the rigged scars. You can never forget, no matter how you try. You can never be as you were. You are marked, you are damaged, and as the villagers have it on their tongues, broken. 

Even your family would not have you. You remember your mother’s wail as your father drove you off like some beast. ‘The gods have smited you themselves. You cannot remain or you will wreck ruin upon us all.’ 

Days of walking and tears, like the very storm that scarred you, a haze through which you trod until you could go no more. Until your head would split and the burnt flesh began to weep. A woman found you on the forest floor, rotting away from the corruption spreading through you. 

You don’t remember much of her. Only her touch and how she healed you. She bid you off with the cloak you wear and some food for your travels. Then you were alone and thus you remain. Not even the thieves will steal from you, nor the criminals darken your door. A curse is worth no piece of gold, no drop of blood. 

The pounding of rain relents. A chill creeps beneath the slats of your door and seep into the walls. You fill the earth with what kindling you have, the clay chimney puffing smoke up through the center of the roof. You hold your hands out to warm but find little comfort. 

You settle on your side beneath your cloak and stare into the flames. You shiver. It’s cold. Very cold. Typically, the rain chases away the chill but this is different. You can feel it in the ground. You curl up tight, clinging to your warmth, let your eyes close. Sleep comes but for lack of and not peacefully. 

Your dreams are a maelstrom. There a flames and ice, one after the other, sometimes together. Sharp pointed shards frozen and hanging, then licking tendrils of heat from below. You are lost in the land of sleep, tortured by a world built of your own fears and follies. 

You wake stiff and frigid. The fire has gone out. Not even smoke remains in the pile of ash. You move carefully, bones aching, scars tingling. You touch the hard ridging along your cheek and your fingers pulse from the cold. You can see your breath. 

How can it be? It was sunny before the rain. You get your feet under you and stand with a groan. Near the door, a strange dusting of white powders around the door, flecking in from beneath and around the edges. Snow? 

Were the tales true after all? You wince as suddenly your scars singe and sting. Ow. You recoil and cover your face with your hands, hissing and wheezing through the pain. It hurts terribly. Worse than even the first strike.  

You pull your hands away as your eyes water and you blink through your tears. You can see, at least in your good eye. There is no lightning, it is only in your mind. You shakily turn and search around. You cry out again as the agony surges once more in your head. 

Why? 

Your legs quake. Something is amiss. The frost has come and this meagre hut cannot withstand it. You take your rucksack and put what you can carry into it. Your water skin is strung across your chest and your pack upon your back. You wrap your boots with rags and your hands too. You haven’t the clothing for the cold but you will need to find something. Perhaps skin a hare or two. 

The door blows inward almost as soon as you touch it, another gust nearly bowling you over. You sway with the wind and cling to the crooked doorframe. You shove yourself out, just as quickly flattened to the wall by a flurry of snow. It dusts your face coldly and you pull up your neck scarf over your nose and pull your hood into place. 

You set off, hunched, reaching with your arms as you lift your knees over the treacherous heaps. You keep close to the rock wall. The thought of turning back stops you but it seems as foolish an idea. The hovel cannot hold for much longer. You need to get to the mouth of the cave and chance a sleeping bear within. 

You sidle along, slowed by the snow and the wind, the former soaking through your clothing as the latter whips around your hood. Suddenly, a roll of thunder, like war drums, churns in the air. The word dims and the furor sounds again; louder, closer. 

You cry out and lift an arm to shield yourself instinctively. You curl your hand into the rockface and holler even louder, closing your eyes as your memory summons another storm. No, it cannot be. Not again.  

A deafening boom shakes the ground and knocks you to your knees. You crawl along, keeping low near the ragged stone, those hidden beneath the snow jabbing against your palms. You whimper and whine, blinded by the thickening curtain all around you. 

Yet you never heard of the god raining down snow upon the lands. Only the slaking rains and the hot violence of his bolts. Never this. What sword has he broken this time? Perhaps it was his very own hammer.

The thunder overhead continues its horrid thrum as more pulses in the earth. Boom, boom, boom. You feel it beneath your hands. Your knees come down clumsily as you scramble through the piling powder. You open your eyes and still cannot see. The world is smudge in gray white and black, the sky flashing and darkening from one moment to the next. 

You cry out again as your scars burn. You push yourself back on your heels and grasp your face as you shriek. It hurts! So bad! Your eyes well and flow over. Your body trembles and collapses. You writhe in the snow, contorting with the agony as your flesh feels as if it is splitting. 

Beneath the incessant pounding comes a rocky noise. Like laughter it curdles in the air and chases after you like the steady boom, boom, boom. Closer and closer, louder and louder, the earth quakes in tandem with the cacophony. 

“I’ve found another,” the deep voice scoffs and snickers, “ah, Heimdall, you must see this--” 

The craterous voice halts and the air still. The snow drifts but the wind stops and the thunder relents, the world seeming to hum. You scratch at your face as the flames grow unbearable. You must be alight. It can be the only reason for such pain. 

The large figure, a blurry silhouette in your skewed vision, looms like a mountain. He steps over you, sliding a foot between you and the cave wall and flips you onto your back. You stare up at the sky, rolling in sheets of grey and black, the dark figure standing above, blotting out the clouds. You sob and plead. 

“Make it stop!” You beg as your hood falls back, “kill me! Kill me! It hurts.” 

He bends as your eyes roll back and he grabs your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. He pulls you half off the ground, not a single grunt for the effort. You feel whoever, whatever it is, looking down at you; upon you. A rattle rises in his gritty throat. 

“And what are you?” He breathes. 

You feel another surge and babble, reining in your wild eyes as you quiver uncontrollably. You make yourself look at him. You shudder and shake your head. Shaggy red hair, a braided beard, and eyes so blue they jolt you. Ink marks one side of his broad face as he wears fur upon his soldiers beneath emblems of the godly lands. 

“It hurts...” you rasp, “I am dying.” 

“You...” he grabs your chin, holding you by your shoulder. His thumb extends up your face to touch the scars and you let out a shrill howl as the agony piques. You latch onto his thick arm and thrash. 

“It buuuuuuuurrnssssssssss,” you scream as your spine arches. 

“Hmm,” he hums and throws you into the snow. You continue your desperate wriggling, the fire softening but not leaving you completely, “Heimdall!” He calls out like a war horn, “get your skinny ass over here!” 

There’s a tinkle of coy laughter and lighter footsteps that land on the boulder above. Your eyes drift over and you see another shadow, this one hazier but smaller. A dusting of snow flies up beside you as the other man lands beside you. No, not a man. 

Heimdall? Son of Odin. 

“Oh, Thor, what trouble have you found--” 

“Another one,” the other growls. Not the other, Thor. The God of Thunder. The beast who marked you. “Father says they all must come.” 

“This one?” Heimdall muses as his voice spikes with humour, “why look at her. Pathetic—wait a moment... brother, is this your handiwork?” He squats to see you closer and snickers again, “why how very peculiar.” 

“Bring her,” Thor barks and spins on his heel, swinging his hammer, “we haven’t time--” 

“You bring her, brother. As you say, you are so much stronger--” 

“Just do it!” Thor snarls and a peel of thunder breaks through the clouds. “I need ale.” 

[mandatory-blog-stop-asking]

thinking about Emma Frost again. let's imagine for a second X-Men matters and my opinion must be shared.

When I was a kid I really respected and liked Professor X. I thought his stances on issues were calm and reasonable and I thought his efforts were, while ultimately fruitless, the best ones in the fictional conversation about inclusivity and race and all that. this is a subtle reference to the fact I only watched the cartoon and the movies as a kid.

When I grew older and learned English I started engaging with the comics and realized that oh, turns out the adaptations are superficial at best and fladerizing at worst, and there's a lot more to Charles than Being Correct. He's actually in fact a scathing critique of control and flawed leaders of good faith ideals, and how you're supposed to grow over those who created the words you use to free yourself from tyranny. Professor X is a jerk, Magneto was right, all that.

But over time I realized how much that erases Emma Frost, villain turned voice of reason extraordinaire.

Emma starts her tenure in X-Men as Claremont's personification of everything that is bad with high society, accosted by Sebastian Shaw, which is that but male. Emma is genuinely awful when Claremont writes her; a GOOD awful, on purpose, but she's not supposed to be relatable. She has her own mutant school, her own team of mutants, her own answer to Cerebro. She's the most genuine Evil Xavier we get for a full two decades. and she's great at it! Even if the hellfire club almost always truces with the X-Men for the sake of fighting a more important battle, there's no question that you're not supposed to root for Emma.

And then in the 90s something changes, Claremont goes away for a second, other people approach the character, and the question becomes, why are we treating her like evil Xavier? She's building community. She's giving a voice to the disenfranchised. She's training them and she's caring for them and at no point is she asking of them things they actively disagree with, which can't be said of Charles. And so starts the process most every X-Men villain goes through: humanization, complexity, redemption. And fuck does Emma redeem herself.

Ten years into not being a caricature of high class, Emma has accrued a tragic backstory, several positive projects in canon, renown as a genius, positive relationships to several characters, and a main team spot in a highly acclaimed, influential run as of New X-Men. A whole new generation of readers introduced to Emma, new powers, new MO, new everything. Other characters are changing drastically, usually backwards, to accompany the movie's success -- Magneto is evil again, Jean goes back to being the Phoenix, Charles is a lot more like Captain Picard. But Emma? Emma gets to keep going. She changes things wherever she goes.

She hooks up with Cyclops, her daughters become their new Cerebro, she becomes the new heavy-hitter, the Hellfire Club becomes more Shaw and Shinobi's deal than hers... obviously, this isn't consistent. She's got low points and moments that don't agree to her new character. But this woman, who started as commentary on how the rich will destroy you for fun, is now a key positive portion of the world because at some point in time, she had a point -- Charles *isn't* the end-all-be-all of the matter of teaching young mutants, Erik *isn't* the best way forward as far as mutant armadas go, there *is* nuance to their dualistic conversation, the dichotomy is only enforced because they're loud, but she can be louder, she can be louder than any of them--

And then Krakoa hits. Yes, there's a full ten years of bad X-Men stories, many of them including Emma, at least one of them including Emma genociding a few Inhumans. But then Krakoa hits, and every character gets a new project.

Cyclops? Seeing the world move on in ways he might not approve of. Wolverine? Being happy, and realizing he means to fight to keep it going. Erik? Charles? Apocalypse?? Seeing how strong their "dreams" are when they compromise, and realizing oh, I am willing to do *anything* to keep this going, quite literally anything, there is no crime predicted by man or god that would be beyond my reach if it meant paradise would not be lost.

Emma? Emma keeps doing what she's been doing from the word go. Keep it fabulous. Keep the children safe. Don't fall for the lies. At some point someone will invade your privacy and try to take everything away from you. Your job is not to simply destroy them. Your job is to showcase to them how this too was accounted for.

Emma, alongside her planning, her alliances, her leading of the resistance, her unfathomable internal strength and her willingness to see the world for what it is, won the war for Krakoa. Charles wanted things to stay the way they were, Erik wanted things to be the way he dreamed they could be, Apocalypse wanted things to impress him.

Emma wanted them to be safe and sound. Emma wanted the children to be safe. And when Krakoa rose and left, now fully developed and having outgrown her as well, she picked herself back up and went to train a new generation.

There's always children to keep safe. There's always a new generation. The work is never finished.

Yes, the O5 have their own version of Xavier's dream fulfilled, but Emma is the only one who managed to keep herself genuine while evolving. In a room with religious zealots, war criminals, villains and ancients evils, Emma could always look at Kitty Pryde and think to herself, look at what we're doing, my friend. Look at what we have to work with. We're not saving them from themselves, we're saving everyone they're willing to sacrifice.

I wish those adaptations would make Emma Frost sound like she does to me. She's not just a third option to the Professor X-Magneto dichotomy. She's a person asking why is this a dichotomy in the first place. She's too busy actually caring about people to bother with the bickering.

For the children, they said when they wanted her to join their little utopia. For the children, she sighed back, realizing that if she didn't say it, quite literally no one else would.

[rendy-a]

Congrats on the followers 🥳

For the self aware au with Malleus's thing about not being invited to events what about reader making sure he gets an invite by inviting him to the dance with them

Writing this one sure was a roller coaster! I wrote half of it with some random plot that I had no plans for. I'm glad I got a sudden inspiration on how to tie it together! Thanks for joining my event. I hope you like it!

You’d never have suspected that you’d become a member of the fashion police in another world.  Not that you’d put in any effort into it.  People just seemed to ask your opinion on things.  Ever since the dance was announced, the number of random students who would stop you in the hall to pull out a handkerchief or pair of socks and eagerly request your opinion on the color or material was growing.  You weren’t sure you were even qualified to give expert opinions on otherworldly fashion, but it didn’t seem to matter.  Any item you deemed nice was shown off like a treasure.  If you should happen to pause or trail off instead, the article in question was quickly hidden from view and the unfortunate student requesting evaluation of such an inferior item scurried off equally as quick. 

It surprised you greatly when the requests began and even more when you started to notice some of the names requesting a moment of your time.  Azul asked you to weigh in on a tie.  Kalim came with an armful of bangles that only you could possibly select the best from.  Even Vil had one day haughtily remarked he was going to wear his hair up to the dance and subtly prodded you for an opinion on that.  You had no business giving Savanaclaw A advice on his fashion, let alone Vil, but each time you were requested an opinion, you answered honestly.  Overtime, you’d come to give just about every member of the main cast advice, including the teachers!

Professor Crewel smiled at you like you’d preformed a wonderful trick, “Well done, pup.”  You smiled back indulgently, used to the unique way he addressed his students.  “You may go, Prefect,” Crewel replied, still gazing at the boots you’d said suit him well.  You’d almost made it to the door when Crewel’s voice stopped you, “Matching colors.”  You paused and turned toward him, “What was that?”  Crewel turned his sharp gaze to you, “Everyone is waiting to see whom you attempt to coordinate with.  Such a show of favoritism means a great deal to a young man.  And if it’s with you…”  Oh, well.  That was a complication you didn’t need.

---

“Get this junk out of here!” Grim complained for the third time tonight.  You look up from the assortment of notes you have spread out over the floor and remind him, “I can’t do that Grim.  If I pick someone to favor, I’m only going to trigger…I don’t know what.  Mass overblot?  Chaos in the streets?  Who knows!”  Grim opens his mouth to disagree but then appears to think twice about it.  “So, what are you gonna do about it then?” he asks softly.  You gesture to the massive network of notes, “I just have to find it here; a color that no one is wearing and pick that one.  Then no one can get offended or misunderstand.” 

From all the fashion advice you’d been giving out, you had a vague idea of what each character of the main cast and good portion of the general student body would be wearing.  That information was spread out on notecards across the Ramshackle Dorm’s floor.  Only, finding the thing you needed was harder than you anticipated.  You’d tried organizing the students by color family, school years and dorms before looking for that elusive missing shade.  Maybe it was Grim walking over your notes or perhaps it was the Ramshackle ghosts playing tricks but every time you think you have it; a card will turn up with your chosen color, turning your unique shade into a matching pair.  

“Ugh,” you toss a handful of cards up, “This is hopeless.”  Grim looks at you from the table where he eats his tuna, avoiding your little project as much as he is able, “So don’t go then.”  You sit up and consider, is that an option?  You tried to picture it.  ‘What do you mean They aren’t coming!  Let’s start a riot!  Everyone to Ramshackle, let’s drag Them out!’  Ok, you were probably being dramatic but still, people in this world weren’t normal about you.  “So, I guess everyone has to go then,” you say as you throw an arm across your eyes and moan to Grim about your ordeal.  He endures your antics for a moment before he mutters, “Not everyone,” under his breath.

You drop your arm and look at him, “What do you mean, Grim?”  He gestures with his eating utensil to your pile of cards, “Tsunataro isn’t there.  Why do I hafta attend a dance if he doesn’t?” Grim scrunches his face and shouts, “I only wanna go to the banquet!  The party ends when the food is gone!”  You’d already tuned out Grim’s complaint on food, instead focusing on Malleus’s omission.  That can’t be right.  You’d have noticed if Malleus wasn’t in your notes, wouldn’t you?  You head over to the Diasomina stack and rifle through them, no Malleus.  Could it be mis-sorted?  You check the entire collection again but still no Malleus.    “How can this happen?  I get that he doesn’t get invited in the game but why didn’t I notice?” you gesture dramatically, “I mean I even sorted them by dorm, for crying out loud!”  Grim slowly chews a bite of tuna as he watches you, “You know, I don’t like to bring it up since you are who you are and all but…why do you think you are so special that you can go against the Will of the World?” 

You consider that point.  When you’d first met Grim, well, you’d sort of freaked out at him.  He’d listened to your ravings about games and characters before calming you down.  He was the only ‘person’ you actually spoke to about the game world and, somehow, he seemed to both believe you and guide you through your unusual situation.  So, when Grim suggests that you are also being restricted by the game plot, you have to give the idea merit and it made you profoundly sad.  You had a soft spot for Malleus, he was one of your favorite characters, and now you might end up forgetting about him like the rest of the cast? 

You put aside your quest for the perfect color, having grown frustrated with that anyway, and pulled out your phone.  Unsurprisingly, you didn’t have Malleus’s number.  Nor Lilia’s, which was odder considering what a social butterfly he was.  You scrolled through your contacts, searching for someone you thought might know his number and settled on Cater.  You seemed to recall a vignette where Cater forgot to invite Malleus to a party, which was not the best of signs, but at least it suggested he had a method of contacting him.

[Hey, Cater!  It’s just me.]

[YES]

[I mean hi there Great One]

[I mean buddy…great buddy]

[What can Cay-Cay do for you?]

[Do you have Malleus’s number by chance?]

[Oh noes!  I don’t!  So sorry!]

[But I do have Lills number!]

[Want Cay-Cay to hook you up?]

If you texted Lilia, then he’d have your number.  He can be…rather odd sometimes.  Perhaps it was best not to let more people have access to your number.

[Can you just pass a message along?  Ask him to make sure Malleus is invited to the dance?]

[Sure!  You can count on me!]

You couldn’t count on him.  It wasn’t until the very night of the dance that you pulled out your phone to plan where to meet up with your friends and saw the old text.  You felt a foreboding sense of dread for you had fully forgotten about the situation until that very moment.  The power of the plot was no joke.

[Hey Cater]

[Hiiii]

[Are you here?]

[Where are you?]

[Do you need me?  I’ll do anything you need]

Of course, he was freaking out.  You interrupted his text stream.

[Focus!]

[Did you get that message to Malleus about the dance?]

[Ah, Malleus.  Of course.  Let me check]

You didn’t consider texting to be particularly personal, but you can feel disappointment through the text.  You’d have to make it up to him.  While you were waiting, you took a selfie and sent it to Cater. #readytodance.  There, that should cheer him up a bit.

[Ah!  You look so cute in that!]

[I’m totes jealous of your style]

You can picture him making his signature v hand sign as he says that.  At least you could count on Cater to be easy to distract.

[Lils says Malleus was out when he got the text and he forgot]

[I’m SOOOO sorry!]

Dammit.  So, after all your bravado, you’d let him get left out of a social event again.  Some all-knowing Player you were. You sigh and look at the ceiling for a long moment until you hear your phone’s notification chime again.

[So…are you still coming?]

You look at the question puzzled.  What else would you be doing?  You’d spent all this time finding this horrid shade of pink to wear just to attend.  Why did he think your plans might change?  Then you had it.  A smile came over your lips as you knew exactly what you should be doing instead.

[Yeah, tell the guys I’m just going to be a little late.]

---

The towers of Diasomnia gave off an imposing aura, like that of their master.  The sudden and frequent lightning strikes did nothing to tone down the atmosphere.  He clearly realized he’d been forgotten again and was deep into a sulk.  You kept a wary eye on the sky as you crept closer to the castle gates and finally felt less dread once you were inside.  You didn’t exactly know where Malleus would be but sort of figured you’d try the top of the tallest tower and see how that went.  This was a storybook inspired world, after all.  True to tale, that was where you found him, gazing deep into the darkening night from his window with a sever frown set upon his face.

You knocked carefully on the doorframe.  “Hey,” you called out gently, gaining his attention.  “It’s you,” he says in surprise, “Why, whatever are you doing here alone?” You give him a mournful smile, “That’s what I was going to ask you.”  He clicks his teeth in annoyance, “Where else would I be?  I’m not wanted at their little celebration.  I’ve not such bad manners to attend a party I’m not invited to.  Even if everyone else has been.  The royalty, the nobility, the gentry…” You gesture to yourself and finish for him, “Even the rabble.”   At that, he looks upset, “Certainly not.  I’ll let no one refer to you so.”  You waive your hand, calming down the ire of your draconian friend.

“It was a joke!” you assure him, “I just…thought this color didn’t suit me is all.”  He considers your pink formal wear.  “Is it not to your liking?” he asks musingly.  “Hmm, I don’t know if I’d say that.  It’s more that I didn’t really pick it out totally myself,” you sigh, “There was a whole situation there.  I couldn’t let anyone think I was showing favor or inviting a date or…”  You trailed off, getting an idea.  “Actually, Malleus, what do you think if we…”

---

You stood at the door to the gardens where the ballroom venue had been set up.  You smiled at Malleus, who stands by your side, and give his hand a nervous squeeze.  “Are you ready for this?”  You were worried about the reaction this entrance is going to cause but apparently Malleus is unphased, “With you by my side, Prefect, I am prepared for anything.”  Perhaps this should have made you happy to hear but all it did was to remind you that even a great dragon mage like Malleus believed ordinary you were capable of amazing feats because you were the famed Player.  Well, if you manage to open this door without setting off a riot, maybe he was right.  You stepped in front of the door, grasped the handle, pulled it open and entered the ballroom.

Two things happened immediately.  Firstly, you looked in shock at the sea of pink filling the ballroom.  You’d spent weeks helping the students of NRC choose outfits and sneakily collecting notes on what they planned to wear only to have basically everyone change their formal wear last minute.  And to pink, surprisingly.  At the same time you were entering the ballroom and taking in the array of pink, the gathered students were noticing you.  And how you weren’t wearing pink.

“GREEN!” Epel shouts, “Why’m I wearin’ PINK if the Prefect is wearin’ GREEN!”  The aggravated boy isn’t alone.  A crowd of angry students gather around Cater.  Azul pushes his glasses up and peers at Cater from between his fingers as he speaks enquiringly, “Were you attempting to make fools of us, Cater?”  The nervous third year glances at the menacing Leech twins that accompany Azul, all three in matching pink suits and fedoras.  “Of course not!” Cater stammers with his hands up, “Why would I be dressed like this otherwise?”  The formidable crowd of pink adorned students considers Cater and his equally pink formal wear carefully.

“Hey guys,” you say as you carefully push your way through the crowd, Malleus following in your wake, “What…what’s going on here?”  Cater clutches onto your sleeve and exclaims, “PREFECT!  I’m SO GLAD to see you HERE.  In…in green.  Wha, what happened to the pink from that pic?  You…you looked so good in that.”  You give him a sheepish smile, “Ah yes, about that…”  You gesture to Malleus who smiles proudly at your side, “I thought it would be better to match with Malleus, since he is always getting left out of things like this.  So, I had him use some color-changing magic to change my clothes to Diasomnia green!” 

There is a moment of silence as everyone takes that in.  Then that silence is broken when Jamil smiles a most devious smile and remarks, “Color-changing magic?  Is that so?”  Then several other students look slyly at each other and draw their magic pens.  “Hey,” you say backing away slowly, “Let’s not go crazy here…”  It’s not surprising when Deuce, who rarely thinks things over, is first to shout his spell.  It is unfortunate though, that his magic is so unpracticed, resulting in your garment taking over a spattered pattern of blue; much like paint covering the cloth. 

“That won’t do,” you hear Riddle tut from the side of you, “I’ll fix that up for you.  My apologies, Prefect.”  With that, a much firmer wave of magic washes over you and you see that your formal wear is now a vibrant red.  “Red?” you say questioningly before looking up to see a sly smiling Riddle has also changed his own garment back to the original Queen’s Red.  “I see how you want to play this,” Vil remarks sharply, “Well, if you want a challenge, you’ve got one! Rook!” The deviously smiling huntsman barely joins the Dorm leader of Pomefiore before an utter cacophony of spells begins.  In just a few moments, you were hit with at least fifty spells, causing you no harm but nearly knocking you off your feet. 

Malleus catches you, lending you a supporting hand and you look up at him gratefully.  Then you sadly consider the state of your formal wear.  So many spells landing at once seems to have caused an unexpected reaction.  Now, instead of your garment being one color, it shifted from one to the next as each spell fought for dominance over your clothes.  You look beseechingly at Crowley, who is chaperoning the dance.  He sighs, “There isn’t anything to be done until it settles, I’m afraid.”  You look at Malleus for confirmation but he only frowns, not able to meet your disappointed gaze.  You feel a pat on your back and Lilia remarks, “You know, it has a certain charm this way.  Yes, I rather like it.” 

You give him an exasperated sigh, shaking the hem of your color shifting garment, “I can barely look at it.”  Lilia laughs and suggests, “Well then don’t look!  You’re not meant to look down when dancing anyway.”  Such practical advice from Lilia makes you snort at him, but his words have reached you.  Fine then, you can’t change the situation, but you could control how the rest of the night went.  The three fae waited patiently for you to respond.   You turn and calmly ask, “Malleus, may I invite you to dance?”  With a glad smile, he takes your hand and leads you to the floor.  You glide through the dance with your prince and color changing garment.  First pink, then green and now blue.  It’s a sight like something from a tale you’d heard long ago.  A tale you’d make end happily ever after.  It was up to you to decide; you were the Player, after all.

---

Malleus happily opens his shrine to the Player and adds a scrap of unusual color shifting fabric to the collection.  For now, his treasure would sparkle and change; offering him a reminder of the first dance he’d ever been invited to (and by the Player, no less!).  Someday, he knew the magic would fade and the small scrap of fabric would settle on one color.  No matter what color that was, Malleus knew that he’d change it to green.  Afterall, it didn’t matter how the story began, just that it ended with you and him paired in Diasomnia green.  He had to honor your decisions.  You’d chosen him and you were the Player, after all.

[redditreceipts]

Hi! ex radfem cis lesbian back. I saw you asked why I reconsidered my viewpoints, so I will answer:

Firstly, I do want to keep the context in mind that this is simply my experience and very well may just be a me thing.

I gravitated to being a radfem at around middleschool, because I was sexually harrassed by a boy. It gave me the "all men are evil" complex. But I slowly realized I only used my hatred as an excuse not to face my trauma. There are great men in my life, my father and brother are some of my biggest supporters. My brother even tried to beat up the guy who harrassed me lol. The hatred I felt for every male I saw (excluding my family), the fear I felt, made me intensely paranoid and unhappy. I also found it was just wrong. Like anybody, men are not a monolith. Somebody born into a male body is not instantly evil. I've actually been harrassed more (sexually and in general) by females in my life, so I realized the generalization didn't hold up.

Of course, it is obvious that males are more likely to commit violent crimes, even if my personal experience was opposite. But I try these days to see the best in everyone, as not assuming somebody's moral value based on their sex has helped me live a more happy life. When I say I find GC spaces a bit extreme, there are a myriad of blogs who constantly say all men are evil, all men should die...I think that sort of talk is unproductive. Like it or not, males will always exist in humanity. So we should be finding a solution to the social issues and dismantaling patriarchy instead of invoking ire in innocent people (People are more likely to listen if you are nice to them...I have seen many men get mad at the "all men are trash" thing because that would include them, even if they haven't done any wrong. Whether or not it's fair we have have to watch our words doesn't matter -- this is just the proven best way to get others to take your points seriously).

As for the trans stuff, I just don't really care these days. Using different pronouns doesn't affect me as it is just words, so I don't care. Much like men, I view all trans people as individuals and don't develope an opinion on them as people based on identity alone. I find operating in the world this way is just easiest, and helps me not develop a bias. (Also as a GNC lesbian I have been mocked for being "a trans woman" by what would be considered "transphobes" I suppose, because I look like a guy, so I feel how some TERFs try way too hard to point out "obviously trans people" just hurt GNC people. But I know that's not the majority of TERFs.)

That is just trans people however. The trans "movement" (quotes bc it's not technically a movement but you get what I mean, the social atmosphere etc), which is not a person but a common ideal, has a lot of issues. My biggest issue being that it's hard to have actual conversations about it without walking on eggshells. My best friend is trans actually, and 100% accepts her sex. After all, you have to be the opposite sex to be "trans" at all. So even if I was harrasses by a trans woman, I would not think of all trans woman that way, much like how I do not demonize all females because I was harrassed by a handful.

That said - The social class of "men" (not the person or sex, but the way we have normalized socialization and the like) has many issues, and I am 100% for tackling these issues. I think we as a society must be open to talking about things even if we disagree with them or it makes us uncomfortable. Now more than ever we nees loud feminist voices. You may be just a tumblr blog, but one blog can go a long way. Even if I don't 100% agree with every post you make or radfem ideals or whatever, I am very thankful to have people who are not afraid to hold discussions and discourse. I do think the hatred for radfems is unwarranted to the degree it has reached. I wish we could all have civil discussions. So in short: keep posting and keep talking, thank you.

Heyyy! I am first of all really sorry that my answer comes so late, it's because I didn't really have the time and/or energy to read all of the asks I got, so I didn't open yours - I hope that this is not all too late of an answer :)

I guess that you are making various points here. First of all, I understand how the hatred of men can be unproductive in some ways. I agree that for many women, they don't gain anything out of fantasizing about the death of all men or reading stuff about how men suck and are evil. However, I also think that this is useful for some women. I have to say that even though I don't hate all men, this type of rhetoric awoken me out of my non-feminist slumber, and I think that this can be a helpful outlet for many women. I mean if there were any real-world harms proven from this rhetoric, I would obviously be against it, but as for now, I just think that this rhetoric can be useful for some and not so useful for others.

Like my blog. Is it productive to make fun of weirdos on the internet? Some people will probably say that this just makes them angry and depressed, but other people will find something cathartic in those posts and find their own experiences represented for the first time. And for those who find it not to be helpful to read that stuff, I would expect them not to read it

Secondly, I'm glad that the trans stuff doesn't affect you, but I have to say that it affects me (and many others). I'm politically active and have gotten so many creepy comments and abusive behaviour from entitled males who believe that they are women. Where I am politically active, analysis of male socialisation is totally absent and most politically active women are not really safe. I have also been told that I can be non-binary if I don't identify with the gender stereotypes, and I identified with that.

But I guess those weren't really your points, your point was just that those are the reasons for you not to be as active anymore. And that's fine! I obviously hope that you still believe in female empowerment and women's liberation, and you seem to. I'd almost go so far to say that some of your beliefs are still those of a radfem, but maybe you have other stuff to focus on, and that's totally cool ofc!

Also, thank you for saying that about my blog and say hello to your friend from me hahah

[achaotichuman]

Random Ramble

I think it is hilarious how some people are so aggressive about sticking so thoroughly to canon, and not allowing for any room for imagination, because like, my brother in christ, canon does not exist.

None of these are real, the characters are not real, the story is not real. There is no such thing as canon.

There is only such thing as the op. The one who originally made the story and the characters, which is why we have copyright. So that no one can *make money off of these characters and the story*

But so long as you aren't plagiarizing the story in order to make your own money off of it. Once these characters are published and, in the world, everyone has free reign with them.

Once they are in your head, they are your characters. Which is why people interrupt their actions differently. Because the characters will appear different in your head compared to anyone else, including the author.

Idk the origins of the term canon, nor have I done any research on the topic (I'm just rambling) but tbh in my eyes it appears like we as a society have allowed money to ingrain itself so deeply into us as people, that we allow to dictate what we think. And this goes for the idea of canon.

Because the actual author is one making money off the books (rightfully so) it has become a sort of, is their way or the highway (this is just a half-thought through theory btw don't take it too seriously)

Which is why I personally love to take said characters and do whatever the fuck I want with them. Because whatever I make them do is in character for me, and even if it isn't, it might be for someone else. Because while they are in my hands, they are my characters.

Consider this a freedom post. You are free to think whatever the fuck you want, none of these people are real. Make Elain a villain, give Kosechi a love interest, make Feyre and Tamlin get back together after she divorces Rhysand. It doesn't matter what the og author thinks, so long as you aren't making money off these characters, you can do whatever the hell you want with them.

And I don't mean make theories crack, I mean you are allowed to genuinely believe this is the best course of action, even if you know the og author won't take it that way.

Cause personally, I do think Tamcien is a plausible ship, and I hope it happens in canon. Do I think it will? No, but Tamlin and Lucien are my characters when they are in my head, so I am allowed to think whatever the fuck I want about them. And same goes for people who disagree with me.

Like some people want Lucien to take over the world, I do not. Some people want Tamlin to die, I do not. Some people want a myriad of things that I do not, and both of those ideas are in character, so long as they are in your head.

Make elriel your canon, make elucien your canon. Fuck it, make Rhysand/Beron your canon.

The only person judging you in the voice in your head, and people on the internet and who gives two fucks what they think. Get as weird as you want, it's all canon, cause none of this is real.

[batbeato]

Started going off about Sayo's gender AGAIN to my partner and they stopped me midway through to tell me to tumblr again. "sounds very tumblrish go on tumblr". Okay then. Yes I'm going to start every post like this I'm salty about it

Anyway. I was looking around places to see other people's thoughts on Sayo's gender identity and saw some takes that had me. Well. Taken aback.

Generally just this idea that Kanon is, without doubts or room for other interpretations, Sayo's expression of self-hatred, gender dysphoria, de-transitioning, etc. He is only a sign of Sayo's gender dysphoria regarding their transition to femininity and not so much a sign of anything else.

...If you saw my previous post, you know that I heavily disagree about Sayo's gender being canonically confirmed to be this or that identity, and that I believe there is room for trans woman headcanons, various nonbinary headcanons, genderfluid headcanons, and so on.

Back to Kanon. Gender dysphoria. Well. (For the record, I headcanon Sayo as genderfluid, so I may be biased.)

Kanon has this general thing where he is the outlet for much of Sayo's negative emotions. Because Beatrice is a witch, and thus not a part of the Rokkenjima dynamics, Beatrice cannot directly voice Sayo's frustrations with their life. Beatrice is a witch who has everything she could possibly want with magic (except Battler, whose return she is patiently awaiting). Therefore, Beatrice cannot be the one to voice Shannon's mundane troubles - the other servants bothering her, her bosses mistreating her, etc. She can play pranks on them, but she cannot be rude to her coworkers or bosses for Shannon, or be more personal. This is part of why Kanon was created - Shannon cannot be negative because she is meant to be bright and positive and adhere to patriarchal standards of how good, feminine women must be.

This line from episode 2 summarizes how Kanon is Sayo's persona that can truly express the 'filthy' and human feelings they have.

Kanon was also created to ease Shannon's loneliness - to pretend that they had an ally always by their side - and to experiment with their gender expression. If their body wasn't able to fulfill the expectations they had of it (periods, breasts, hips - the expected puberty for a woman), then perhaps they could fulfill a different set of expectations.

(...I have some issues with Confession - primarily centralizing Shannon as Sayo's main/real self, which is very often contradicted by the rest of the series - but this series of panels sums Kanon's role up well.)

I think Kanon's role - the boy who expresses discomfort that the girls cannot express - is part of why he is so often seen as a personification of dysphoria and self hatred. I believe you can interpret Kanon as such, but I also believe that it is a matter of interpretation, rather than a very clear-cut canon-indicated matter.

In many cases, Sayo's dysphoria seems to be far less about their lack of womanhood in particular, and far more about compulsory dyadism (“the instituted cultural mandate that people cannot undermine the sex dyad by possessing intersex traits”, according to Dr. Celeste Orr).

...Sorry for the image spam. But this small collection should show what I mean: saying that they aren't "capable of love" because of their body, and agonizing over not being able to have children. Beyond that, both Shannon and Kanon are mocked by Beatrice for not meeting masculine or feminine standards (their status as furniture).

Beyond that, Kanon's portrayal in many areas seems to suggest that he is on equal footing with Shannon and Beatrice: for example, being pitted against Shannon on equal footing in the Episode 6 duel, and the important part he plays later on in teaching Chick Beatrice how to become Beatrice once more. Chick Beatrice is only able to regain her true self by coming to understand the other sides of herself, including Kanon.

I didn't write all of this to try to disprove Sayo as a trans woman who primarily experiences gender dysphoria through Kanon theory, but mostly to show how it's not so heavily implied through text that it can be considered canon, haha.

...You might have noticed that I take people describing their headcanons as canon, thus implicitly denying others' interpretations, to be very, very... irritating.

[h8ani]

Naruto Reaction to you flinching during a fight

A/N - hello everyone! Sorry if these seemed a bit repetitive, I started having a hard time thinking of 10 different scenarios for this one. Buuuut also it may trigger those slightly if you have ptsd from abusive relationships but nothing explicit! Just the reader flinching and arguing/yelling in this.

Includes - konoha 12 + Sai & Gaara

Naruto: The fighting seemed endless, you were tired and so was he, you could see it all over his face. Naruto’s bags under his eyes were dark, he was tired after a mission and just wanted to sleep. You on the other hand were nagging him like a mother scolding her son which made him even more irritated. He raised his voice which led to you raising yours in defense and the arguing only continued from there. After what felt like hours of yelling at each other, you had enough and walked away from him as he was speaking. 

“Hey I’m talking to you!” Naruto raises his voice and grabs your wrist turning you back to him and one quick motion. He spun you around so fast. You flinched and ripped your hand away from him, stepping back a few steps with wide eyes. 

“Don’t…” you said warily. Naruto looks confused, his eyebrows furrow and he looks at you.

“Did you?” He pauses for a moment. “Did you think I was going to hurt you?” You say nothing and he sighs while taking a step towards you and gently grabbing your hand into his. “I’d never. Get that out of your head immediately okay?”

Sasuke: You know not to poke the bear too many times, you should’ve never poked him to begin with, but it’s not like you meant any harm. He wanted to be left alone and you just wanted to keep checking on him like a doting mother to her son who is cooped up in his room. You were just checking on him, that’s all. It was when he was reading when you spoke again.

“Sasuke did you need-” the sound of his book slamming shut and a raspy yell came shortly after.

“God dammit! What! What do you want?!” He looks at you and slams his book on the table, standing up about to leave. You visibly flinch. Taking a step back to get out of his way, all while tears blur your vision. “Sorry…” you whimper out, frozen where you stand.

Sasuke’s face softens when he sees what just happened before him. “Hey…” he waits for a response but he never gets one. “(Y/N), come here please.” You blink and tears fall down your cheeks, you make your way to him, and he takes your hands in his. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice or lost my temper like that. I’m sorry, please know you never need to be afraid around me, or of me.”

Sai: Sai has never been one to raise his voice at you. Sure, you two have had arguments in the past, but he’s never outright screamed at you. You heard him grumbling to himself in the kitchen when you decided to see what he was doing in there. ”Hey babe, what’s-”

“Fuck!” he screamed, throwing something off of the kitchen table and turning around to be face-to-face with you, he looked angry. He had a scowl on his face, and you felt entirely too close to him. You backed up, tripping on your own feet and fell onto your butt. Sai’s face softened seeing you and went to help you back up but you flinched back scooting away. Sai just looked at you confused. ”I’m going to help you up.” he says matter-of-factly before slowly reaching down to help you back on your feet. He lets out a small breath and rubs his face in frustration. “I wasn’t screaming at you ya know? I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He places a hand under your chin to look at him. “I’d never do anything like that to you.”

Shikamaru: You and Shikamaru were basically the perfect couple. You two never fought, never disagreed with each other. Never so much as stepped on the others toes in the wrong way.  that’s why what you two were going through seemed much more amplified than it should have been. This was probably your first fight with him and you could only hope it was your last. You both were exasperated with each other, and couldn’t believe what the other was saying. He couldn’t believe what was coming out of your mouth and you couldn’t believe how he was acting. 

“What did you just say?” he raised his eyebrow crossing his arms. You copied his action of crossing your own arms and biting your tongue. He rolls his eyes at you and your attitude, walking away before anything escalates is probably for the best so that’s what he does. “That’s what I thought.” He grumbles to himself.

“Asshole.” You mumble, while Shikamaru was still within the distance. He whips around and starts making his way to you. Immediately you retreat taking a step back from him with every step he takes towards you. He keeps moving until you find yourself backed up against the wall with a panicked look in your eyes. ”Sorry, I-I’m sorry.” You squeak out quickly.

“What?” Shikamaru asks. “What did you think I was going to do?” You didn’t answer him instead, you just look down. Moments pass and you can hear him quietly sigh and repeat what he said earlier to you. “That’s what I thought…” he doesn’t waste a moment and pulls you to his chest, holding you tight to him. “Never, I’d never do that, you got that?”

Choji: All he heard was your nagging, your bickering, all he heard was you. You, you, you. He was tired of it. He was tired of everything and just wanted you to stop. He just needed everything to stop. “Enough!” He yelled. His hand slammed on the table while he stood up. You were close to him and the slam of his hand caused you to flinch back. Choji stood there as your body stayed frozen and you stared ahead trembling. He didn’t know what to do. You were trembling in place not daring to look at him, his silence only making your anxiety worse. 

“What do I do? I don’t know how to make this better, you need to tell me.” Choji says frightened but all you do is shut down and stare ahead.

Kiba: All he wanted to do was shower and go to bed, but you kept asking for help around the house. He was happy to help, but after the in detail explanation of how you wanted the dishes washed, he couldn’t help but groan out. 

“Babe.” he groans and rubs his face frustrated, his hand coming by your head and making you flinch and apologize quickly.

“I’m sorry.” You say quickly taking a step away from him. “I shouldn’t be bothering you.” You say. Kiba looks over at you shocked at hearing you apologize until he saw you standing there frozen.

“What just happened? Did I do something? Babe talk to me.” He pleads not liking to see you with this demeanor but you just apologize again and again.

Shino: “I can’t fucking win with you.” Shino grumbles rubbing his temples as a headache soon begins to form. “I don’t know what you want from me if you don’t tell me.”

“See!” You raise your voice walking past him. “I shouldn’t have to tell you!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Do I look like I am?” You stopped to look at him you were serious, oh so serious and Shino knew it. He knew it and he couldn’t believe how frustrating you were being right now. He threw his arms up fed up with you. You flinched back and Shino paused.

“Did you just? Do you really think that I’d do that to you?” He asked. He’s more unphased than anything and looks you in your eyes. “(Y/N).” He says.

“I-I just thought-”

“You thought I’d do what exactly? Hit you? Have I ever hit you before?” He questions and raises an eyebrow at you. You shake your head answering his question without speaking. “Do you think I’d ever lay a hand on you?” Once again, you shake your head. Shino grabs your hand, his thumb caressing the back of it in a way to calm you down. “I’ll try not to react like that about but please don’t have worries like that in your head. I love you, I’d never hurt you.”

Neji: I was a simple motion, something that you’ve seen him do plenty times before but his hand coming too close to your face caused you to shoot back and stop following him around.

You two were bickering all afternoon and he was tired of it. He’s not one to argue or even deal with it, so he just waved you off not looking to see how close you were to him. Neji felt you jolt back, he didn’t see you flinch although he didn’t have to once he turned and saw your widened eyes. He stopped, forgetting what he was saying, and instantly going into a worrisome mode.

“I’m sorry, did I just hit you? You know I wouldn’t do that on purpose I swear I didn’t see you.” he checks you from head to toe all while you’re looking at him confused because he never once made contact with you. 

Rock Lee: Contrary to popular belief, Lee is actually really scary when he’s mad, he paces like he’s doing right now and is silent. His frustrations and anger only bubbling up until he snaps, and there’s nothing you can do but watch and wait. 

“Lee…” you speak out, he’s pacing back-and-forth while you’re watching him on the couch. He was in a mood once he got home and all you can assume is something happened when he was out. You sigh and lean back waiting until he finally decides to speak when you suddenly hear footsteps fastly approaching you, you shoot up to move to the other side of the couch your instincts moving you away from your boyfriend until you realize he stopped in his tracks seeing you flee from him. You both stared at each other, shocked and unknowing what to say to the other about what just happened.

Gaara: You flinched from him, he didn’t even know what he did to cause you to react this way, but clearly he had to have done something, because tears were falling down your cheeks and you were trembling as if you were a Chihuahua. He doesn’t move, nor does he say anything he can only watch as you squeeze your eyes shut and hold back a sob from slipping passed your lips. This has never happened with you two before and Gaara was at a loss for words, he wanted to hold you and apologize for whatever he did, but didn’t want to make anything worse so he did nothing. He took a step back and waited until you opened your eyes to look at him. 

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Idia Shroud Masquerade Dress Personal Story: Part 3

"Even if you say you believe in me..."

(Part 1) (Part 2) Part 3

[Noble Bell College]

Silver: We've almost arrived at the lecture hall where the masquerade is being held.

Sebek: Silver and I are going to be watching you carefully to make sure you don't try to slip away!

Idia: Urgh. The showtime's getting closer… and closer, and closer... This is my biggest nightmare…!

Idia: Urk, I hate this. I can't do this. There's no way I can do this… How can I possibly sing besides those two who're brimming with confidence…?

Sebek: Are you still griping to yourself? You sure are a hopeless human…

Idia: I mean, think about it… We're going to gift a song, but is anyone actually gonna be happy to receive this?

Idia: Both Malleus-shi and Azul-shi, as well as all the other backing chorus folk were practicing and getting super into it, but…

Idia: What makes any of them think that our singing voice is worthy of gifting? Sorry, but I'm def not as optimistic as they all are.

Sebek: What did you say…!?

Idia: I don't want to hold all you happy-go-lucky folks back, so don'tcha think I should just not participate?

Idia: Don't think anyone'll notice if just one of us disappears… Or, I could just join the backing chorus and lip sync…

Sebek: How dare you come this far and still be constantly whining…!?

Silver: ...THATS ENOUGH!

Sebek/Idia: HUH?

Idia: Was that bellow… Was that from Silver-shi, not Sebek-shi…?

Silver: Idia-senpai. Why do you always state such self-deprecating things?

Silver: At times, even pessimistic words can alleviate expectations… But that doesn't mean you should only ever be speaking like that.

Silver: Your behavior, as well as your future actions, will be pulled down by those dark words in the end!

Idia: Wh-What's with that super serious tone… Huh!?

Idia: And it's not really being self-deprecating, I mean, I told you guys from the beginning that there's no way I could be a main vocalist, didn't I?

Silver: I disagree. I know that you want to sing with everyone deep down in your heart.

Silver: Were you not practicing in your room every day by yourself ever since you were chosen as one of the main vocalists?

Idia: HOW!? H-H-H-HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?

Sebek: …Ortho came to Diasomnia when you weren't there.

Sebek: He came to tell us and Malleus-sama to believe in you, because you were properly practicing in your room.

Idia: Ortho did…?

Silver: It matters not if the song is a success. It is meaningful enough that we all did our best as one cohesive unit.

Silver: I'm certain you understand that, Idia-senpai. That's why you continued to practice, did you not?

Silver: And yet, just before the performance, you wish to give up and run away?

Idia: …

Silver: There are people who believe in you.

Silver: Not just Ortho. But Malleus-sama, Azul, and everyone else, too… That includes me, as well.

Silver: Please, do not let us down.

Idia: …

Idia: Even if you say you believe in me… Hearing it from people I don't really know isn't really… What am I supposed to do with that…?

Sebek: …Humph, he's clammed up. That was an uncharacteristically long speech, coming from you, Silver.

Sebek: Let's go, human. We're here at the masquerade venue.

Idia: …

Idia: …I really don't know what I'm supposed to do with that super serious lecture just now. Ugh, so scary. This is why I don't like Diasomnia.

Idia: …

Idia: Don't let them down, huh…

[Noble Bell College – Lecture Hall]

Malleus: Well then… Is everyone ready?

Malleus: Come, this shall be one unforgettable night.

Idia: It's starting…!

Idia: Urgh… Singing isn't in my character at all.

Idia: I know that better than anyone.

Idia: But…

FLASHBACK

Sebek: …Ortho came to Diasomnia when you weren't there.

FLASHBACK

Silver: Please, do not let us down.

Idia: AAAARGH… GAAAAH!

Malleus: Shroud, you seem to be clutching your head, are you alright? We will begin the song soon.

Azul: Please fix the position of your hat quickly. You cannot run after coming this far.

Idia: …I KNOW, ALREADY!!

Idia: I'll do it, 'cause I have to.

Idia: I'll show them all what I can do!

Idia: Aah… It's finally over… The gift of song… At the masquerade…

Idia: …Huh. I mean, once I started singing, it actually wasn't that bad.

Silver: Idia-senpai.

Idia: Urk. It's Captain Serious…!

Idia: Wh-Wh-Wh-What do you want!? If you're gonna try to flatter me, I've already heard enough… Ah!

Idia: Or what, are you coming to find something else wrong with me…!?

Silver: I thought perhaps the way I worded everything earlier did not reflect my feelings to you properly, so I've come to speak to you once more.

Silver: I apologize for my rudeness before the masquerade. In my desire to give you an encouraging push, I may have gone too far…

Silver: That was a spectacular performance. I think you had a lovely singing voice that truly conveyed the song's emotions to everyone.

Silver: Ortho was absolutely correct when he said that your singing was sublime.

Silver: I will make sure to tell Ortho of your brave effort once we return to Night Raven College.

Idia: …I mean, it's nothing that amazing?

Idia: I-I don't really need you to say anything, I'll be telling Ortho about this myself…

Silver: Is that so? You two are very close.

Idia: Yeah. There's a ton I want to tell Ortho about this social exchange, so…

Idia: I guess I can tell him the song was a hit… And if I can survive the masquerade that comes now, then…

Idia: Then I think he'll be very happy, and I won't have let him down.

(Part 1) (Part 2) Part 3

[windsroad]

all the whumptober stuff has made me very brave so i've decided to share the short story version of sacha's backstory I wrote years ago!

Sacha hefted the heavy executioner’s blade into position. The weight of the weapon rested on her steel pauldron. It was a slow weapon, but her targets were stationary, and its blow gave a quick, final end. 

Sacha did not wear an executioner’s hood. To hide her identity would have been shameful. It did nothing to improve her popularity with the populace. There was always someone who disagreed with what she did, no matter who the subject was. Luckily, that was not her concern. 

The first criminal of the day stepped up to the block. The justice read the sentence—death for crimes against the crown and its people, including theft and fraud. Next, the cleric prayed and begged forgiveness for the woman. She had turned from the light, may she reenter it upon her death, etc, etc. 

The cleric was in the service of a different god. 

By the time it was Sacha’s turn in the proceedings, the crowd in the square was whipped into a frenzy. Some yelled, a few cried, and more than a couple cheered for the mere spectacle. 

An assistant—this one with their identity hidden—slipped a hood over the woman’s head and lowered her down to the block. The cleric looked away. 

Sacha let her sword fall onto the criminal’s neck. She said no words and offered no prayers. The action was quick; the moment passed before it had hardly begun. 

Sacha lifted her sword again and wiped it clean as the assistants cleared the area.

The next criminal was brought forward. It was a young man, looking hungry and tired. He was crying. It was nothing Sacha hadn’t seen before; many criminals found the last moments of their lives fit for sudden regrets. This man wailed. Sacha could hardly hear the justice read out the convicted’s crimes. 

A piece of overripe fruit sailed in from the crowd and hit the man on the shoulder. “Murderer!”

“I’m sorry!” yelled the criminal. His voice sounded like it had been ripped from his chest. “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

The crowd began shouting again, drowning out the man’s pleas. 

Sacha thought she had heard of this man. He had killed a young woman while in the middle of a burglary, or something. He had claimed it an accident, but the authorities had deemed it murder. 

After the cleric did his part—the man crying all the while—he was made to kneel over the block. 

But the criminal continued sobbing violently. Most people stilled as the final moment approached. The idea of a slow, botched execution was more terrifying than the execution itself. This man moved about on the block such that Sacha could not aim her blade. If she missed, it might take two strokes, causing needless pain. 

Sacha began to strike, but pulled back before she did. She would miss. She looked up for help, but all the others on the platform were looking away. No one, it seemed, wanted to see the young man’s display. Below her the crowd grew louder. 

“Someone—someone hold him down!” she growled. 

The assistants were slow to help, not keen on getting between the man and Sacha’s blade. One pushed down his back, but did so too delicately, and the man still moved about. 

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—gods, I’m so sorry. Violetta—”

Even Sacha could not listen to him much longer. She felt a stone turn over in her chest. She planted a heavy boot on his back and heaved her blade down on his neck. 

She missed. Sacha nicked the nape of his skull. She came down for a second blow. It was a messy job and left blood splatter on her immaculate vestments. 

It was over, and the day continued. But Sacha couldn’t get the feeling of his jerky, dying movements out of her head, nor the feeling of his sudden stillness. 

-

Sacha banged the barracks door open. 

Cecil, from where he was seated on his bed, picked his head up and looked over his shoulder. 

“I knew it had to be you,” he said, sighing. 

“Cecil, there were innocents,” responded Sacha hotly. She paced to his bed, paced back, and returned again.

Cecil gave the card game he’d been playing another woeful look before packing his cards away. “Who were innocents?”

Sacha dumped herself onto her own bed—side by side with Cecil, as they had been since they were small. “I think some of the people I’ve executed were innocent,” said Sacha into her pillow. 

Cecil was dumbfounded for a moment. He stared at her, mouth agape, before finally shaking his head and looking away. “No. I shouldn’t be hearing this.”

“I looked into the records. Not all of them were definitely innocent. Some I couldn’t quite tell.”

“You can’t question stuff like this. This is the kind of thing that gets people kicked out of the order.”

Sacha paused and sat up again, wondering how to say what she was about to say. “You’ve got one too.”

Cecil stilled. He stared back a long second before shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Why did you go looking into this anyway?”

Sacha fell backwards onto her bed. “That man from a few weeks ago,” she started.

Cecil sighed, somewhat sympathetically. “That was a mess. You can’t be blamed for that.”

Sacha continued. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it! Something about it… got to me.”

“And him? Was he innocent?”

“Well… no. He did do it, I think.”

Cecil threw his hands up in the air. “Then what’s the problem!” he exclaimed. 

Sacha rolled on her bed, groaning. “But it was an accident!” she said. “It was an accident, and he was sorry, but her father is very rich. They were trying to elope. The father got the whole city angry about it.”

Cecil rolled his eyes. “Oh, he was sorry. That makes everything better. That brings back the dead, does it?”

Sacha laid there and thought. “It doesn’t,” she replied finally, “but neither did killing him. I think—maybe he deserved a little more time. And there’s more of them, people who were sorry, or had a terrible accident. Some of them did it, but reading about their lives just made me… sad. I hadn’t thought of them as real people before. Don’t you care that you might have killed innocent people?”

Cecil turned very quiet. “There’s nothing to be done,” he said. “Besides, I never asked to know.”

“Doesn’t it make you feel… bad?”

Cecil’s look turned hard. “It’s always made me feel bad,” he said seriously. “Now I feel bad and guilty.”

Sacha looked away. “I didn’t feel bad until now.”

“I know,” said Cecil. “Your duty. Some of us haven’t had it that easy. Maybe you didn’t realize, but I’ve always known I was killing people. It’s a roof and food, and I don’t appreciate you making the job harder.”

This was a new view of her closest friend. While Sacha had been in the order since she was a baby, Cecil had lived on the street before being accepted into the order, Sacha remembered. There was bitterness behind his words. 

“I… don’t know if I could do it again.”

“Of course you would suddenly gain a conscience, as if you’re so much better,” he snapped. Cecil and Sacha both froze. 

“I’m sorry,” said Cecil, rubbing his face. “That wasn’t fair. Just… give me some time to deal with this.”

“Sure,” said Sacha numbly. She watched as Cecil got up and left the room, still rubbing his face. 

-

It was not the first nor the second execution after Sacha had made her discovery that was her last. She performed her duties, if not with the zeal and dedication she once had. The worry of innocence nagged her, but she pushed it aside and did her duty, as Cecil had—apparently—been doing all the while. Someone might be innocent. It was none of her business.

It was the third execution that got her. It was nothing significant; the woman had certainly done as she’d been accused. She was a known criminal, a thief, and now a murderer. She did not deserve mercy in any way that Sacha could reason. But she looked like him. A certain curve to the nose, hair of the same shade, similar build. But most importantly, there was a glint to her eye that echoed the look of remorse the man had as she climbed the scaffold. It didn’t seem to Sacha that this woman had any right to that look—she was a known criminal. Could she be sorry? 

As the crimes were read out, Sacha’s vision tunneled and blurred. She didn’t hear what was said as she felt the weight of her blade in her hand and her own heart racing. Before she knew what she was doing, Sacha fled the scaffold and dropped her blade as she went. 

-

Cecil found her afterward. Sacha was hidden in a corner, pressed up against a wall, breathing heavy and quick.

“They’re pushing the rest of the executions off until next month,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Bureaucracy.”

Sacha nodded silently. 

“Are you… okay?”

Sacha nodded again. “Yes,” she said, her breathing finally calming. “I can’t do that again.”

Cecil shifted about uncomfortably. “If you talk to Fabian, I’m sure you can get some… time off? Light guard duty?”

Fabian Vasile was the man who had practically raised them both. He wasn’t unkind, but he wasn’t exactly kind, either.

“No,” said Sacha, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. “Not time off. I can’t do it again. I can’t stay here.”

“Where would you go?”

Sacha laughed a little, even though it wasn’t very funny. “I have no idea,” she said. She paused a second, considering, before adding, “You could… come with me?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Cecil. He backed away a few steps. Sacha watched. “I don’t—I can’t.”

The two stared at each other. It was as if an enormous gulf had opened between the two of them, and Sacha saw no way of crossing it. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”

Cecil backed up a few steps further still as Sacha stood, slowly, and moved to the dormitory. With little fanfare, she packed her things and left.