#color probably feels like he’s stupid. constantly feeling like he should just *know* these things. but he doesn’t.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Idk if u answered this before but would color have social media

cause idk why but I find it funny as hell that they would know brainrot and the souls would be laughing about it so much

I personally don’t think he’d be on social media much, at least not compared to Epic or Killer.

He’d definitely have a phone and probably has a few games and social media apps downloaded, like Tumblr mainly because he likes the stimboards and looking at posts about his interests, probably has YouTube.

I can only see him having TikTok because Killer and Epic kept sending him videos via text messages that he could never watch because he didn’t have the app downloaded.

Other than that, I think not only is Color very behind on recent apps, trends, memes, etc. due to his decades of isolation and having to figure out how to operate and adjust to technology again (especially recently developed technology that he might’ve missed out on during his time in the Void), but I also don’t think he spends much time on his phone except during periods where he felt too alone and isolated (during his time in the hospital perhaps) and during the period where his and Killer’s friendship was still developing during Killer’s time under Nightmare.

I’m considering the idea that maybe lurking on social media apps, not doing anything but watching videos and reading comments or just silently watching other people talk to each other in discord servers or group chats, could potentially help Color feel less alone without the overwhelm and stress of having to physically be around people before his mind and body has time to adjust to it.

But there’s also the possibility that lurking in group chats and not being acknowledged because he’s not chiming in to chat—or worse, deciding to chime in and being ignored—could trigger an episode of derealization in him.

He can’t see, touch, or even hear the people that’s supposedly behind the screens and typing those messages—he has no proof they’re actually real. He has no proof that his existence is still real, and that he hasn’t been forgotten or erased again.

These times are probably when he needs to take breaks from social media, from his phone, and try to find a way to ground himself before he spirals into a panic attack or an episode of psychosis.

On top of this, with time still moving on while he was in the Void and there being no technology during his time in captivity—and very little activities to do to keep his mind and body active—not only would Color be very far behind in technological advancements, but he may struggle with cognitive decline—such as memory degeneration or struggle with memory retrieval.

So even if he’s handed a phone he knew existed before he fell into the Void—even if he knows that he understood how to use this phone before—he’ll still struggle to recall how to use it.

Skills require reinforcement. Without practice, even basic technological skills (like using a phone, typing, or navigating software) could deteriorate. If he used to code, edit videos, or operate specific devices, those abilities might be rusty or completely forgotten.

Without the mental exercise of problem-solving daily issues (which technology often requires), their ability to “figure things out” could be impaired.

He might experience anxiety or frustration when encountering technology, feeling overwhelmed by how much they don’t understand.

Phones, computers, smart assistants, AR/VR, and even basic interfaces would feel foreign. He might not immediately understand touchscreen gestures, biometric security (face ID, fingerprint scanning), or AI assistants.

With social media platforms, he wouldn’t understand what’s popular, how they work, or digital etiquette. They might not recognize how entertainment has shifted from DVDs or early internet platforms to on-demand streaming.

Entire ways of communicating—like meme culture, slang, internet trends—may be lost on him. Multi-factor authentication, encryption, and cybersecurity concerns would be unfamiliar.

They may not understand how to navigate digital privacy, potentially making him vulnerable to scams or data exploitation. He might expect direct phone calls rather than texting or social media messaging.

Emojis, GIFs, and shorthand might be confusing or seem meaningless to them. Color might begin to feel frustrated and alienated, feeling like a “time traveler” thrown into a world he doesn’t understand, struggling to keep up.

They may resist using modern technology due to intimidation or resentment. He could avoid it as much as possible, or even grow to develop Technophobia.

The sheer speed and saturation of digital life (ads, notifications, video content, instant access to information) might be too much at once—and Color could struggle with overwhelm and sensory overload, the stress leading to episodes of dissociation.

He might try to make a call but not understand why payphones no longer exist or how smartphones work. He might struggle to use a self-checkout machine because he expected cashiers.

He might not recognize voice-activated AI assistants like Siri or Alexa, thinking a person is speaking to them. He might find modern websites overly cluttered and overwhelming compared to the simpler internet he knew.

He might get lost in a city because he expected to read paper maps rather than use GPS apps. He might feel isolated in conversations when people reference digital culture, memes, or slang he doesnt understand.

They might have an emotional reaction to something like facial recognition or biometric security, feeling watched or controlled.

They’d need gradual reintroduction to prevent overwhelm. Someone patient would need to walk him through even basic things like using a phone or searching online.

He might prefer physical books, notes, and manual methods rather than digital alternatives at first. If he focuses too much on how far behind they are, it could fuel self-loathing or despair.

This could be a deeply frustrating and alienating experience, reinforcing the sense that the world moved on without him.

On top of all this, too, is the fact that 1. he is a Sans alternate timeline, therefore he likely ‘grew up’ Underground and only had access to whatever technology fell from the Surface intact or whatever was able to be scavenged and repurposed, and 2. he has the souls of human children inside him.

He can potentially be effected by their knowledge of things on the Surface and human culture based on their what they’re able to tell him, show him, what he dreams about (potentially souls’ memories), or even if something triggers one of the souls and he sees whatever they’re remembering.

Taking further into account that not only have the souls been removed from the rest of the world for about two decades like Color has, but they were removed from the Surface and human world for even longer via being locked away in jars.

On top of that, it all depends on what year the souls were born and what year they Fell/were killed, and how far apart the six of them were. One soul might know something about technology none of the others do, because the other souls either weren’t born yet or died before getting to know.

[missfrustration]

a scholar's secret (nanami kento x reader 18+)

rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

tags: pwp, nsfw, smut, rough oral sex, vaginal sex, college/university au, teacher/student relationship, face-fucking, marking, semi-public sex, desk sex, mildly dubious consent, suit kink, light bondage, accidental voyeurism, no use of y/n

A/n: 🎵THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDERRR🎵 who likes the men in suits kink?? THIS QUEEN. on ao3 here!

word count: 5.3k (too long)

------

“Don’t call me by that name; that’s extremely disrespectful, young lady. I am your senior, and you will address me as such.”

“I’ll do whatever I want, Nanami .” You cross your arms, looking at your professor sitting at his desk across the room. 

Today, he asked you to stay after school for remedial lessons. You’ve been failing his class recently, which he doesn’t take lightly. You couldn’t give less of a shit, however, since It isn’t the class you’re bothered about; it’s him.

Nanami Kento is the one who’s constantly been on your mind. You can't deny your attraction toward your English professor even when you're almost a decade younger than him, but your current situation makes your feelings impossible to hide.

“Do you want to stay in this program or not? If you keep skipping my classes, the school will drop you out.” He points at you with a pen in hand. 

“Do you even want me to stay? You could kick me out yourself if I’m such a burden.” You sit on the student desk closest to Nanami, crossing your legs. Nanami clicks his tongue at the action, now looking at you up and down.

“Yes, I want all of my students to stay and pass. And that includes you, too.” He shifts to rest his head on his palm. “You’re intelligent enough to pass this class with flying colors, so why don’t you try?”

“Why don’t I ? You don’t take me seriously! Do you think I should give a shit-”

Nanami calls your name, cutting you off, “Watch your language. Now . I will not tolerate this disobedience in my classroom.” 

He’s not playing around anymore, but that annoyed look of his as he lazily puts his chin on his palm pisses you off more. You kick off the table, back onto the carpeted floor, and pace behind his desk. He keeps eye contact with you without swiveling his head, watching your every move with indifference. 

“Or what ? Gonna fucking kick me out? Seems like the right course of action, considering I’m just some bitch you couldn’t care less about.” You spit out.

He slowly turns to you, raising his head from his hands, which causes you to back down. “Hey,” Nanami starts getting up to face you entirely, “I said language. Watch yourself, young lady. ” 

You’ve had about enough of this. If this is how it’s gonna be, you didn’t even care about winning his affection anymore. You just need to say what’s on your mind. You’re probably going to get kicked off the roster either way.

You look at him and lower your voice as you step closer. “I know that you know, Nanami.”

He raises his eyebrow as you continue. 

“I can’t keep taking your class if you silently reject me. If you treated me like a nobody, maybe it would be better. Instead, you have me stay after class doing stupid lessons like that will change anything.”

You pause for a minute, feeling the back of your eyes water and a cry come to your throat. You feel so frustrated with him right now but crying would make things so much worse. You continue with your head down, putting an extended emphasis on your words to quell your emotions. “It’s… torture for me. I can’t keep seeing your face in class anymore.”

You raise your head to see the man standing in front of you. He gets up from his chair and crosses his arms.

Nanami closes his eyes and gives a long sigh. “Okay. I’m sorry. I thought this would be helpful for you given the situation, but now I realize I was mistaken.”

He ends his sentence, looking back at you silently for a reply. You stare at him, growing more furious the longer he doesn’t say anything else. 

“Wow, I can’t believe you. That’s all you have to say to me, asshole?” You spit out.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Stop spouting that unpleasant language.”

“Oh, yeah? Make me then, Nanami .” You raise your hand to point at him. Before you could, Nanami grabbed your hand and gripped it. Hard. You try to free yourself, but your teacher won’t let go. 

“Hey, get off!”

“No.”

“This is extremely unprofessional of you.”

Nanami cocks his head and twists your wrist, which plagues your discomfort, “Huh. I could say the same for you, young lady. Watch your mouth.”

You try to free your wrist again and again. To no avail, it only makes his grip tighten. Your tears have dissipated, leaving behind the pent-up rage you’ve built from this man. 

“Just. Let. Me. Leave!”

“No can do.”

You start to turn away. With your back facing him, you try to free your wrist still grabbed by your professor. With each tug to break free, you spit out the vulgarity, “Ugh, you’re an asshole. An idiot. A moron. Shitbag. Useless profess-”

You feel a harsh tug on your wrist as you whirl around. You feel dazed and confused, letting out a small yelp that is silenced by his lips clashing against yours and rough hands falling on your waist. Against your lips, Nanami mutters.

“You brat.” 

As your back falls against Nanami’s desk, you lean forward to deepen the kiss, earning a growl from him. Nanami’s scent instantly infiltrated your nose, a nutty musk and vanilla that fit him perfectly. His grip gets harsher when he feels you comply with his touch and your bodies close as you take your pent-up frustrations on each other.  You dig your nails through the roots of his hair. He grabs your waist with need, cutting your thighs onto the rigid wood, which causes you to squeak in surprise. 

You think Nanami has finally snapped out of his hypnosis when he slowly separates himself from you with a sour look. He shakes his head with a lingering sigh, tapping a finger to your forehead.

“I thought you would’ve learned to keep your mouth shut, but I can see you didn’t get that through that pretty little head.”

“I’m curious to hear what else you expect me to learn when you want to shut me up like this .”

He brushes his hair back as he looks you up and down, taking down your body in a generous display that makes your face heat up. Your thin bra and shirt revealed the protusion of your nipples, and those tight, low-rise jeans showed enough midriff to be noticeable. He bluntly ignores your comment, and you can tell by his knit brows and darting eyes that he’s entirely in his thoughts.

“Dammit, you pesky girl, if I keep going, I’ll be in huge trouble.”

You are dumbfounded at this turn of events. As Nanami hints, separating your bodies to stop this very inappropriate advance would be the best course of action, yet your limbs are still entangled; you don’t push yourself off the desk, and your faces stay tapered to the intimate space. You see his lips pursed and his temples relaxed. The chisel of his jaw was somehow sharper in your proximity, now making him look more irresistible. 

“I can keep a secret.” You say.

Desperation takes over as you brush past his tie, feeling the tight muscles that hold shape under his pressed suit. You bawl your fists tightly onto Nanami’s fitted suit jacket before diving your lips to his. Now you were the hungry one. Nanami matches your pace, promptly leading the kiss as he presses into your body.

“We are so fucked if we get caught, huh?” You can’t keep a smile off your face against his lips, reveling in the fact that Nanami’s whole career is on the line—all because of you.

“Obviously.”

“I don’t see what you’re trying to do then. Lose your job?” 

Nanami clicks his tongue at the sudden cockiness you’ve shown, tilting your face up to meet his gaze and smushing your cheeks between the pads of his fingers. You note that his hands are unusually soft.

“I’m trying to shut up that filthy mouth of yours.” 

His brows are furrowed, almost angry at you for making him say the things he seems desperate to conceal. You could care less if he’s agitated; he has you so worked up that your feelings are in a daze–well, except for the feeling that makes you want to moan against the stiffened fingers that clutch your skin.

“Do whatever you want to me.”

He lifts you onto his desk, pushing past a stack of papers. It didn’t matter that the last essay for your class cascaded on the floor at that moment. What did matter was the way Nanami’s hands laid on your button-up blouse, pulling it apart so rough the plastic buttons flew off your shirt, clattering across the floor. You moan erotically before Nanami’s large hand clamps on your mouth, muffling you.

“ Ah, ah. We don’t need anyone hearing that,” Nanami says, his hand unfastening from your lips yet idles in the air. “Obey this one thing, at least.”

“What if I don’t want to?” 

“Then, I’ll teach you an outstanding lesson while we’re at it.” Nanami pulls his tie off cleanly, leaving the collar slack from his broad neck. He slips his suit jacket off with ease and tosses it to the ground. 

“Teaching me anything this year hasn’t been your strong suit.”

“Well, we don’t need to do this the hard way, but with that attitude? That’s where you're headed,” Nanami grabs both of your breasts under that thin bra of yours, freeing them from the cups before diving in to taste them.

A small pant escapes your lips at the sensation, arching your back to give your professor more access. He takes the opportunity, using his teeth to slowly drag across your nipples. Your knuckles clench against the desk as you try to stay quiet. Even if your threshold for pleasure without moaning like an animal is barely existent, you want more from Nanami. You want him to rile up, to give him a face other than stoicism and agitation. 

“What’s the hard way ? Being fucked in your classroom?” You thrall, unable to hide that smirk that tells Nanami exactly which option you prefer. “Maybe making me your private lesson for the day?”

Nanami scoffs, using your name as a cautionary tale, to tell you to not push him. You swing your feet on his desk, knocking the back of your shoes off the wood, and grabbing your tits to playfully taunt him. You twist the nipples in front of him, giving him your feigned faces of arousal, grabbing the fat like it didn’t matter to you. You wanted it all to matter to him, and you certainly didn’t miss those eyes that glanced at your display before looking back up.

“ Oh , I love a challenge, baby.” You sing, reaching up to pull him closer, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt to reveal a soft glimpse of clavicle. 

His hands catch both of yours.

Before you could feel the skin underneath that white shirt, Nanami’s hands took your hips and dragged you back on the ground, away from the desk and probably the last chance you had to back out. Not like you had any intention to back out anyway.

“Get on your fucking knees.” He says. The words come out so dark, so lustful , so purposeful that you would’ve never expected from your English professor.

You didn’t even need to think about it. The way you immediately knelt on the ground like an obedient dog for your instructor is concerning. You watch his hands reach above his trouser pants, see his well-manicured nails travel right at the hem in front of you, and pull out the dress shirt he tucked so neatly in place. Once his brown leather belt clicked off, you didn’t need to consider future repercussions. 

“The rest of it. Take it off.” He tells you.

Your skinny fingers unbutton his suit pants and inch down his boxers, catapulting his hard-on out in the air. You practically whimper at the sight. His dick is more than you imagined in all those lectures you sat in on. It's curved with a prominent and a large vein running from head to base, making you shift your legs. You thought about him in the same lectures where you would catch eyes with Nanami and let both eyes travel to each other. Those tight trousers you’ve thirsted to have off are no longer a problem.

It’s much more satisfying when you see the drapes match the curtains.

“Good, now…–!” His sentence breaks, and he hisses when your fingers suddenly wrap around him. 

You feel a different ridge and vein of his thick girth for every second that passes before gallantly pumping it with your fist. The way your fingers were shy of connecting a ring around his shaft was enough to make you wet.

You didn’t have to think twice when you looked up at him, giving him pretty innocent eyes as you stroked his cock. Inside, you were absolutely reveling in the power. Your arms narrowed into your torso, giving Nanami the perfect view of your tits. You pulled your face right next to his member while you stroked it like such a tease to see if you could make him take things a step further. At this point, you can’t hide the creeping grin when Nanami’s stoic gaze starts to turn darker. He starts unbuttoning the rest of his loosened shirt.

“ Fuck , I love how you look right now,” Nanami says. “Put that gorgeous mouth to work.”

No second was needed to think; you instantly cut your attention on the growl that spilled off of his tongue when your lips kissed his cock. Maybe it would be better to get to the point, to take all of him in your mouth and show him what you’ve been daydreaming about, but something wants you to unravel him slowly. By the time each of his buttons undoes on his dress shirt, you get to see just how chiseled your professor is.

You travel your tongue up and down his shaft, teasing and tasting the sweet skin shy of his trimmed pubic hair. You gaze at the perfect cut of his V-line, then to all the rigid lines of each muscle exposed to you.

Your hands start to loosen the pants and boxers still around his hips as you lick him, making it pool down his ankles and shiny brown loafers. You return to his hips and trace graceful lines on his cream-colored skin. 

His skin catches you in a trace; every inch of his body is soft and supple, showing it’s cared for. When your fingers rub against it, you mistake it for a canvas picked from the finest clothes. The perfection doesn’t look real. 

Your face flushes when his finger strokes your cheek. He looks like he could melt from your eyes, slowly turning a more profound gaze once you take all of him in your mouth. 

You let your throat relax as, inch by inch, you swallow his cock down, looking at him the whole way. Nanami watches the whole thing, mouth agape, and face furrowed like he’s in agony . Like he was one step away from using your head as he liked and making a mess out of you, his favorite student who should learn more about obedience. The pace you hold is that of a snail, but you want to get accustomed to his length: it’ll help out both of you. 

Once his pubic hair tickles the tip of your nose, you feel like you’re running out of breath. The need to take all of him is a ticking time bomb. You squish your lips against the base in a flash, scrunching your nose to his pelvis before pulling away and starting back at the head. 

The second time, reaching his base was a lot easier, especially with a hot distraction watching you like you were the moon and stars. Tufts of hair now stuck to his forehead as he pants at you, eyes dilated and bothered to look at anything else. 

You continue to bob your head up and down on his pulsing dick, reaching a finger to tug at his balls lightly. Your mouth has fully painted his shaft in a layer of your own spit, brushing it down the base before replacing it with a new layer. The build-up of saliva gathered around your lips in a wet foam. 

His stoic gaze, which he held since the day you met him, crumbles. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth as he huffs in the air. By the minute, his pants grow rugged as his hand brushes back your hair. If he didn’t do that, your hair would’ve been in the way of the lock of your eyes.

When you tease the bottom of his head with the graze of your bottom teeth, he balls your loose hair in a fist. the force causes you to whimper out before plunging his dick in your mouth as fast as you could. Over and over again. 

“ Thaat’s it .”

His head throws back as his hips start to snap into your mouth. His hand tangled in your hair forces you down on his cock, but the other presses against your cheek, caressing and tilting your head just right. He groans a little louder when he tilts your head up to rock against you, just to tilt your head back down when it gets overwhelming.

You could practically taste the pre-cum seeping into your mouth, your cheeks hollow out, making the pressure on Nanami’s cock tighten the fist on your hair. He couldn’t help but use that head. He rocks you with reckless abandon, tears rolling down your cheeks and no doubt make a writhing mess of you. You constrict your lips around him so much his entire body jolts. You want more than just pre-cum.

“Okay, okay.” 

He pulls you off once he’s on the edge of cumming down your throat. How can you tell? The bliss he had on his face slowly trickling earlier was now contorted, his once slicked back hair now starting to fall out of place, and his other hand that gripped the edge of his desk at the last minute showed you all you needed to know. He didn’t need to tell you the obvious anyway, you knew where he wants to cum.

Your mouth had saliva dripping down your chin, making a thick string connect you and the tip of his penis. Your eyes teared up enough to no doubt smear the mascara on your bottom lashes. Gasps of air replace the part of Nanami that graced every corner of your mouth. You looked up at him like you were oblivious to the mess he made out of you, practically fluttering your eyes at his almost naked body.

“You look beautiful like that.”

Nanami helps you up before enveloping you in his body, arm around your waist, and crooning your head to sop up the spit that dribbled down your neck. The sensation of his tongue and grip on your body made it feel on fire. His lips to your ear had the perfect timing.

“You want me to treat your pretty pussy the same way as your slutty mouth?”

“Please.”

Nanami immediately kisses you while helping you out of your clothing. Things needed to change if he was the only one naked.

He’s insatiable when he sees your naked body, taking in every exposed surface of skin that he can. In one swift motion, he moves closer to you before leaning down, hoisting you in the air by your ass, with large hands gripping the supple skin before placing you on his desk. You’re left in disarray as he wastes no time nipping at your skin. His hands are on you, caressing you as one holds your face close. His teeth brush up and down the surface of your shoulders. 

Your hands impatiently reach for the hand lovingly stroking your face, lowering it down your torso near your aching apex.

“Touch me.”

Your legs spread to show him a view of your lips, the ones his hand is being led to. You study his face as he gets achingly closer to your core, watching the enchantment in his eyes over that stoicism.

A heavy exhale escapes you when his fingers brush over your labia, his fingers drawing  along the puffy skin. Even with his slight touch, a small whine escapes you as you shiver under his touch. 

He spreads your folds with two fingers and sighs, no doubt seeing the effect he’s had on you. Your arousal pools out from the source, one he uses to gloss his fingers. He presses his digits against you and coats himself so expertly before pausing. It causes your legs to squirm with anticipation.

“I don’t think it will fit.” He exhales a harbored breath and holds up his fingers, spitting on them as pseudo-lubricant. “Let me teach you how to fix that.”

He leans over you, spit softly dribbling down his knuckles as his other hand cages you to him.

Your arms buckle against the desk to steady yourself as you lean back, giving Nanami the perfect spot over you. He positions himself between your legs, arm lowering down to your apex by slowly dragging the back of his hand down your body.

Nanami watches your body as his finger pushes in. No, push is an overstatement. His finger easily glides into you, breaking the barrier easily due to your dripping arousal. Your eyebrows lift and knit together as your body reacts to him. His eyes stay on you, stoic yet interested in your movement.

“You sound good like this.”

He’s a knuckle-deep by the time you start to pant, fists tightened against the desk. Your back arches to showcase your pretty tits to him, and you feel your legs spread more with each inch he pushes into you. 

“And you get worked up so fast.”

Never has a man been so intent, so clear with his actions, enough to make yourself so turned on from so little done to your body. His words make you wetter and your pussy pulse in a way that doesn’t feel possible.

You feel euphoric when he starts pumping. At first you tried not to show it, but his expertise was clear, watching your reaction to each movement. Heavy, piercing eyes look at you, searching for a reason why you’ve come undone faster than he thought.

You let out weighted breaths, coming out of you like a thick smoke. You try to quell the flames, to lower the tone of your pleasure, but Nanami dares to make you even hotter, even louder with fingers that pump faster into you.. 

He’s in a daze, looking at your pussy as his fingers go in and out, scissoring, curling, plunging inside you. You try to swallow down your moans as you clench onto digits.

“Slow down.” You manage to say.

He pulls back immediately.

“Why, too much?”

“No, I just, I don’t feel like I should be this loud over just…”

“I can fix that.”

His head impatiently presses to yours.

He lingers his tongue against your lips, leaving your mouth breathless before he’s even kissed you. Your hand leads him back when you see his plan; to muffle you under his touch. 

You feel him insert another finger into you.

What is this, the second? Third? His finger stretched you out so much you can’t determine it, but you know you need it in order to fit him. 

His fingers gently scissor you open, helping your body adapt to the changes. He uses his other hand to stroke your leg when it starts to shake, and he looks at your face, watching for any semblance of pain along the way.

“Are you doing okay?” He whispers.

“I can definitely take more.” You said, coming off as more cocky than you intended.

“I see.”

He leans down to the floor, making you spread your legs in anticipation for him licking you up, that would make sense right?

“Give me your hands.” 

Did you think he needs your hands for this? No. You hold them out for him regardless.

You don’t think you could fully register how fast he grabbed your wrists as you see his tie flash past and quickly tighten around the skin. 

“Who knew English class could get you so riled up?” You giggle in response before being shut up by Nanami’s lips on yours.

Your tongues dance together when you hear the familiar crinkle of a wrapper, before peaking your eyes open to see Nanami sliding the condom down his member. He doesn’t falter once.

Your hands feel higher when he breaks the kiss, Nanami forcing them up and out of the way in order to get close to you. It only takes a second to reconnect lips again, both of you so hungry this time, knowing what’s to come.

With nimble hands you pull Nanami closer, letting his hands lower to your hips, gripping himself close to your soaked pussy. With a whisper of consent, his cockhead eases into you.

Pushing in, both of you release a sigh of relief as you feel yourself being stretched out more than earlier. You whimper against his skin, thankful he worked on loosening you up beforehand, but still living the very real consequences of his thick girth. 

Your hands squirm in the air, desperately wanting to wrap around your professor, but a stagnant hand holds them in the air, denying you the ability to move them any farther than digging your nails into his wrist.

You stifle your moans into heavy breaths when his length fully sinks into you, but the task seems impossible when he starts moving his hips.

you 

He was only a few thrusts in before you both heard a knock on the door.

“Hey, Mr. Nanami. You okay in there? I’ll be leaving soon, but I wanted to check in.”

You squeak, realizing who is talking on the other side of the door. It was the dean of the college, one that is a door away from sending you to expulsion. You tense up, something that Nanami definitely notices.

“Dammit,” Nanami mutters, hips stuttering when you unconsciously squeeze around him. For him it feels pleasurable. For you it feels downright heavenly, wasting no time to gasp.

Immediately, hands clasp onto your mouth, muffling a surprised gasp when Nanami thrusts deeper into you. 

“Try to be quiet.” He whispers, immediately raising his voice. “Thanks, Ichiji, sir, but I’m good. I just found a student who needs some help. I’ll lock up myself… shit.” Nanami could barely squeeze out an excuse before grunting. You squeezed your pussy around his dick, clamping down on him just right. Does he know if it’s purposeful? At first it wasn’t, but seeing he has his hand clamp around you, it’s free game.

“You sure you’re alright? I heard some concerning noises,” the principal trails off. 

You hear the door handle shift, yet the door doesn’t open. 

“Apologies, the handle must be jammed again.” Nanami says. “I’ll get going in a few.”

There’s a pause, one you don’t divulge in, as Nanami gets his payback by sinking his teeth into your shoulder, making you shiver into his grasp. You hear the faintness of the voice once again.

“Well, try not to overwork yourself again. I’ll be leaving.”

You pry his fingers off your mouth after hearing footsteps echo down the hallway. You almost hear what sounds like a sound of relief coming from your professor.

“Please, that door has never jammed,” You blink. “Wait, did you lock it earlier?”

“Can’t help it. It seems I can’t control myself around you.”

He doesn’t explain further, rather showing you the extent of his swagger.

He leans into your neck, nibbling on the flesh before sucking on one of your nipples, passionately licking, biting, and kissing the bud until your pussy clamps back down on him.

He hollowed his core, rounded his back, and clapped into you more. His eyes watch you flutter under him as your legs wrap around him.

The slaps of his balls thumping against your pussy with each jack of his hips is loud, raunchy, and undomesticated. Your voice breaks into a heavenly sound without resistance now, and Nanami doesn’t move to stop it. When there’s a semblance of silence in your moans, you manage to choke out, “What happened to shutting me up?”

“My superior isn’t here anymore. I couldn’t give a damn about what anyone else hears.” 

Nanami spreads your legs, thrusting in you so forcefully your mouth opens in another silent scream, your eyes roll back from the pleasure.

“Want a challenge? Scream so loud like it’s the last thing I’ll ever hear.”

He drank that shit up—you knew—so much that you could see his eyes practically fuck you harder than his body. Just when you think he’s reached his capacity to pleasure you harder, he reaches for your shoulder, letting his grip slam you into his thrusts. The way his cockhead starts pounding againt your cervix sends a full body current of otherworldly heat into you, making your head kick back and body shake. If it wasn’t for your professor's firm hands on you, your body would have flown off the damn desk. No, all the energy of each thrust is concentrated entirely inside of you, promoting a mirase of raunchy moans that have never bellowed from your body. 

Your crescendo of pleasure hit its peak soon enough, rupturing a loud moan from your throat. Your feet wrap around behind him, encasing his whole length inside you as you cum on him. You stop Nanami’s hard hammering of hips, causing his cock to twitch amidst your orgasm.

You're twitching on his desk, genuinely so tweaked and cock drunk you don’t need to move. Your mouth is open and covered in your dried spittle, along with your face and eye makeup undoubtedly smeared. You’re gasping for air just as much as Nanami is. You don’t have it in you to do anything else; you're not coherent enough for that.

Nanami holds out his hand.

“Here.”

He helps you down with gentle hands. The softness of his grip when his hands fall to your waist swells your heart and makes you blush. 

Your mind doesn’t have a chance to think before you feel something heavy drape around your shoulders. Nanami covers you with his suit jacket, one that’s surpringly weighted, yet durable.

He turns you around, and you feel his figure kneel behind you before untieing your restraints. He doesn’t stumble in undoing the knots, freeing your wrists promptly. 

“Hold still.”

You feel his hand pressing against your inner thigh, telling you to spread your feet. You do so, and feel a cloth in between your legs, cleaning you up in soft strokes. You let him clean you, keeping your body still.

When he gets up, he paces back to his desk, placing his now sodden handkerchief to the side. You hold the suit jacket from the sides, preventing it from sliding off.

“You planned all those measures? Kinda odd you would have condoms in the classroom.”

He shrugs.

“I can’t imagine having a kid with someone about a decade my junior.”

That wasn’t exactly what you were asking about; you brushed it off regardless. What did annoy you was his hint of snideness in the remark.

You lean against the desk with an annoyed grimace. “Remind me to poke a hole in it next time.”

Nanami furrows his brows at your remark. 

“You will do no such thing,” he says in a flat tone. That lack of depth in his voice doesn’t mean you don’t catch a hint of playfulness in his face.

“Does that mean there will be a next time?”

“Come to my class more, and then we can talk.”

“Deal.”

---------

ao3 | tiktok | kofi | masterlist

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: For the life of him, Upper Moon Six cannot figure out why he can't bring himself to kill you. It kills him inside to even think about it. A/N: Had this in my drafts for god knows how long, it's finally out LMAO. WARNINGS: Fem reader, one dead man, couple of swears...and that's about it I think

Sometimes Gyutaro really wished Daki wasn’t so picky about who she ate.

It was a particularly low time recently. The District hadn’t received much new members and most of the people Daki had deemed beautiful enough to eat were gone, throwing a whole tantrum about how she’d rather starve than consume such hideousness. They argued, he threatened her, she screamed back, but in the end he relented and continued in his search to find a meal for them both.

He wasn’t picky and could’ve eaten any time he wanted, he grumbled to himself as he hunkered down on the balcony of one of the numerous rooms in the brothel, surveying the blinding lights of the District and spitting at the arrogant men and haughty women down below. But of course he had to just feel bad about being full while his sister went hungry so Gyutaro decided to stave off eating until she did.

If there weren’t any beautiful people, he hoped Daki would be fine with someone pretty. Or at least decently average. And what luck, he had found none.

Well, lies. Gyutaro wondered how Daki never noticed her before and prayed that she never would. Perhaps it was because she was such a quiet, obedient thing that spent most of her time serving the mistress so that probably explained it. Not beautiful enough to attract the attention of clients, but pretty enough to have gotten Upper Six’s interest.

He stalked her around for a few days to figure out the best time to strike and eat her at the beginning. Sometimes she’d accidentally catch on, see that shadow hunkering behind her, but he made sure to always stay out of her sight.

Gyutaro learnt a lot of things about her that way. She liked food that wasn’t too sweet and disliked a certain type of fish. She liked to go take a walk occasionally alone, far away from the brothel. Her favorite color, the jewelry on the other girls she’d eye, when she fell asleep.

She liked ugly things too. That scrawny, flea-bitten cat from the garbage. The gap-toothed, abandoned children of the streets who flocked to her and begged for breadcrumbs. She didn’t seem to mind the out-of-fashion, worn clothes handed to her by the other girls of the house.

He’d like to think she’d like Gyutaro too.

Of course he knew it was wrong. She was food, not someone he should be thinking about constantly, whether he be out hunting for other prey or remaining dormant within Daki. She’d run screaming in the other direction if she so much as caught a glimpse of him.

Gyutaro wasn’t even sure when he had started getting the weird symptoms from watching her. He had originally thought she must be a demon herself, using her Blood Art to make him think about her 24/7, 365, make his palms sweaty and have his heart rate accelerate around her, have the persistent urges to keep following her around for no reason except to just bask in that sunlight of hers.

Probably some time after she nearly came close to realizing he was there, Gyutaro concluded. She was out with the oiran as one of her attendants that night and out of habit he had shadowed them, ducking out of sight amongst the crowds and running into an abandoned alley after nearly getting caught. The stupid cat had suddenly rushed in as well, something in its jaws, and her hot on its heels.

She had slammed into him, both falling over. Gyutaro would’ve snarled and promptly killed the person if it had been anyone else, but seeing her surprised, flustered face bathed in yellow glow momentarily froze him. She was looking at him. She was hovering above him.

He waited for the screaming.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you alright?!”

Shock left him dumb, instinct caused him to grunt in reply and quickly turn away lest she caught a glimpse of how demonically ugly he was. The cat screeched from somewhere in the back but he could barely hear it over the rush in his ears as her sweet, sweet, gentle, soft hand grabbed his and helped him up, exclaiming apologies again and again.

Then he fell, probably, and could never not think about her again.

Gyutaro abruptly growled and fled in frustration at the weird, disgusting feelings welling up inside of him. Ugly, ugly, ugly, he hated himself, he hated her, he couldn’t stand the thought of killing her, he wanted her so badly not to see him like everyone did, like she did that night, just another person-

But hey, even demons could dream, right? Gyutaro was guilty for the deaths and injuries for hundreds of humans even when he was one himself, but the sin of fantasizing what it’d be like to even be shown an ounce of affection from her, have her for himself (what was it that humans did, hold hands? Each other? He watched her pet the cat; would she pet and play with his hair like that?) made him feel a thousand times guiltier.

A horrible feeling. Like somebody had stabbed him and was twisting the Nichirin blade around in his innards. Obviously this feeling could be fixed if he ate you, got rid of you, right? …even if he couldn’t fathom eating you himself, Daki could, right? God, never mind, he never felt so…what was this feeling at the thought? So for now he just hoped that no one would notice her. Not Daki, she’d become her next meal. Not a client, they were fouler than him.

How dare they dirty your presence anyway? Who cared if they were handsome, rich, well off, of excellent lineage and all that bullshit? The fact they even thought of touching your, harassing you, having you was enough for Gyutaro to lose his mind and go crazy on a killing spree of all those suitors. If he couldn’t have you, and he knew that, they couldn’t either, and they better know that.

Daki, however…she seemed to be picking up on something off about her older brother’s behavior - he had never ignored her complaints about their stash of food running low soon before, never brushed it off with a yell and assurances he’d find more victims and not do so. Confused and indignant was how she had felt and what caused her to spy a little on Gyutaro and eventually how he was just spending his time watching some stupid girl with something sparking in his gaze she wasn’t sure what to feel about. She settled on disliking and being suspicious of it, finally confronting him about it one night.

“Onii-chan, can you just kill her and be done with it already?! You’ve been following her for more than a week now, how long more do you need to kill her?!”

“Shut up! Be grateful I’m even hunting for you.”

Daki huffed and continued yelling about something to do with being too busy with Oiran duties but Gyutaro zoned out completely, glaring upwards. He should be killing her by now. Eating her. Digesting her.

Why am I not doing that? He silently demanded.

In truth he didn’t know either. Didn’t know why he so easily gave into the slightest stupidest excuse to stalk his prey some more. Didn’t know why he thought about killing the people around her more than her herself. Didn’t know why he was decapitating the head of a man who called her slurs the other day instead of her head.

“FINE, I’LL GO KILL HER TONIGHT!”

He slammed the doors for emphasis, muttering profanities he didn’t actually mean about his precious sister as he stalked around the house and to her room. Maybe if Gyutaro killed her he’d stop feeling so ill all the time. “Ill” being used loosely, since…oh God, he liked the feeling, didn’t he?

Gyutaro slammed a fist against the wall. He’d eat her and be done with it.

But when he got to her room he could see not one but two shadows moving about inside, hear murmuring voices and smell a foreign scent…a man’s, tainted by alcohol. Gyutaro couldn’t help it, he wound up eavesdropping in a jealous rage at whoever managed to get close to her.

“You’re a - hic - pretty girl, I’m sure you don’t wanna - hic - be stuck here anymore, ne?”

“Sir, please get out, I never invited you to my room and I’m not working right now-”

“So what? You gonna - hic - do something?” Gyutaro’s nails dug into the wood as he saw a silhouette of a hand grabbing at her arm and yanking her to him.

“I’ll call the mistress if you do anything!”

“Haha, if you can get her to - hic - listen to you, I’ll let you go! I’m already offering - hic - a lot of money for your marriage contract!” The man just about threw her to the door, roughly letting go of her arm as he laughed drunkenly. Gyutaro had barely any time to hide himself in the shadows before the doors were flung open and she raced away.

Marriage? With this pathetic excuse of a-

The next thing Gyutaro knew after awakening from the bloodthirsty, furious craze of very messily murdering the man - the bastard had dared taint such a goddess! Not even Gyutaro had dare done that, too terrified she’d run from the demon that he was and he wouldn’t even be able to catch sight of her anymore - was him standing above the corpse, one sickle buried in the mutilated head…

…while two yellow eyes slowly looked back to see her standing still by the doorway.

His hands curled into fists and he fell to his knees. It was over, wasn’t it? Gyutaro would really have to kill her now, after she’d inevitably shatter his black, rotted heart into a million pieces for slaughtering someone much worse than him. Daki would not be happy at being forced to kill the whole House because he was seen either.

She…fell to her knees as well? Smiling and crying?

“I knew it! I knew you were always there-”

“NEHHH?” Gyutaro reared back, stunned. “You’re supposed to scream! Am I not ugly to you?! Say something else, you stupid human! What do you mean you know?!”

“I knew you were there,” she repeated. “Someone was always following me…you were the one who killed all those…men and left those stolen items from the other oiran for me, weren’t you? I just wondered when you’d show up…I was so, so afraid when the mistress told me I was going to be married off…I prayed and prayed you’d save me again.”

“What? No, NO!” In a flash he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the wall, breathing erratically as his hand gripped his sickle tight enough to crush rocks. “I’m not - I’m not saving you! You’re not supposed to be like this! I’m a disgusting demon, you stupid dunce, I’m ugly-”

“I don’t think you are.”

Gyutaro searched her face frantically for any indication she was bullshitting him. This was everything he wanted and nothing he understood. His fingers tightened their hold. She had to be lying.

She wasn’t. Her lips curved up gently and a fang poked out. “I think you’re like me.”

[themayorautumn]

i have never written fanfiction in my entire life.

"work is the one redeeming thing that gives them purpose."

fuck me. here's something. i had to get it out of my system. i think about them. a lot.

“He was wearing a green coat, not blue.”

A dark haired man sits in a worn out office chair, face illuminated by a flickering desk lamp. His shirt is half unbuttoned, tie hanging loosely on his neck, begging to be taken off. He fidgets with the knot absent mindedly, as if it brings him some sort of comfort. Maybe he can't bear the thought of it being taken off, the last facade of performative professionalism.

His partner is pacing around the desk he’s sitting in front of, slicking his hair back constantly. It’s obvious that it’s a habit that has stuck around with him from his youth, back when his hair was fuller and eyes were brighter, and a small wink paired with a slight smile would be enough to end his night with a pretty chick in his bed. Tonight, there is no chick, and there is no bed. There is the sound of pen on paper as the man sitting by the desk crosses something off a list. Every single word on it is utterly illegible.

“Blue or green,” the man walking takes a break to light a cigarette. “It was a winter coat, puffy, expensive, you don't see that shit often around these parts. The color is a distraction, Vicquemare.”

“Yet she insisted it was sage green, didn't she? Who the fuck says that? She wouldn't have been so insistent if the color didn't matter, somehow.”

“She’s a wolf, that’s why. It’s a con. She knew what she was doing.”

“Alright,” the dark haired man, Vicquemare, gets up lazily and holds his hand out for the pack of cigarettes. His partner hands it to him. “You’re really speaking out of your ass now, Harry. What the fuck does that mean, ‘she’s a wolf’?”

“Extravagant eye makeup. Crimson red. You been to that bar called ‘Plume du Phénix’? I went there last month with that journalist guy, what's his name-”

“Pierre.”

“Right. Him, he told me it was the perfect place to get some connections. Meet people from the inside, if you catch my drift.”

“Fucking hell. You blew off work to go to a fucking strip club, did you?”

“Didn't blow off work. We went to that stakeout after, don't you remember Vic?”

“Oh yeah. You were complaining about your fucking headache the whole time.”

“Crimson makeup. They wear it there, it’s like their signature look. Blood of their former selves or whatever. Some new age bullshit. They’re dead fucking serious about it though. They don't let you in without it.”

“You wore makeup?”

“Easy now. Don't get too excited.”

Harry walks over to the desk to ash his cigarette, but doesn't get back to his pacing. He stands next to Vicquemare, staring at the ground, lost in thought.

“I did. Pierre made me wear it. They’re fucking wild in there, man. You wouldn't believe it.”

“Why didn't you invite me?”

“Are you jealous?”

“We’re partners. If you’re going somewhere to ‘get connections’, feel like I should be involved.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time. It really is a shame. You would look good in crimson.”

Vicquemare looks away from him for just a second, not enough to mean anything tangible, but enough for Harry to crack a slight smile. He puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps it there as he continues.

“They have this thing against authority of any kind. They preach ‘anarchy’ or their performative version of it, which is where they get together in back alley bars and drink until they don't remember what they're there for. Then they wake up and do it all over again. Fucking idiots, the lot of them.”

“And this is good for connections, how?”

“They're stupid but they're bonded together like a pack of wild wolves. They know everyone in the pack and protect each other like they're blood bound. Probably are too, the freaks.”

“So she was protecting the guy? Cause she knew the coat was actually blue, but saying sage green specifically would make it seem like it would be impossible for it to be any other color?”

“Look at my boy, learning so fast under my coaching. Exactly, Vic. She’s misleading us.”

Vicquemare tugs on the knot of his tie even more insistently, as if an internal fight is going on in his head about whether or not keeping that piece of cloth there is as important as he seems to think it is. Instead of coming to a conclusion, he lights another cigarette and looks back over to the list.

“Wish we talked with her sooner, then. This fucks over our entire theory now, doesn't it? We gotta start from fucking stratch. Find that blue-sage green coat guy. Whatever his name was.”

“We can find him. We can find him, tomorrow.”

Harry reaches for a drawer in the desk and takes out a dark red bottle. He grins and holds it out for Vicquemare to read the label.

“Aged merlot. Been saving it for a special occasion.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the occasion tonight?”

“You do not give me enough credit, Jean-y boy. You do not think I am a man of class, a superior officer who cares for his lieutenant.”

He takes out two glasses from the same drawer and pours two very generous servings.

“Happy birthday, Vicquemare. Here’s to us surviving another year in this fucking shithole.”

Jean looks at his glass wordlessly, his hand still on his tie. He’s stopped fidgeting with it now, as if he’s reached a conclusion but is too afraid, or too cautious to act on it. He smiles. It looks strange on his face, laborious, but genuine. It reaches his eyes and accentuates the wrinkles around them, too many for a man celebrating his thirtieth birthday.

“Thank you, shitkid.”

And it’s clear he means it.

They drink one glass, then one more, then Harry procures another bottle of whiskey this time, which they also finish, and as Vicquemare digs in his jacket pocket for that pack of Astra Reds he’s sure he bought earlier that day, Harry bursts out laughing.

“To think it would ever come to this, huh, Jean? Is this how you imagined entering your thirties?”

Jean finally finds the treasure he’s been looking for and takes a long drag of the cigarette. The ashtray is overflowing, which seems to bother neither of them as cigarette butts litter the desk and the floor. He stumbles over to Harry and smiles, a larger grin than the one before, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They look sad, desperate, and appropriately gray, as if any semblance of color on them would be a disservice to the way they look at the world. Harry sees himself in them, not sure if he’s imagining it or not, and not caring. It’s hard to care, when it’s the only time his reflection doesn't terrify him to death.

Jean takes Harry’s hand and puts it on his tie, curling his fingers around it and tugging on it gently. Harry knows what it means. He’s seen him do it time and time again, always in a different context, but always with the same intention. ‘You take the first step, Harry. You make me believe that you want me, you allow me to pretend.’. It’s his role, he knows it, and he unties the tie.

“I didn't imagine anything. I couldn't imagine anything. What is there to imagine? What is there to fucking want?”

It’s a question that doesn't have an answer. It doesn't have an answer that can be spoken out loud. It doesn't have an answer that can be given without empty bottles clanging around on the desk, without the assurance of their blurred memories, without their hands trembling as they reach for each other, something to hold onto as if nothing else in the world matters. They have to keep moving, they have to keep reassuring each other that they still have this one thing. That the taste of smoke on each other's lips, the crumpled case files surrounding them, and Harry’s rough fingers on Jean’s disheveled hair are enough to make them forget the emptiness that they both feel.

At the end of the day, they don't have anything else.

[ossiethegreat]

I'm not sure if this has been asked before, but what are your Delta headcanons? :D

HIII THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!

so I am usually terrified of these questions because of my crippling social anxiety, but I love Delta too much to NOT yap about him..

Alright so I’ve seen some other people (howls and sandee) talk about how he would have toxic masculinity and have difficulty dealing with emotions. I COMPLETELY agree with this, he absolutely would.

He would most definitely overwork himself in an attempt to prove his bravery and whatnot. He gets himself badly hurt in fights and proceeds to brush it off because he doesn’t want to look weak. (Loser)

So I like to headcannon that he eventually gets a service dog to help him with this issue, since the injuries were very inconvenient, and Epic and Color were worried for his physical and mental health.

If he ever overwhelms himself by running around and constantly helping people, the dog would do its job and force him to take a break :3

(I drew him with the doggy once) (its name is Zorox) (take a guess why)

Anyway obviously he would be opposed to the idea of a service animal because “that’s stupid, service animals are for disabled people, I’m perfectly fine” but Color and Epic forced him to for his own good.

He grew fond of the dog after a while, and accepted the idea since it was actually helping him.

-

Anyway enough of the dog, I wanna talk about him and Color.. 😣

So basically I’ve drawn ship art of them and I’d like to say I headcannon them as exes. Howls at some point said they could have been roommates in the Omega Timeline and I’ve just stuck with that because I’m not original.

I think the isolation Color went through made him very touch starved, and he attached to Delta because he was one of the first people he saw after a long time.

Delta, on the other hand, in general is a very social and friendly person (in his own ways), so he was just nice talkative to Color as he is to most people.

Anyway I think they dated because roommates lore /j

It ended up not working because Delta wasn’t very good with relationships, and his personality and morals clashed with Color’s. They broke up and stayed on good terms as friends 😋😋

-

As for Delta and Bravery, the two are literally just besties.

I think Delta initially had a father/kid relationship with Frisk, and he was extremely crushed when he failed to save them. It was like losing a kid basically, and he probably forced himself to help people all over to make up for his mistakes.

He ended up exhausting himself, and Core found him when he was having a mental crisis due to all of the guilt and stress he was put through, and he was later relocated at the OT.

As for Bravery, as Delta was recovering from his little guilt trip, he got to know the kid better and learned about who they were, their backstory, how they died.

He felt bad at first, convincing himself that he was just trying to replace Frisk to get over their death, but Bravery urged him not to have those thoughts because he wasn’t being “brave.”

Whining about the past wasn’t something a brave person would do. He should move on because dwelling on it wasn’t going to help him get better, or stronger.

Poor Bravery accidentally convinced him to push down his feelings 😭😭

But other than that, they just act like father and kid all the time, like best friends. Bravery offers him battle advice, keeps him from falling apart when things go wrong, and they work as a team.

In return, Delta takes the kids places they always wanted to see, lets them try new things, basically just letting them experience being a curious kid again, as they died WAY too early.

okay I’m done yapping because my phone’s about to die and it’s almost my curfew at camp 😣😣

PLEASE add to this if yall have more headcannons I love him :3

Delta belongs to animatedzorox

[at1nys-blog]

Promises and Future awaits

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x Uchiha!Reader

Summary: and when life brings enemies together you either play along or risk everything.

If there is something that Tobirama Senju can’t stand is how comfortable his brother is around Madara Uchiha, or any Uchiha for that metter.

He doesn’t understand why Ashirama has to constantly meet up with the leader of the Uchiha clan and mostly he doesn’t understand why she has to tag along. Maybe is a younger sibling thing he thinks.

Madara Uchiha and Ashirama Senju are sitting next to the river talking about only they knew what. He was sitting next to her, at the top of a tree not so far away. He had to keep an eye on his older brother.

“You know, if you keep at looking at them without blinking even once your eyes are going to kill you one day” she comments and he turns around with a confusing expression. “Just saying. I have some eye drops if you were to be in need” Tobirama scoffs, rolling his eyes because his nerves were running thin at the moment. One Uchiha was enough but two? Too many for his liking.

He goes back at checking at his brother, making sure Madara doesn’t do something stupid, or worse, his brother does something stupid. He jumps off the tree and doesn’t stop when he hears you asking him to wait for you. He doesn’t care if she stays behind or not.

“Ohy Tobirama” she is now next to him, her stealth going unnoticed by the shinobi regardless his ability.

“Is Senju for you.” He simply says, his attention still on the older of the family. She clears her throat and corrects herself calling him by his family name. Tobirama didn’t expect her to do so.

“What do you think they are talking about?” He doesn’t know and to be honest he doesn’t care what is so important for his brother to talk with an Uchiha, again, he is there just to keep an eye on them. “I think is to keep the peace between the clans.”

“And still I don’t know why is so necessary to talk walks outside the grounds of Konoha” he says, this time he take a quick look at her. She has long black jaded hair, just like her eyes, the Uchiha signature color. He doesn’t look far down than her face. He doesn’t care.

“They used to be best friends before they found out about each other families. Maybe they just want to spend some time together while keeping peace between our clans”

“Still, useless” he comments, turning back around and following his brother from a distance. “The only way to keep peace between the two clans is…” he gets cut off when he hears his brother calling his name.

“You need to tell me later your opinion on how to keep peace between our clans. Ash… Senju” the older looks at her confused and so her brother, why is she so formal?

“Ah YN don’t need to be so formal with me” he comments, and she only shakes her head. The older one understands it has something to do with his brother and whatever he had told you.

“Not my fault, I told her that she should address me as Senju. That’s it.” He says before Ashirama could scold him. “She is probably being nice by calling you Senju in front of me.” He adds. And he is so sure about that because he knows you are somewhat the nicer Uchiha that he had to interact with.

She agreed, clearing up his suspicions and he almost smiles. Almost. Feeling the sides of his lips turning up he stops before it is too late, before his brother, Madara, or worse, you could see the expression on his face.

Ashirama says something, but the youngest Senju can’t hear. He doesn’t hear it, his mind everywhere else than there. Tobirama asks to repeat and Madara is the one that teases him for his lack of attention.

“So… I was wondering…” she starts, jumping on the side of her brother. “What were you and Ashirama talking about?”

“Nothing too serious just two friends…” but Tobirama cuts him off. Scoffing he lets a soft “enemies” out his mouth. Everyone is looking at him now. His brother is sadden about Tobirama’s feelings towards the rival clan; Madara isn’t that surprised and she was upset.

“We aren’t enemies. Not anymore” he doesn’t answer, his silence speaking louder than anything he could say. He wasn’t going to forgive the Uchiha’s not today, not tomorrow, not never. “You won’t forgive us, will you?”

He expression hardens, and his voice becomes stern as he answers her that he will never forgive them, not when they have been at war with each other for decades.

“Do you really think i would ever forgive the Uchiha, just because we talk every day?”

“Not because we talk to each other but because my clan is sticking to their side of the deal. And besides would it be nice for all of use to be friends?” He is getting annoyed the more she speaks and the word friends is like punch in the face, turning to face her better he narrow his eyes and takes long steps towards her.

“You think…” One step closer. “That I, a Senju…” another step closer “would ever be friend…” and another one “with the people…” and again. At this point Madara steps in, moving her behind him. “That killed my brother?” He looks at you from Madara’s shoulders and he can see she doesn’t seem intimated by him. He doesn’t like it.

“You killed my brother too.” She says and he doesn’t move, he doesn’t add anything, not that he could. “And look at me, here trying to be a decent human being.” She pushes Madara on the side and Ashirama has to help him to not fall. “Respecting your boundaries because I wasn’t raised by a pa… you know what? I don’t need to give you explanations at all.”

Tobirama is at a lost for words, he knows she is right how could he think otherwise? But the pain is too much for him to forgive them. “It was war. It was for self-defense. It is different.” He comments and he wishes he didn’t say such words because now she is fuming with rage but she has self control, he would give her that.

Taking deep breathes she pinches the bridge of her nose, keeping calm she takes some seconds before speaking. “Is the same thing Tobirama. The war was just an official statement of what was going on. So stop with excuses.”

Expleining how he doesn’t need excuse for his actions he reminds her, and Madara who is there too, how they couldn’t expect him to forgive the Uchihas for what they did so easily, so soon. “Never said you have to forgive us now, but maybe one day? Can you think about it at least?”

“I don’t know. I have to see how things evolve from here” he says after a moment of deep thought. And she is happy, Tobirama can tell. Her face light up a little and she gives him a smile.

Is when the four of them sat down, close the river bed that Tobirama took a seat next to her, eyes filled with something that shouldn't be there, at least in his mind shouldn't be there at all. How can she be happy and all smiley when he had been so rude and cold to her just minutes ago? He didn't understand her optimism.

"Why are you trying so hard to get me to not hate your family anymore?" she turned to look at him, her expression serious this time. He is about to tell her to let it go, the question was stupid for him to ask. That he didn't know why he did that but she stopped him and answered him. Telling the youngest Senju it was because she is doing the same with his family too. That some Uchihas still hate the Senjus but she is trying to change their minds and dropp the hate. "Why? Why would you go out of your ways to do it?"

"Because I want peace, Tobirama. I don't want to risk it just because people can't move on. What is in the past should stay in the past. People change and we should give them a second chance." He scoffs, he doesn't think people can actually change, once a murderer always a murderer.

Looking at her Tobirama is sure that he never met an Unchiha like her before, not everyone else of her clan would bring up such topics, nor they would try to make people change their minds. She was different and still he couldn't bring himself to trust her. She is engoulfed in a conversation with Madara, something makes her laugh but he can't understand what it is. Is a joke the older Uchiha said? Or is the way she like to tease her brother?

"What do you think of her?" asks his brother, out of nowhere taking him off guard. "Do you like spending time with her?" Tobirama gives him a death glance and Ashirama raises his arms in surrender reminding him he was just asking, nothing too serious. "But for real, if you had to spend an intery day with her how would you feel?"

"I think I wouldn't mind it that much. She seems okay" the other Senju starts to think to himself, blabbering nonsenses under his breath. "what is going on in that mind of yours?"

"OHY YOU TWO..." she cuts off the two brothers, getting their attention they notice she had found a nice place where to take a seat and probably have lunch. And so it is, because when the two Senjus are finally there she handles the younger one two sandwiches first. "I remember you aren't very fond of tomatoes in your sandwich" and then let the other two men get theirs. "I swear I didn't poison it, I can prove it if you want"

"Is okay. I was just surprised you took the time to make mine without tomatoes, that's all" his voice is stoic but more of a whisper, as if he doesn't want the older two ninjas to hear him. But they do, they can hear his words but keep to themselfes because is not the right time to tease him, not when they have a little something to reveal.

Something is wrong, Tobirama can sense it. The air is heavier and his brother is weirder than usual. He would like to ask, to have the answers to why Ashirama is looking between him and her so much but knowing his brother maybe is nothing.

Madara is weird too, and this doesn’t sit right with the younger Senju, not when the older Uchiha is looking between him and her so much.

“Stop looking at us"

"Stop looking at us" he and her say in unison, and he is surprised she even noticed the looks they were given. Tobirama Senju didn't take her as a good observer, not when she seemed so caught up in her own, all rainbow and sunshines, world to notice what was happening around her.

"we are not looking at you two" starts Madara, obviously lying.

"yeah, why would we?" keeps going Ashirama. "you aren't that interesting" he adds, scoffing and crossing his arms faking disinterest.

Tobirama is ready to talk back to his brother but she does it first, commenting on how the youngest siblings are always more interesting than the older ones. He finds himself scoffing at the comment, mostly because of how his brother reacted. With teary eyes and a shivering lips he leans against the older Uchiha and tells him how his sister is being mean to him for free.

"You are prooving her point by being annoying" Madara states, pushing him slightly away but Ashirama is back clingy at him once again and Madara doesn't seems to mind too much. Something is going on between those two, Tobirama thinks.

Madara Uchiha has a lot of problems, Tobirama is sure about that but his sister? Even more. How is it that she does NOT flin....

"I'm sorry I have to marry who now?" Okay no, she still has some common sense. "just because I want to be his friend doesn't mean I am fine with marry this thing here" she adds.

"EHY" yes, he fells offended at how she had just called him "I have a name"

"Now you care? Didn't you heard what our brothers just said?"

"I did, and brother this is a crazy idea, but I don't like being called 'a thing' you know?"

"Once in your life can you please, for my well being, be focused on the right thing?" she is annoyed and he can't blame her. He is annoyed too.

"Look, if is for you I will keep focusing on the wrong thing." he can see her trying her best to not choke him in that instant. “But, going back to the main problem here…” he hears her let out a soft ‘thank you’ and smirks. “Who got this idea?”

Ashirama points at Madara and the older Uchiha looks at his friend offended.

“Not my idea.” He protests.

“You didn’t disagree either.”

“I’m sorry, you didn’t disagree? What kind of an older brother are you?” Madara wants to explain but Tobirama can imagine the Uchiha doesn’t have a strong enough explanation to why he didn’t reject the idea of a forced marriage. “There is no escape, am I right?”

Madara and Ashirama look at her desolated, she was right, Tobirama could tell that no matter how much they fought and rejected the idea the wedding wasn’t going to be called off. Either by his or her family.

“I guess we can’t say no to this.” He comments taking everyone off guard. “What? Is not like I enjoy this situation but I know I can’t say no.” Ashirama jumpes at him, happy that his younger brother is trying to make the best out of it.

The day leading to the wedding Tobirama never meet her. Not by accident, nor when he asked to see her. She was avoiding him like the plague.

“I don’t know what’s her problem” he says at his brother, but he doesn’t really wanna know the answer. He needs to vent. “She is all friendly and wants to make me change my mind and the moment we found out about the wedding she avoids me.”

Ashirama wants to tell him the reason, he knows it, but his brother doesn’t let him.

“Am I that hard to be around?”

“I mean…” the younger Senju gives him a death glance. “It is true. You are a pain in the ass when is about the Uchihas.” He takes a sip of his drink. “And besides she is avoiding you so you two won’t be mad at each other tomorrow.”

“Is tomorrow?” He almost forgot about it, key word: almost. Ashirama rolls his eyes not believing his brother could almost forget such a day.

“This is why she is avoiding you. You really forgot the day of your own wedding?”

“Is not like I wanted to get married in the first place.” He comments, and Ashirama knows is true, he knows that if his brother wanted to get married he wouldn’t have almost forgot about it.

“Okay, fair enough. But promise me one thing. Tomorrow do NOT, I’m begging you, do not get on her nerves. At least not in front of the guests.”

“I can promise you to be on my best behavior” Tobirama laughs, teasing his brother like that was his favorite part of the day and he needed some fun time before being caged into a marriage he didn’t want.

Avoiding Tobirama wasn’t easy, not when he seemed to be looking for her from time to time. The only way she had to not see him was to never leave the Uchiha’s territory, or so she thought because why is she seeing him at the entrance of her house the day before the wedding, late in the evening?

Looking around she notices she is alone outside. Everyone already home or still at work. She wondered why the police force wasn’t patrolling that area at the moment. Just her luck, she thought.

“Got lost?” She approaches him, and Tobirama almost jumps out of his skin hearing her voice. She notices “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting…”

“You weren’t expecting me to come back to my house? That’s hilarious.” He wants to explain but what could be a good enough excuse? Nothing.

“Listen, I just wanted to apologize. I am sorry you felt like you needed to avoid me those last weeks.” She gave him a shy smile. “But you could have told me” he seems genuine, she thinks and is weird. Sure not weirder than having to marry a guy you barely know. “I wished we could have talked a little, just to get to know each other before tomorrow”

“We can talk now. If you don’t mind of course, I am sure you wish to be anywhere but inside an Uchiha’s home” she mentally palm faces herself, why did she needed to be this passive-aggressive with him?

“I won’t mind, and besides I don’t think this is going to be my last time here”

"My, oh my, is the Tobirama Senju being soft with an Uchiha?" she comments and he smiles, a soft and tiny little smile, but a smile regardless and she notice but doesn't comment. The fear of annoying him too big to do something about it.

Entering Tobirama is surprised to not see anyone, not Madara (lucky him) not her father nor her mother. He asks where everyone is and she looks at him surprised. Didn't he heard the music? Didn't he met anyone on his way here?

"So they partying without the bride?”

“Soon-to-be bride”

“Very soon-to-be bride. The wedding is in…” he checks the clock “seven hours”

“That’s not very soon. Very soon is in like an hour, or two max” she jokes and he finds himself smiling again. Was she always that nice to be around? Probably and he curses at himself for not noticing this sooner. Well he has a life to make it up to her, he thinks. “You want something to eat? Drink?”

“No, I’m…” but she was already filling up a glass with water for him. He is sure. He is also sure it out of habit. “Water is fine.”

They had the worst idea ever, who even left them talking all night long when they had to get ready early in the morning for the wedding?

Tobirama curses himself, he is too tired that morning, but he was happy that Madara didn’t stop them from talking.

She is too nervous, she doesn’t want to get married anymore. Sure Tobirama seemed very nice the night before but he is known to hate the Uchiha and this wasn’t going to stop just because he was marrying one, right?

She doesn’t want Tobirama to get in the room, she doesn’t want to let her family down neither. She doesn’t know what to do.

Someone knocks at the door, is Madara. He wants to know what the hell what was the problem.

“Tobirama is the fucking problem.” She confesses.

Madara sights, she can picture him pitching the bridge of his nose, a habit of his when annoyed with her.

“Madara Uchiha don’t sight at me. I swear, is… ugh. Fucking Senju making me second guess if this is actually a good thing.”

“What do you mean I make you nervous?”

“I mean… I’m nervous about how our life will be like.” Tobirama is surprised at her words. More because just some hours ago they were talking like civiliazed humans being and now she was worried about their marriage life?

“Can you open this door?” He says. He sounds exasperated.

“Why? So you can make fun of me to my face? No thank you”

“Just…” silence. “Open this door so we can talk.” Another round of silence from both sides. She doesn’t want to open the door, this is a fact and Tobirama had to take a deep breath. “Please open the door.”

She opens the door, a little bit. Perking her head out she doesn’t look at him at all.

He thinks to himself that her make up and hair look nice, he wonders how she looks in a kimono. In his defense he never saw her in one (like he ever cared to know before the news) and was curios. Yes, he is just curios. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tobirama looks at her with a judging look, was she for real? He scoffs before asking her to let him inside. She makes him promise to not be his usual self and the soon-to-be-husband just nods his head.

“Okay, what is that makes you, oh so nervous?” He did start with the wrong foot “sorry, force of habit.” She rolls her eyes.

“I enjoyed talking with you yesterday, I really did and I appreciated that you came to my place but…” she doesn’t know how to tell him, how is she supposed to without making him mad? Will he even care enough to get mad?

“But? But what?” Tobirama had too a seat on the couch of the room, and he noticed that she looks nice with the kimono on.

“But I don’t want to live in a house that feels cold.” She confesses and the younger Senju understands, she doesn’t need to explain what she means by that, he knows. He knows too well and he feels bad that she thinks that.

The younger Senju also knows he isn’t the right brother when it comes to comforting people, but he needs to, at least in this situation for now. So he tries his best.

“Listen, I know I am not the perfect husband material guy out there but we are in this situation, together, for the well being of Konoha. Which both of us care, am I right?” She nods her head, she doesn’t need to say anything at the moment. “So…” he sits up and takes her hands in his, they feel nice he thinks “…I promise to not be a stranger in our own house, and if you need anything, emotionally or physically wise, just tell me, I have a hard time reading people especially you Uchihas considering you are always moving in the shadows” she laughs, a short snort actually but she is smiling now.

A thank you is all that matters, Tobirama knows she doesn’t need to make promises now. She had always been the nice one between the two of them. Both during and after the war that took place between the two clans.

Tobirama is the one that needs to smooth out the edges when it comes to his rivals because now, that he likes it or not, he has to marry one of them.

He is still holding her hands, squeezing them lightly to silently ask her if she is better now, if she is ready to walk out that room with him on her side. She is. She doesn’t know what the future has in store for her, for them. She knows Tobirama will try his best and so is she.

[unhappy-day-in-hell]

The Dissection of Hazbin Hotel, Episode One: part 4

Onto the end part, Charlie meeting with the angels and... Vaggie's advertisement.

Let's finish this!

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4: //

--Uh. The fuck is this building and why is it in Hell? Are we not going to explain? (Trick question, there’s already so much exposition that it wraps right back around to leaving us in the dark!!)

--Ohhh. That's Adam’s voice? Someone as important as him does not sound like that.

...Stupid thought I just had: Adam has the first Adam's Apple in all of history too... because it's that little saying, that Adam got a piece of the forbidden fruit stuck in his throat to remind him of eating it. So Adam, really, should either sound like he's constantly choking on something/has a stuffed up scratchy throat, or he should have a super deep voice to indicate his adam's apple.

--Heck is wrong with your mouth girl?

--B Plot is them filming an advertisement. I know I tried to re-write this in the review earlier (and will offer an alternative near the end of the review), but this is the kind of smaller-time plot we need to do in these early episodes BEFORE we get to Charlie's stuff. It's not very good tonal whiplash to pair these two plots up.

Also Vaggie’s doing this on Charlie’s behalf. This is, once again, something Charlie should be doing.

--Why doesn’t Charlie know the leader of the Exterminators is Adam? Does that mean she doesn’t know anything important about her world in general? Or is Adam’s presence a secret to the world? Does Lucifer know Adam is here?

--Good god, Adam really IS just Mammon. He's even a performer who is like a rockstar. Viv has zero new ideas.

--We're cutting between Charlie’s "important" meeting with Adam and the filming for the advertisement. We really are. I guess this episode and Western Energy spring from the same source.

--“How were you this weekend” is at least a little amusing. If Adam was more airheaded like that and not *gestures* all this, I’d probably hate his presence less.

--There it is. The Vagina joke for Vaggie’s name. They… they really did that. They just couldn’t help themselves. Viv just can’t help herself.

Because really, what are you supposed to do with this name? People having to say “Vaggie” out loud or print it on merch is embarrassing. They could have called her anything. Maggie. Aggie. Naggie. Saggy. Haggy.

--Vaggie: We’ll fix it in post. Angel: Do you even know what that means?

Well you see Angel! Vaggie’s origin can be split!

For a long time, Vaggie was thought to be a sinner who died very recently, so of course she’d know about editing, because she had grown up in the era of that kind of tech.

Except now she’s been changed to be a fallen exterminator! This means there are a lot of implications. Are we going to use this moment to hint how ANCIENT Vaggie is as a former angel, by showing her as not knowing how to work technology? No, no of course not -- Vaggie seems competent with the camera, it’s just that her actors are dumb fucks.

This criticism spreads over to Adam, who talks just like a “normal guy” and he’s a modern rocker and all that shit. Adam, the first human, who is incomprehensibly ancient… doesn’t show any signs of being as ancient as he is. They couldn't even write him using outdated slang? Make him a disco lover or something and have him say "Groovy?" No? (He IS a thing made of light, he could shine like a disco ball!)

--Vaggie: I’LL FIGURE IT OUT.

Godddd Vaggie can’t have one single line with any life in it. How does she scream in anger with no anger.

--Hi Al. This shot reminds me of why I used to like you, because I DID like your design and your mannerisms once upon a time. I still feel an echo of the enjoyment I used to get from you, and it makes me sad how far you’ve fallen, to being Rosie’s lapdog. You do look good with this muted blue tinting your color scheme. I wish Hell was more of this color, it’s much softer on the eyes.

(Even when I was still a fan, I hated how overused red was. It was one of the first complaints I had. Then the show doubled down and removed even more of the colors from the color pallet to make it even redder.)

--Vaggie to Alastor: Why are you even here? Alastor: For the entertainment!

Actually you’re here because LilithRosie asked you to. She filed down your fangs. You are a toothless character.

--Alastor: I came here because I love seeing wasteful souls struggle to accomplish something meaningful and fail spectacularly!

This is almost exactly a line from the Pilot where Alastor said “I want to watch the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment! Only to repeatedly trip, and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure." Except it just. Lacks. Any of the danger. Or the manic insanity boiling just under Alastor’s surface. The delivery is so deflated.

The words are stilted, like they were with Vaggie a while back.

--Much better qualified people than I have spoken about the use of vodou symbols around Alastor. All I can say is this: Practitioners of vodou have spoken about how harmful it is, and therefore, the symbols should not be in the show. It's that simple. It would have cost the team literally nothing to refrain from using them. In fact, we’re in Hell, and we’ve already used the Ars Goetia in Helluva Boss; why don’t they use the symbols of the Ars Goetia? Or other demonic Christian symbols? Or Lovecraftian symbols from the fictional Lovecraft universe? Or make up their own??? There were a million other options besides digging in your heels. It shows the crew and Viv’s inability to just learn or just be nice.

“This face was made for radio!” that shot, bleck, they made a discount of that scary shot from the pilot. Why is every line they reuse for Alastor worse than it was in the pilot? The pilot where Alastor said “I would have done so already” let Alastor be a little aggressive and threatening, but here, it's just him equating it to “this face can’t be captured on video” instead of him being allowed to flex his power and scare Vaggie and Charlie a little bit….

It makes me sad.

--AND AGAIN, THIS IS VAGGIE HAVING THIS IMPORTANT CONVERSATION WITH ALASTOR. Why is it Vaggie who is getting Alastor’s motivation speech and seeing his Scary Face and not CHARLIE!? The Hotel is CHARLIE’S! Charlie is the main character, she’s the one who has to face these moral battles! Alastor’s motivation and his scorn for her Hotel are CHARLIE’S obstacles to deal with; she has to be the one to face them, consider them, debate them, and find a way to overcome them. But Vaggie is the one here, again, in Charlie’s place. (And Vaggie doesn’t even seem to have any enjoyment or passion for the Hotel either, so SHE doesn’t offer anything in return when she’s facing these opposing ideas.)

--So Alastor is going to make a good advertisement for the Hazbin Hotel, in exchange for never having to work with television ever again.

God, it’s so… WHINY. This isn’t a powerful Overlord of Hell, who is able to manipulate the Hotel behind the scenes and everyone has to watch out for his power because they both need his power but also fear it. This is a dude bargaining over what chores he has to do. It’s depressing.

--And it ends with Alastor giving everyone new outfits. Like the pilot. Because of course. Viv has no new ideas in her head at all. Also Charlie's not here.

--I feel like this scene COULD have been a standout moment in another universe, where someone else wrote this story. The colors are very nice, and Alastor is genuinely one of the only sources of ANYTHING you might consider fun in this episode, even if he’s a pale shadow of what he used to be.

Imagine this as a rewrite for this Episode, and how it could have ended:

At the beginning of the episode, the Hotel staff is still figuring things out. They have a meeting and decide they want to make an advertisement to get people to come to the Hotel, but Al refused to take part, because he hates TV. Charlie then tries to film her own advertisement with Vaggie’s help, but fails to make anything good.

As she starts feeling discouraged in the blue room while cutting up tapes, Alastor walks in to taunt her for a little while. After a back and forth where Charlie asks what he even wants here, he gives his motivation speech, so Charlie can have her goal challenged. But eventually, Charlie asks him to use his power to help her with this, by getting the word out to the people of Hell; and Al agrees, because an empty Hotel is no fun… in exchange for something Al wants: he’ll be allowed to observe any part of the Hotel and give commentary over it whenever he feels like it, and he’s allowed to say anything he wants, positive or negative. Charlie reluctantly agrees to these terms.

Then Alastor uses his power and creates a huge radio tower out of the back of the Hotel. The rest of the Crew feel the Hotel shaking and run outside, and watch in confusion as the tower reaches up into the sky. Al then floats up to the top room, where an old radio station is set up inside. Taking his seat in the booth, Alastor uses his power to broadcasts a spectacular old-timey radio show all across the radio waves of Hell, which are impossible for people to turn off, so it reaches millions of them.

(This also marks his grand return to Hell after his time away…… I guess. Since they're going with that.)

Boom, now Alastor has a radio tower that he hangs out in for the rest of the series, and he’s often giving SCATHING commentary about what goes on inside the Hotel in its quest for redemption. It’s usually making fun of everyone, or damning criticism -- but every so often he compliments something or someone, or gives a bravo for a job well done if a character does manage to accomplish something (but it's always with this HINT that he doesn’t expect their victory to last.)

There.

I provided a better hook for Episode One to end on, something fun to look at -- AND it has Alastor being in total control, while still helping the Hotel, but clearly primed to fuck with it. It also gives the show its first stakes -- small ones, but a status quo is established and we know Charlie will be butting heads with Alastor for the foreseeable future.

--Back with Adam and Charlie, it has become an argument that sinners have earned eternal damnation by making mistakes, and angels and the souls in heaven are not the same; and that angels have never made mistakes. Adam even says he’s never made a mistake.

Why doesn’t Charlie bring up the fact that Adam ate the fruit of knowledge that damned humanity, literally the first sin ever committed alongside Eve? Would that require too much thought, because Adam could just say “hey Eve was the one who did that, then she forced me!” and Charlie would have no rebuttal, because this show doesn’t seem to care about logical or moral battles. (Honestly, I can bet Viv would genuinely believe that for Adam.)

Why don’t they also bring up the fact that all human souls are descended from Adam too? It would force Adam to say: “yeah I don’t care, they may be my grandkids but they made their choice and as the original father it’s my job to whoop their asses when they get out of line,” which would show off how horrible he is. (Or, just not have Adam act this way. The next point elaborates on that:)

--I keep asking myself WHY Heaven and the angels have to be depicted this way. Not "why they’re corrupt" -- but why they’re *gestures vaguely* like this, and so cartoonishly.

Some shows take themselves too seriously and need to lighten up, but a show like Hazbin Hotel has the opposite problem, where it won’t be serious when it needs to be serious.

Adam acts exactly like a demon. There is no distinction between demons and angels. They’re as foul-mouthed, raunchy, and gross. Why?

Is it supposed to be “commentary” or “satire” about real world issues, where authority/radical Christians think they’re better than everyone else just by virtue of being Christian? That’s my first guess.

But just like with Helluva Boss’s commentary on cartoonishly evil abusers: it’s not saying anything we don’t already know, and it hits you with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face.

When Hazbin uses Adam to say “See? Heaven is hypocritical! It does the exact same bad shit as Hell, but gives ITSELF a pass!” it makes Hazbin Hotel worse for it, because of how one-note it makes literally everything in the universe, and how it sacrifices any actual clever worldbuilding, storycrafting, or realism for the sake of shock value. 

Hazbin Hotel is supposed to have a serious storyline meant for adults. It was meant to explore a serious moral question, and the angels are supposed to be one of the serious threats that Charlie has to change the mind of. You want us to take your show SERIOUSLY? Then you need to make villains we can TAKE seriously.

Think of it like this. If Heaven was allowed to have a different personality from Hell (if angels were allowed to act differently than demons), you’d be so much better for it.

First of all, it would give the show variety. Hell already has all the sex jokes, curses, and gore you could ever ask for – that’s Hell’s atmosphere. So let Heaven have a different atmosphere -- let its people has "serious" personality traits. Let them take themselves TOO seriously. That way, there’s some variety when characters go from one place to the next.

Second of all, it would give you way more personality types to play around with! (How boring must it get, writing the same screaming, cursing, sex-spewing archetypes over and over?) AND it would let different temperaments clash! Imagine Angel Dust meeting an Exterminator; Angel Dust makes everything a joke, and the Exterminator takes everything way too seriously, aaaaaand their personalities slam into each other. Imagine the possibilities.

But we can’t have that.

We can’t have anything because Viv can’t let herself be sincere or think this far ahead.

Instead we’re just stuck with Adam, who is Mammon.

--Lute says Charlie was “pardoned by daddy”? Who?? Lucifer? If Lucifer has the ability to blacklist souls from being killed, why can’t he just tell the exterminators to fuck off? Or are they referring to “God” as daddy, for which, I thought they weren’t going to touch God in this show?

The dialogue for this show is confusing. There was clearly no editing or rewriting to make anything make sense.

In the old pilot continuity, only an angel of higher rank had the ability to kill Lucifer, which means the exterminators were unable to kill him. Charlie, as his daughter, was directly below him in power, meaning Charlie would also be immune to them because she's stronger than them. But here apparently she's weak enough that the exterminators not only COULD kill her if given the chance, they WANT to kill her but have to hold back by some... law.

--Another song. Okay.

My opinion is that Brightman is a good singer, and this song definitely has more going on than the first one did. So… not terrible… but there’s also something missing in these lyrics. The way the music flows isn’t interesting and it goes by so fast. And Adam’s voice isn’t grating or terrible to listen to, but his dumb rockstar voice just kind of clashes into Brightman’s singing voice every so often, and makes it sound weird to me.

I could do without.

--OOH LAWD SHE ABOUT TO GO OFF. (That meme will never stop being funny. The shot is so tame. She doesn't even get to do any flexing or anything?)

--They’ll be back in six months?? Oh right, ahem, ahem: We’re putting this into EPISODE ONE? (I’m getting tired of saying that.)

Side note: they better not blame Charlie for this one, or try to make it out like she did something to cause this. Because... She literally didn’t. She didn’t get a word in edge-wise. (If they blame Charlie for making Hell worse, not only is it another Potential Dramatic Plot Moment they waste here, where Charlie would legitimately do a fuckup and have to face the consequences of her actions and it’s Oooh Drama -- it’s also totally unearned here, because Charlie Didn’t Do Anything. Literally if this is supposed to be “Charlie’s Mistake”, she didn’t do anything to MAKE A MISTAKE. )

--Alastor: I pulled a few LIMBS too, Hah hah hah!

Now you sound dead Alastor. I miss your fast-paced deranged laughter.

--To hear Blitzo’s voice coming out of Katie. Not even for a joke. I just. Vomit.

--(Quick question, is it just me or does it feel WEIRD to see Hell freaking out about the exterminations happening sooner, the way it is now? I mean, it’s a bad thing of course – but at the same time, it’s 6 WHOLE months away. That’s still a very long time; it’s not like the angels said they’d be coming in 1 WEEK or anything.

And again, moving the Extermination up to the mid-point of the year COULD have been a good plot punch a few episodes in – if the show had established itself as having a one year time limit before the next extermination, for instance, and for the first season we watch the weeks or months go by. The cast think they’re safe because they always have more time; “the year isn’t even half over yet.” But THEN, Charlie fucks up a few months in, and suddenly the date of the extermination is moved up!! WE ONLY HAVE A MONTH LEFT!! SHOCK AND HORROR. THERE IS MUCH LESS TIME NOW. HOW CAN WE DO THIS IN TIME!? PANIC! STAKES! DRAMA.

Makes my poor writer heart sad.

Imagine if we lingered on the Exterminations for a while before all this, and we learn that every single year, it takes about 3 months worth of planning in order for Sinners to secure hiding spots away from the Angels (a play on the three big holidays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas). This is CRITICAL for Sinner survival; those who can't or don't are the ones who die, and spots are so competitive that it takes all that time for anyone to secure themselves. So when Charlie fucks up midway through the year and causes the Extermination to be moved up to just 1 month away, NO ONE IS SAFE, and there isn't enough time for three months of prep, which is why everyone flips their ever-loving shit: they know they're going to die and now there's a hysterical scramble all throughout Hell trying to secure safe spots.

--The ending shot shows an exterminator dead, and the angels out for blood about it.

Again, ahem-hem: EPISODE ONE.

And now, the Exterminators don’t even feel threatening -- because we know they can be killed.

What made the angels scary, originally, is that they were virtually untouchable. Demons could not defeat them, and angels could kill any demon they wanted to by default. (Even Alastor seemed to be weaker than the angels.)

The angels should have been a looming, impossible-to-defeat threat (at least for a while). This would have given the story tension, because the audience would know the sinners stood no chance if they ran out of time or failed to convince the Angels – it was a battle of MORALITY. It was a challenge for sinners to prove to Heaven they were redeemable, because Heaven held all the power.

They de-clawed their villains in their introductory episode.

…

Do Adam and the Exterminators even HAVE the authority to enact a full genocide??? Wasn’t there a “council of Angel Elders” mentioned in the beginning? Aren’t the exterminators just assigned to this post, and meant to keep the population low??? Won’t they get in trouble for overstepping their bounds!? ARE WE GOING TO GET ANY EXPLANATION AS TO HOW THE HIERARCHY WORKS OR HOW HEAVEN WORKS FIRST!? BEFORE WE GET INTO THIS!?!?

AAAAAAAAAAAAND ~CURTAINS!~

………………………………………………………………………

And that was the end of Hazbin Hotel Episode One.

…

So! What have we learned here today?

My personal takeaway is that, even though it’s cathartic to see this all start to go down in flames, I still feel disappointed and frustrated because of how much time I invested in it, even defended it to other people for a time. I'm frustrated because none of it had to be this bad. Viv didn't have to be evil. There was promise and potential, once upon a time.

Quite frankly, we were lied to. The premise that everyone fell in love with was dumped in the trash. For over four years, we were told this would be a story about redeeming sinners -- that’s what fans put so much of their time and money into. But that premise was discarded immediately, in favor of a generic War Against Heaven. Viv LIED to us, knowing from the start that the redemption storyline was never going to go anywhere.  

I just wonder how many resources were wasted creating this, how many people Viv hurt, how many opportunities were handed to Viv that could have gone to anyone else more deserving of it.

There wasn’t a single worthwhile thing in this episode. A handful of individual shots here and there were passable, but nothing enough to sit through it. Abysmal animation, pacing, storytelling, dialogue, voices, songs; characters that were flat and unmemorable, or stripped of what made them unique.

Charlie wasn’t the main character in her own show -- Vaggie was the one dealing with the morality of the other characters. (And frankly, Charlie didn’t NEED to meet with Adam. It accomplished nothing. If the angels had already decided to do the extermination in 6 months; they could have just done it, they didn’t necessarily NEED to meet with Charlie to enact it.)

Somehow, Hazbin found a way to do everything wrong!

This show should be taken as a lesson on what not to as an artist. (Any kind of artist, really.) 

In my opinion, the greatest weakness of this show is its inability to write anything sincere.

(And there’s a difference between something having sincere emotion, and melodrama, which Viv dumps in boatloads in her writing.)

I won’t re-write it all, but I basically mean what happened with Adam and the angels, where they aren’t allowed to be any different from the demons. They aren’t allowed to be serious, wise, ancient; because Viv CAN’T write them as sincere. (But this also includes so many other aspects of this show and this world as a whole.)  

(And its genre doesn’t shield it. Hazbin Hotel is trying to tell a STORY, so it doesn’t get to hide behind the genre of being an “episodic adult comedy”. It HAS to follow the rules of storytelling, and when it doesn’t, it is failing.)

And Hazbin Hotel is just one giant failure.

With that, I’ll wrap this up. I think I’ve said all I want to.

I don’t know if I’ll review any other episodes like this (or, if they’ll be this long), because they get worse and worse; and Episode 4 is such a serious, disgusting episode that I don't know if it's even worth it -- but I REALLY wanted to get my thoughts down for this one.

If you read it all, thanks for sticking around! It was fun to rip it apart.

If you have any thoughts you want to add onto this, I’d love to hear!

[luvergirl777]

For All the Multiverses | O’Hara

Pairing | Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Word Count | 7k, not too bad. 

Genre | Smut, kind of enemies to lovers if you squint hard. 

Summary | Miguel is an ass, through and through. There’s almost nothing that can convince you otherwise, the constant nagging, perfectionism, micromanaging, and passive aggressive comments fueling your rage. After a dumb remark, you’re done with him, done with all of it. 

Index | Submissive Miguel, soft dom reader I guess, biting (a bit of blood but nothing too crazy), bickering, dumb fighting, a bit of violence but not too bad (normal spider-people stuff.)

“It’s rude to stare, y’know?” You ask, voice absolutely dripping sarcasm with every single word. You can feel his eyes, your senses tingling throughout your body as his eyes bore into you from the top of his little platform. He’s been easily staring for 10 minutes now, glaring daggers at you as you try to work. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?” 

He simply lets out a tsk noise, clearly not entertaining your conversation any further. “You should get back to work,” Miguel grunts, and you can practically feel his eyes roll as he turns back around to his projections. You’re not sure why he resents you so much, you’re pretty literally only here to help catch anomalies, literally his sole purpose in life. 

“You should too, you’re supposed to be leading a capture in less than 3 minutes withhh, one sec, Gwen, Peter B, and maybe Jess if you need the backup. Spider-cat is also down to come with Jess if you’d like,” You inform him, once again getting on his nerves without even really trying. Truly, you practically do what Lyla’s designed to do. However, with anomalies popping up more frequently and unpredictability, she needs all the help she can get. 

“I know, I don’t need you to tell me.” Miguel grits out.

“Well, you should get a move on because the rest of the team has been waiting on you for 5 minutes now, but I'm sure you know th-“ 

“Ay mierda,” And before you are able to get another cheap shot in he’s towering over you at your desk, “No micro-managing my mission, got it y/l/n?” his tone is deadly serious, vaguely threatening. Still, you refuse to give in to his constant fear-mongering bullshit, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. If there’s one thing you’re going to do in your time at the spider society, it’s putting Miguel in his place even if it’s just a little. 

“Sir yes sir, Mr O’Hara sir,” You give him a stupid salute, purposely looking dumb to mock him. He leaves with an exaggerated sigh, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t quite catch. You probably don’t want to, you’re sure it’s a string of curses. With a giggle, you immediately turn on your surveillance and begin overseeing the mission. “Lyla?” She pops up in front of you, bubbly and bright as ever. 

“Yes?” She beams, walking around in her little artificial intelligence world. She’s the only other lively thing around here, and you’re grateful for her presence after dealing with Miguel all day. 

“Can I have this mission? Pretty pretty please?? With a cherry on top?” You begin to beg, pressing your hands together and shaking them towards her to see. 

“Well…I suppose Miguel never put in an official request on who monitors this mission. So I suppose I wouldn’t be going against any orders…” She trails off, thinking for a brief moment, “But if anyone asks, I was super busy!!” She exclaims, immediately running off to make herself busy so she has the excuse. It makes you giggle, turning back around to watch your projections spread around your desk. You hate that you share an office space with Miguel, but at least he’s in the air away from you. 

They’re getting their asses kicked, genuinely. You can tell that they don’t know the anomaly they’re going against, constantly getting tricked by the changing of shapes, colors, forms, and even states of matter. Dragging a hand along your face, you quickly ping Peter B’s watch with a message to help them. 

Don't tell O’Hara I’m here yet, but the anomaly glows under ultraviolet light. Think glowing like a scorpion !!! 

Finally, things begin to click as Peter uses his watch to shine the light around to detect it. With a small smile, you pat yourself on the back. Still, while it’s now easier to find it’s not any easier to catch. You almost itch for Miguel to call it, eyes switching between cameras just in case you miss it. 

“Call for backup.” Miguel groans, eyes narrowed more than before in his mask. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Your voice fills his ear and he immediately drops his head, hand coming to rub his forehead as he fights off many choice words. He sits like that for a second as he recomposes himself. 

“God, can't you hear?? I said call-“ 

“Already there.” You hang up, and a loud click right after you finish your last word. (AKA before Miguel can give you any more shit.) Truthfully? You have nothing against him. In fact, you think his combat and intelligence are admirable beyond compare. However, you refuse to be afraid like almost everyone else that comes to help. You don’t understand it, yeah he’s kinda scary because of his authority, but at the same time, he does the same thing as anyone else. Everyone is here to help, and the snarkiness and ego he has is beyond your grasp despite it all. You just so happen to have the pleasure to work right beside him. 

Miguel was avoidant from the get-go, constantly denying the fact that they needed any more help. He can do it on his own, he’s got everything under control, he doesn’t need a set of eyes looking at him, etc, etc, etc. Even when Lyla appeared and gave a very timid “Actually we really would benefit from the help-“ She was promptly hung up on. (She then flashed her message on all of the holograms and projections in the room out of spite.) But still, Miguel was relentless in his belief that he had everything under control. This continued for a long time, however, there was a brief moment where the two of you got along well. 

You’re not sure what really happened, how it even started. The two of you began going on missions together, catching a record number of anomalies for the month with ease. Along with this, you two fell into a routine in no time. He’d get coffee in the mornings, leaving yours on your desk as he was always in way earlier than you. You’d get lunch for the both of you, bringing Miguel his food as it’s rare he’d really leave for long, let alone to eat. It was nice, very nice. 

Small conversations in passing turned into hour-long debates about anything and everything, friendly debates. These ranged from which lunch was the best from the cafeteria, all the way to the legitimacy of how the multiverse works. You thought the Miguel Burger was the best (and most funny), he loves the empanadas. He thought the multiverse was do-or-die at all times, you believe there have to be SOME exceptions in a multiverse of infinite possibilities. Through the small banters and discussions, you had actually learned a lot more about each other than you ever expected. In times you couldn’t agree, you two settled on a truce and no hard feelings. You both genuinely respected the other's opinion because you had enough respect for one another in general. 

Besides from office encounters, you had even started “coincidentally” running into each other during night surveillance. He scared you at first as you snuck through the hall, a giant figure also popping out of his room. After the initial fright and a very over-exaggerated gasp from you, the two of you laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation for a solid five minutes. He had spooked you so bad you even pulled your mask on, struggling to peel it back off through your laughter.  “What are you doing, O’Hara, do you know what time it is?!” You whispered in between giggles, unable to hold them back. 

He responded with a giant smile on his face, the lack of sleep probably going to his head finally. “I should ask you the same thing!” Afterward, you two snuck into the cafeteria kitchen to make a snack. The two of you made food, humming songs and passing ingredients back and forth with very little verbal communication needed. You two even entertained the idea of sneaking one of the projectors back for a movie, but you both decided you needed some sort of rest before morning duty started. 

Another fond memory was his birthday one year. He never celebrates, never even thinks about allowing himself to. You initially bribed Lyla to tell you, and when she wouldn’t, you did some totally legal background stalking to find out. Walking into the office with a cake on his desk, obnoxious balloons, and streamers all over the office, and your frame hiding behind said desk ready to sing happy birthday, your plan was in full swing. Admittedly he was reluctant to even let you celebrate, clamping a palm over your mouth once you began singing. Slowly but surely he warmed up, made a birthday wish, and blew out his candles. 

“Happy birthday Captain!!!” You’re over the top and obnoxious, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him around in his chair. Still, he offers you a genuine smile as you continue your birthday antics. Getting his favorite lunch and dinner, hand-delivering them to his desk, the whole nine yards. 

It’s not until dinner that he told you why, “The last birthday I had, was with my daughter.” Miguel mumbled, avoiding your gaze. “I know, it’s silly but I just wanted to remember it with her.” 

Guilt instantly eats at your heart and brain, immediately feeling bad for everything. You hadn’t even considered the reason why he didn’t celebrate, “I’m really sorry I didn’t know-“ You’re quick to offer your support, reaching out and holding his forearm in your palm. 

“But this is really nice!” He interrupts your apology, flipping his arm over so he can also hold your arm near your elbow, “Really thoughtful and kind, I genuinely really appreciate you, y/n.” 

Don’t even get going on the one Father’s Day you had gotten him a small gift. It wasn’t intentional, you had been at the store to get Peter a cake for him, Mayday, and MJ. Something cute with #1 Dad!! With a silly hero design in the background that you know Peter and Mayday would like. However, while you were in the store Miguel popped up into your mind. With an uncertainty that could rival god, you bit the bullet and also got him a smaller cake with happy father’s Day written across the top. 

You had found Peter in the cafeteria, bothering Miguel with who knows what as he just tried to get his food and then leave. As soon as you gave the cake to Peter, Miguel leaves instantly, a painful reminder he didn’t need right now. Peter and Mayday thank you, and Peter jokingly smears a dollop of frosting across Mayday‘s nose. With a small smile, you excuse yourself to track down where Miguel went. “Captain?” Your voice is quiet and unsure as you walk into the office, trying to see if he’s up on the platform or not. 

You get no response before you’re swinging up there, unsure of where else he would’ve gone. Sure enough, he’s sitting, hunched over facing away from you. “I brought you something, you don’t have to accept it if you don’t want to I suppose.” You try to speak as softly as possible, minimizing the echo in the office. Placing it down in front of him, he picks his head up just the slightest bit to see what it is. Instantly, he lurches up and you think you’ve seriously done it now, stepped a bit too far over the boundary that you already crossed. 

Instead of being chewed out, he instantly pulls you to him, wrapping you in his arms. “Thank you.” He mumbles, clearly trying to avoid voice cracking. You let the silence comfort the two of you, too scared to talk in case it sends Miguel over the edge he was so desperately trying to come back from. It’s nice, your arms wrapping around his waist and holding him close. 

Everything seemed to be going positive and only up in your friendship, you two were happy and well-working co-workers. However, this promptly ended when you slipped up during a mission, made a dumb move for someone else, and got hurt pretty badly. 

You, Jess, and Miguel were fighting together to catch a doc-ock from about 100 years in the future (from Miguel’s world anyway.) Jess had slipped just as razor-sharp blades were flying toward her. What would’ve originally hit her stomach, was not going for her throat. Without a second thought, you had jumped in front of her to avoid the for-sure deadly strike. It caught your ribs, slicing deep to the bone. Jess sprung up, grabbing you and opening a portal without a second thought and leaving Miguel behind. “Fuck, fuck Jess, hurts bad.” You groan, hands flying to your wound in a feeble attempt to stop the blood from pouring out. It soaks everything it touches, your hand completely red and your forearm soon to be.

In a blur, you’re rushed to the medic bay and onto a bed. The entire time, you’re groaning, writhing in pain. “What were you thinking?!” His voice is unmistakable as he storms into the med bay, quickly finding his spot next to your bed as he accesses the damage you took. “Stupid, stupid move, y/n. Idiotic, even.” He’s mumbling more that you can’t quite catch, and you’re too out of it to even try and understand the broken Spanish. “Can't believe you two.” 

Jess cries next to you, holding your hand where it rests on the bed. “Jess would’ve died.” You grit as his hand presses against your wound to slow the bleeding, making you cry out. “Captain!” You scream, hands flying to grab his wrists as you continue to writhe. It’s bad, your hands instinctively clawing at his forearms to try and get him away even for a moment. Easily overpowering you, he doesn’t let up. 

“I know, I know I'm sorry, mi sol.” His words fall on deaf ears as you scream. The pain is unbearable as you go in and out of consciousness, doing your best to remain conscious of Jess’s emotional state. You’re completely out as you get stitched and cleaned up, your body is completely spent and your adrenaline begins to wear off.

The very first time you wake up, Miguel is next to you. His forehead rests on his palms, hunched over in the chair next to you. Your voice is too weak, so you simply reach out and take hold of his arm. “Menos mal que estás bien.” His voice is soft as he takes your hand in his, holding it up to his forehead. “You’re okay,” Miguel mumbles, pulling your hand down a bit to his cheek. You smile, flattening your hand to hold the side of his face in your palm.

“Sorry,” You speak, and he gives you a confused look at what you could be apologizing for. “About your arm, and fucking up the mission.” There are scratches all along his forearm, and you’re about 90% positive it had to be from you. 

“No, no. Don’t even worry about anything.” He speaks, shuffling slightly to stand up. Miguel places your hand gently back down to your stomach. “And what I said about that mission, that was just- I was-“ He can't even finish what he wants to tell you. 

“Please don’t leave me.” You mumble, realizing that he’s definitely about to run away. Miguel huffs heavily, his chest rising and falling. He has a sorry look on his face, and you know him well enough to know he’s not sticking around long. Leaning down, he wraps you in his arms, holding you close and protectively to his chest. It hurts, bad, but you’re not going to tell him as you soak it in. “O’Hara,” Tears cloud your vision. 

“I’m sorry, y/l/n.” And just like that, he’s disappearing. Recovery is a bitch, worse than the initial injury. You’re grateful for everyone visiting you in the med bay, but not once do you see Miguel even for a status update. 

Since then, he’s completely detached again. No longer leaving you coffee, ignores the lunch you bring him every day, not entertaining any of your conversations. You’re somehow completely back to the day you joined. 

Due to this incident, you naturally brush against each other, butting heads on almost everything now. This continued for a while, still remaining relevant here and there to this day. You can see Miguel shake his head as Jess and spider cat come in, they need all the help they can get, before he springs into action again. He’s scary, with fangs, claws, and running on all fours now. Maybe you’ve ticked him off a bit too much. you make a mental note to “STFU when O’Hara gets back” out of fear you’ve created this. (Not an uncommon occurrence.) 

With Jess and Spider Cat, they’re able to wrangle up the remaining anomalies and come back to HQ. The door slamming open startles you, and the mental note you made earlier is in full swing, sirens and all going off in your head. Your lips are sealed more than ever. You can feel his glances, before he quickly turns away, just to look back at you. He’s working himself up to chew your ass out, for sure. This is usually the look that he gives to Hobie when he’s being an idiot. The only thing you can do is turn your gaze down and continue searching through the multiverse for anything unusual. 

“Really? Really, you did the one thing I told you not to do?” Miguel carries on and you’re sure he’s pacing the platform as usual, “¿Por qué? ¿Por qué sigo dando órdenes?“ (Why? Why do I keep giving orders?) He continues to get himself going. 

You don’t know what to say to possibly make the situation better, so you continue your work. “Oh? And now you’re just not gonna talk to me, huh? I see how it is, ya veo cómo es.” (I see how it is.)

“I figured I was helping, O’Hara.” You spit, moving your screens aside to glare up at him. “You know?? Doing the one thing I’m here for? I don’t understand why you think me helping the team is somehow to spite you.” His eyes are beginning to turn red and you’re quick to flash your projections up once more to avoid the glare that is surely targeted at you. Your suit suddenly feels too right around the neck, strangling you. 

“Hmm, hmm.” Miguel nods, turning around on his platform and giving you the silent treatment from here on out. Eventually, he would break, you’re sure of it, have to ask you for something eventually. To your dismay, you’re the first one that has to break the silence in the suffocating room. 

“There's an anomaly on Earth 295-“ 

“Go get it. Since you want to micromanage anyways, you got it.” It’s not encouragement at all, the opposite really. With an exasperated sigh, you get up from your desk and begin to make your way out into the lobby. Rounding up a group of people, you set off to catch the anomaly. It’s easy, a routine capture before you’re dragging the man back through your portal. With another sigh, you shove open the doors to your shared office and plop down into your chair. No other words are exchanged for the rest of the day, the two of you doing your work while passing another in silence. 

You wish you could work alongside Lyla in her artificial intelligence database. Clocking out for the night, you’re preparing to open your portal and crash land somewhere in your city. Anything is better than being here. “I need you to stay tonight for overnight surveillance.” Miguel breaks the silence just as you’re about to press the open button, your arms immediately falling to your sides and your head was thrown back. 

“Fuck you, O’Hara.” You groan, leaving your office and heading up to the overnight dorms to begin your night surveillance. God, you hate him. You joined the society to make the universe better, all of the multiverses better, not to be picked on by some oversized man in a tight-ass hologram suit. Plopping down at your desk in the dorm, you curse O’Hara out in your head. Scanning through your brain, there’s literally nothing you can think of to make the situation better. He simply hates you because he can’t handle everything on his own, you’re sure he’s just projecting but it’s infuriating regardless. The whole night, every second of the surveillance shift, you become more and more irritated. 

It’s 7 am when you crawl out of your dorm, running on 5 minutes of accidental sleep and spite. You’re technically supposed to be at your desk at 7, but at this point who cares. If he says one thing, one single thing to you, “You know you’re 3 minutes late-“ And you’re ripping off your watch and hurling it at his head. Miguel, spider sense less, doesn’t feel it coming and gets absolutely clobbered in the side of the head. You hope it bleeds, truly, as your chest heaves. 

“Fuck, you, O’Hara,” You grit, turning around and beginning to make your way out of the stupid office, away from his stupid little platform, and his stupid little dramatic face. Like an idiot, he chases, “All I do is fucking help you, stick my neck out for these missions, bust my ass, and nothing. You take the credit and I get yelled at for helping.” You're beyond angry, fists clenched at your side- 

“Just put your watch back on estúpida, you’re gonna glitch-“ He watches as you do just that, never crumbling or falling as you turn to glare at him. Scary, that was scary. He’s never seen someone withstand their literal atoms glitching, let alone being so angry they’re able to move also. Still on you’re feet, Miguel ignores the smart part of his brain that tells him to move away from you. 

“All because pretty boy,” You’re stepping closer to him, and Miguel takes all the strength in his body to not cower away from you. Forcing himself to stand tall like always, he takes whatever you’re about to give him, finger digging into his chest, “Can’t take the fact that he can’t control everything. Pushes everyone away, would rather the multiverse weaken than admit he needs some fuckin help, and everyone just believes it. Holds their heads high with the assumption everything is fine, they’re doing their job, getting their pats on the back. It’s such a shame you’re so attractive O’Hara, because it’s ruined by that fucking personality of yours.” Maybe you’re being too mean, but if you don’t say it no one else ever will. At the commotion, a few heads begin to look over at the two of you. 

“Can we please talk, in private, where people aren’t staring at us-“ 

“I’m going home. I’m going through that stupid freaky spider machine, that has a stupid name by the way, and leaving the team,” You say, definitive as you tear yourself away from Miguel and began the trek towards Margo’s office (essentially.) 

“Can we please talk like adults, y/n?” Miguel still follows, this time grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you back harder than he really meant to. He’s strong, much stronger than you, so it’s no surprise that you almost fly backward into his chest. He catches you by the waist, only making your anger bubble more. Glaring up at him, you can see a flash of emotion rush across his face before it’s gone just as fast. “Please, y/n.” 

Miguel isn’t a beggar, never has been, in fact, you can’t even remember if you’ve ever heard him say please before now. “To the office?” You force a grin as the group of eyes on the two of you continues to grow. Miguel offers you a polite nod, placing your watch back on your wrist before allowing you to lead the way. With an annoyed grunt, you eventually make it back to your desk, plopping down in the chair. “If you go up to your platform to talk to me, I’m opening a portal and leaving. Before you even get a word in,” You warn him. 

Miguel walks over with an annoyed sigh, rubbing the wrinkle in between his brows out. “y/n please stay, we need all the help we can-“ His words are cut short as your lurch forward, roughly grabbing his face in your hand. His cheeks are squished together as your fingertips dig into his skin, spinning around. You easily knock him back into the chair you were previously sitting at. “¡Joder! ¡De acuerdo!” (Ah fuck! Okay Okay!)

“Now you need me? All of a sudden, now you need the help.” You hiss, caging him in as you step closer, fingertips digging in even more with each word. You’re basically leaning over him, one of his knees slipping between your legs without even realizing it. Miguel’s hands reach up, timidly wrapping around your wrist in an attempt to calm you down or at least loosen the grip you have on him. 

“Cálmate dulce chica, podemos hablar de esto.” (Calm down sweet girl, we can talk about this.) Miguel offers, a small whimper falling from his lips as he realizes how close you are to him, essentially hovering over his lap. “y/n please-“ It’s nothing short of sin, a loud whine falling past his lips as his hands fly to meet your waist. His big hands almost wrap around you entirely, if he squeezed his fingertips would probably touch together. 

“You’re getting off to this? Really Miguel?” Another groan falls from his lips, you never call him Miguel. Never, it’s always O’Hara or some stupid nickname you picked up from the kids because you thought they were funny. There’s a small smirk on your face, making Miguel’s eyes narrow with lust as it’s clear you’re very amused by his situation. His mind almost melts as you finally sit, your knees on either side of his hips. You fill his senses, judgment beginning to cloud as your smell fills his nose and voice his ears. “You are, huh?” You draw out, the slightest bit of humor behind your voice. 

“You’re just, ah fuck, so pretty when you’re yelling at me,” Miguel speaks, a bit muffled as you haven’t released him yet from your grip. Finally, you let go of his cheeks, leaving behind faint red dots where your fingertips once were. “So soft, warm,” He continues as his mind becomes fuzzier by the second, hands pawing at your suit material. He wants nothing more than for it to be gone right now and for a brief moment, he thinks about ripping through it. He can give you one like his, yeah, he thinks as he rationalizes. 

“You gonna be good? Let me see you?” You mumble and break his train of thought, hands trailing over his suit that is technically molecules that he’s learned to manipulate over the years. With a small nod, he removes the fabric where your hands trail, leaving open skin for you to touch. The rest of his suit remains intact, only his front opening for you. “Naughty naughty,” You tease at his lack of underwear or boxers, ghosting your fingers across his head to tease him even more. Without explanation, you climb off his lap and step away. 

“y/n? Fuck, what’s wrong-“ His worry ceases as you begin pulling your suit off, the skin-tight fabric being dropped on the desk space next to you. “Oh Dios, vas a ser mi muerte.” (Oh god, you’re going to be the death of me.) He knows you don’t understand Spanish fluently, only picking up bits and pieces of his expressions. In this case, you caught death and that’s about all you understood. 

“You know I don’t understand, Miguel.” You tease as you crawl back onto his lap only in a bra and panties, seated securely on his big thighs. Leaning forward, your hands find their place naturally in his hair. “Let’s talk like adults, hm?” You mock him from earlier, a sick smirk spread fully across your face. “Go ahead, tell me everything you wanted to earlier, or else I’m taking my watch off and going home~” You almost sing song, soaking in the hint of misery it gives him. 

“I just wanted to say- haaaa fuck,” You catch Miguel off guard as your lips find his jaw, hot kisses soon spreading down to his neck. You mark him thoroughly, you wanna leave a part of yourself with him. 

“C'mon, O’Hara, or I'm leaving.” You continue to warn. 

“I, we need you here. I know I’ve been, shit shit,” His train is thrown off as you press yourself closer to him, pinning his cock in between your stomachs as your hips search for friction, “Mean to you recently. It’s just because, ah ah, I liked you. But I couldn’t express this because of our circumstances. And when you got hurt, it scared me because I realized how much you actually meant to me. So instead of liking you I thought hating you would push you away and it would eventually dissipate. But you’re so stubborn it only made things worse because you refused to go to a different department at least.” 

“I see.” You barely give him a response as you suck dark hickeys into his chest, peering up at him to catch his expression. “Miguel, let me ride your fingers,” He groans, nodding his head as his palm slides closer to where you need him. 

One of his palms remains on your waist, the heat spreading from his hand to your body. It feels as if you’re on fire, blood molten lava as it flows throughout your body. As much as you’ve hated him recently, he’s still incredibly attractive. And to have him this pliant and finally following your instructions? An added bonus. Your breath hitches as he runs across your clit, running across the small bead as your hips reactively pick themselves up to give him better access. 

“Fuck, so pretty like this, finally listening to my instructions,” You fill the silence, hands falling to hold Miguel’s head in them. “You gonna let me kiss you, O’Hara? Or is that too intimate for you?” 

“I want nothing more, please do.” He groans as you immediately lean forward, lips clashing as you starve for a taste of him. He kisses you back with a matched fury, his palm siding up to hold your torso against him. He swallows your moans as he begins his ministrations, sinking his middle finger completely into you. The kiss is messy, the only thing grounding you as he inserts another finger, expertly finding what makes you tick. Tongues pressing against tongues, lips swollen, moans, and panting breaths mix together. 

“Close, O’Hara,” You warn, “If you stop, I’ll kill you,” A genuine threat as your grip falls to his neck, loosely choking him. It makes him whine, more focused on pleasing you more than ever now. Your hips begin meeting his hand, chasing a high you so desperately need now. You’re soaked, the sound bouncing off the office walls surely embarrassing beyond belief if you were thinking straight. Your free hand finds Miguel’s lips, thumb brushing along his lips and revealing his canines, giant fangs that stick out farther than his other teeth. “Coming,” You whine, losing your grip on him almost entirely as your face falls into the crook of his shoulder, riding out your high. 

“C'mon, cum for me. So pretty, y/n, shaking around my hand.” Miguel encourages you, thoroughly prolonging your orgasm as he targets the spot inside and your poor aching clit. He stops only when your hips drop, no longer able to withstand the abuse. “Fuck, so pretty y/n, all for me,” Miguel continues, pulling you close as your lips reconnect, this time rough. Your hands pull his hair harshly, head tilting back as he whines into your mouth. 

“Gonna ride your pretty cock, get myself off,” You mumble into his mouth, causing him to groan in response. Miguel’s more than happy to let you, puppy dog eyes and all as you pull yourself away from him. He’s big, and you’re sure you’re not completely stretched as much as you’d like but you’re in too deep now. Lining yourself up, it’s a rough start. Miguel’s hands fly to your waist, not pushing but simply squeezing as his head falls back. His face is squeezed hard, whines falling past soft lips before he can think to stop them. “So big, fuck fuck,” Whimpering, you sink slowly inch by inch as you will yourself to take him. 

“Shit y/n. fuck, haaa fuck fuck, tight,” Miguel babbles, unable to hold it back. Taking the last few inches, you lean forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders, desperately needing something to hold onto. “So good, please move, please feels good, so deep,” Miguel feels like his mind is melting, completely pussy drunk as he shamelessly begs for you. You grind against him, trying to get a feel for how big he is before you hurt yourself. Rolling your hips slightly, you effortlessly pull moans from the both of you. 

Your bodies are completely pressed together as you pick your hips up and slam them down, body heat suffocating but so good at the same time. Your face finds itself in Miguel’s neck, moans and whines being muffled into his skin. Miguel holds onto you for dear life, almost bruising the skin underneath his fingers. Your pace is brutal, once again chasing your high with no other regard in mind. His hands begin to hurt, definitely bruising the skin underneath. 

“O’Hara.” Your tone is pissed off as you rip his hands away, webbing them to the armrests on either side of you. He could easily rip them, you’re sure, but he won’t, another thing you’re sure of. “Stupid boy, getting rode and doesn’t know what to do with himself,” You taunt, almost feeling his cock jump. It feels too good, he feels too good as he instinctively curls in on himself. “C’mon, don’t get shy on me.” You taunt, wedging your feet on the inside of his thighs and spreading them. 

“Your stupid boy,” He babbles back, picking his head up more fully to watch how you use him, relentlessly fucking him. “So good, so pretty.” He can see the tip of his cock in your stomach, bordering crazy he’s sure. His fists ball at his sides, doing his best to be good. “Gonna cum soon, you feel too good.” 

“Hmm, I’m not stopping until I cum.” You warn him graciously. You’re about 95% sure it goes in one ear and out the other, too distracted to fully register your words. “Do what you want, Mig, just remember that.” Once again, he definitely doesn’t comprehend as he eagerly nods at the approval. 

As his high approaches, his hips begin grinding up into you, chasing his own release. You allow it, having already warned him more times than you should’ve. “Coming, nghhh ahh fuck, fuck,” And he does, hips driving forward as he cums as deep as possible. You entertain it, sinking down fully and grinding against him as you coax him through it. You can feel his thighs shake underneath you as his hips rest back down on the chair, head thrown back as his chest heaves. 

“Oh, Mig, sweet boy.” You tease, voice flowing through his ears like honey. “I haven’t cum yet.” Finally, you’re getting through to him as you pick your hips back up, dropping down with a wet smack. 

“y/n, wait! Shit, fuck, nhghhhh ah ah,” Miguel is so overstimulated, thighs shaking slightly as his hips buck. You’re once again chasing your high, using him completely as your toy now. “Please I can’t-“ Tears prick his eyes as his head picks up to meet yours, muscles flexed as he pulls against his restraints. Your grip meets his throat, stopping his whining momentarily. 

“I warned you, be good for me and sit still,” You mumble, your free hand reaching for his mouth once again. ”Been so mean to me, so mean Miguel, need to use you. Need to punish you.” You bite into his shoulder, muffling yourself. His whines and moans are nonstop, the overstimulation driving him crazy. Eventually, you pull your head back, finding another sensation to play with. Wedging your fingers into his mouth, Miguel thinks his mind is going to melt. Your fingers run across his fangs, testing the sharpness on the pads of your index and middle. Much to your surprise, (not really), they easily prick the skin and cause blood. Miguel’s tongue is quick to soothe over the two pricks, earning him a loud moan as you run your fingers across his tongue. “My dumb boy, all pussy drunk, overstimulated, just so stupid, hmm?” 

“Yes, yes,” Is all he can manage with your two fingers in his mouth, beginning to fuck them against his tongue in speed with your own hips. It’s obscene, but the sight makes you clench tightly around his cock, earning you even louder whines. There’s saliva dripping now, so messy as he allows you to do as you please. 

“Fuck, gonna cum. Gonna cum for you, Miguel.” Your thighs are growing tired, Miguel doing his best to pick up the slack and thrust up into you. “Cumming~” It’s barely a warning as your head falls forward, thighs shaking and clamping down around Miguel’s hips. He does his best to prolong it, thrusting up with the limited movement you allow him, soon spilling inside you once more as you’re just so tight. 

As you come to, your hips pick themselves up and down a couple more times, fucking his cum into you. “No more, please, no mas, no mas, por favor mami,” (No more, no more, please mami.) Miguel cries, tears slipping as the overstimulation is too much. Your hips still with him still inside, chests heaving as the both of you fight to catch your breaths. Your hands are quick to meet his cheeks, wiping away the stray tears that fall. Leaning forward to kiss the tear stains, Miguel whines as you slide along him. 

“Look at you, absolutely covered in cum, spit, sweat,” You smile, slowly picking your hips up and climbing off his lap. Everything aches, but you’re so satisfied as you wobble over to your suit. Picking it up, you opt for carrying it rather than fighting it over your sticky skin. Miguel looks like the epitome of sex as he remains in the chair, still struggling to recover. “Miguel, you okay?” Your voice is much gentler now, walking over and placing a kiss on his forehead. He nods as you rip through your webs for him, freeing him of his restraints. You offer a soft peck which he takes gratefully, your fingers coming to rub his scalp where you had been tugging at his hair. 

“Miguel?” Carefully climbing into his lap again, you drop your suit over the armrest. “My boy, are you alright?” You pull him close to you, holding his head against your chest as you massage his scalp. You hold him until he comes down fully, placing soft kisses on his forehead and tear-stained cheeks. 

“Yes, mi corazón. Are you okay? Feeling okay?” His hands meet your waist where he had been previously squeezing, rubbing the soon-to-be bruised skin. 

“More than okay.” With one final reassurance peck to his lips, you stand back up fully and grab your suit. You're exhausted, both from night duty and today's festivities, and it’s clear there is no way you’re going to be able to work today. “I’m gonna go home and get some sleep, I had the night shift last night.” The reminder pains Miguel that he really asked you to do that out of spite. “You’re more than welcome to follow, or swing by later.” You offer, tapping on your watch until you carefully open a portal inside your apartment. 

Glancing back once more, Miguel looks cute as he watches you go, suit fully formed once again. You wonder how that works with all the liquid on his skin, but you opt to ask another time. 

“I’ll stop by later,” He offers, not missing the way your face falls slightly. He quickly climbs to his feet, “I just have a couple of things to do here, otherwise I would, I really would trust me.” Miguel explains, big frame easily engulfing you into a hug. His cheer-up protocol works, putting a small smile on your face as you look up at him. 

“I’ll see you later, spidey,” You beam, leaning forward onto your tip-toes to kiss him. He meets you halfway, indulging you. With one final glance back, you step through the portal, waving bye as it closes. 

“I’ll be there!” He promises just as it closes, leaving you two technically universes apart from one another. 

~~~

Hours later, the sound of his portal is unmistakable in your small one-bedroom apartment as it fills the silence and shakes the walls. Peeking your head out of the hall into your living room, his giant frame looks a bit silly in the small area. Nevertheless, the giant smile that spreads across your face is priceless. “You actually came!” You speak, spooking him slightly as you step out from behind the hall wall. 

“What? Of course.” He scoffs, welcoming you with open arms when you approach him. He must’ve gone home and cleaned up, hair seemingly damp and a glow that only a warm shower could give radiating from him. “I wouldn’t miss this for all the multiverses.” 

[notinuse13579]

Girlfriend Taissa Headcannons

warnings: cursing, light angst, light smut, general fluff, and Taissa being a goober 🤍

- Taissa loves flustering people. Feeling one step ahead of everyone else. Scoring effortlessly and doing it flawlessly. That’s what people learn to love or hate about her.

- My god did you love it.

- When you met Taissa Turner you were both newly 18. Having recently graduated highschool and enrolled at Columbia, you shared your common major of Pre-Law, and shadowed the same professor.

- Professor Johnson was not what either of you were expecting. This man had a PhD and yet he could barely keep himself together. He was intelligent, no doubt about that, but he was older and significantly erratic. His classes were disorderly and difficult to mesh into if you were not well acquainted with his philosophys.

- Constantly preferring to wear funky patterns and quaff his grey hair over the balding patch at the top of his head. His beard was medium length and he tended to collect small oddities that littered his desk.

- When you ran into one another on the way to his room you’d originally thought she was kind of a bitch. She didn’t say she was sorry, she just ran. Imagine your surprise when you walked into the lecture hall and found her waiting expectantly.

“Hey,” You nodded your chin up at her as you made your way down to his desk. He had been running late, and as you grew to know him- this would be expected.

“Hey,” This girl looked at you with wide brown eyes and it became pretty obvious that they could be easy to fall into if you weren’t careful. “I’m Tai.” She held out a strong right hand and you shook it. She was somewhat cold, the dreary day adding moisture to her skin. Little did you know Taissa was actually just sweaty.

-When she’d run into you she just cursed and trotted away. You’d looked over at her quick figure as it tore down the hallway. After a moment you gathered your things and collected your bearings. I mean who does that. You’d still be angry if you hadn’t found yourself twenty minutes into a conversation with the girl responsible.

-She was crazy smart, I mean there’s an expectation for a Brown scholar to be above average but damn. She was well equipped to discuss truly anything, and you couldn’t help but find yourself wanting to know her. Really know her.

-From then on you both grabbed coffee together on Wednesdays. You knew she drank a lot more than someone probably should but you didn’t question it.

- Here’s the thing- Taissa wasn’t, in any way shape or form, an open book. You had to really pry some things out of her. Ordinary things about herself nonetheless. I mean family stuff sure but the stupid shit, really? You spent three days trying to get her to tell you her favorite color.

- The months dragged on and Taissa grew more and more open. Questions were answered like where she grew up, and the fact she played soccer. Although, she wouldn’t really talk much about the team. Instead she would want to talk about you. She’d even take you to places she’d heard of with good food. Food that you’d said you liked maybe once.

-Taissa is a very caring person, but she’s also such an asshole. You were hanging out at a bar on a Saturday night and it had been months since you met. She was looking at you like she was sizing you up. It was sending a chill down your spine every time she let out a breathy laugh. Even occasionally grinning at you while you shifted under her gaze. You talked, well rambled, about anything you could think of. The color of the bar stools, the music playing, the color of Taissa’s eyes. The red brown brick color shining back at you as you spoke. That stupid smile on her face that drove you insane. When you had finally stopped talking she downed the rest of her rum and coke and turned to you, motioning her head towards the door once and extending her hand. You looked at her for a second and then grabbed hold of her outstretched palm.

-When Taissa finally made a move on you there was so many feelings. You were both scared to mess this up but the semester was ending and the future was coming. So she kissed you in her car on a Tuesday afternoon. Not because she was running out of time, but because she was actually losing her mind. The weeks had amalgamated into one jumbled mess in her head. She could hardly focus in class. She could hardly wait till Wednesday morning. She was so gone for you and she hated feeling so powerless. So she took it back.

- The kiss was hard and purposeful. She pressed her lips firmly to yours in one of the parking lots of the university. She gripped onto your jaw for dear life while your own hands found her shoulders. The moment the kiss broke you were pulling her over into the passenger seat. Her knees falling to the sides of your own. Short huffs of laughter escaping as she kissed you more eagerly now, gripping at the hair at the nape of your neck.

-After that Taissa really was a dick. For a little while she didn’t call or text. She missed coffee that Wednesday too. It took you showing up on her door step to ask her if she was done being a little bitch, for her to come back to you.

-She’s such a fucking goober though. She knows everything about you and uses that knowledge to spoil you any chance she gets. She loves feeling like she’s doing something right, it’s not that she asks for assurance it’s that you provide it until it’s expected.

-So when the semester ends you find yourself moving back with Taissa to New Jersey. You find yourself kissing her in your shitty car at 8pm. All after getting groceries and living your younger lives together. Although it’s great, Taissa has never been one to calm down.

-Even as she clings to the hinges of stability, she wants excitement. She strays from monotonous routines and instead finds new ways to branch out.

- Tai like to go out a lot. It’s her time to let loose and drink shitty beer. Even as you both reenter the college scene, Taissa wants to experience life. That doesn’t mean she’s looking at anyone else though, she wants you right there with her. Even if you’re just a rock she can circle back to once she’s hit her limit. Drinking and dancing and dragging you out with her onto the floor. My god her eyes are hard to tear yourself away from in moments like these. Even as it nears 1 o’clock and you know she has an 8 am tomorrow.

-She loves sharing clothes. Finding it so endearing to see you wearing one of her crewnecks as you walk through the apartment. Her hands finding your hips and her lips your neck while you cook breakfast. She starts swaying with you while you stir the pancake batter. Humming softly into the crook of your neck. This is nice. This is safe.

- As Taissa gets older the time spent outside of your shared home grows thinner and thinner. She enjoys these quiet moments a whole lot more than the scene she used to drag you out to. She is so full of love. Taissa wants to be with the one person who understands her or at the very least always tries to. Plus, if she wants to take politics seriously she has to buckle down.

- My god does she look good in a suit. The constant sneaking off while you’re at conferences together is questionable for sure. Who can blame you when she looks like THAT??

- She knows it too, she’s so fucking proud. Smirking down at you every time she catches your eye. This woman is tall, and strong, and smart. You’re doomed.

- Hushed breaths are crammed into her shoulder. Her blazer is torn off and strewn across the counter. The silky button up that hid underneath stifles all of the sounds she wishes she could hear. You both know it’s too risky for that though.

- Taissa’s fingers are moving quickly and your eyes are struggling to stay open. She’s whispering things about how pathetic it is that you couldn’t wait till you got home, her voice thick with lust. Your form is sat on the counter of this too-nice-restroom and the door is bolted.

- This becomes pretty standard practice at these events. Always allowing Taissa to blow off some frustration and allowing you to ogle your girlfriend in a less bothered way. She is obviously still going to tease you about it every time though.

- In your average day to day experience, Taissa is very caring. Always learning new things to impress you grow her knowledge of the world around her. Fun facts that she learns are always shared over huffs of laughter at the dining table.

- I think Tai generally finds things like puzzles, board games, and Quality Time pretty important. However, i’d say that her love language lies closer to Acts of Service. She wants someone reliable and ready for a challenge in the same way that she is.

- Always doing things without having to be asked, and providing the base from which she can always come down to. She couldn’t be with a carbon copy of herself though. She wants to win at everything, and no one beats Taissa Turner, not even herself.

- Her competitiveness can become a lot for anyone though. She’s sometimes so blinded by her own pride that it can be hard for her to assess a situation in its entirety. You have to work through that often and peel back the layers as she tends to guard herself often.

- The holidays are the best. Staying in with her is like winning the fucking lottery. I know she’s into all that wife level stuff. Bringing you breakfast in bed. Offering to draw you a bath, at the low price of an extra body, and sitting in one another’s company while watching films.

- Domesticity is so natural now. Growing into the love you found in the hallways of a college. It’s a story you both never forget to tell at parties, and when you graduated Brown, the both of you ditched the after parties to drink on the river together. Planning the life before you.

- Now it’s sitting in your lap, on your sofa, as Taissa brushes soft nails over the skin of your back slowly pulling you into a deep sleep.

More Taissa content is sure to be headed your way soon. I hope you enjoyed and take a look at my Taissa Masterlist for more! 🤍

[pastryland]

template by @mostlymaudlin

i'm going to try to put fics i've yet to put on my fic rec lists. i swear i'll update the fic rec lists soon there's just so many.

fic that made me laugh

second time's the charm - max/charles - @wanderingblindly

this fic is a treat and a feel-good in between all of the other angsty lestappen fics. adore the romcom vibes. i could also slam both charles's and max's heads into tables (or each other) from how stupid they are.

fic that made me cry

i will not put the end of the strain i will not put the end of the strain

we found wonderland (you and i got lost in it) - alex/george - @alpinelogy

the internal struggle that george goes through this fic is heartbreaking and so is his relationship with alex. it wretches at the reader's heart at how close yet so far alex and george are from each other and definitely made me feel things by the ending.

fic that gave me a story hangover

soft vanilla foreplay - oscar/lando

i could not stop thinking about this fic for weeks after i read it. lando's and oscar's personalities are shown off so well and their dynamic. it's so sexy yet tender and playful and- yeah, you should read this fic

fic i want to discuss book-club style

somebody else - oscar/max/charles - @piastrism on ao3

the relationships between the three are so complicated and deep and even a little bit twisted. they give a morally gray version of each of the characters which i absolutely love. also, the color imagery and symbolism is so beautiful in this fic. i would totally do a whole ass essay about the literary devices in this fic.

fic that got me flustered

spread before you like a picnic - alex/george - @janinaduszejko

anything explicit by this author is so good, but this fic in particular had my eyes wide. it is probably the hottest thing i've ever read.

fic by one of my fave authors

all the king's horses, all the king's men - charles/carlos - @7msc

slams hands choripan/7msc i swear is godly at motifs and imagery. the infamous carlos sainz sr. quote infects carlos, yet carlos's softness and love constantly combats it. carlos can't help that he loves—the racetrack, the car, charles. carlos's internal struggles and how he is affected by his father's parenting are done amazingly.

fic i reread more than once

only found - oscar/lando - @debrief on ao3

the vibes are immaculate in this one and i'm always down for a cute soulmate au. lando's attitude towards soulmates is absolutely hilarious to me and the oscar's quiet fondness for him is adorable as well.

fic i sent to everyone i know

on the faultline - lewis/nico - @eyes-likepilotlights

if you love brocedes, you need to read this fic. i'm an absolute for brocedes making up fic, but i can't help it. the tragedy and complexity of their relationship are so well-done in this fic. they're so perfect for each other though also the worst thing to ever happen to each other.

fic that made me fall in love with an author

bean water and bee spit - lando/daniel - @ocontraire

this is the first fic by leaf i read (and one of my first dando ones too) and she made me fall in love with the ship. it only got better when she also started writing landoscar as well. check out leaf's stuff it's all so good.

[a-b-riddle]

Pen Pals Chapter Two: Confessions

We never really spoke over the phone that much after that. We still messaged constantly through text or via messenger. C made honest on his promise of financially supporting me. It was more money than I knew what to do with to be honest. I was constantly asking him what to do with it. I mentioned I had no furniture.

Why don't you get some? You should have more than enough in your account by now.

Can I?

Of course. You don't have to ask permission before making a big purchase, sweetheart.

Okay. Do you mind if I send you some pics? I've never had to buy furniture and I would like your opinion.

Of course. 

With that I went to work. I ordered most of my things from Ikea, but the one thing I got, which was stupid, but something I always wanted was a velvet chesterfield sofa. I sent C a couple of color options and asked which one he liked.

Blue. It's my favorite color and goes with just about anything.

So I ordered it. It came almost a week later and was the last thing I needed to really make my apartment feel like home. 

It looks good. Good job, gorgeous. 

I felt so proud of his approval. I did feel guilty about spending so much money on a couch, but he liked it and he was paying the bill for it.

A few months passed before I finally got the interview for Stark Industries lined up and C was less than pleased about it. 

It has nothing to do with your area of study. The whole point of me taking care of you was so that you could wait out a position at a university.

I understand that, but it's been months and it doesn't look like things are going to open up in time for me to start teaching in the fall. 

You're back tracking. I don't think you should just give up and settle on whatever job you can get. 

For some reason that struck a nerve. I wasn't giving up, but things happen. The entire world has been put on pause and who knows when life would return to normal. 

Nowhere is hiring and I need a job. I have been cooped up in this apartment for months and I can't take it anymore. At this point I don't care if it's in retail. My mental health can't take being alone and inside like this anymore. The only social interaction I get is either talking to you or going to the grocery story. I have been in the city for months and I haven't made a single friend. I understand your concern, but it's not your decision to make. I will eventually get there, but this is something I want to do. I appreciate all of your help, but as I said, it's not your decision to make.

I turned the messenger offline.

A few days had passed with nothing from C. However, when Friday rolled around, money was still deposited into my account. Maybe it was automated and it accidentally posted. This had been the longest we went without communicating since the start of our little arrangement. 

After a few glasses of liquid courage, I called him. It was late in the evening, way past my normal bedtime, but I wanted to talk to him. At least to let him know about the deposit.

"Hello?" He answered. His voice was scratchy and slow.

"What are you doing?" I asked stupidly.

"I am trying to sleep considering it is nearly 2 A.M." I heard him groan. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just wanted you to know the money got posted to my account." I swallowed. "I was wondering if you had venmo or something and I could send it back.

"Why would I want you to send it back?"

"Because I got a job and you don't approve."

"You don't have the job yet, you have an interview." He corrected.

"And because I don't think I was nice."

"Nice?"

"With how I spoke to you. Or 'typed' I guess." I huffed and laid down on the couch. "I shouldn't have caught an attitude like that. I'm sorry. You've been a saving grace these last few months and I really appreciate everything you've done for me." I finished off the glass of sweet moscato.

"It's okay." He reassured me. "I understand you probably are sick of staying inside, but I just want you to be safe and not settle." God, how was he so perfect?

"I got to thinking." I felt warmth of the wine start to get to my cheeks. "You know, we have been friends for like five years and I have no clue what you like and you know what I look like and you know I like you? Isn't that stupid? Like I have no clue what you look like and I like a stranger I've never met."

"You sound drunk." He chuckled. 

"I've had a couple of glasses of wine," I admitted. "But I'm not just saying that because I've had a few glasses of wine. And like I'm kind of glad I haven't seen you. I mean you're this person I can't even envision and you know that now you know where I live and I don't know."

"What are you trying to say? That it makes you uncomfortable that I know your address?"

"No, it's like..." The words embarrassed me as they came out of my mouth. "I don't want to say like aroused, but.. I don't know." I fell against the bed. "It's something that I think about sometimes." He was quiet and I felt like I had said something wrong. "I'm sorry that was too much. I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry, go back to sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow." And with that I hung up the phone. 

That was too much. Oh my god why did I say that? Did I seriously just tell him I thought it was hot that I didn't know what he looked like? Shit shit shit.

I got up and put my empty glass of wine in the sink, promising to unload the dishwasher when I didn't feel so lightheaded.

Suddenly, from across the room, my phone began to ring. It was him.

"Tell me what exactly you think about, Princess."

[thedawningofthehour]

Hi!! Yes, hello, I cried again, thank you for that. Even though you said we „shouldn’t expect too much“, my heart is still very much cracked haha

ANYWAY, since the guessing game is still on, I was thinking a lot during this chapter. My guess is, either Raph has a really stupid idea that he‘s thinking through right now and that‘s why he‘s been so quiet OR smth happens to the Hueso place and he like sacrifices himself to get his family to escape like idk maybe EPF or smth knocks at the door and he holds them off

And so I was wondering if you could tell us when this stupid thing is gonna happen, I have a feeling it might be like the book 2 finale or somewhere close to that??

ALSO, I was wondering how you organise your chapters and the plot you write about. Do you have like a pinboard and put the NYC map on it and connect the dots with red yarn? (Detective style) or do you use some program or are just…weird and memorise it all?

Maybe he hasn't actually had the stupid idea yet, but he's definitely ruminating on everything that eventually compels him to make that decision.

The stupid thing will be a direct consequence of the final climax, so it'll be coming up here soon. I'm going to put up a poll probably after the next chapter.

I'm giddy that we're getting there, honestly. There's a foreshadow I put in literally in the single-digit chapters of Book 1 and when I wrote that I couldn't imagine actually getting to that point. I always feel like I'm going to die or something before I finish stuff, like, I was shocked when I finished doth.

Oh my goooood I am so terrible about plotting and outlines and stuff. I always, always feel like I'm in elementary school filling out a worksheet. I am basically this guy

except there is no paper because I haven't written anything down I'm just sleep deprived and rambling and smoking copious amounts of weed. (I have never smoked weed)

I know generally how the plots go, and as chapters draw closer I start thinking more specifically about where parts should go and where they would fit best. The whole war kick-off thing, that originally was going to happen after the third reverse-kidnapping, (the mall with the mercenaries one) but Gale and Mikey were still having their library trips, and that just seemed like an...awkward thing to have hanging over them. And it just didn't have to be. I could have cut that arc short, delayed the third reverse-kidnapping until after after the library meetings were discovered, or I could push off the war. And the war didn't need to happen then-if anything, it complicated the other plot points that needed to happen. And I think it worked out for the better this way.

I'm not totally satisfied with this method though. When I was writing Book 1, I had probably about half the fic written before I started posting-it was all in one document, Donnie's scenes were all together and Leo's scenes were in some incomprehensible order and often unfinished because I wasn't expecting to post anything and would just stop when I felt like it, when I finally committed to putting it to order I think I had like eight documents open at one point and three different highlighter colors to denote what I'd done in the master document, it was an ORDEAL-but it meant that I could group scenes together based on what was most effective, move things around very easily. The fact that Leo and Donnie's chapters were pointedly not happening at the same time helped a lot too. In Book 2, I end up writing with two, maybe three chapters planned ahead in my brain, and I feel like that forces me to sometimes rely on short-term climaxes that add to the word count but don't really do much for the story overall, or put off certain things that I don't particularly feel like writing at the time or don't know would work there. Book 2 would probably be significantly shorter if I'd plotted it out the way I did Book 1.

...What were we talking about? Oh! I do actually have a map of NYC open pretty much constantly in my fic window, it probably shows when they were driving around last chapter that I was literally going along the border with my pointer finger. But I'm terrible and I don't write any of this shit down. I usually remember, but there have been occasions where I've completely forgotten what I was going to do, and I think it was chapter 32 where I had pretty much finished the rest of the chapter and then realized I'd forgotten the final Leo scene-which was a pretty major scene. So I guess...yeah, weird and memorize sounds correct, but I don't actually do it that well.

[acanvasofabillionsuns]

[ID: A colorful digital comic by @metkapop about the Dream SMP. Techno, an anthropomorphic pig in a cape and crown, and Dream, a humanoid with a white ball and simple smiley for a face, sit in their prison cell. Dream's face is cracked and his hoodie is somewhat ragged, while Techno and his outfit are pristine. Further contrasting, Dream's posture is closed off, arms folded on top of his knees, while Techno is much more relaxed and open, with one arm propped casually on his knee. Dream asks, "...You actually know how to get out of here, huh?"

"Heh?" Techno asks, looking over at him. Shown in side profile, we can see there's a wall of lava beside him. "You hate being controlled or confined, so you wouldn't act like... this otherwise," Dream explains. "Plus you're like... 'the strategy guy' too. You probably came in here already knowing how you'd be leaving. Right?" Techno sends him a considering look, then acknowledges, "...I do know of a way out."

Dream leans over excitedly. "Really—" "—But we'll get to that later. (You've still got some things to write down.)" Techno cuts him off, holding up a hand. Dream gives him a confused look with accompanying raised hands, pointing out, "...You're still in danger right now though." "Eh, debatable." "So what's with the attitude?"

"Well, uh. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't fear 'Sam the Warden Guy," Techno says. There's a simplistic illustration of an angry looking Sam, captioned, "Awesam "Prison abuse is okay if I feel kinda bad about it!" Dude." "I mean you know just how much I respect authority," Techno continues. Dream gives him a tired look and says, "Sure." "I'm just kinda thinking: Why should I be locked down" —Techno gives a thumbs down, with an exaggerated sad expression with droopy posture— "If I can be locked up?" He switches to a confident grin, straightening and holding up a finger.

Dream stares at him wide-eyed. Techno continues, "It's also not my first time living on a diet composed strictly of potatoe—" He cuts himself off as he hears a "snrk—" and looks over, asking, "Dream—?" Dream is covering his face with his hood, trying to suppress a smile. "...Oh you liked that one, huh?" Techno asks, grinning, as Dream loses the battle with himself and laughs. "You're being ridiculous. This is so stupid," Dream says, covering his mouth with his hand. "Well, you did laugh though so maybe I'm onto something here," Techno tells him.

"...Could you not tell him I did? If he comes back," Dream asks. They're shown from behind now: only the back of Dream's hoodie is visible, but Techno's turned to face him and is visible in profile. He asks, "Dream, why would I do that." Dream lifts up a finger. "I mean— I might just be paranoid at this point but—" Techno jokes about what he would say: "Ah yes, hi Quackity, cool of you to visit, now before you try and kill us let me brag about that one joke I said." "Ok, look—" "Just let me riff for a moment here," Techno continues hypothesizing, grinning. Dream puts his hands on his head and cries, "Alright I get it, that was stupid to ask." The comic ends with Techno saying, "Why don't I just start doing a stand up routine as soon as he comes in."

There are two bonus mini comics. In the first, Dream says, "they're called leggings because u put ur le" He pauses and looks to the side consideringly, then tries again. "u put ur leg" He takes a deep breath, eyes closed and hands in front of his mouth. He's sweating now, hands tense as he tries, "they're called leggings because" "take your time" Techno tells him from the background.

In the second, Techno is finishing a rant about Greek mythology as Dream listens to him, saying, "All in all, Hades gets kind of a bad rep. All the guy wanted was to essentially just do his job and chill with his wife. He was alright, especially in comparison to Zeus and Poseidon who constantly meddled in mortal affairs or, like, tried to sleep with everything that moved. The only reason Hades is often represented as the bad guy is because humans don't like things that remind them of their own mortality." "IDK man, he kinda sucked in Percy Jackson," Dream comments casually, then looks up, asking, "...Techno?" Techno's face is now drawn as a hyper realistic pig's with red eyes as he steeples his hands in front of his face. He says, "Dream, all I see is red." Dream, now sweating profusely, asks, "Techno??" /end ID]

Levity. A moment to breathe.

Rip to Dream but if I was stuck in a prison cell with an exciteable pigman I would simply laugh at his jokes.

((also I just think that after 6 months of inhumane imprisonment Dream's gotta practice being in conversations that don't involve threats of bodily harm xdfsdgr))

Bonus doodles:

[alyosiuscreightonward]

Since we met, I consider that you are drowning in “What The Actual Fuck?!?!”

It’s obvious that we have had our share of problems in our lives and with other people.

It could have been something so fucking stupid that ruined everything. Also it may have started out as a single cell like an amoeba and now it’s Mount Everest.

The issues are real and they are also imagined. You found them in bed. I found pictures. I didn’t react. I let it slide. You did react. Rightly so.

I saw the pictures, I knew that he was cheating. Then he said that he was giving me permission to go out and cheat on him. I did. In retrospect, it wasn’t anything. I felt nothing.

Someone said, in the middle of an acting class, “Morales!! Feel the wind!! Feel the cold!!” Morales said that she made an effort to see if she could get there. Everyone else felt the whoosh, the sensation of going downhill. Everyone was there. She said that she tried really hard to find the cold, the wind etc, as she imagined she was going downhill on a toboggan, even skiing. Then after a few minutes, she told Mr. Carpman, “I feel nothing.” He replied, “Morales, I think you should transfer to another high school.” Morales snapped back, “It’s probably genetic, we don’t have bobsleds in San Juan.”

I’m sure you’ve been there as I have.

Yet you and I can easily recall winter. We can remember when we didn’t have A/C in the car in July/August.

In a song by Meatloaf, he says, “She used her body just like a bandage. She used my body just like a wound.” Today, we have the memory of the bandage being ripped off and the pain. Child. Please. For me, it has always been the punch in the face you can’t take back.

Now, it’s definitely different from what happened. We’ve grown. We can protect ourselves. We can be vulnerable too. Yet we push back and walk away without feeling.

I’m here. You’re there.

We act differently in front of people. We put on a show.

In the privacy of the bathroom, as we fall asleep, we have a different perspective on our lives.

I’m sure you fight with yourself when I write on my blog.

Compartmentalizing each and every emotion. Then the sunlight catches your eyes.

Why is this happening? Why me? This is so beyond fucked up!!! Jesus help me!!! He’s so different from anyone that has crossed my path. Fuck!!

Charles doesn’t want sex or anything sexual. I flirt with him by showing off and letting see a my belly button or by bending over. He’s like yeah, whatever dude. He knows how to keep his distance from me and he knows how to make me feel safe. The other motherfuckers…

I may get irritated by his shenanigans but he then gets it together and works with me to get it done. Yet my feelings are mine. One day, I may have the courage to say something but not right now because it’s repulsive.

Two men. 🤮🤮

But Charles loves me. All the dents, dings and the things that can’t be fixed. Why? Sincerely why me?!?!

There’s conflict. The version that I know is it’s supposed to be your body, my choice. I have one way, color within the lines and it’s that simple. Why did you choose to color or even paint the grass blue and the sky green? What kind of madness is it when I hear swans don’t like water and eagles can’t fly?!?! I call BULLSHIT. Fucking bullshit.

Charles doesn’t have a clue. He’s a whack job. He doesn’t know how I felt when I hugged him. He doesn’t even know how I felt after I spoke to 5-0.

“Caleb, he can find a cum dumpster. Just another bleeding axe wound. Though will she ever know how hard it is to love a man? Look. I know shit.”

He constantly blows my mind. He knows that I am a man. He knows that I’m a staunch believer in one man and one woman. The very idea of Adam and Steve is gross 🤢 and still he wants me?!?!

He says it’s his boundaries that keeps him away from me. But when I say something concerning work, he’s there to support me and help me, but he doesn’t want anything.

That guy is beyond.

Charles then sends me links to his blog and he says shit and I don’t know what to say or think.

This is so fucked up. I remember when he said something about the demolition man. I’m sure he wants this to work. I just don’t know how to accept it or how I feel about this situation.

FUCK!!!

He says that this is my fault because apparently I gave him something that he never had before.

FUCK!!!

The other night as we going out separate ways, he said that that was the first meal he had eaten since he had made the mistake to call me fat. I can’t believe or imagine how he could do that? That’s so fucked up.

God. I look to you for guidance. Why does he have the need to tell me that he loves me?

FUCK!!!

[tadwisethebrave]

About Tad

Archetype — The Joker

Birthday — January 31st, 2004

Zodiac Sign — Aquarius

MBTI — ENFP

Enneagram — 9

Temperament — 

Hogwarts House — Ravenclaw Primary, Slytherin Secondary

Moral Alignment — Neutral Good

Primary Vice — Oblivious

Primary Virtue — Kind

Element — Water

Overview:

Mother — Eunji Fiske

Father — Bill Fiske

Mother’s Occupation — Astronomer

Father’s Occupation — Astronomer

Family Finances — middle class

Birth Order — Oldest

Brothers —  none

Sisters — Galadriel Fiske

Other Close Family — Uncle Kevin

Best Friend — Sheldon

Other Friends — Swynlake people

Enemies — none that he knows of

Pets — Frodo the Guinea Pig, and a pet rock

Home Life During Childhood — It was a pretty good home life. His parents worked a lot but were home plenty too. They were stoners so the house did have a certain fragrance of weed almost constantly, but he was pretty content. They didn’t pay as much attention to their kids needs as they should have, but Tad figured this taught him how to vibe on his own.

Town or City Name(s) — lived in Huntington Beach, California, and then in Swynlake.

What Did His or Her Bedroom Look Like — Surfing posters, a lot of blue, and some nerdy lord of the rings memorabilia of Samwise Gamgee that his parents insisted they had to put up in there to inspire him.

Any Sports or Clubs — Surfing, Skateboarding, Snowboarding, clubs related to those but especially surfing.

Favorite Toy or Game — Tony Hawks Pro Skater 2

Schooling — He was never a good student

Favorite Subject — Lunch

Popular or Loner — Popular in his own way

Important Experiences or Events — Moving to Swynlake for the first time

Nationality — American

Culture — American

Religion and beliefs — Agnostic

Physical Appearance

Face Claim —  Hansol Vernon Chwe

Complexion — tan

Hair Colour — brown

Eye Colour — brown

Height — 5’10”

Build — thin

Tattoos — one on his shoulder of a wave with the day he started his sobriety

Piercings — yes, his ears

Common Hairstyle — just a normal guy’s hairstyle 

Clothing Style — pretty terrible. Combines colors on whimsy

Mannerisms — chill, like he’s not really going anywhere fast. Vibing. 

Usual Expression — Smiling

Health

Overall (do they get sick easily)? — nah he eats dirt too much for that to be true. He’s pretty healthy

Physical Ailments — currently a broken arm but otherwise none

Neurological Conditions — recovering drug addict

Allergies —  Lactose Intolerant

Grooming Habits — he sorta brushes his hair and goes. He’s not super focused. He does shave.

Sleeping Habits — sleeps pretty good, 

Eating Habits — eats most things except for things with lactose in it

Exercise Habits —  pretty regular. Skateboarding around town or swimming laps when he can

Emotional Stability — he’s usually got pretty chill vibes

Body Temperature — normal

Sociability — Very Social

Addictions — Drugs, but he is freshly sober

Drug Use — none anymore, used to be mostly weed but he did try some more intense stuff like Feys

Alcohol Use — somewhat, mostly at parties

Your Character’s Character: 

Bad Habits — acting without thinking

Good Habits — giving people the benefit of the doubt

Best Characteristic — Friendly

Worst Characteristic — Stupid tbh

Worst Memory — Getting dumped by his ex, followed by nearly dying from drug abuse and going to rehab

Best Memory — getting accepted to uni!

Proud of — his sport skills

Embarrassed by — his sister sometimes, and his intelligence sometimes

Driving Style — he doesn’t drive

Strong Points — He’s funny and cheerful and tends to stay pretty even keeled

Temperament — Cheerful

Attitude — Positive

Weakness — Acts before thinking and tends to get in trouble that way

Fears — he might relapse and get in trouble again

Phobias — afraid of being alone probably

Secrets — he still kind of wishes he and Pip could be together again

Regrets — getting so lost in his substance abuse

Feels Vulnerable When — someone points out something he said is dumb

Pet Peeves — when someone harshes the vibes for no reason

Conflicts — apparently one with Milo. He doesn’t really know what’s up

Motivation — to learn something new and make more friends in town

Short Term Goals and Hopes — to pass some classes and reconnect with friends

Long Term Goals and Hopes — to figure out what he wants to do with his life

Sexuality — honestly think he’s into anyone if they have the right vibe. pansexual?

Exercise Routine  — does yoga in the mornings

Day or Night Person —  both

Introvert or Extrovert — extrovert

Optimist or Pessimist — optimist

Greatest Want — to fix things with Pip

Greatest Need — to get his shit together

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

some "izaya has raynaud's phenominon" headcanons (+ bonus shizaya)

(for people who dont know: that's when decreased bloodflow to extremeties makes them constantly cold and sometimes discolored)

izaya never thought much about his hands being cold all the time, and never knew there was a name for it. shinra was probably the one who noticed it and told him

raynaud's a) causes the tips of fingers to discolor during a flare and b) gets worse during stress, so izaya's fingertips changing color is a "tell" for if hes stressed. he circumvents this in a multitude of ways, including keeping his hands in his pockets, staying a distance away from people so they dont get a good look at his fingers, and gesticulating a lot so his hands are too fast to get a good look at

yes his rings are cold on his fingers. you gotta sacrifice for the drip sometimes! it gets annoying during bad flare ups, as the cold makes them difficult to take off

in addition to raynaud's, izaya generally runs cold in general, hence the coat

he should (and wants to) have hand warmer heat pack thingies in his coat pockets, but is worried that theyll either make finding things he needs in there in a split second cumbersome, or if theyll fall out and someone questions why hes got that in the summer

(yes, izaya is so emotionally constipated that having fucking raynaud's is, to him, a weakness)

sometimes it gets so bad that it's hard for him to type- his fingers get locked in place and they're not as dexterous

he's constantly worried about this happening during a fight or some other situation where he NEEDS... y'know... nimble, functional hands

he wears fuzzy socks and mittens to bed, especially in the colder months

(mittens, not gloves, because gloves isolate his fingers so they'll NEVER warm up)

he uses warmers in his shoes in the colder months, too

NOW, BONUS SHIZAYA:

izaya LOOOOVES to shove his fingers into shizuo's neck and jam his toes into his leg in bed, just to see him squirm

it also doesnt help that shizuo is very warm and it helps him warm himself up

izaya also likes to sleep with his face buried in the crook of shizuo's neck, because his nose is also affected

raynaud's discoloration is sometimes blue, and shizuo didn't know izaya had raynaud's when they first got together, so he was understandably pretty freaked out when he first saw izaya having a flareup looking like he had frostbite and/or all his fingers were broken

(insert "what the hell is wrong with you?? why are you BLUE" meme here)

remember that typing thing from earlier? shizuo picks up on it and begins sliently bringing izaya hot tea when he notices. neither has commented on it- shizuo especially, because he knows izaya doesnt like to "feel pitied," even if shizuo thinks its stupid that izaya sees "i care about you and do not want you to be in pain" as pity

he also likes to call izaya a frostbitten flea now

eventually, izaya lets shizuo hold his hands and blow on them to warm them up instead of just giving him tea (dont get me wrong, shizuo still does that too, its just that this is more... intimate)

when he does this, shizuo kisses every one of izaya's fingers, no matter how cold it makes his lips