#dunno if that was intentional but it eats regardless

[pullhisteeth]

Hi, lovely! Just wanted to drop by and say that I miss you and your amazing writing 🥹🧡 I understand if you're taking a break or stepping away from the app, but if you're up for it, I was wondering if I could drop in a request? No pressure at all! I REALLY love the way you write fluffy and angsty fics so I was wondering if you could write about a besties-to-lovers with Eddie where he asks the reader for help with asking a different girl out, without knowing about reader's feelings for him...and then along the way he realizes his feelings for the reader hehe and maybe a lil sprinkle of jealous!Eddie too 😎 Ily and I hope you're doing okay! 🩷🩷🩷

hi my love! this is the sweetest message thank you - not taking an intentional break, just busy as anything. work’s been my whole life the past couple weeks (today is actually my first day off in like a month) and what with that and trying to eat/sleep/speak to other human beings I am …… deceased

it’s so kind of you to say hello! I loved writing your request, it was a nice break for my brain and it felt good to get back into it. ♡ love you!

contains hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. tried to get some jealous!eddie in there for you :-)

3.4k

-

Eddie looks pretty like this.

He’s sitting at your desk in the library. You’re not sure why he’s here, though that wasn’t your first thought when you spotted him on your way over. He’s hunched over slightly, unruly hair keeping his face hidden, but it’s catching the light of the afternoon sun just right and it’s glowing a blushing golden and the flutters in your gut are relentless.

“Hey,” you murmur, wary of both startling him, and the strict Hawkins Library warden who likes to shush people like it’s a sport. Regardless he starts, shoulders jumping and face whipping up and around to look at you with wide, surprised eyes that soften when he realises who you are.

“Hi, sugar,” he says, voice ebbing as he notices how loud he’s being. He looks around quickly, just in case he’s about to get scolded, before looking back up at you and beaming. It doesn’t fool you, though; his presence here coupled with the sheen of anxiety behind his eyes gives him away.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, setting your backpack down on the table and taking the seat opposite him.

He begins fiddling with his ring again and diverts his eye. He’s nervous and you want to know how to fix it more than you wish to let on.

You hum an encouraging noise when he says nothing, sliding textbooks out of your bag along with your pens.

“I, uh… I need your help,” he says warily.

“Oh? With what?”

“I want to, uh… I wanna ask Tara out,” he says, and the words come out in one quick breath, his eyes still on his hands. “But I dunno how.”

You’re quiet, busy hands halting with a book halfway open. You look at him, mouth agape, for a second too long - he looks up after a beat and catches you before you have the sense to close it.

“Please?” he begs, those eyes like a puppy dog, wide and brown and far too lovable. “I’d take her to the Hawk but she’s- Man, she’s way too cool, it’s intimidating, and I really wanna impress her, you know? And I think the Hawk’ll be too busy on Friday ‘cause I know that new movie’s out that all the kids wanna see, so what if-”

“Okay,” you say. You’re sharp, voice like a whip, cutting him off before he derails.

He looks at you blankly for a second before saying, “Really? Shit, thank you.”

You look down at the books in front of you, eyes on the printed pages but taking nothing in. “Take her to the Garage,” you tell him quietly.

“What?”

“The Garage,” you repeat, closing the textbook and piling it on top of the others to return them to your bag. “It’s on the east side, on the road out.”

“Yeah, I know where the Garage is, but- Wait, are you headin’ out already? You just got here.”

“Don’t feel like studying,” you say flatly. “The Garage is cool. Rob took me there once. Tara’d love it.”

“Hey, hey-” His restless hands reach over to grip your wrist, to stop you moving, but you’re slippery and quick and far too determined on leaving. “You don’t have to leave, I’ll leave you alone. Your exam’s next week, I don’t wanna-”

“It’s fine, Eddie, I’ll study tomorrow.”

“But-”

“See you around,” you say quickly, tugging on the zipper on your bag and standing so fast it makes your head spin. You can hear him protesting behind you but it’s no use - the only place you want to be right now is home.

-

Eddie doesn’t call that evening. He doesn’t call the next day either, or the two following that. You float between your bed, the fridge and various shifts at work without so much as daring to call him yourself, though you lie awake at night and worry you’ve done something terrible, something earth-shatteringly cruel by leaving him like you did. Something so bad that twelve years of friendship is lost forever.

“Maybe it’s better like this,” you tell Nancy over the phone. It’s Thursday night, four days until your exam, and you haven’t spoken to Eddie since Sunday. “I was gonna spend forever like that. Maybe now I can move on or somethin’.”

“We both know you’re not going to move on,” she tells you. You groan, turning over onto your back to stare at your bedroom ceiling. Your bed is like a rotten pit, unmade for nearly a week and the past five days’ dirty (and clean) laundry is littered all over the top of the comforter. “And you shouldn’t. You’d just be hiding from your feelings.”

“I hate you,” you tell her, though the way your voice comes out through your smile deceives you. “You always sound so wise, how is that?”

“I am wise,” she says, smiling too. “And I’m wise enough to know that Eddie feels the same, even if he doesn’t realise it yet. Apparently I’ve got the brains for both of us, ‘cause he’s a bit dumb like that sometimes.”

“I wish he wasn’t,” you whine, “I can’t get the image of him and Tara outta my head.”

“I can go, if you want,” she says.

“Huh?”

“I can take Rob to the Garage on Friday, keep an eye on stuff.”

“Shit, would you?”

“Yeah, why not? What’re you doing that night anyway?”

“Dunno,” you say, morose, “Probably heading to the library again.”

“Okay,” she says sympathetically. “You’re gonna smash this exam, you know that, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you grumble.”

“Well I know you will. And then Indiana State’ll have the best biologist known to man on their campus.”

“Funny,” you say.

“I’m wise and funny? You’re kind tonight.”

“I’m gonna go, Nance.”

“Okay,” she says, laughing. “I’ll call on Saturday, okay? And please eat some dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply, hanging up. You balance the receiver back on its stand and roll back over, willing the tears back when you feel them roll down your temples.

-

Friday nights are your favourite nights at the library.

Who else spends the one designated social evening of the week in a room designed for quiet? You, apparently, alongside two old ladies knitting in the comfy corner, and a kid who looks like he might be home from college for the holidays. You’re settled at your usual desk with textbooks and papers scattered everywhere - the tabletop, the chair next to you, the floor. You’ve been here for hours, pouring over all of your work, oblivious to most of the minimal movement and chatter happening in the room.

You’ve got a tape in your Walkman - classical, one your dad found at the record store downtown - so you feel Eddie before you see him. He startles you, his wide hand on your shoulder, and you jump, pulling your headphones down.

“Fucking hell,” you breathe, your heart beating a mile a minute. You twist in your seat and put your pen down, looking up at him. You couldn't worry about the warden if you tried, far too enamoured by him despite everything. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He’s hovering over you, his hair a mess and cheeks flushed pink. You notice he has his nice shirt on - a deep blue, so dark it’s almost black - and his lips are rosy.

“Tara needed the bathroom on the way home, this was the closest place. How’s it going?”

There’s a lilt to his voice that churns your stomach. It’s the one he gets at parties, or that night just before your birthday when the two of you drank wine in his living room and didn’t sleep until six in the morning.

He’s been drinking and, judging by the smell lingering on his clothes, smoking, too, and his smile and the pink blooming over his cheeks only makes the churning worse.

“Fine,” you tell him. “Was in the zone, sorry.”

“No,” he breathes, finally backing away. You fill your lungs and watch him as he rounds the table. His eyes keep moving from you to the door across the room, presumably watching for her. “I interrupted you, ‘m’sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Gotta run,” he says, face brightening in a way that makes you want to vomit. You turn back around and see Tara in the doorway, waving, beaming. “Don’t work too hard, please? Get some sleep. And eat something- Have you eaten at all today?”

He’s standing a foot or two from the table now, but he stops as he asks you this.

“Uh,” you look down at your watch. 12:07am. “I had lunch.”

“Shit, you need’ta eat something. Please.”

“Okay, Eds. I’ll have some toast when I get home. Have a nice night.”

“You’ve got this,” he says, and it’s here that the silly smile on his face falters. He still hasn’t moved, and you can see Tara looking over, watching. He’s looking at you and something breaks - his smile drops completely and his eyes go all sad and weird.

“What?” you ask, unamused.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing. Get some sleep okay? See you later.”

He turns and walks across to the exit, and you watch him leave. He’s slow and slumped, like someone’s just delivered bad news.

You head out fifteen minutes later, and chew unhappily on three slices of toast before you get to bed.

-

Studying until late is never a good idea.

You’re hopping around your bedroom, pulling stockings up your legs and praying to anything holy that the traffic on your way into work isn’t too bad.

“I know this isn’t really what you wanted to hear,” Nancy’s saying sadly. You’ve got the receiver propped between your cheek and your shoulder as you stumble around and stretch the cord within an inch of its life. “They just… It really did look like they were having fun.”

“He came to see me at the library,” you tell her breathlessly, desperate to think of anything but Eddie and Tara playing pool and laughing like lovedrunk teenagers

“What? When? Last night?”

“Yeah, said she needed a piss on the way home.” You stop hopping, both stockings finally in place, and take the phone in your hand. “He was really weird, actually.”

“Weird how?”

“I dunno. He seemed happy, but then he got all sad.”

“Did you tell him off?” she asks, faux-stern.

“No,” you tell her, “just told him I’d have dinner, and to have a good night.”

She hums, and you look at the clock.

“Shit, Nance, I’m sorry, I really gotta go, I’m gonna be so late-”

“No, no, you go, I’ll see you soon. And good luck on Monday, yeah? I know you’ll ace it.” -

Your body takes you to the library like it’s on auto-pilot or something. You finished the entrance exam three hours ago, and though it seemed to go okay, you daren’t be too optimistic. You’d hovered around town for a while, eating ice cream and watching birds, before your feet walked you right here: your desk on the first floor of Hawkins Library.

It’s here that you’ve been sitting for an hour or so, flicking through novels but finding no interest in the words on the page. Your brain is melted from a near-fatal combination overworking and overthinking, and without an exam to worry about, the latter is now the one clocking overtime.

You can’t get the picture of Eddie’s face out of your head. His eyes had been so sad, his face drooping like the dawning of some cruel realisation. The way he’d walked out of the room had matched it, sorrowful and curled over.

Worst of all, he hasn’t called.

There’s only two reasons you can think of. Firstly, he’s busy calling Tara instead of you. He’s telling her about his day, spinning new inside jokes and letting her hear his pretty laugh.

Or second: he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re too cold, flat, uninteresting. Tara is cool.

There is a third possibility that you daren’t think about for the sake of your own heart: that both are true.

You slam the hardback in your hands shut and place it roughly on the table.

“Woah, was it that bad?”

You look up and find Eddie standing across from you, precisely where he’d been that moment something had changed on Friday. He’s far less put together now, dressed in his usual bedraggled jacket and jeans.

He laughs as you stare at him. After a minute, he takes the seat opposite and pulls the book towards himself.

“Weird choice for you, sugar.”

“Quiet,” you tell him in a whisper, nodding to your right where the warden is circling.

“Sorry,” he whispers back with a smile. “What’re you still doing here? Wasn’t the exam this morning?”

“I like it here,” you tell him. A half-truth - you do, but you’d really rather be anywhere else right now.

“Right,” he says, clearly not buying it. “And how’d it go?”

You shrug. “Okay, I think. I hope.”

“You’re the smartest person I know. You’ll do great.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” you say, looking out of the window to your left.

“What? That you’re smart?”

“That I’ll ace it. I have no idea.”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “But you’ve definitely got a better idea than me.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, turning back to look at him.

“I just… You’ve got more brains than me, that’s all.”

He’s fiddling with his rings again, eyes trained on the tentative movements of his fingers rather than you. It gives you a chance to take in his face properly: tired, sallow, unhappy.

“How was Friday?” you chance. He shrugs. “Just okay?”

“Fine, yeah,” he says, voice flat and unfeeling. “Had fun, ‘til we came here.”

Your instinct is to be offended. You didn’t say anything cruel or unwarranted; in fact you barely said a thing at all. How could you have ruined the evening?

“What?”

“Tara, she, uh… She said bye when we left. I was walkin’ her home, only stopped here for the can, I mean- You know we’re miles from the park, took me forever to get back to mine. Thought, y’know…” You hum so he doesn’t have to utter the inevitable and break your heart.

“What happened?” you ask softly, hands on the table in front of you like an offering.

He looks troubled, truly, and it hurts - you may have gone a week without contact, the longest since he went on a fishing trip with Wayne when you were both 18, but he’s your best friend, and his pain is your pain.

He closes his eyes tight and sucks in a breath.

“When we left, she said… She told me I need to ‘really think about things’, which made no sense to me at the time, I guess ‘cause I was, like, 4 whiskey sours in and we’d smoked on the way over, and then she used the payphone outside to call a cab so I waited with her and walked home, and the next morning I realised what she meant.”

You look at him with nothing to say. He takes another deep breath.

“She probably saw me over here with you, y’know, and I’m sure to other people we seem pretty… Comfortable. And then you said you hadn’t eaten, and you looked so tired, I- All I wanted to do was take you home and make you dinner. And then the next morning, and, like, all weekend, all I could think was that one day some other guy’d be doin’ that for you, some college guy or somethin’, and I’d have to watch, ‘cause you’re my friend.”

“Eddie, I don’t understand.”

You’re genuinely bewildered. He’s still whispering, or at least talking in a low voice, and at multiple points during the past five minutes you thought you’d completely misheard him. It’s definitely your Eddie sitting opposite you - he has a tendency to be a little dramatic, and this is certainly that - but he’s never been so brashly honest like this with you before.

“I had fun with Tara, really, but… I realised I’d spent all night thinking about how much better it’d have been if you’d been there.”

You can feel the flush like fire up your neck and across your cheeks. Your palms are clammy so you pull them inwards, back towards yourself, to save yourself the embarrassment.

“I think I need to get some air,” you say, standing and leaving without waiting for him.

You hear him behind you as you descend the stairs and push the clunky glass door open. You’re met with a wall of cold air and you breathe a heaving sigh as you stand in its frost.

The door opens again only a few seconds later, and you turn to face your friend.

“Eddie,” you begin, “I need to know that you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me.”

“You left your coat,” is all he says, handing you the jacket. You don’t move, too stunned, so he steps behind you and you let him manipulate your arms into the sleeves like a sullen child.

“Eddie,” you bite, impatient and frustrated.

“Yeah,” he breathes behind you. When the coat’s on, he squeezes your shoulders, and you round on him.

“Please just tell me what the fuck is going-”

“I think I love you,” he says, louder than you. It’s a declaration, said without hesitation or subtlety. It’s so confidently loud that a couple of people leaving the library turn to look.

“It shouldn’t have taken me taking someone else out to realise it, but fuck, once I did I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess ‘cause we see each other all the time I never really questioned why I think about you so often, or whatever, but… I wanted to take you home and make you dinner on Friday, make sure you got some sleep, fuckin’ look after you. Made me feel dumb as hell because you’re not a kid or anythin’, but I just want you to be okay.”

You’re not sure when you started crying. Maybe it was as early as the declaration itself, but you know that by the time he told you he wants to take care of you, tears were rolling over your cheeks, unstoppable and filled with elation.

“Shit,” Eddie whispers, stepping toward you without thinking, reaching out to hold you somehow. He settles for a hand on your upper arm, almost at your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m sorry, please don’t cry, I-”

“It’s fine, I’m okay, I’m, uh- I’m happy,” you say, giggling, your tears making it wetter, thicker. “They’re happy tears.”

“Oh, good,” he breathes, shoulders sloping. You spot the beginning of a grin through cloudy vision. “Thank god.”

While you wipe your face with the sleeve of your jumper, Eddie’s hand moves from your shoulder and to your neck. You feel the heavy weight of him pressing there, not threatening but a comfort. It forces you closer, until you’re both looking at each other and laughing.

“The exam went really well,” you tell him. “Honest.”

“I knew it would,” he says, curling a finger behind your ear to move a piece of hair from your face. “You’re gonna kill it at college.”

“I’ll miss you. And everyone else.”

“We’re not going anywhere any time soon,” he says softly, fingers dancing until he’s cradling your face. His other hand is stuffed in his pocket, and you’re close enough that you can reach in and grasp it, pulling it out so you can wind your fingers between his. He looks down and smiles.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. It’s almost a whisper and you almost miss it - almost. “For the exam, I mean. You did well, y’deserve a kiss.”

“Sure,” you say, laughing again. “For the exam, yeah.”

He chuckles before dipping his head just enough. You lift up to meet him halfway and he presses his lips to yours, firm but quick.

“Again,” you breathe, and he doesn’t ask questions. He bows again and kisses you, his force solid and homely. You kiss him back, breathless and keening.He’s warm and you want to take, take, take. You only stop when the door opens behind you again, creaking and followed by quick footsteps as someone else leaves.

Eddie kisses your nose and says, “Shit, you’re cold.”

“Can we go home?”

“No,” he says, and before you can finish protesting, he adds, “We have to celebrate. You’re done with studying! Let’s go get milkshakes or something.”

You wrinkle your nose, determined that you won’t be going to the diner you work in. “How about pizza?”

“Whatever you want, smartie pants.”

You physically bristle at the petname, cheeks flushing again despite the chill. Eddie’s arm settles around your shoulders and squeezes as he kisses your temple.

You stop walking once you reach the end of the block. He stops with you and turns to look at you without dropping your hand.

"I think I love you too, by the way," you tell him. "I didn't say- Back there, I should've said it. I- Well, I know I love you."

He smiles - beams - at your return of his declaration. He squeezes your hand in his and tugs.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Let's go."

-

[lesbioniccommando]

I dunno! I had a funny/bad feeling about the new life is strange pretty much from the jump. A new adventure starring Max about a decade later … and she has a new power, and finds herself in basically the same scenario as the first game. Someone close to her is murdered and she’s gotta get to the bottom of it. And now, thanks to previews from journalists, we are privy to what deck nine was afraid to mention in any of their trailers or tweets but was pretty obvious to anybody with a brain paying attention - Chloe is not involved. At least not in a major capacity. By the sound of it, the choice (to honor your decisions from the first season, of course!) is that Chloe either died or, following the destruction of Arcadia Bay, grew apart from Max and broke up with her, allowing her a blank slate for this new game to paint upon. New love interests, even. A new mystery, a new school, a new town. Isn’t that what you want from this series?!?!?!

DONTNOD is no friend of mine. If you followed me way back when, you probably remember plenty of posts and poorly put together rants and such about how they were my biggest enemy. Regardless, the team at DONTNOD - writers, artists, voice actors - created Life is Strange. They created these characters. And then, facing success, they decided to not create another game starring Max but instead chose to treat the series as an anthology - LIS 2 would follow two brothers in a road trip across America with little references to the first game, but it was largely its own thing. Max and Chloe’s story was done. Whatever the end, it was yours, and it was yours to decide whatever happened afterwards.

DONTNOD was no longer with their publisher Square Enix after this game, for one reason or another. The LIS brand stayed with Square, offloaded to a new developer, Deck Nine. It’s surprising how many people still don’t know this, but I’d say that’s probably intentional on Square’s part! So they release Before the Storm, a prequel with a different voice for Chloe (consequence of a VA strike) and a bit of a rushed ending. But it’s fine, largely. I found some of it pretty effective at the time and there was plenty I didn’t like, either. But it was fine. For whatever reason, it felt fine to have this other team play with these characters, because ultimately it wasn’t more than a fun little diversion.

True Colors. LIS 3. New town, new protagonist, new power - more closely following the structure of the original. I liked it well enough, though again.. bit of a rushed end. If this was the way the series was gonna continue, I didn’t mind much - DONTNOD was still out there releasing their own games, to mixed or muted positivity, but they’re all out there making their art. Did this game underperform? I dunno. Maybe to Square it did, because their next title..

Double Exposure. ‘Back to our roots’ with Max and all those other tired buzzwords. I can’t help but feel cynical towards it on a base level. Here are the new stewards of the series going back to formula, cracking the glass to get the fire ax, digging up the past for that sweet sweet brand recognition. Did you like Max? She’s back!! Is this how it should’ve gone down? Is this what the original artists and writers and such would’ve wanted? Who knows. The brand must continue.

And look.. maybe I’ll eat these words. Maybe the game will actually be quite good, touching, effective. Maybe Chloe and Max get back together and Santa comes down to give me a present and I wake up with a million dollars in my bank account. But it’s pretty rich to have these new developers, these beneficiaries of a hostile takeover and IP law and corporate nonsense, try and get us - the FANS - to buy their new shiny game while going “yeah, this is the ending to your old story. Deal with it. Try our new one!” .. I dunno. I feel childish for writing this out, for feeling this hurt, but I’m sure I can’t be the only one. Of all the romance stories in gaming, let alone all the gay ones, we can’t get one? This one - oh, but I’m sure it’s so BRAVE and TRUTHFUL and HEARTWRENCHING and PLEASE REVIEW OUR GAME WELL - I’m sure it just has to be this way. It’s whatever man!!!

Bae > bay > deck nine

[overturetoanadventure]

Feeling very restless and some of that has transformed into feeling very sad. Someone please give me a lobotomy.

In other news, I added more shelving in half the closets in the house bc we have accumulated a lot of clothes. Mom’s closet was a challenge and I made three trips to Home Depot and fixed different mistakes after each trip but ultimately it’s been a failure thus far.

As for my own closet, I added more shelving that I can place folded sweaters and sweatshirts on top of and purposefully hung them higher than previous shelving as to better accommodate for the length of my longer dresses and skirts. I’m excited to reorganize later next week :-)

I’m supposed to pick up Fatima otw to going to see Meg today and we’re spending the night with her and hopefully eating really yummy food and going to the botanical garden, zoo and museum and I wanna fit a hike in there too. I do have to be back by 4:30 on Sunday though bc we shifted our dnd campaign to Sunday evenings instead.

I’m excited to spend time with Meg and Fatima but that means I’ll have to leave mom’s closet unfinished til I can focus on it likely on Monday again. Realistically it’s not possible any other way unless I cancel plans which I won’t be doing but leaving it suspended makes me feel disappointed and antsy too.

Wanted to reach out to him but he had something occur last weekend and relayed that he was feeling emotionally withdrawn. Plus I think I might have hurt his feelings with carelessly uttered words; regardless of it not having been my intent, I feel sorry to have done so and wish I knew how to make it better. But yeah feel like I’ve been sending messages through the week and not getting a lot back so am going to wait for him to reach out instead. Dunno if that’s the right response, but I also don’t wanna be a bother.

I’m hungry and want something warm and spicy and soupy and filling. Hopefully there’s some tasty kimchi jiggae near megs place. My fav place in prev living space/city was this mom n pop joint but they had to scale back immensely bc business was not going well and inflation is hitting small business owners just as well (say this from experience with my parents and some family friends) and yeah so I don’t think they make it anymore.

The parents just got back home and I had kinda left a mess in their room while trying to renovate the closet; I put some clothes back on so that I could clean up that mess I made (I really don’t like sleeping in a messy space that I am responsible for) and mom is in a cranky mood and brought up me completing my masters degree and I told her I don’t want to and haha wow does she know how to sharpen her words so they slice real easily. Cool cool cool cool cool :-) I’m gonna try to go to bed now.

Hope you have a good night/day :-)

[castshed]

I dunno if it's just the mental state talking or if maybe there's some truth behind what i've been thinking about since I got off work this morning....

But it truly feels like my time on this site might be more limited than I'd like it to be. Sure, there are some people that still seem like at least somewhat interested to entertain the thought or action of writing with me, but... the majority seeningly don't. Maybe it's my rules? Am I not lenient enough? Am I too weird 'cause of a simple lousy (kind of) fetish I have for taller women? I honestly don't get it.

I've been on this site consecutively for.... I have no idea how many years now. And sure, I've taken my breaks, some rather abruptly and unannounced, but they count... This feels different.

I usually have cycles where I want to do nothing but watch YouTube videos or tons of movies or start series' i've never gotten a chance to get to, or do nothing but play video games. But in the end I would always come back to writing.

Recently, I haven't wanted to do the latter. It just seems so... grueling, like a 9-5 job you don't wanna do but need to because it appeases some sort of agenda or just 'cause you have to pay bills on time and eat.

And trust me, I'm one of those people that doesn't see this site as a job, nor do I feel like writing is a chore. USUALLY.

But the lack of people's interest in things (idk if it's my muses-- me as a person) or the lack of reciprocation to things that take all but a few seconds to lift someone's spirits... has just really turned me off. (Not to mention broken notifications, the new dashboard - y'know all of Staff's TERRIBLE choices)

People also have jobs, I get it. Or school... kids, a life. This is truly something you do in your down time because you enjoy it and may have found the time to actually sit down and relax for once without the overbearing weight of other responsibilities holding you down - I just.. I honestly don't know anymore.

Now normally I wouldn't try and sound so much like a beggar or some kind of attention-seeking child, but is it so hard to send positivity in return sometimes? - Like I get that I may not be active 90% of the time lately, but at least I make the time and put in the effort to show that I care and still enjoy seeing actual people on my dash. - I always send it in and hardly get it back. And sure, maybe within the answer to my initial interaction there's something said. But that's more of a response than an actual attempted effort. At least, to me it is.

I also understand that I haven't been the best at replying to sent in memes, or asks in general, but that's because my muse has been at an all-time-low for ALL of my muses, save for like... ONE of my OCs (Sophie; though even now, I'll admit, she's kinda gone too.), and I get sick of staring at them, irritated that I can't muster up a SINGLE word to reply to any of them with... so eventually I delete them and hope to TRY from an empty slate.

I guess I just miss having that person or small group of people that I could count on all the time for things, regardless of our moods, what time of day it was, what we were doing -- etc. I've only ever been affiliated once, and... it probably wasn't the best choice. But the intentions at the time were nothing but good, and it wasn't heavily enforced, save for MAYBE a single ship, or two. Not having that security anymore just shakes things up too much and I guess it's one change that I could never get used to.

Regardless, the thoughts of this morning have me leaning toward either some kind of indefinite hiatus, or a massive reboot to start anew and maybe find a new place to settle. Those of you that want me around can keep me on discord and continue to chat with me there. But if not, and IF I do decide to go that route, I bid thee farewell and I hope for nothing but good luck in your future endeavors.

[moviesatmidnight212]

Missed Connections Review- Pros and Cons

SPOILERS!!!!!!

Way more pros in this one than the last two.

Megapro- everything that was Tarantulas. His design is just spectacular. Oof. We got to eat all that? Thanks Nick!

Pro/Con- his voice. I DO like sexy British voice. But can you imagine if it was the OG Beast Wars VA?? Shit would have been golden! Legendary!

He was the OG voice in my head when I was reading the IDW comics. Now? I dunno… kinda puts a whole new spin to his lines with Prowl ifyaknowwhatImean teeehehehehe. Much more sensual. But I’m trash, so ignore me.

Pro- Everything Nightshade. Their new form is siiiiick. Their character was kinda eerking me at first, but since they finally got some solid screen time they turned out to be a PreceptorXMirage love child? I’m here for it. Solid episode story line that paid off in the end nicely.

Pro- altmodes are Transformer’s birthrights. I liked how that was explained (with the sexy soothing voice to boot).

Con- I guess you can just scan anything and let be your alt mode? So Thresh really could have been a squirrel in the first episode then, huh? Nitpick but makes it seem Hashtag didn’t have to go to the parking lot to find a vehicle mode if Nightshade can just scan a stone statue and make that work for them.

And either pro or con but it’s funny to compare the BW vs IDW vs ES tarantulas. We get a kinda Nobel-good-intentions-but-road-paved-with-blood ex-Con that hates the war and doesn’t want to be part of it when it in inevitably starts up again vs hehehhehehehheh crazy lunatic scientist (which I still love regardless). Very strange character to do a personality make over with BUT I really approve.

Uuuuugh this vacation needs to be over already!! I need to get back to my tablet!!!

Wheeljack Vs Tarantulas beat down when!?

[theevilthatismokke]

@rapidfur

One thing i liked here was mitsuba seeming to possibly admit hes eaten people? And if not, he is showing at least the slightest sign of being a threat to humans--AKA, Teru's minimum requirement to killing a supernatural. I love how relevant that is here!! Kou's already being forced to contend with his brother's ideals, and he clearly can't accept them. Now if he can only KEEP THIS MOMENTUM GOING maybe he can finally be interesting. :D

I LOVED Mitsuba admitting that!! SO MUCH!! Kou’s always brushed him off as a harmless light ghost, but now that Mistuba’s shown signs of being dangerous… Mitsuba, who Kou can’t let go off, even when he can’t decide whether he sees him as the “real Mitsuba” or not…!

So, yeah, Kou’s gonna have to reflect, to act, to finally do something of substance…!

I… to be fair, I don’t exactly think Kou’s… not interesting. There are some things there that make me curious/hopeful, like the fact that he finds Nene’s screams cute, how horrified and in denial he generally is about the notion that he can be (and is) selfish, his hypocrisy…

He is, however, ridiculously stagnant when compared to most of the other characters and that can get frustrating after a while, considering the amount of screen time he gets as a main character. But I do get that’s also… probably intentional.

That said, I’ll (probably) always think of him as the least charming/interesting/fun character/love interest. He’s pretty annoying… so unattractive, compared to all the other male love interests/characters lol

Also yess weirdly wholesome Tsukasa <3 I saw some people saying Tsukasa was mean or up to something this chapter and tbh maybe??? But a lot of his exchange with Mitsuba came off as... I dunno... nice! A little brutally honest, but that's just how he is. He says it like it is! Mitsuba DID want that snack. Such a great opening scene... it almost stole the show.

...what? Tsukasa was mean? Tsukasa?? was MEAN??

oH!! So, KOU can be an aggressive, violent asshole, but when TSUKASA-

…I guess I can understand people thinking he’s up to something. Everything he does is probably for the sake of either getting to play with Amane or a small step in his grandiose plan to help his brother get laid make Amane happy.

Though I would argue that even with his ulterior motives, Tsukasa’s feelings of curiosity over people’s hearts, emotions and desires, and his joy when people embrace said desires or go through some sort of self-discovery/breakthrough when it comes to understanding themselves… re-reading now, it feels very genuine, a mixture between Tsukasa's child-like curiosity and the Red House Entity's existence rooted in granting wishes.

...But regardless of sincerity and intent of the above, this...

Has Tsukasa treating Mitsuba much softer than he usually does- heck, even softer than Kou treated Mitsuba this chapter (...and, how he treats him in general, if I'm honest). He brings Mitsuba what he needs to eat, points out where the heart is, but doesn't force it on him; he’s quite patient too.

There's something... so sudued about this scene, Tsukasa really cradles Mitsuba's head very delicately... with such a serene, but serious expression... but it’s not meant to… shame Mitsuba, or anything like that. It sorta feels like… ‘I’m not hungry’ ‘you look hungry’, kind of exchange, or even, ‘I’m not happy’, ‘you’re smiling tho’. It really feels as if it’s only meant to be an honest observation.

Sure, it sounds crude when he points it out like that, but, like you said, Tsukasa is brutally honest. Whether that's good or not for Mitsuba's mental state, who knows...

But, yeah, Tsukasa's being oddly wholesome here, the strangest nice boy in the whole series lol.

Actually, I'd argue that's on purpose, a direct contrast to Kou's behavior this chapter.

See, this chapter made it quite clear what I've thought for a while, that Kou's is deeply jealous of Tsukasa- of his relationship with Mitsuba, specifically!! He... almost subconsciously regards Tsukasa as if he were a love rival lol; 'why are you always going to him', 'why do you rely/trust him more than me', and such. He was like this in the PP arc too.

So Tsukasa being comparativately soft and nice, the one who gets to be relied on, by Mistuba, is not only fuel to Kou's insecurities and jealousy , but also almost a confirmation that Kou's perspective on the Tsukasa + Mitsuba dynamic (which he sees as stupid, helpless Mitsuba being tricked/abused/forced into doing anything by evil, heartless Tsukasa) is heavily biased by Kou's own issues (again, mainly his jealousy and inferiority complex).

Of course, Mitsuba makes decisions again and again when it comes to his relationship with Tsukasa, who himself, does seem to make an effort to be a friend. in his own way.

TLDR: Kou is just throwing a jealous tamtrum for most of the chapter, lol

also, unpopular opinion: kou only gets away with this kind of shit in the fandom bc mitsuba's a boy

[rametarin]

I don’t think it’s fair to call it a western anglosphere thing, but I will say it is a problem in the western anglosphere. And it’s because Hard Leftists have some very shitty ideas on how social relations work.

They genuinely believe that the only reason other people believe anything pro or con, is because they’ve been tricked and cultivated and groomed into believing it through repetition and being forced to interact that way. Therefore, they reason, if they can force you into a social situation where you have to bark in agreement, tow the party line and conform, and make you do it a thousand times, that they’ve figured out the system and method to own you and your thoughts and how you vote, heart and soul. Like hacking a videogame.

This idea only makes sense if you’re a complete and utter sociopath that sees other people as data in a videogame with a Pick Up Artist level of solipsism that says you’re a radiant and exalted individual with charisma and anime protagonist energy, while everybody else is an extra to the brilliant peoples’ show. Everybody else knows that just because you socially abuse people by championing a subject and telling them those that don’t champion that exact same subject can’t be part of your fandom or group and are in fact your enemy, so all real fans of [person] will hate the non-believers, for non-belief proves ill intention and wrongness.

These people believe in this way that humans relate so strongly that they, people with ideological beliefs, will manufacture entire celebrities as a carrot on a stick to make them popular and appeal to a large number of others, then polarize people so you either have to eat a plate of shit that is their sociological beliefs, or you aren’t allowed in the social sphere of said celebrity or group. To where celebrities are just there to endear others to them, and through endearing to them (false social connection), have them conform to the expectations of their iconic “friend.” Whether that be towing the line on hardline COVID restrictions and how effective masks are (regardless of what actual science and medicine says on the matter) or the importance of supporting any and all climate change legislation, all action, no matter what it is or how ineffectual it may be, or even inappropriate.

On the microcosm, we had this problem before the internet’s widespread adoption among the working class in the 80s and 90s. People that felt very strongly about topics would flutter into casual conversations about, I dunno, phones, or sitcoms. And then they’d religiously try and steer every conversation to be about gay rights. Specifically to polarize and get the conversation going, no matter how many fucking times they’d had it.

“Fucking stop. We just want to talk about [sitcom] or [nature documentary]. Not get into politics.”

To which they usually respond, “All things are political. :^)” and then go right on trying to make everybody follow their conversation and then follow what they said was right, and antagonize or smear those that weren’t on their side of the issue, and get other people in the assembly to be as ignorant and antagonistic towards them, too. Usually with mean spirited mockery and “jokes” at the “bad peoples” expense.

This particular mentality and the excuses made for it are very prevalent in the west, usually from hard-leftist colleges and universities and those they appeal to. Conservatives may try and emulate this, but it never goes over well. The closest thing the republicans have to this cottage industry of celebrity and outrage would be the inner workings of evangelical churches that shame you for not being religious or Jesus-y enough, and you kind of have to care about Jesus or value the centralized institution of a church for that. So among the right wing, it’s self-limiting and has a ceiling. It is virtually ineffectual outside the religious sphere with their politics, and most of them know better than to act like they can get away with acting that way, in the same way.

Casual jokes about how “awful” abortion rights people are as if you’re already on the same page, or can be made to be on the same page if they just throw out those “jokes” enough, don’t hit the same way, because they don’t really believe and practice the idea other people can be swayed to believe a thing purely by the smarmy smile of the person “just making a joke :^)” about it, or their smile, or attractiveness. To them it’s a tool. To the really really political far-left, that DO believe any average human being can be turned into a Nazi just because of a cartoon frog on 4chan, it’s a way of life.

And so they practice it. On everybody around them. Very loudly. In concert. Making companies, solely to manufacture E-celebrities, or incorporate their pop social messages into their entertainments so you can’t have the entertainments without the hamfistedness of their message and absolutist point of view. The only difference being how well they prepare the ham they hit you with.

I was using twitter exclusively for Sims 4 CC and comparing the likes of say, Icemunmun’s (I’m using her as an example in particular because we are from the same country) twitter feed with that of other famous simmers shows the difference between non-western and western, particularly anglophone, online mindsets.

Most of the anglophone Sims4 CC creators have an annoying tendency to mesh politics with their work, some even more egregiously have twitter feeds with 90% politics and less than 10% of CC. They also seem to LOVE getting involved in drama with other simmers for one reason or the other. Some of them go the extra mile and outright hate their own patrons/fanbase, as though they’re the greatest and should be worshiped.

One in particular straight up lies about the kind of people she excludes from her circle of creators to know about (as in, there’s another criteria we aren’t informed about - creators who disagree with her politically are considered persona non grata even though we are not told this).

I wouldn’t even say this is a western thing because French and other non anglophone simmers tend to mostly focus on their content and are friendly/polite in their interactions. Latin American simmers also don’t talk beyond their content and behave nicely with their patrons.

And to use Icemunmun’s example, other than a tweet about “scientific misinformation” making her mad during the pandemic (which was so vague that anybody could interpret it any way), she hasn’t made a single political statement. Her tweets are relatively wholesome, mostly talking about her daughter and about holiday celebrations, when not talking about her content.

What is it about western anglophone online culture that makes it so vitriolic? Because I see the same phenomenon with fan artists as well and it’s something to think about.

[eunkimmie]

i have always loved you

anonymous: How about about Sal and fem!Y/N raising a baby together? The two were FWBs, but then a slip-up resulted in Y/N becoming pregnant so they ended the sexual relationship and opted to co-parent. Thankfully, they were graduating from uni soon at the time of their slip-up. As the years roll by, Sal and Y/N grow closer and slowly fall in love. They get together after realizing their feelings for each other are genuine and eventually have another baby.

(had to reupload)

warnings: she/her pronouns, pregnancy, FWB, nsfw, non-canonical Sally Face plotline word count: 3.6k Sal was a sentimental guy. He had a lot of feelings swirling around in his heart. Big feelings for a small guy. As true as that was, Sal was never one to see sex as anything sacred or sentimental. He didn't believe in "saving himself" for anyone—it just wasn't something that was for him personally. To him, sex was just something that came to those that experienced sexual attraction. Arousal wasn't a foreign feeling to Sal, he had been a teenager once, too. Sal was attracted to her. This girl—Sal barely even knew her name, god—was just hot to him. His type, for sure. You were Niel's friend and greeted the group with a smile. Sal was twenty-one now. Twenty-one years old, never had a girlfriend, and a virgin. Sal supposed that his teenage years weren't exactly spent pining over girls or having sex. To Sal, virginity wasn't anything more than a social construct. So why was it that he was suddenly so aware of his own virginity as this girl—(Name)—laid below him with her brows furrowed in pleasure. It was dark, pitch-black almost, to the point where you couldn't make out the scarred features on Sal's face. Very much intentional. He was sure he looked like a fool, anyway. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy, lips parted as grunts and breathy moans came from his lips.

Sal's shaky hands came down to grab the sides of your hips, angling his own hips to thrust into you and pull your body back down on his dick. It was hot in every way, Sal felt like his entire body had been set on fire. His hair that had been messily pulled up into a bun was barely tied up anymore, blue strands stringing down from his ears. You screamed as Sal moved his hands up to your back, pulling your entire body up to manage a new position. You rode him as Sal's hips snapped back up in sharp rhythm to meet a steady pace, moaning loudly, shamelessly, as his cock buried deeper inside you with each thrust.

"F—uck. Fuck!" you screamed, arms wrapping around Sal's neck as his teeth bit every so gently down into the curve of your neck. Your nails ran down his back, no doubt leaving scratches behind, which made Sal groan. Maybe he was a bit of a masochist.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck—" Sal pushed you down to lay on your back, pulling out quickly and pumping the tip of his cock hastily before finishing on your stomach. The two of you breathed in quick rhythm, Sal eventually collapsing down on the mattress of his bed. He felt his face burn hot, realizing the rash decision he had made. He hadn't even asked. "S-Sorry," he gasped between breaths. You didn't seem to mind, giving him an honest "it's alright" before wiping your stomach off with a few tissues. You dismissed yourself to go take a shower after putting your clothes back on, the two of you suddenly hyper-aware of Sal's roommates.

Sal pulled his boxers back on as well as his prosthetic and laid out on his bed feeling embarrassed. He hadn't exactly...made you finish. Fuck, you probably thought he was some kind of loser. His first time and he finished in probably five minutes. All Sal could do was groan in mortification and get dressed, shamefully, of course.

He had already settled back into his bed with a video game by the time he heard a knock on his door. You made your way in after his go-ahead, hair wet and chipper.

"Hey," you said plainly. You pointed to a spot on his bed, and after his approval, you sat down comfortably. Sal felt embarrassed all over again. "Um...sorry. About that. I don't really—I mean, I've never—"

Your laugh cut him off. It seemed harmless, and Sal felt his shoulders relax a bit as you waved a dismissive hand. "Hey, don't worry about that. Seriously. I'm not going to judge you over sex." He gulped, staring at you beneath his prosthetic. You seemed awfully understanding, but your reassurance did make him feel better. A beat of silence passed before you spoke up again. "Maybe...we could keep doing that? If you'd want to? Sorry if that sounds intrusive."

"Like..." Sal paused, setting his game down and watching as your body language showed signs of bashfulness. He felt a bit surprised at your own timid nature. Hadn't you realized how bad he was at the sex stuff? Really, he only copied what he had seen in porn. Copied it poorly, that is. "Like some kind of friends with benefits thing? Even though I suck?" That made you laugh, and it was such a beautiful sight to behold. The bed shook as you turned to face him properly, legs crossed on his mattress. "I don't think you suck. Fuck, I sound like some kind of pervert...But, still. You don't have to say yes, of course...I just thought, well. I thought I would at least ask."

Sal would've been an idiot to say no.

The two of you continued like that for a while, probably for longer than you should've as just two friends. You were close friends, friends that fucked every once in a while. It seemed to satisfy the both of you, but you two were by no means careful. Usually, the two of you had sex on a whim—he could recall the riskiest time was when the entire group was out shopping and the two of you got one out in a bathroom. Still, Sal just...never really considered the risks. Besides, the two of you had been doing it for this long, and nothing had happened, so the chances must be low, right?

...One morning you showed up at Sal's little shared house.

"...Hey. Are you the only one home right now?" Sal opened the door to let you in, eyes widening just a bit as he shrugged. Perhaps your relationship had gotten too casual, but he just hadn't ever stopped to even ponder the situation. Sure, he had a little crush on you when Niel introduced you to the group, but that turned into a sexual relationship. Maybe Sal had feelings for you. Maybe they were buried so deeply that Sal never even realized. But he knew that, even outside of your sexual relationship, that he cared for you regardless.

"Yeah. It's a little early, isn't it?" You breezed past him, sitting down at the dining table and sliding a wrapped breakfast sandwich across the table, a gesture for him to sit. He watched as you bit into your own, curious. "Did you just want to talk?" You offered him a smile, one that signaled that you were here not to have sex, but instead to just be a friend.

Sometimes Sal couldn't help but wonder. He'd get lost in his thoughts, listening to ambient music in his room, what would life be like if you two had just stayed friends? Maybe that could've lead to a real relationship. Maybe. And the two of you weren't in a situation where it was awkward, or where they would have to sneak out of the other's room after a night of sex. They could cuddle and wake up next to each other, have some breakfast, and carry on. Sal always felt butterflies when he woke up and you were sleeping next to him. In some ways, he felt wrong for feeling that way. He didn't know what to feel. Perhaps a part of him figured that this was the closest he would ever be able to get to have a real romance with you. Sal didn't know. It hurt his head if he thought about it for too long, so really, why even bother pondering the possibilities?

But when you sat across from him, so mundane, eating a breakfast sandwich and looking sleepy, how could he not feel these things?

"Is that bad? If I just talk?" you looked up at him, hoping you hadn't caught him in the middle of anything important. It wasn't bad. It was never bad. Sal always had time for you. "No, I was just laying around. Todd and Niel went off to the supermarket, and I think Larry is out in the shed."

"Right, well..." you paused, biting your lip. "Okay, so you know how we always promised to be open with one another? Like transparency?" Sal quirked an eyebrow, nodding and gesturing for you to go ahead. "Yeah, so like. Fuck, man, I'm just gonna come out and say it. I missed my fucking period." At this, he saw your hands clench a bit harder down on the sandwich you were holding. Your eyes gathered tears in the bottom lid, and you sucked in a sharp breath. "A-And I don't know if that means anything, like shit. It couldn't, and I would be here just freaking you the fuck out, but I dunno man. I'm just...Shit, I don't fucking know what the hell I would do if I were..." Sal stayed silent, the cogs turning slowly in his head.

"A-And I don't know, like, I'm twenty-two. I know a lot of people have kids by now, but I just—I don't know, and it's not like I'm asking you to be super involved it's just—"

"What? I would want to be involved." Sal's lips seemed to move on their own, but it was just so painfully obvious to him. Obviously. Obviously, he wanted to be involved. It wasn't a question, really. The two of you had known each other for about a year now, and even though nothing was truly going on...Truth to be told, Sal couldn't help but think about you even after you were gone.

After about five positive pregnancy tests, the two of you agreed to stop your situation. There were a lot of tears, more so from you with Sal rubbing circles on your back. You would cry to him about how you weren't ready, or how you were going to fuck up, and all Sal could do was be there for you. Sal didn't see him as much as a father type. In fact, the two of you hadn't even ever worked out what the situation was. He wasn't even sure there was a situation.

It was strange. Sal wasn't a father. He didn't look like a father. He didn't know how a father was supposed to behave. Sal spent his weekends playing video games and learning Pokemon themes on his guitar, that wasn't what a father was supposed to do. At the very least, Sal had already moved his bed and belongings to the basement of the house and made a makeshift nursery in his bedroom.

A baby girl, chubby and crying had come after months of going back and forth on what to do. It was strange. Sal never saw himself as an adult. He'd grown in height and gained some tone in his body, yet still he couldn't differentiate the person in the mirror from the kid who used to wear pigtails every day and get pushed around in school.

What was probably worse is that Sal didn't feel a connection with his child. The child was his, undoubtedly, but he didn't feel much. He had read and heard about parents being so enamored and parents who just immediately felt love for their child, but Sal didn't. He stared back at the baby girl, her features taking after yours for the most part, yet hair as blue as the sky, and furrowed his brow. You, on the other hand, held the child close to you, foreheads touched together as the baby cried and you let out shaky breaths. Parents didn't always have that immediate connection with their children, but, even still...Sal could open his heart up just this time for a child. For you. Even though he had seen the worst of what the world had to offer, he would try.

Try he did. Sal couldn't see any other reason to do anything but for his child. Diane. That was her name. There wasn't any other option, and you had almost instantly agreed. Henry cried, the recollection of his late wife and his memory as a father had come forward as he sobbed when Sal's baby had touched his face for the first time, tugging at his beard. Sal's dad hadn't been there for him when he needed it most, coming around in an attempt to make things right when it was almost too late, but Sal refused to make that mistake. He did everything for his daughter. He was taking online college courses to get a degree in graphics. He did so much, too much, maybe, as in the wake of his determination the two of you hadn't even discussed your own relationship. In fact, it never even came to mind until Larry had asked. The two were sitting outside after having met up at the lake. Larry, moved out by now and living in a shared apartment closer to his community college, and Sal, still living with you, Todd, and Neil, sat in the grass drinking sodas.

"So...I don't know, man."

"Huh?" Sal had looked over at him. The sun had just barely dipped down beyond the horizon, the sky a pale purple. Larry shrugged, pursing his lips together in thought. "You know, a lot of people who have a kid and live together are at least dating. In most situations." Sal continued to stare, the realization of his words sinking in. Larry was right. Sal knew he was right. Perhaps Sal had forgotten. And that was truthful, too. It was so easy to forget when the two of you were living together, raising a child, and maybe just every once in a while waking up next to each other like you used to.

"And don't get me wrong, I'm not judging. In fact, I couldn't be happier for you. Ash too. You haven't really been this happy, this grounded, since you got here. To Nockfell. It's just...I dunno. Haven't you ever thought of, like, marriage?"

Marriage. Yeah, Sal had thought of marriage. The first time he saw his child he thought of it. The first time he held her, the first time he had taken off his prosthetic and his little girl just stared up at him in the same way before her little hands reached up and grabbed at his nose, he thought of marriage. Even before that. When your stomach was swollen, seven months pregnant, and Sal had caught you staring down at your stomach with a swirling mix of emotions behind your eyes, he thought of marriage. The two of you slept in the same bed. Every time he'd wake up next to you, he thought of marriage.

Sal Fisher was so undeniably in love with you. He had been so undeniably in love with you, maybe even from the first time he laid eyes on you. It hadn't ever been about sex. It had been about you. About how you smiled at him, and how your arms would wrap around his shoulders as you kissed him deeply. It had always been about you. Sal had been so blinded, he truly thought sex was the only way to keep you around. But now...Well, shit, what now?

"...I have," Sal finally responded. "I love her."

Larry stared at his friend, Sal's eyes roaming over the moon's reflection in the water.

"Isn't that answer enough?"

. . .

Little Diane was two, now. Sal finished his basic courses and graduated from the two-year school. The two of you were busy packing up your daughter's belongings into boxes, a moving truck waiting outside.

"Are you sure we cant convince you to stay?" Niel joked, hand intertwined in Todd's. Todd nudged his husband, laughing a bit with a furrowed brow. "Yeah, it's not like they have a kid or anything." You laughed, smiling brightly at the two. It had been a long journey of memories in this little house. It wouldn't ever be a place you nor Sal would forget. But it was time to move on. Sal had gotten accepted into a college to finish out his degree, and you had managed to get a job with a lot of flexibility in the same area.

"Yeah, but...California. It's just so far. And so different from Nockfell."

"True, but I think that's a good thing, honestly. This town is so strange...I could never figure out why, but it just gave me this feeling...And I don't want Diane spending her childhood years here." Todd exchanged a knowing look with Sal, the two remaining silent about the shared knowledge. Todd cleared his throat, ridding his head of the foul memories. "I suppose you're right. We'll have to come and visit sometime."

Larry and Ash had come over to the house as well, all helping you and Sal move and disassemble furniture. Gizmo was purring happily on the couch, content to watch the rest of you do all the heavy lifting until it was time to go. Henry and Lisa had even come over, Diane resting in her grandfather's arms. With all of the helping hands, you and Sal were about ready to get moving in just a few hours,

The two of you stood outside the house, your daughter asleep in her car seat in the back of the moving truck. It was strange. Sal had spent years in this town. He was just a kid. A kid that played guitar and a kid that loved video games. A kid that would search for an hour with his best friend Larry for quarters hiding around Addison Apartments just to buy a bag of chips from the lousy vending machines downstairs. A kid that had gotten mixed up with the supernatural that he would be sure to protect his daughter from. A kid that simply met a friend of a friend and fell in love with her smile. Sal couldn't help but wonder how different his life would be if not for you.

You and Sal exchanged your goodbyes tearfully with your friends and family, promising to keep in touch. And finally, with a turn of a key, you were off to a new life. It was a long drive in which Sal reflected on his life. He could've been a nobody. He could've been that weird kid with some weird mask and from a weird town. Just another picture in a yearbook. Maybe in another life, he had been a murder. He chuckled...how unlikely. He couldn't have ever imagined his life like this. Sal Fisher, the family man. He wasn't too sure that his face would fit in at a PTA meeting.

After hours on the road and multiple stops, the two of you arrived at a neighborhood with a row of brick townhomes lining the road. They weren't the best or the most luxurious, but they were within walking distance of schools and a good driving distance from Sal's university and your job. Maybe it was a bit cliche, and in sincerity, all too normal for Sal's life. He was the guy who had talked to ghosts, and yet he was about to move into a cookie-cutter neighborhood with a kid.

The two of you stepped into the house, the smell of dust being the most prominent. It would need cleaning and hard work, but it was yours. Sal didn't think he was exactly cut out for the whole "white picket fence" family, but a family nonetheless.

A family. A husband, a wife, and a daughter. Except, that wasn't his situation. He had a friend and a daughter.

Sal stared at his life. Twenty-five. Years had gone by, probably in the most unexpected way that Sal could ever imagine for himself, yet he still felt as if he hadn't moved very far with you. But you were here. In a house that you two had bought together, with eyes he had stared into for four years. His daughter with his mother's name and his hair was in your arms, giggling and squirming around, eager to crawl around the new environment. He looked over at you, eyes shining bright with hope of a new adventure and lips upturned in a smile.

"Can you believe it? Sal, our own place. This is insane. Can you believe it?" your head turned to meet his gaze, tears gathering in your eyelids. Sal stared at you, eyebrows furrowed. "Sal?"

"Marry me."

The words came out fast, but the same nonetheless. The weight of them wasn't something Sal was aware of. He had been thinking of this for years. Never the right time, never the right place. But everything seemed right. Standing here, seeing you smile the same way as you did at that first meeting years ago. It was different now. He couldn't imagine a life without you in it. Sal wanted to see you smile as he slid a wedding band on your ring finger. He fantasized about his little girl walking down and throwing petals. It was silly, but it was what he wanted. He was sure of it.

"W-What?"

"Marry me. I love you."

You stared at him, mouth agape as the breath was taken from you. This was Sal. The father of your child. It was Sal, the one who had refused to leave your side when you were pregnant. Who stayed calm when you couldn't. Who had played with your daughter and refused to stop smiling for her. Even before that, it was the same Sal who had kissed you like there was nothing else in the world to do. Sal Fisher was full of love to give and wanted nothing but the best for everyone around him despite the world throwing so many challenges his way. What other response was there to give?

Sal took your hand after lowering his prosthetic, eyes staring seriously. "Will you marry me?"

"...Yes."

[delimeful]

(dont) take this the wrong way (5)

warnings: injury, blood mentions, past psychological&emotional&physical abuse, ptsd, sickness

-

Virgil woke up, which was only unsurprising for the few moments it took him to 1. realize that his head was pounding and 2. remember the two very large reasons why.

His eyes flew open, and he found himself half-submerged in a shallow pool of cool water, surrounded by flat ledges of dry rock. The sound of ocean waves lapping against the cliffside echoed around the cavern, which was dimly lit by overhead cracks in the ceiling.

In one of these beams of paltry light, Logan was slumped over on his side, glasses askew. Virgil’s relief at seeing him was instantly overshadowed by terror at what could have happened to the human after Virgil had gone and gotten his skull knocked against rock.

His headache worsened, and he lifted a hand to press against the sore spot, pausing when he found more of those stiff bandage strips wrapped around his head.

The soft sloshing of water seemed to be enough to startle Logan into wakefulness, and the human brightened slightly at the sight of him. “Virgil. It’s good to see you awake. Are you feeling any pain or nausea?”

“What happened?” Virgil replied in lieu of the real answer, which was ‘everything hurts’. “Where are we, I thought we were dead for sure—!”

“Take a few deep breaths,” Logan advised, shuffling closer to the pool and offering a hand. Virgil took it gratefully. “We’re not currently in any danger. I believe we’re at the home of the seal-hybrid mer, if—“

“We’re what?!” Virgil’s voice dropped to a horrified double pitch, his grip on Logan’s hand instantly turning crushing.

“Ow,” Logan said in a pointed monotone. Virgil eased up before his claws could turn the human’s palm into bloody ribbons. “Let me finish, please. I’ve managed to work out a rudimentary method of communication, and as far as I know, we’re not currently at risk.”

“From the giant mer-eating monsters that literally kidnapped us, you mean?”

“Yes, that was the potential risk I was referring to.” Logan pulled Virgil further upright, reaching out with his free hand. “More importantly, you’ve been out for some time. Will you allow me to take a look at your injury?”

Virgil shuffled a little closer, allowing the hand to make contact with him. He had traversed currents of all temperatures, but in chilled still waters like this, Logan’s warmth was more than welcome. “I dunno how that’s more important than our inevitable, rapidly-approaching deaths, but sure, fine. Knock yourself out.”

“I will not? You are already dealing with a likely concussion, I see no reason to double that number.” Logan squinted at him like he was concerned that the head wound had taken a worse toll than he’d thought.

“No, it’s-- it’s just an expression. Don’t actually pass out, or I’ll freak out.”

“Ah,” Logan acknowledged, his hand twitching like he wanted to grab something before returning to carefully peeling the bandages away. “My apologies. Colloquialisms are not my strong suit.”

Virgil blinked back at him, because five syllable words were a little much even when he wasn’t concussed. “No worries?”

Logan continued to gently probe the back of his head. A sharp pang made him jerk away with a muted hiss, his vision blurring with pain as the sharp motion only agitated all his other cuts. He waved off Logan’s apology before it was fully formed. “S’fine. What’s the damage?”

“The bleeding has stopped, which is a good sign. It’s swelled significantly, but the cool water is hopefully helping reduce that as well. The best course of action now is for you to rest and recover in a dark, quiet place, ideally for at least two full days.”

“Yeah, but that’s not happening unless we get away first,” Virgil shot back, irritably twitching his fins down as Logan rewrapped the injury. The human let out a slow breath.

“Virgil. I believe the situation isn’t as dire as you think.” He settled back on his heels, back stiff as he spoke. “Our captors have shown no signs of aggression or hunger, even with the significant bleeding from your head wound. It’s possible--”

“It’s not possible!” Virgil cut him off, scowling fiercely. “That doesn’t mean anything. They’re playing some kind of sick game the way they always do, and if you let them trick you, you’re going to lose!”

Logan looked back at him inquisitively, still not getting it. “What evidence are you basing this off of? I was under the impression that you’ve spent only marginally more time in their company than me. Have they attempted to trick you in the past?”

“Yes, no, I mean--,” Virgil groaned, pulling at his bangs. “They don’t have to say it. That’s just how giants like them operate. We’re smaller, they can do what they want to us, we don’t get a say in it. You escape or you die.”

“Yet, we’ve been in their admittedly less-than-ideal care for over 24 hours, and they haven’t hurt us or made any indications they intend to hurt us.” Logan gestured expansively, his hand a bit wobbly. “That’s a rather long time to pretend, and for what purpose? If it was what they desired, we have been easy targets for a meal from the moment they relocated us.”

A rather long time to pretend. Virgil swallowed down a hysterical laugh, feeling dizzy. If a day of false niceties was all it took to buy his trust, he’d have never gotten away from his first encounter with a giant mer. “You’re— you’re human. You don’t know anything about this.”

Logan frowned. “I may be human, but that does not make me an idiot. Even with a language barrier, body language and expression are invaluable tools for communication, and I’ve been doing very little but observe them while you were unconscious. Virgil, if you just tried talking to them—“

“No!” he snapped, curling in even as his fins flared wide and threatening. He wouldn’t do this again, wouldn’t be subjected to the world’s most torturous game of catch and release, wouldn’t be lured back into too-tight hands by false promises and meaningless apologies. He couldn’t do that again.

Measured, rhythmic tapping on the back of his hand slowly brought him back to the present, cool air and Logan’s steady voice by his side. His throat was closed-up-too-tight, his gills too far out of the water to switch lungs— but the rhythm was counted out over and over, breathe in, hold, and out.

“There you go,” Logan said as Virgil took in another long, shuddering drag of air. “Well done.”

The air smelled like iron. He realized that somewhere in the past few minutes, he’d dug his claws into the soft sides of the human’s hand, drawing blood. He pulled away as though he’d been burned.

Logan didn’t even twitch, still searching his gaze intently. “Are you with me?”

Virgil nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I— fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I didn’t realize— but I should have.” A deep, resolved breath. “It’s okay. I’ll find you a way out that doesn’t involve interacting with them.” Logan’s gaze went distant and hazy with thought, and Virgil hesitantly drew closer, pulling a bandage free to wrap around his bleeding hand.

… He was really warm. Clammy, too, and he’d been sitting in a cold, wet cave for hours, hadn’t he? Had been completely drenched for even longer.

“You’re sick,” Virgil said, and Logan took a moment too long to refocus on him. How had it taken him so long to notice? “That’s why you need me to talk to them. You need to get home.”

“My illness is no more severe than your injuries,” he deflected, adjusting his glasses clumsily. “Right now, the priority is getting you away from triggering circumstances. If my suspicions are correct, I will be fine regardless.”

Right. His suspicions, based on his willingness to trust his own abductors. He’d trusted Virgil, too, back in those tunnels. He’d known that he might be abandoned and he’d freed Virgil anyways, taken his hand anyways. Gotten hurt for his trouble.

He’d get hurt worse if Virgil left him here.

“... Yeah,” Virgil said, tucking the edge of the bandage in carefully. “But you should sleep for now. We both should. You said they haven’t done anything yet, right?”

“Yes, but…,” Logan’s brow was furrowed slightly, as though he knew something was off, but wasn’t quite sure what. “I mean, you do need rest. If… If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Virgil replied, curling against the edge of the pool and pillowing his head on his arms to hide their shaking. “Get some sleep, Specs.”

—

It was early morning when Patton woke to the splash of something small dropping into the water from his air room.

The room wasn’t overly large, being designed only for occasional use when he needed some extra oxygen in his system. It was also quite a few caves up above his sleeping den, but with two delicate little guests staying over, his senses were on high alert. He disentangled from Roman, who had been clinging to him for extra warmth, waking the shark mer in the process.

“Mwha’huh?” he asked groggily, and Patton chuckled at the way one side of his hair had been pressed into a tangled bundle.

“I think they may be awake!” he reported quietly, and Roman perked right up. They had originally hovered in the room over the two of them, only leaving after the human-- busy tending to the tiny mer’s wounds-- had gotten too fed up and used charades to shoo them away, leaving them with nothing to do but sit around and think about how badly they’d messed up. As such, they were both more than eager to start fixing things.

Upon popping up into the air room, however, they found only the human, lying completely still apart from the slow rise and fall of his chest. Deep in sleep, with an empty pool at his side.

Roman and Patton exchanged a panicked look, and ducked back underwater to search through his home and see where, exactly, the injured mer had gone.

It didn’t take long to spot him. The mer had practically every fin and frill puffed out, even the ones that were still injured. The threat display as eye-catching as they got.

He was hovering in the opening of a vent crevice, one that helped circulate seawater through the caves. It was small enough that if he vanished through it, they wouldn’t be able to stop him or see where he was headed. He knew it, too, staring them down with sharp defiance rather than absolute terror.

“Don’t move,” he said, as though they hadn’t both frozen at the sight of him. “I’m going to-- to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” Roman asked, and received a sharp, wild-eyed glare for his troubles.

“Yeah, a deal. The other one is sick,” a slight jerk of the head toward the air room, “so he won’t last long here. Probably already too far gone to even play a single game.”

Patton was torn between concern (the human was sick?) and confusion. Game?

“But I’m fine. I’ve had much worse than this.” The mer drifted back slightly, closer to the crevice. “If I leave now, you’ll never find me, and then Lo-- the human will die, and you won’t have anything to play with.”

A creeping sense of dread overcame Patton. He still didn’t know what was going on, but it was sounding more and more like something was seriously wrong here.

“So, a deal. You take the human back to where you found him, and I’ll stay-- I’ll stay here,” his voice cracked painfully, but he ignored it, staring at them with a desperate sort of intensity. “With you. I won’t try to get away or anything. I-- I swear.”

“Get away?” Roman asked, his voice going high with the same sort of horror that currently swamping Patton. The mer ducked back at the sound, gaze flitting between them, some of that terror returning.

“I will! I’ll leave, if you-- you can either have one or none, that’s the deal, I’m not kidding. I’m not!” His fins flared wider, blood beginning to leak from some of them. “He’s human anyways, he can barely even swim, you don’t want him--”

“Kiddo,” Patton cut in urgently, raising his hands peacefully and trying not to wince when the mer flinched, “if he’s sick, of course we’ll take him back to where he can get help. No deals necessary, okay?”

The little guy didn’t look reassured at all. “I want to watch. I have to see you put him back, where other humans will find him, or else the deal’s off.”

He didn't believe them. Patton exchanged a helpless look with Roman, who finally nodded.

“Of course,” the shark mer said, “You are more than welcome to accompany us back to the mainland where Patton found him, provided that you’re not exacerbating your injuries.”

The mer hissed at him, a tiny, reedy sound. “And whose fault is that?”

“Irresponsible human fishing vessels?” Roman tried, and then wilted under both Patton and the mer’s looks when the joke fell flat. He cleared his throat. “It is, of course, mine. I wanted to apologize for the way I manhandled you before. Regardless of my intentions, it was unbefitting behavior, and it hurt you. I am truly sorry.”

He bowed with a little flourish, moving slower than normal. The mer stared at his bowed head apprehensively, and then covered the look up with a distrustful scowl.

“If you’re sorry, get Logan out of this place before he gets any worse,” he finally replied, and Patton nodded and went to retrieve the human-- Logan, presumably.

Glancing over his shoulder as he left, he could see the way the tiny mer’s fins had settled just slightly, not quite as frantically overextended as before.

It was a start.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

7th Dimension (Chapter 7.4)

PREVIOUSLY ON CHAPTER 7.3

7TH DIMENSION MASTERLIST

7TH DIMENSION WATTPAD LINK (I’m always 1-2 chapters ahead in this site) (Head on to it and don’t be shy to introduce yourselves or leave a comment! <3 Love y'all! <3) (I’m about to post chapter 8.3 there by now. I just realize how far ahead I am in Wattpad now. I'M SORRY! Readers have just been more interactive there rather than in Tumblr. Heehee.)

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Small!Naive!Fem!Foreign!Reader | THIS IS A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. THIS IS AN X READER FANFIC WHO HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO THE DIMENSION OF JUJUTSU KAISEN | (Trust me, you'll live. I hope?)

Summary: (Part 5) Mind Training with Gojo Satoru had been beneficial to the both of you. You were given a mission to bake him sweets and in return of earning a 10/10 rating from the Great Teacher Gojo would result for a Shopping Spree treat from the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer alive.| Additional Summary for this chapter: You've learned and collected discoveries that weren't meant to be divulged from Satoru Gojo. Only those who were special would get to notice and experience these so-called-discoveries about him. Hence, it was worthwhile and also meant to be credited and taken into mind for future purposes. Yet as a compensation for that, destiny has given the accursed karma upon buying intimate apparels with the only nuisance that always brings out the worst in you.

Warnings: Fergie is mentioned here. 🤣 This has been a mess of a chapter? This ain't canon, guys...But, I've had to choose something that Satoru wouldn't like just for the sake of this story. (Other than his canon dislike for 'alcohol') I chose Shiitake Mushrooms/Mushrooms because I wanted it to be the common ones that everybody eats but it's the opposite for him. Again, not canon. Just something to spice up his character in this book. Satoru's also being quite flirtatious every once in a while. Heehee. Google Translate is mentioned. Granny-Pannies too. (Y'all know why on the end of this chapter. 🤣) 

VOTES AND COMMENTS ARE SUPER-DUPER HIGHLY APPRECIATED! IT GIVES ME SO MUCH MOTIVATION! SORRY IF THERE ARE LOTS OF TYPOS AND GRAMMAR ERRORS IN THIS CHAPTER! I ain't a professional writer! I'm just a potato-hoe! LMAO. 🤣

Words: 5.8k+

Disclaimer: PNG's or pictures used in edits, also those posted are not mine especially the GIF's. (I dunno how to make GIF's 😭) I only own the plot of 7th Dimension. But, not Jujutsu Kaisen's storyline and the characters themselves. I apologize for the typos or grammatical errors by the way! English isn't my first language so I'm so sorry in advance! Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be for the sake of the story.

"I---I'll come back here with Nobara instead."

"You're already here. Why not buy them now?"

SATORU cloaked on a false display of innocence along the lines of his logical statement. His mischievous grins bottled up with a faint bite to his lip to provide more of his feigned impeccability in spite of the disenthralled purpose hidden under Aladdin's flying carpet. Positively seeing through the intentions that he was implying for. A homespun philosophy; a whip-smart piece of advice from the strongest himself like it was utter Brain Blast from Jimmy Neutron.

Your walking red flag benefactor had his face tucked away with the impish inflection of his voice. Pitch resonating a higher like a question asked by a preschooler who kept raising his hand to his teacher and chose to just say it out loud regardless that you both know it was beyond a gullible query from the latter.

Leastways, the backdrop have been less ribald and unseemly prior to the day that you were brought over a decent---well, over the top kind of shame on that very special moment where your supposed to be Pastry Shop or Dessert Store had evolved into an erotic one where Dildos are being sold to people. It has been your unfortunate heyday that was meant to be criticized by two---one matured but thoroughly hushed ex-salary man and the other can be described as an unmellowed one in regards to the brassy reactions you've received from the guy who happened to be the only one; the exclusive person whom you had no escape from.

You've chosen to act oblivious about it, pretended that it wasn't necessary. There has already been a construction of plans ahead. It's either you were going to borrow money from anyone---aside from Satoru who obviously won't shut his mouth over what you planned to buy. Worst case scenario was that he would actually be an angel---the actual devilish menace to accompany you instead. It was either that or you're begging for alms anywhere out in Japan and end up being in jail instead.

However, fate decided that the worst case scenario was much of a better option. It wasn't entirely the best. Yet, providence made it seem like it was a choice that needed to be handpicked.

Therefore, destiny let you held onto the hot potato. Culminating over the outcome of you and Satoru standing before an intimate apparel store with iron-willed standpoints of the complete antithetical notions.

He has been the hell yes, do it and you were clearly the oh, hell no.

There has been lots of discoveries that was to befounded from Gojo Satoru in your experience through out the current engagement you were having with him. This abrupt Shopping Spree treat he'd spontaneously conducted which held a lot of rude awakening---sarcastically speaking, he actually roused you up utterly barbarously by setting an alarm up on full volume at such a cranky hour in the morning---but, other than that literal verbatim, he had you all agog for what kind of multiplex personality he had.

You've had a lot of aha moments with him. Most that has been mentally kept and treasured for utter blackmail purposes which can be used in the future. This man; the one who held an utmost consuming and extraordinary classification in their society, the Jujutsu World that you somehow couldn't comprehend because nobody wanted to be in detailed of when it came to elucidating the subject at hand.

In other words, every one in Tokyo Jujutsu High did not want to talk to you through a language that would get them stumbling over and over again.

But, you were beginning to have an inkling that their work was confidential---entirely should be discreet to the eyes of normal people and they were still dithering over your existence.

Unless, Satoru made it clear that he should be the sole person to explain through it all. Although, he hardly explains anything that can discerned by you as of the moment. He seemed to take everything casual and vague as he could and it was not helping your mind especially when you were one who was considered to have brain-freakin'-damaged.

There had been at least two to three discoveries you've taken to mind today about Gojo Satoru.

One, he had a habit of staring.

This type of staring could be appraised as an outstare. The variety where you were presumed to be under his daunting company because of the cogency of his eyes. Aberrant than the typical or usual to be seen by anyone who were currently breathing in the same air with you right now because in all possibility, you've looked from left to right; seen people never having them even on his world and thought everything through when you were still back in your dimension.

Nobody in the world---even the ones considered to be downright gorgeous and perfect had the eyes of Gojo Satoru.

He appeared to be the sole one who inherited it from whatever bloodline he came from.

Thus, Gojo manifested that he was shameless to poke fun over your patent restiveness. Those tiny stammers that leave your lips quivering and the constant swallowing of your frets. It was giving him the vim that made him chortle whenever he was insistent upon looking fixedly on you; never knowing if he was gazing vacantly in which you had not caught---he'll be damned on that certain minute if you actually had calmed down from the sporadic turmoil he casted upon because the strongest had this quirky sense of distraction---and actually asked him a question or retaliated to complain over being outstared by him.

He probably needed to wear his blindfolds back after the treat he had with you.

Though, the first discovery never did sound like a protection racket of some sort. It has only been a breakthrough for Satoru's characteristic gestures.

Blackmail number two was that he had found Mushrooms downright disgusting. 

Satoru loathed it. How have you noticed? Well, he made it obvious by feeding the damned vegetable in your mouth despite of not wanting to.

Forced them inside your mouth, to be precise.

You've finally calmed down to your heart's content and constant flutters once food has been served by a waitress. Satoru has been continuously talkative from the start that his food were situated before him, an endearing chime of delight escaped his mouth to his heedless reaction, guessing that he paid no attention to it. His face corroding into an epitome of a cherub as it rejuvenated him. The mental picture has made you ask God in vain how one man could ever exist; how he could look winsome enough for a person to intentionally slip on a banana peel in attempts that he'll notice them, till he had the potential of being utmost dear for such a simple dining occurrence.

To be honest, the viewpoint had given you an aching warmth to your heart. Spreading through you like a damned alcohol that began pumping down your system as if you were bound to feel lightheaded and joyous.

Asking the heavens how it happened and how he was created were of no use because you've accumulated no answer to it.

Satoru had been loquacious even in the middle of devouring his noodles. Thoroughly not caring if he was talking with his mouth full that it made him sound incomprehensible at times. Though, whenever he does, it was only in a portion of having the food kept on the other side of his tumefied cheek. His topics were always arbitrary. The strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer had never slipped any amount of information over how they do their work---nor how he does it. He was having the earmarks as if he was a normal teacher whom was in the middle of chatting down about Yuji's outstanding meatballs that you surely should get to taste soon.

His lower lip jutted out in a stifled pout, ceasing to finish his own sentence as you munched your own plate away. You've given him the side-eye, wondering why he surprisingly zipped his mouth and regarded his expression. Satoru felt you were rubbernecking and lifted a Shiitake mushroom with his own chopsticks, swiftly lifting them to your mouth with a blink behind his sunglasses.

"What?" you've given him a benignant blink of an eye, mentally criticizing if he grew three heads in which Satoru immediately knew and felt.

He'd raised his chopsticks further, assertive as he was. The vegetable grazing, rubbing lightly upon your lip which made your heart skip a beat from the unnecessary mental image as you slightly pushed your head back. You've critically analyzed his intentions with furrowed brows, taking you by surprise for the need to be catered for in his presence. Not to mention that those chopsticks he was using had already been in his mouth already.

"Want a mushy?"

A mushy? Gojo was cocking his head to the side, inspecting the edible fungi as he held it out for you. He was persistent and unrelenting, appearing as if he knew you had no other choice but to accept his wishes.

You've squinted your eyes back at him, reading through the signs over what he really wanted. He had his lips pursed, momentarily taking glimpses of that meat you've deliberately nested on the side of your bowl, the meat swimming peacefully inside the bowl of noodle soup you planned on not finishing all. Saving the best for last; the meats to be specific.

Oh. He wanted an exchange then. How unfair could he be.

It must be that reason or he was subtly telling you that he disrelished the fungus.

"I'm not eating that. You've been eyeing my meats. You just want an exchange. It isn't a fair trade though."

Gojo was still assiduous than ever and tried to coax you through your obdurate cynicism, "It's to make you stronger, healthier." you've sighed and shook your head, determined to not give in to his wishes because of his own dislikes over an digestible mushroom that was stereotypically edible for everyone.

A grimace was etched upon your features, dwelling on his own beliefs. You've scientifically given it a school of thought, knowing damn well that mushrooms are a source of fiber, protein and antioxidants. The fungus being good for boosting heart health and not the brain. Somehow, it probably did.

"Why? As far as I remembered, mushrooms don't help in healing the brain. I mean---perhaps, it does improve brain function somehow---But---Why though? I have my own. Go eat yours."

"Because," Satoru started, the next words a melodious chant. His pitch turning higher as if it was satirizing. It didn't help that he was smiling broadly as he did so, "---You're weak."

"Pfft. That sounded funny." you've choked on your own saliva and abruptly snorted before even realizing why you did. It resonated inside your head like an echo being hollered inside a bat cave in that empty abyss kept within the depths of your amnesia. Unaware of your native tongue being spoken out in the open, thinking out loud, "---And also familiar somehow."

It's like you've already heard it from him somehow. But, you believed that there hasn't been a case yet and this was the first time you've encountered the phrase from him. Perhaps, the expected pertinence sense of attributes held within the quotation as said by Satoru was made to be felt familiar because the man was indeed arrogant as ever.

Now, Gojo had the expressive grimace you've notched when you were being fed by his mushrooms. The tiny scowl apparent and expressive enough to tell that he abhorred the language he restrictively advised you not to speak of whenever he was around. He'd mentally criticized how you were constantly thumbing your nose over the idea of his outstanding power he held. Yet, Satoru understood why you were acting and seeing him that way. It was because he actually had never showed off the aptness of what he was made of.

He actually had never gotten the chance to extensively swaggered around yet.

The side he was actually showing had been the normal one; the part where he was considered to be...the middle of the road, not counting the Mike Wazowski incident back in Hatagaya. You'd underwent going through kid's stuff with Satoru and his students. Thoroughly trouble free. In due time, Satoru probably needed to show off more soon to wipe that naivety of yours away.

Those laughter he was hearing though, the latter wasn't certain whether or not he wanted to wipe them off you as well. Your fits had been entirely a dulcet tone for the ears like a fresh lollipop being unwrapped for him to appreciate. Satoru slightly lifted himself off his chair, heedful upon which bag of newly bought clothes had been sitting beside you, "I'm stowing away that dress we bought. The one you've been eyeing but had been cheap not to whisk it away at all until I actually had to,"

You've ceased him to it before he could, raising a hand to guard the paper bags that were nestled safely beside you. Knowing that he was damn capable of throwing them away if he wanted and you've ceased him to it with your hand, "You're calling me cheap?"

Satoru gave a firm nod, utterly not skeptical over his rude opinion over you. His grin was wide enough for a Cheshire Cat to cower away from.

"F-Find another person who's telling you your sketches then!" Your voice lacked of conviction, the little stammer catching you off-guard that he had approved of the opinion so casually and phlegmatically like it was the truth. To all intents and purposes, it probably was. A wry face crawled upon the nerves of your expressions, disbelief utmost screaming from his frank agreement towards his critical assumptions.

He plonked back on his seat, those grins turning into a bright toothy smile, the image he portrayed that he recognizes where you were always left shunning your gaze away like it always bothered you. The Jujutsu Sorcerer lifted the mushroom back to your lip with malice aforethought of having the edible fungus and his own chopsticks gently poke through your lips, pushy as he always did.

You were starting to grow annoyed over his troublesome nuisance. Couldn't he just take the word 'no'? and accepted that you didn't want an exchange? "Satoru, I told you---NO."

"Satoru, YES. Now, say ah~" he went on upon prodding your lip with the mushroom, bumptious to have his own bowl of food empty that he would hand over his own eatables to your own surfeit.

It was as if a bright light bulb popped above your head, lighting in a way that tells you how witty you were upon his constant persuasion. The theories pooling inside your head as it held your own strong-willed beliefs over his peculiar wheedling. Your mouth forming an unusual grin that has been thoroughly newfangled for Satoru to take the image to because you were never one to grin back at him as if you were a wicked, Lilliputian Digimon kept in his stacks of collection that he has.

"Ah, I get it now. Is the strongest just scared of his own mushies?!"

The way his mouth upturned on the corners of his lip, his eye-crinkles minimally falling if a person wasn't entirely habituated over his reactions. If you haven't been noting the tiniest habits that were difficult to comprehend from the complexity of his characteristics---if you actually haven't squinted further into knowing how he was capable of being peeved despite of how he covered the exasperations of being oddly wise to quickly caught up to Gojo Satoru's attitude.

Then, you wouldn't have been heedful that you were right. The strongest abhorred his own Shiitake mushrooms.

He'd taken the get-go, Satoru briskly took over being caught red-handed by a damned, weak, non-sorcerer and took your taunts to his own hands. Literally and figuratively. The attractive white-haired sorcerer was insanely fast enough to stuff down that confidence you had over realizing the confidential discovery. His robust, calloused fingers that engulfed your face in full length held onto your jaw, leniently but emphatically prying them open into a widened squeeze that instantly surprised you again, taking you aback and making you freeze along your seat. Your lips were being compressed like you were a child he was having a difficult time on feeding her medicines.

Did he literally shoved the food inside your mouth?

Yes. Yes, he did.

The strength he'd forced upon you hadn't even been one where you would've felt pain. Yet, it was enough to pry your mouth open and shut down that aplomb in which Satoru was highly aware of.

"S-Shatoru!" you've incoherently exclaimed through your flabbergast. Utmost incredulous to believe he would do that to you.

Well, it was not like he had already done it back in the plane. Did he also have a habit of shoving every damned edible food into your mouth without a warning?

A taunting grin resurfaced upon his face when your cheeks were tumefied over the mushrooms he forced you to eat, eyeing you over his sunglasses to get a better representation of his sudden impulsive actions.

Thus, the last discovery you've remarked was that he was great at veiling his act of feigned innocence through his simple coquettish gestures which leaves you distracted.

Or the guy was just an all-out sultry man that you've interpreted his gestures that was to be considered amorous; or it could also be that he knew damn well that you could turn into total putty right on the midst of his large palm in which Satoru planned to frolic on.

"Your turn to feed me then." Satoru brought back his chopsticks over his lip, gradually and languidly tapping them over his own supple vermillion like he wanted and urged you to concentrate on the idea that those chopsticks---the one he has fed you with---had been inside your mouth and his at the same time, "---An eye for an eye, Tiny-Chan~!" he went on with his goading, slightly leaning on his side of the table with both of his elbows, intentionally grazing the tip of his chopsticks in a coy behavior that got you begrudgingly chewing on the mushroom you've been forced to take, bordering on choking upon his unbidden actions. 

"T-THAT'S JUST CRUEL! THAT WASN'T EVEN A FAIR EXCHANGE!"

The outcome to all of that was the result of his own logical hypothesis or beliefs that in some way, this mental hierarchy of needs he mentally drawn inside his head for you subjected to the notion---a practical logic for everyone---that you eventually would need your intimate apparels.

It was the first guess. Second would be that he was making fun of the embarrassment that would eventually take over once he came in with you and third would be that he was debauched to know your tastes upon choosing which intimate apparels you were a penchant of.

The three options can be a mixture of everything with Satoru's analytics.

"It's because you're here!" you've whisper-yelled in a grouse. Having qualms that he was shameless to accompany you through an apparel store that were filled with women and couples who were buying lingerie with their boyfriends for a night fueled for joy and intimacy.

"---and? What's the problem with that?" he raised a brow, catching your attention to it for a while because of how you weren't still habituated over the reality that he had albino eyelashes and eyebrows as well.

"We're all adults here. You're an adult. I'm an adult---" his blabbers were immediately cut off by a deadpan.

"You sure about that, Satoru?"

Satoru inserted his hands inside his pockets, peering down at you, cocking his head to the side while keeping his line of vision on you alone, sounding nonchalant as he casually informed, "Well, it's not like Nobara's paying you for these. Also, she won't understand you nor does she seem to like you."

"They use Google Translate now. I can understand them and vice versa." You've crossed your arms against your chest, raising a brow at the information said as if you've answered all the problems that the earth needed, gloating over the recommendation constructed and generated by your own intellect.

This has been your witty idea after all.

It was a simple walk through in the middle of Tokyo Jujutsu High, hopping along the flourished wood with satisfying, perceptive thumps. You were trying to find where the kitchen had been when you've somehow stumbled upon Megumi Fushiguro. Though, the juvenile tried his best to clandestinely avoid any verbal communication or discussion with you without Gojo on your side, knowing that he would suffer through an amount of cerebral processing just to know what you actually meant.

The Shikigami user pondered for a while as you were meters away, reckoning why you were alone and wandering around the institute.

Howbeit, that momentary ceasing in between his tracks, his face was still stoic and bland to know what he thought of. Fushiguro had to quickly look away when you've had him caught like a deer in headlights, immediately giving him a friendly smile. It was a fated chance of a encounter he knew he needed to tolerate as he tried to turn away to take his leave, trying to shun away from the need of being in a verbal conversation with you.

It was a wonder why the student was up and early at five in the morning. Nevertheless, you were lucky to see him and hollered for his name out loud that made him grumble beneath his breath, asking the heavens why it was always him being caught in conversations he obviously didn't want to be caught up in.

You were both caught in an uncomfortable silence. Megumi was silently staring down at you as he waited for what you wanted to ask of him, anxious for how he would respond until you've non-verbally gestured for Megumi's phone with a simple imaginary tap to your palm as if you were mentally picturing a phone in hand.

Fushiguro had given you a once over, trying to comprehend what you needed and understood the idea, wholly giving his phone to you without even being anxious that you would sneak in through his messages or somewhat. Though, you've given his phone back and eventually let him lead onto tapping where Google was. You've known it existed in their dimension after Satoru had explained what amnesia was to you through Wikipedia back at the restaurant before you were even caught in your own stupidity through the abandoned street curse back in Hatagaya.

You've plainly stated the word 'Google Translate' to Megumi in which the first-year student nodded at that.

Now, he could understand you through the application whenever the both of you wanted to conversate. Though, it probably wasn't the best translator but it was somehow useful. It took quite the time and comfort to adjust over the idea between the both of you.

"But, would they pay for it, though? They're my students. Again, students." Satoru continued to cajole his way out of his feigned empathy, knowing that the menace also had other schemes inside his head which was why he was adamant over being the person whom you should buy intimate apparels with, "Would you make my students---may I emphasize---" he gave a dramatic pause, leaning his weight to the side as he brought the idea to the fore, "---My precious students treat you for---"

You've protested at the top of your lungs, your fists clenched to the sides as you firmly shook your head in disapproval, knowing he'd be an utter headache once you entered the establishment with him instead, "I'M NOT BUYING MY UNDERWEARS WITH YOU!"

Satoru's tonality was light and acted as if he was claiming that he had clean hands over the issue you were giving so much malice through, "It's not like you'll be buying the granny underwear anyways," he shrugged his broad shoulders, quite blasé about the situation.

You've felt the heat spreading like wild fire across your face that quickly went through the nape of your neck as you mindlessly retaliated with a tight scowl to your lip, trying to offer a sarcastic jest but also not as well. It wasn't like you've never worn them when you were having menstruations every month.

"Now, you're being deprecating, Satoru."

Satoru blinked to himself, his mouth upturned from the consternation. Surprised that women your age actually did wore them from time to time. What an eye-opener indeed. His query sounded like he was convinced over the half meant joke.

"Wait, you actually would?!"

His face were inches away from you. Eyes analyzing if you were joking or not. The audible hum of interest and judgements making you anxious and humiliated that he took it seriously. Though, it was just all in the spirit of his nosiness.

Satoru abruptly bent his towering height to your level, cocking his head to the side as he was single-minded over tormenting you with that obstinate curiosity of his. His gaze were screaming over how hell-bent he was that he never believed the satirizing tone that had been shaky from the start. An intonation in between the actuality of it being a joke and also not at the same time.

He was outstaring again. Yet, this time, it was entirely a mixture of skittishness and his wayward credence over your weird and comical preferences.

Satoru gradually leaned in closer, his face dangerously close enough and obviously having the keen over how you were avoiding the intensity of those Ethers he owned, "C-Cant you take a hint that I was telling you a joke?"

He blinked behind his abnormally, jet black sunglasses, pursing his lips as he pretended to dwell. Finding joy over the embarrassment you were feeling.

"It's not a joke, isn't it?" Satoru stressed on, reigning the guilt-free act over catching you off-guard for the abrupt turn of events.

Every woman does it. Your mother did; your female friends did as well. Every member of the fair sex owns at least one of them. There wasn't anything wrong with it.

Though, it wasn't meant for Gojo to know as well. He was a man after all. It wasn't necessary for him to understand. The man doesn't even experience the whole menstruation thing so you might as well make him think that it was a joke.

"IT IS! I-I was kidding! W-What makes you think I wasn't joking?!" you've stammered, quickly peering up at him when he brought back his shoulders, standing tall before you and snapping his thick fingers with a subtle point to the store's entrance. A determined beam lifting the ends of his lips in a unadulterated smile.

"Come on then. The Great Gojo's here to buy you your granny-pannies, Tiny-Chan!"

Without further ado, he'd openly took your small hands with his, striking an unforeseen bolt to your heart as he did so. His palms engulfing yours again in a warm, cozy embrace. It felt undeniably summery and this warmth you've felt that started from beneath your chest spread straight to your face and ears at the realization of what he was offering and suggesting on.

What Satoru wants. He gets. You damn knew that from the moment you were forcibly fed by his mushrooms; his iron-willed opinions over choosing the better and expensive stores instead with the additional persistence and annoyance he was having over your timidity by the prices he found cheap.

He always had the final say through it all. Hence, your augustness were being put to torture whenever he was around, exploring matters and events that you had never experienced or come across to in terms of being accompanied by the opposite sex.

"I wouldn't want to miss the sight of you choosing which granny-pannies is best anyway!"

He was teasingly whistling to himself, easy-peasy dragging you towards the intimate apparel shop along his large strides as you tried to pull him back. But, much to the embarrassment he was bringing you in---the trembles of your knees for how your senses heightened towards his large hand that felt so comfortable with yours---no matter how you tried to pull back with all your weight and tried to intentionally made yourself heavier. The white-haired sorcerer paid no heed to it as if it was as easy as ABC.

It wasn't helping that people who passed by began giving you both looks over how hilarious you appeared to be, in some way he had you squatting the floors just for you to intentionally put more weight to his yanking. However, this was still a facile action for the Jujutsu Sorcerer as you had no idea over his attested strength.

Dragging you around to where he wanted was simply a piece of piss.

"GOJOOOO! PEOPLE ARE LOOKING---! CAN'T---CAN'T YOU JUST WAIT OUTSIDE?! I'M A BIG GIRL NOW---! LISTEN---LISTEN! HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF FERGIE'S SONG 'BIG GIRLS DON'T CRY?' SHE STATED THAT THE PATH THAT I'M WALKING, I MUST GO ALONE---! WHICH MEANS I'M GOING ALONE INSIDE!"

He went on with his harmless torments. Playfully whistling louder to himself. A hand hidden inside the pocket of his pants, never once budging through your obstinate resistance over trying to break free from his hold as he'd ignored your random reference that he had comprehended, knowing full well who 'Fergie' was and that she also bizarrely exists in his dimension.

It was in all respects weird to analyze that there were parts that existed and there was parts that didn't exist in your dimension and his.

Gojo chuckle had been easy on the ears, the succeeding response poking fun over your unsystematic references and quotes that were of reflex by the slips of your tongue whenever you were on the verge of being anxious or with one's stomach in knots. "You take baby steps, Tiny Chan. You're not full grown. Which means that you need to be accompanied by a handsome adult like me." the gigantic, lanky, white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer supported your reference with the same context that you had tried to cajole him in. Yet, this has hit you on the face with a brick because his comeback consisted of sarcastic mocks over your height.

Your eyes widened at that, trying to push and bop his hand off yours in repeat as you exclaimed and held such ire for the realization that you were loudly announcing your subconscious thoughts out in the open, "WHAT? JENNIFER LAWRENCE AND FERGIE EXISTS BUT NOT ME?" you've huffed out loud, struggling against Satoru's hold, "---REALLY?!"

"Gojo, huh?" Satoru snickered, "Haven't I told you that I don't like hearing it from you?" he sing-songed and whistled with a loud cackle, heedless of the toothy grin he was honing on, "---Also, It's Satoru, I say. Sa-to-ru. Understand?" he emphasized with each vowel, gamesomely stressing on the diphthongs while subtly giving you the side-eye and seeing the mischievous flicker it held once he did before he continue to pull you over the entrance.

"I-I TOLD YOU, IT WAS A JOKE! CAN'T YOU TAKE A DAMN JOKE?! STOP PULLING ME!"

It was a sudden slip of your tongue due to his intentional torments. Your mouth running in the desperate pleading for the embarrassment that was bound to be felt once you were within the perimeters of the store.

You were steps away along the entrance of the store. Satoru took a dramatic pause, halting in the middle of the transparent glass door as if he remembered something. You've struggled to escape through his lenient but tight hold, rolling those wrists of yours in an attempt to be free but no great outcome came to it as this was---the strongest jujutsu sorcerer you were trying to break-free from.

Hence, it was impossible--- a far fetched image especially when you were going on the lam. An impractical choice to be touched or held by Gojo Satoru from the start.

He'd slightly turned his heels. Your shame taking over your body to ever notice that Satoru had taken a glimpse of his own hand that connected with yours. A brief, vacant gaze that pooled along his heavenly eyes before he was quick upon catching his own peculiar diversion standpoints.

The latter leaned his head to the side, mantling his own perceptions that were currently unknown to you and especially to everyone in the world. He'd veiled it with a firm, melodious click of his tongue that followed through a mischievous shake of his head. The both of you mentally remembering the aftermath when you've expressed yourself in your vernacular, your face being the one in utter tortures to Gojo's unconstrained preference to pinch on your cheeks.

He just mushed them up till they were irritated and inflamed, earning lots of stank eyes from your side and a lot of bleats over how desensitized he made them be with thorough twines of 'You're gonna pay for this' and the pinching idiot understood them literally by deliberately responding and be smug that he was bank on upon paying for everything today anyways, so what was there to be said?

"You're really pigheaded to listen. Tsk. Tsk. Such a stubborn, stubborn, girl!"

I told you, guys. This chapter was bound to have a lot of parts because I planned to tell what happened to them in this entire shopping spree treat with Gojo. FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! EEEEEEEE~ <3 To the ghost readers out there, don't be shy to comment hi! Heehee. <3 I don't bite! <3 

[freelancearsonist]

Always a First Time for Everything

Poe Dameron x fem!Reader

Rated MA for graphic sexual content, voyeurism, and bad language

3,215 words

Commission from @lbuprofiend : “Can you write us something sexy and involving masturbation turned to more? Poe Dameron x reader? You don’t have to make it a full 2k if it gets overwhelming but you deserve every penny for your services 🙏🏻”

A/N: To be honest I’m not 100% sure this is what you wanted but my brain just kinda went off and I couldn’t stop 😂 so I really hope you enjoy this 🥺 also the title is inspired by a quote from  Melissa De La Cruz :)

“So when was the last time you... y’know.”

“Y’know?”

“Yeah... y’know.”

“The things that you’re saying to me right now make absolutely no sense.” You scoff at Poe’s ridiculous attempt at striking up a conversation as you load up your breakfast tray with as much fruit as you dare.

He chuckles. “Sex. When was the last time for you?”

You almost choke on your own breath—he asks so casually, like it’s not a deeply personal and intimate thing.

“The fuck, Poe? Why do you want to know?”

He shrugs absentmindedly. “Well, you’re always spending the night in my room when your roommate wants to get tapped, but you never get tapped yourself. It could be good for you, y’know.”

You try to fight back the burn you feel in your face as you find an empty table in the cafeteria and take a seat. “It’s been a while. I haven’t... always had the best experience with it.”

Poor, sweet, innocent Poe doesn’t even seem to notice how sensitive the topic is—he’s always been brutally honest and brutally open.

“What do you mean? Did it hurt?”

You shrug, not quite sure how to explain your thoughts in a casual manner while you’re eating breakfast with your best friend. “At first? It’s just... it’s nice, but not... it’s not that explosive pleasurable thing that everyone makes it out to be.”

Poe nods like a medic calculating your symptoms. “Oh, you poor thing. No one’s ever made you come before, is that it?”

This time, you actually do choke. “This isn’t... a good breakfast conversation.”

The smirk that spreads across his face suggests that he’s known all along, and has consciously chosen to test the limits of your comfort.

“This is the kind of shit best friends talk about,” he chuckles. “C’mon, we’re besties, aren’t we?”

“It’s different for us,” you shrug, staring down at your breakfast intently. “This is the kinda stuff you talk about when you’re, like... I dunno.”

“Not hopelessly in love with each other?” He teases, nearly making you choke on your fruit.

You decide to bring out your last line of defense—insults. “I’m not in love with you, nerfherder. Why do you wanna talk about sex so bad? Are you not pulling?”

He shrugs. “Sex isn’t really a priority for me right now. More important shit going on in the galaxy right now, y’know?”

You think that’s a pretty ironic statement, considering he’s the one who brought it up out of nowhere.

“So you’re not pulling.”

He sighs heavily. “No, and it’s killing me.”

Oh, how the tables turn.

You can’t help laughing at his forlorn expression. “Oh, you poor thing. How are you even surviving?”

Poe rolls his eyes at your tone, but his lips quirk into a small smile regardless. “Hey, I’m a man. I’ve gone longer periods without sex. I’ll be fine.”

You just laugh again. He sounds positively devastated. “Take a day, go off world. There’s gotta be someone in the galaxy who isn’t completely repulsed by you.”

He practically snorts at that. “I’ll let that slide since we’re besties.”

You grimace. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to use that word regularly.”

“What? Besties?” He smirks. “Too late, bestie.”

As much as you love talking about your sex life with your best friend, you’re done with your breakfast and you have a lot of work to do today.

“Okay, bestie, I’ll see you at dinner.”

He waves a hand to stop you as he hurriedly swallows the bite he’d been chewing. “It’s switch day, remember? You’ve gotta meet me at my quarters during lunch so we can get you moved in.”

Fuck. Right. Why did you ever think that was a good idea? There were tons of other people on base, you could’ve chosen to bunk with any of them. So why Poe?

Because he’s your best friend. Your bestie. And, until this morning, the crush you’ve been harboring for him has been manageable because he’s hardly ever talked about sex with you.

“Right,” you sigh, managing a small smile. “I’ll see you then.”

Oh, you’re so screwed. You can manage being friends with Poe because you don’t have to be in close quarters for more than a few minutes at a time. But sharing a room with him? Sleeping just a few feet away from him? Having his scent lingering around you all the time? Having to accommodate him when he finally gives up on chastity and brings someone back to the room that isn’t you? You’re so, so screwed.

But maybe it won’t be so bad. It’s not like Poe sleeps around or anything—he has a healthy sex drive, but it’s not like he’s made his way around the entire base. And he’s really a sweet man; chances are he would spend the night in someone else’s quarters before he kicked you out. He’s always been thoughtful and kind and those are just a few of the reasons you’ve fallen so hard for him.

Moving in proves to be easier than you imagined it would be. He’s already cleaned up and cleared more than enough space for you—another nail in the coffin.He gives you more than half of the room under the premise of never being on base enough to need much, but you know it’s really just him being a good and kind man. He’s doing everything he can to welcome you and make you feel comfortable and at home in your new shared quarters.

You learn even more about your best friend now that you live with him. He has an insatiable sweet tooth—he keeps a crate underneath his bed filled with snacks of all different varieties from all different planets across the galaxy. You’re a little jealous that he lives the way he does—that he gets to travel and see so much. But his job is a lot more difficult than yours. 

Sure, the traveling is nice. But he sees more death and destruction than you could ever imagine. It takes a toll on him, you realize. Keeps him up at night and gives him fitful sleep. After a while you start inviting him into your bed on such nights. His nightmares seldom don’t wake you, and he needs comfort. He curls into you and buries his face in your chest, and in your arms he finally finds rest.

You get so used to the sound of his soft snores that it’s almost hard to sleep when he’s away on a mission. Without even realizing it, you’ve become dependent on his presence. He makes every day a little bit brighter—makes it easier for you to get out of bed and face each day. It even stops hurting to be near him, because while you think you might be in love with him, you value his friendship so much more.

And then everything changes.

You’re towel-drying your hair after a shower when you hear the doors to your quarters open—hear the telltale thumps of Poe kicking off his heavy boots and then flopping down on his bunk.

You don’t think anything of it—you live together after all, there’s nothing out of place about him being in your quarters.

There is something out of place about how he’s breathing, though.

Heavy and fast, intertwined with little grunts and whimpers that almost make you think that he’s—

Oh. Oh no. You’re stuck in the refresher while your roommate slash best friend slash major crush is jerking himself off in the next room.

Of course this would happen to you. Honestly, you’re surprised it didn’t happen sooner. He’s a man, he has needs. You do too, but you normally take care of yours in the shower. 

This is going to make everything awkward, and you know it. Maybe if the sanisteam was still on, you would be fine. But it isn’t. There’s no conceivable way that you can play off what you’re hearing right now. There won’t be any doubt that you’re hearing him right now when you exit the refresher.

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, Poe moans a name.

Your name.

You don’t quite catch it at first. It’s a mumble, barely audible. But he moans it again—louder, stronger, clearer. And again. He’s moaning and whining for you while he touches his cock and he has no clue that you’re in the refresher listening to the entire thing.

You’re a little too worried with the aftermath of this situation to pay attention to the burning arousal gathering between your legs. Maybe he’ll leave after he finishes and you’ll be able to get out of the refresher and he’ll never be the wiser. But that’s not very likely seeing as it’s late and he usually turns in for the night around this time.

And then you get a different thought. He’s moaning your name—if you were just a fleeting thought he wouldn’t be calling out for you. He wants you as much as you want him. And maybe if you went out there and helped him—

You don’t get time to finish that train of thought because suddenly the door to the refresher is opening and holy shit Poe looks so good post-orgasm and—naked. Holy shit he’s naked—

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you, partly because he’s naked but mostly because he had no clue you were in here and the realization that you just heard everything and you’re now seeing him completely bare hits him fast and hard.

“Shit!” You gasp, throwing your wet towel at him to give him something to cover up with.

“Shit! What—why are you in here?” He panics, quickly wrapping your towel around his waist.

You want to explain yourself, or at least apologize—but all conscious thought leaves you the moment your eyes land on Poe’s chest. He’s a little sweaty and breathless, and maker he is toned. Apparently all those solo training sessions with BB-8 have been paying off. You want to stop staring, or at least look him in the eyes, but all you can do is trail your eyes down the soft ridges of muscle, down over the dark trail of hair that leads under the seam of the towel...

His voice forms your name again—though not as soft and sweet as it was a few minutes before, when he thought you weren’t around to hear him. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you—fuck, you... you heard me, didn’t you? Fuck.”

Poe squeezes his eyes shut, the hand that isn’t holding the towel securely around his waist coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Say something. Please. Don’t... don’t hate me.”

“Hate you?” You laugh disbelievingly. “Poe, I... whatever that was, I definitely don’t hate you for it.”

It’s quiet for a long moment. Poe stands there with his eyes shut, as if attempting to teleport or disappear or spontaneously combust so neither of you will have to ever acknowledge this again. Your hair is still wet and it’s dripping onto the loose t-shirt that you wear as a pajama top, but you can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Your face is burning so severely it nearly hurts, and you think you might be the one to spontaneously combust.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters after an incredibly long, incredibly uncomfortable pause. “I had no right to do that, I... I should’ve checked the ‘fresher, it was wrong of me to think of you—“

“Stop,” you squeak before he can say anything more. There’s a lot to be uncovered through this experience, but there’s one thing that you know for sure—Poe wants you. You want Poe. And now that you know that, you don’t want to wait any longer. “I... I don’t want you to apologize for that. Because I’m not mad. And... I liked that you thought of me.”

Poe’s dark eyes flutter open abruptly, connecting instantly with yours and making your face burn even more. “You... you don’t have to say that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” you quickly reassure him. “I... full disclosure, I’ve liked you for a really long time and I’ve never been brave enough to say anything and I’m surprised that I’m saying anything now even and I’m really sorry I’m rambling.”

It’s cathartic, the rush that comes with admitting your feelings. You’ve been holding it in for so long that it feels like you’ve been holding your breath and are finally exhaling.

“You... y-you like—“

Poe, apparently, is having a hard time comprehending this new revelation—you’re shocked that you haven’t made it abundantly obvious the entire time you’ve been friends with him.

So, to help him clear his head, you close the small space between the two of you and gently press your lips to his before you can think better of it. He moans the second he feels you, eyes fluttering closed and arms wrapping around your waist; the towel falls forgotten to the floor between the two of you.

“Holy shit,” he pants when you finally pull back for air. “You’re... you’re even better at that than I imagined.”

You let out a shakily laugh, entirely too pleased to think coherently. “Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“Towel.”

Instead of bending to pick it up like you expect him to, a small smirk spreads across his face. “What? You don’t wanna see me?”

Your face just feels like it’s on fire at this point. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

He laughs at that. “Honey, you just heard me jerking myself off and calling your name. I’m very okay with it.”

Your lip is pulled tightly between your teeth as your eyes skim down his chest, breath catching in your throat when you finally make your way down his treasure trail and take in everything that had been hidden underneath the towel.

Even in your best fantasies, he wasn’t this big. Or this long. You don’t exactly get around, but you’ve never seen such a beautiful cock before. Achingly thick and he’s not even hard but the sight of him like this makes your mouth water.

“So?” He’s smug without hearing a word from you—your opinion is written plainly on your face.

“Do you think you can get hard again?” You ask before you can stop yourself, chewing your lip as you force yourself to look up at his face.

He’s taken off guard by how bold you’re becoming—he’s used to you being rather passive, but he likes when you act a little more confident.

“Shit, honey,” he chuckles darkly. “I can if you keep looking at me like that.”

You’re not quite sure where to go from here. You’re not nearly as experienced as Poe, and you feel a little inadequate—scared that he might think he deserves better. Or worse yet, scared that this will only happen once and he’ll never look at you like this again.

But you remind yourself that Poe isn’t like that. He’s good and he’s kind and he’s your best friend. He would never lead your on or do anything to hurt you.

“Do you remember what you told me last month?” He asks softly, hands gently taking yours and pulling you closer. “You told me no one had ever made you come before. Is that still true?”

Your face burns with embarrassment as you nod. He isn’t reminding you of your inexperience to make you feel inadequate, but it still makes you a bit uneasy.

“Hey, you have nothing to worry about, okay?” He smiles softly, hands gentle as they cup your face and guide your eyes to meet his gaze. “I wanna be the first. If you’ll let me. It’s only fair since I already came once.”

His soft chuckle brings an easy smile to your face, and this time when you meet his kiss you’re not as afraid. You can trust him. He’s sweet and he wants to make you feel good. He won’t do anything you don’t want.

He gently guides you to your bunk—he wants your surroundings to be comfortable and familiar, even though his own bed isn’t that different from yours.

“Can you lay down for me, honey?” He asks softly, and you nod as you scoot up the mattress and spread your legs to accommodate him. “So fuckin’ beautiful. I’ve wanted you for so long, sweetheart.”

“I’ve wanted you, too,” you hum as his lips find their way to your collarbone.

He tugs lightly at the hem of your shirt, eyes meeting yours to ask permission. “Can I get rid of this?”

You’re a little nervous to show yourself to your best friend. There’s no going back from this. But Poe is already completely naked, and you can see his cock hardening to stand proudly between his legs. You crossed the line of no return the second he walked into the refresher.

Poe undresses you gently, asking for permission with every garment he peels away from you. You’ve never been with someone so sweet—someone who cares more about you than they care about themselves.

“I wanna taste you,” he pants, breathless because his mouth has been steadily working on your chest and leaving plenty of marks that’ll insure that you aren’t able to wear any low cut tops for a long time. “Is that okay? Will you let me eat you out?”

You gasp a “yes” nod breathlessly as his mouth trails down your stomach. No one’s done this for you before—the fact that he’s offering so selflessly only makes your heart warm.

His breath is hot against your core—he doesn’t tease for long before he’s licking a long stripe up the length of your slit and circling his tongue around your clit. He’s obviously skilled and he delights in the breathless moans you emit as he plunges his tongue within you.

He pulls back every once in a while to whisper praises—how sweet you taste, how good you’re doing, how much he loves eating you out. Every word pushes you closer and closer to the edge until you’re shattering underneath his tongue—a ship dragged in by the waves and beaten against rocks until you break apart with with a cry so loud that Poe’s fingers gently push into your mouth to silence you.

He moans at the obscene way you suck his fingers—wonders if you’d suck on his cock so perfectly.

“How do you feel?” He asks softly once your moans have ceased and your breathing starts to even out again.

“I’ve... it’s never felt that good before,” you giggle breathlessly.

He wears a grin as he pushes himself up to kiss you, swallowing the moan you let out when you taste yourself on his tongue. It’s absolutely sinful, and you love it.

“I’ll do that for you anytime you want, honey,” he grins, lips slowly trailing across your jaw.

“Can you do something else for me right now?”

Poe notes the sly smirk on your face—he likes where this is going. “What’s that, sweetheart? Hmm?”

“Fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

THE END

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[rainbowsky]

Ask regarding Baili Hongyi from DD's new drama Luoyang. Putting it under a cut for spoilers.

Anonymous asked:

I don't know who to ask but you about this, but my friends and I watched WoL. One of my male friends suddenly said, "That gay guy is bla bla bla" to Baili. (No he didn't mock it. He said it while he described/discussed Baili he used it to differentiate one character from others. Like he called Baili's wife as candy woman because she didn't contribute much so far but to be Baili's wife a.k.a the candy of the show)

I was like 'huh?' and goes "The actor is gay, you mean?"

But he went "No, the character. The Baili guy."

Do you think you 'feel this vibe' too? Is it implied or something? Because in the novel, Baili is like totally straight with him madly in love with his wife whom he is kinda cold to in the beginning. But we know novel and its adaptation always have some differences. ( And sadly, even though I'm familiar with queerbaitings in shows, it takes some time for me to recognize them.)

Or what my friend felt is just DD's gayness or something?

I can't explain this because I know DD is gay, so I always see him as gay no matter how 'straight' his character is. My friend doesn't know anything about DD.

What about you, Sky?

Oh, I know in the novel Baili is also described to be cold hearted and kinda doesn't like woman, but mostly it's implicitly explained that he is just 'not ready for marriage/doesn't really care much about women&marriage and still want to do what he wants," not because he actually hates women and marriage in general.

Same goes with the show when he shows distaste when the women are pawning him and the line "Marriage has no meaning to me. I don’t wish to be married. I don’t want to continue the family line...". I dunno if these are for the 'cold-hearted personality and implicit -I'm not ready to marry, I wanna do my things- explanation, or because he is gay/ace thing?

I personally do not read Baili Hongyi as gay, I read him as autistic. I get the impression that's intentional on the part of the creators. Especially since after he was groped by the women in the brothel he seemed to have had a bit of a meltdown.

He has all the classic 'stereotypical' autism traits:

Hates being touched

Much more interested in ideas and tasks than in people

Can get overwhelmed when faced with too much sensory or social stimulation

Focused on his specific interests (food, puzzles, engineering, systems), which he is a comprehensive expert on, and ignores everything/one else, including eating and sleeping

Fixated on justice, right/wrong

Creative and intelligent

Constantly underestimated

Blunt/honest in his speech; doesn’t understand or participate in social niceties

Fiercely independent; wants to do things according to his vision of what's appropriate, regardless of what other people think

Complete lack of interest in money, status, or social expectations

Doesn't use his face expressively in the way others do

Of course, people have a natural tendency to connect with characters by identifying with them, so they'll often see themselves in a character in some way. I know a lot of people read him as ace, for example, many of whom are ace themselves. So maybe as an autistic person I see autism. Maybe I identify him as autistic in part because I want him to be like me.

However, as a gay guy I don't see 'gay' in him. He's shown an indifference to his wife, and to marriage in general, but there hasn't been an expressed interest in men, either.

It's fairly common for autistic people to be extremely focused, and to not take an interest in relationships until the feeling strikes them. When it does, they can become very interested in relationships, love, etc. It just looks like Baili isn't there yet.

That's my take on it. Everyone's own perspective is valid. Like I said, we're all going to see ourselves in the characters. It's the way our brain naturally tries to get invested in a show or film.

If I had to guess why your friend said Baili is gay, I'd say it's likely because in a heteronormative society everyone who shows a disinterest in the opposite sex is assumed to be gay. Ask all the ace people who get labelled as gay, regardless of their actual orientation.

But you know your friend better than I do - having never met him - so you should either just ask him, or draw your own conclusions based on what you know of him.

Do I think he saw DD's queerness leaking through? No. DD is an actor performing a role. If I believed he couldn't play a straight character convincingly, that would be like saying he's not a good actor. He's showing indifference because that's what the role calls for.

That will likely change as the series progresses. It's a classic love story trope for someone to be indifferent and gradually become loving. As you said, it's how things go in the novel.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place Like This 2

Warnings: this short series will include dark elements including noncon, possible violence, mentions of mental illness, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start asking questions but you might not like the answers.

Note: I’m a filthy liar and this is gonna be obv more than two parts and I dunno what I’m doing.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your office was the room across the hall from Andy’s, just beside the bathroom and furthest from your mother’s.

You had a routine; it helped you keep on track. You woke up, had a coffee and a small breakfast, and climbed back upstairs to begin your work. At noon, you took a break, you went for a walk or just sat on the porch with your mother if she wasn’t in her room. You returned to work and later in the afternoon you came down to remind your mother about her pills. Then you started dinner as the day was in its final decline.

Andy only changed that slightly. He woke earlier than you did and was on his way out as you got up. He came home around dinner time and you left a plate for him in the oven if he was late. He was quiet, he ate, and went upstairs. The first week went by as such. You almost pitied him for living in what seemed a crowded isolation.

Then the weekend came. Like the other lumber workers, he had those two days to himself. It would be the first real test of your arrangement.

You woke at your usual time and went down to make your coffee. You only wrote for a couple hours on weekends. Breaks were good. You measured the grounds into the percolator and filled it with water. You turned on the decades old stove and turned as you heard the old stairs groan.

Andy appeared in the door. He wore jeans and a thick knitted sweater. His hair, overgrown and shaggy, was pushed away from his face, his beard a shade darker and starting to puff out from its length. You suspected that as a lawyer, he never looked so unkempt and yet even now, he still managed to look refined.

“Hate to be selfish but you think there’s enough for me?” He crossed to the table and sat. 

“Should be,” You rubbed your hands together. You wore an old sweatshirt with a grizzly on the front and your old faded jeans with the bleach stain on the knee. Unfashionable but warm. ‘“Cream, milk, sugar?”

“Black’s fine,” He said as he scratched his chin. “I was thinking today I could stock us up on wood for the fireplace. Since it’s snowing now, it’s better to get it done before the winter is really here.”

You squinted at him and played with the frayed cuff of your shirt. “So, you got a lot of snow in the city?”

“Not as much as here, I’m sure.” He let out a long breath and you saw the cloud in front of him. 

You paused and listened for the rattle of the furnace. “Fuck.” You pushed yourself away from the counter. “I gotta light the furnace.”

“Where is it? I’ll do it.” He offered. “Since you made the coffee.”

“You sure?”

“Think I can handle it,” He stood. “City boy and all.”

“Basement door’s outside. It’s a pain but this place is old and not very well put together.” You said. “There’s a lighter in the drawer.” You pointed at the counter. “Thanks. Oh, and the key too. Hanging by the door with the green tag.”

“Alright,” He crossed to the door. “Think I’ll figure it out.”

He disappeared down the hall and returned with his big boots. He put them on before the back door and unlocked it. He tramped down the steps as the door clattered behind him and you listened to his crisp footsteps. 

You wrung your hands as you thought. Nice enough, you surmised, but evasive. Maybe he wasn’t running from some heinous offense but he was trying to get away from something. You could tell by the way he always seemed to direct the conversation, especially when it turned on him.

You heard the sudden rumble of the furnace and the vents hissing. You turned as the percolator began to shake almost in tandem and the small glass knob bubbled with brown coffee. You took it off the burner as the basement door squeaked and the jingle of the key accompanied the snowy steps across the yard.

Andy kicked off his boots and slipped through the back door. He hung the key and he shook the snow from his hair and smoothed it back. He left his boots on the mat as you poured two mugs. He approached and you slid one to him. He took it with a soft thank you.

You added milk to yours and sat at the table as he did the same. You regretted it almost immediately. You should've taken it up with you and hid in your office. 

"Any plans today?" He asked. You blinked and he rested his palm against the hot mug. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

"Nah, nothing planned," You replied. "So you just plan on chopping wood on your day off?"

"Not much else to do up here. It's nice. Mindless." He shrugged.

"You have a lot you don't want to think about?" You wondered.

His jaw ticked as he eyed you and his lips curled slightly.

"Don't we all?"

"You'd have to to come all the way up here from wherever you're from." You commented. 

"Hmm," He chuckled under his breath. "You'd make a good prosecutor. You don't miss a lot."

"I'm a writer. I write about people, so I gotta study them closely."

"I thought you wrote about animals."

"That's what I'm paid to write about but… I have my own projects." You lifted your mug and tasted the rich brew.

He sucked his bottom lip in as his thoughts wrinkled on his forehead. "Uh huh," He uttered carefully. "Guess that's true then."

"So… is it too much to ask why you ditched being a lawyer?" You asked.

"You do anything long enough and you get bored."

"And you never did anything else? Never got married?" You prodded.

"Well, what about you?" He challenged as he hooked two finger through the handle of his mug. "Not many fish in this pond, huh."

"Touche," Your lips slanted, "You definitely are the lawyer type."

🍂

Later that day, after you gave your mother her second round of pills, you ventured out into the forest that skirt around the old property. The snow was only just past your ankles, the powder fell in spurts but didn’t seem to get much deeper. When you were met with a block or an impasse in your writing, you always came out to the trees to clear your mind. You were done for the day but you had a long week ahead of you.

You kicked the snow of a fallen tree by the river and listened to those critters not yet in hibernation in the blanket branches above. You thought about the man staying in the room next to yours and the answers he would give you; the questions you were too afraid to ask him. 

He wasn’t telling you everything, perhaps he didn’t owe you everything, but the lines in his forehead, the crinkles beside his eyes, the depth of his irises as they watched you. There were things you needed to know about a person and you feared you didn’t know enough about this stranger you’d invited in. You had been too intent on the money, on your own keeping.

Or maybe you were paranoid. You were starting to sound like your mother when she claimed the birds were listening to her and taking the messages back to the monsters of the forest. When she had barricaded herself in her room and refused to come out for fear you were one of them in disguise. The day it had all fallen apart.

Your nose was numb and tingling. You pulled your scarf up over your face and turned back. The snow was crisper now. The temperatures fell with the sun and that happened quickly in the winter. The sky was a dark grey as you came back to the house, the chimney billowed up toward the quarter moon and a soft amber light shone between the curtains of the front room.

You dusted your boots off before you stepped inside. The voice didn’t stop as you took off your coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. You slid your boots off and listened. The scene was unexpected as you peeked into the front room.

Your mother sat with her favourite blanket over her legs before the fire. A fresh stack of wood sat beside it, the basket full of split logs as well. Andy bent to poke at the embers and send up sparks as he got the fire going higher.

“So, this book you’re reading,” He said as he set the poker aside. “Did she get away yet?”

“I don’t think she’s gonna,” Your mother replied as Andy stood and brushed off his jeans. “I don’t think that’s what the story’s about.”

“That’s too bad.” He looked up and his eyes met yours. You moved so that you stood in the doorway. “But I guess that’s truer to life. Not everyone gets their happy ending.”

“Well, I’ve been taking my time because it doesn’t have an ending. Yet.” She explained. “I’m waiting for her to finish.”

Your blood went cold. You crossed your arms and cleared your throat.

“What book is this, ma?” You asked.

She looked around the chair at you and blanched. Andy sat on the sofa and you pushed yourself away from the door frame. Your mother shook her head. 

“I told you not to read my stuff.” You grimaced as you came closer. “It’s a first draft. Unfinished, unedited. It’s… personal.”

“From what she says, it’s pretty good regardless,” Andy offered. “Can’t blame her for her curiosity.”

You looked at him sharply and sighed as you dropped your arms.

“Whatever. Just don’t look at it again til I’m done.” You reprimanded. “Please. I’ll give you a look when I’m ready.”

“Dunno why it’s such a big deal. You write for the magazine all the time.” She grumbled.

“Because this isn’t an article on leaf fauna, ma,” You rubbed your cheek. “You already eat?”

“Just about to. Andy put a casserole in the oven.” She smiled. “Never knew a man who cooked. Your father, he couldn’t even salt his own eggs.”

“Mmm,” You sniffed as the smell of the burning wood melded with another more savoury scent. “Well, thank you, Andy. That was considerate. I’m sorry I waited so late, I was a bit distracted.”

“No problem,” He shrugged. “Really, the least I can do.”

You glanced between him and your mom. She hadn’t been this awake in ages. Her meds usually had her napping until dinnertime and asleep just as quickly after. She was vibrant and more friendly to this man than people she’d known for decades. You felt as if you’d walked in on something. 

“Well, let me know. I’ll be upstairs.” You backed up. “There’s some strudel left from yesterday we can have for dessert.”

You left them and stopped at the bottom of the stairs as you looked back into the front room. Andy’s voice droned as he spoke to your mom and as she chuckled his eyes found yours. They narrowed for just a moment before he turned back and smiled at the older woman. 

Nice enough, you presumed, but why didn’t you believe it?

🍂

The next day, you watched Andy through the window. The snow was thicker, a harbinger of the storm that had been brewing for over a week. He crossed to the trees, his boots barely higher than the blanket below. He sank down with each step. Only a fool would venture out as the windows billowed and flung the snow errantly.

You tore yourself away and pulled the curtain shut. You crept out into the hall and listened. Your mother slept late that day and when you gave her her pills, she’d just rolled over and fallen back to sleep. 

You neared the door of Andy’s room and your hand hesitated on the knob. You took a breath and twisted it. You entered and were struck by the man’s smell; of his sweat and the deodorant that always lingered around him. The bed was made and the room barely looked lived in. 

You walked slowly to the closet. Flannel shirts and jackets hung within above a single suitcase.

You felt a pang of guilt. Had you not just chided your mother for her snooping? You bent and unzipped the bag. It was empty. You checked the pockets; empty too. You stood and slid the door back into place. You went to the bed, the table next to it with the drawer that didn’t quite shut all the way and you wiggled it open.

The bible your mother left in there as if it were a hotel and pack of smokes. You’d never seen Andy smoke, never even smelled it on him. You took the carton and flipped open the top. Inside, a folded picture. You tiptoed to the window and looked out. His footprints faded into the trees.

You slid the photo out and opened it with shaky hands. It was Andy, shorter hair, trimmed beard, smiling, his arm around a dark-haired woman and a young boy in front of them. You folded it quickly and pushed it back behind the sticks in the pack. You placed it as you had found it and forced the drawer shut. 

Was he running from his own family? Or maybe, what had happened to them?

You fled his room and closed the door guiltily. You were only more confused than before. You descended the stairs and hastily pulled your coat from the hook. Your hat was pulled on carelessly and you tied your boots without thinking. You pushed your hands into your gloves and angled yourself out the door. It was fucking cold; the fleece lining of your coat made little difference.

You grunted as you forced your boots through the snow and followed Andy’s tracks as they filled with a new layer of powder. You weren’t sure what you were doing, why you were doing it. What could he be doing all the way out in the woods which would be incriminating?

You went on, even as the questions floated in your mind. You followed his large boot prints, placing your feet in them as you followed his path. You came to a stop before the river, the overturned tree showed where someone had brushed aside the snow. The tracks veered off away from the log and you looked around.

You were forced back into an upright trunk, the breath knocked out of you as Andy pinned you with his arm across your chest. His eyes seared into you as he leaned his weight into you and you gasped for air as you smacked his shoulder.

“Why are you following me?” He growled.

“What? Andy, let me--” You gasped, barely able to breathe, the snow clumping in your lashes. “And--”

“Hmm? I see you watching me. I see the way you look at me.” He hissed. “I help you, help your mother and what? What do you think I am?” He grabbed your chin, his hide glove rough against your skin. “Am I that villain you write about? Is that what you think?”

“No, I…” You smacked him again and again. “I was just---” He let off just a little as you gulped for air. “There’s a storm. You shouldn’t be out here--”

“You think I can’t handle a storm?” He snarled. “You’re not a very good liar and trust me, I’ve known a lot of liars.”

“Let go of me.” You pleaded. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I followed you, okay? I was just… curious.”

“Uh huh,” He turned you and forced his arm around your neck as he bent you over. You kicked as he dragged you through the snow towards the river. “WHat do you think? I’m hiding some big secret like one of those books you read?”

“Let--go,” Your feet slid through the blanket below. “Stop! What are you--”

“You think I’m what? A criminal? A murderer!?” He pulled you up and spun you away from him. You stumbled backwards as you faced him. 

Your boots slid beneath you and you hearth the hard thunk of your sole against the the ice. Thick but not thick enough. You held out your hands as you looked down at the river coursing below the brittle surface. Your heart raced in your ears. You tried to take a step forward but he was at the bank, watching you.

“Ah ah,” He raised his hand. “You stay where you are.”

“What are you doing?” You pushed your feet apart. “Andy--”

“Terrible accident you falling through the ice like that. There’s just so much snow, you can’t really tell where the water begins.” He smiled and tucked his hands in his pocket as you heard the slow crack beneath you. “Your mother will be devastated.”

You swallowed as your eyes wetted and you looked between him and your feet. You lifted your boot and the snap below you had your heart in your throat. You plunged into the freezing water with a shrill shriek, your arms flying up to grab onto the ice. 

The frozen sheet broke as you tried to latch on and you kicked as the water soaked your coat and dragged you down into the depth further. You flapped helplessly and spun in circles in the waves. The water filled your lungs and you choked and you stared up through the frigid foam, the blurry shadow staring down at you.

The cold bit deep into your flesh and your limbs weakened the more you struggled. The water smothered you and your body spasmed in the thralls of finality. Your eyes rolled back and the dark water flowed around you in welcome.

[phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust]

Number 2 on the angst/fluff prompt list

2. “I’m worried about you.”

CW: Disordered eating

Scotland, sometime in the 70’s

“Hiya, love.” Paul said as he entered the kitchen. He’d just come back from the shops, grabbing a few groceries; he enjoyed the simple tasks such as shopping and even, to some extent, cleaning, because it balanced out well with the chaos of navigating celebrity life.

“Hiya.” John returned, scarcely looking up from his book, of which he read sitting at their kitchen table. As Paul walked past him, he stopped in his tracks to plant his hands around his partners shoulders, hugging him, and giving him a tender kiss on his temple. John in return cupped Pauls hands with his own, giving them an affectionate squeeze. They had built a small life for themselves in recent years - it was nice.

After setting his bags of shopping down on their kitchen table, Paul motioned towards the TV that sat in the corner of their kitchen. He switched it on, not so much to watch it, more so just for the ambient sound. Some sort of cricket game was on, neither of them cared.

“Anything happen whilst I was out?” Paul asked casually.

“Not much. Cyn’ rang - she wants to know if we can take Jules for the week next week, cause he’ll be on half term, y’know-like.”

Unloading the bags, Paul replied, “Course we

can; he can stay here anytime!”

“Yeah, well, thats what I told her.”

Opening the cupboards and noticing little, perhaps even none, of the food had been touched, Paul muttered softly, “Have you eaten today?”

Not batting an eye from his book, John responded, “Not yet - no.”

“Oh.” He hoped that this didn’t mean what he thought it meant, and so he insisted, “Well ill make you something.”

“‘M fine Paul…” he grumbled back disdainfully.

“But you didn’t eat much for breakfast either; ye must be starving-“

“‘M fine, alright,” He growled with a little more intent. “just let me be, will ye?”

“I only want you to eat, love; I worry about you when ye don’t.”

“Ill eat later.” John replied coldly.

“But thats still not a lot; ye have to eat more then one meal, y’know.”

“I am Paul - just drop it, alright?” And with that, he closed his book, and abandoned Paul in the kitchen.

After a few minutes of contemplation, Paul followed John over to where he was sat at the sofa, placing himself down beside John. John payed him little attention, still staring intently, at the television, and so Paul took the others hands into his own, and stated bluntly, “John, im worried about you.”

“Paul…” he groaned, but Paul wouldn’t allow him to dismiss him like that, and so he interjected. 
“No, listen, im worried yer stressing about yer weight again; and I dont want you to do this to yourself again.”

“Im fine, Paul.”

But he ignored Johns protests, continuing, “Are ye stressing about that TV interview yer doin’ in a few days time? Cause we can cancel it if you are - id rather cancel it then have you hurtin’ yerself over it.”

“Don’t worry about it Paul - ill be fine.”

“I want you to be happy though, not fine.”

“Paul. ‘M okay, im just not hungry today, alright?”

“Alright…” Paul whined defeatedly, realising he was not going to get through to John at this hour. “But you know ill love you regardless of how you look. You know that right?”

“Yeah, I know that.” John said acceptingly, but he didn’t sound convinced.

He never knew what to do with John when he would get like this: self-conscious, and insecure about his weight. John would never really talk to him about it, other then the occasional comment when he was a little tipsy - but even then, John would change the subject before Paul had the chance to enquire too deeply into what he was saying.

But he could see the ways his other half would look at himself in the mirror, and he see the glances he’d give his food when he felt he’d eaten too much that day. He wished he could help, but he didn’t understand. He made sure to shower John with love and affection, always reminding him of how handsome he still thought he was - even in their old(-ish) age - and some would even say he coddled and cared for John too much! But still, it appeared to make little difference to Johns confidence.

Later that night, as Paul was on the phone to George, and John was in the shower, he complained, “D’you know, I just dunno what to do with him when he gets like this.”

Sternly, George said in response, “Ive told ye before Paul, ye coddle him too much. Ye gotta face the facts - you cant help him, he needs sort of therapy-like.”

“I know, I know. But he’s convinced he’s fine - he thinks he’s mellowed out, y’know, with old age.”

“Old age? Yer only in yer thirties. ‘Sides, he hasn’t ‘mellowed out’, the problems still there, he’s just a little less…” he struggled to find a kind word to describe him, eventually he came across, “y’know, a little less emotional. Little less enraged-like.”

“Yeah, I suppose yer right. I guess ill talk to him about it tonight - but I don’t think he’ll go for it.”

“Give it a go, he’ll come around sometime.”

“Yeah…” Paul sighed. “Listen, ill let ye go now - give you a ring sometime tomorrow. Give my love to Olivia, will ye?”

“Yeah, alright. Bye.”

“Bye.”

***

Sometimes a girls gotta write herself a comfort ED fic instead of actually dealing with her FUCKING problems

[slashmebois]

Distraction

“Heyyy I wanted to ask for a mini fic of vincent getting distracted form his work by a goofy S/O who wants his attention. He's just precious and deserves a precious S/O who's obsessed with him. 🥺🥺🥺 Thank you! 🖤”

 This is such a cute idea!! I had such a fun time writing this one. Thank you so much for this request <3 Credit to @thesightstoshowyou for their banjo headcanon for Bo

 Vincent was used to people interrupting him. Bo was his main antagonist, tending to require some form of medical attention after each chase. Sometimes Bo would come down to the basement just to nitpick Vincent’s process as he worked with helpful phrases such as “Wouldn’t have done that” and “Is it supposed to look like that”.

Lester wasn’t much better when he was around. Vincent would ask for a moment to wrap up his work, and whilst Lester had the best of intentions- his mouth often got away from him. “Oh man Vince, you’ve gotta see this cool skull I picked up today”, “Vince, you won’t believe what these city slickers said to me”. But Vincent could listen and continue working on his sculptures and paintings regardless. Or he had been able to at least.

Recently he found himself more and more distracted by you. You had rocked up into town a few months ago and wasted no time in making their affections for him clear (once he had saved you from his brothers’ murderous grasps). He was of course smitten with you, the way you talked, the way you looked, the way your smile crept onto your face. By his standards you were a walking piece of art, too beautiful to remain stationery.

So, he had tried to reciprocate your feelings, although he was not bold enough to outright say “hey I’m in love with you, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. Is that cool with you?” and honestly it would be a mouthful coming from the guy who mostly communicated using ASL and the occasional spoken word. But still, he couldn’t figure out the right way to express himself and every time he started to let himself melt into his work and try to figure it out, you were in the corner of his vision and every logical thought he had died.

But even more than that, he was starting to think you were actively trying to distract him, although he couldn’t quite put a finger on why…

---

You have been trying for days to get Vince to take a break from his work so you can initiate operation date time. But oh man is it hard. Okay sure, he’s starting to take longer to finish his projects, but that is not what you want. You don’t want to slow his process down you just want to spend time with him away from this boiling basement.

The first few days you would just stand at his side and ask about what he was doing and sure he paid attention to you but he kept working. The next few days had been a series of you singing loudly along to his classical opera in shrill tones, before switching the radio over to some popular tunes and repeating. Vincent had eventually got up, and you thought you’d done it, but then he just switched the radio back to classical as you pouted at him. Besides that, you had tried baking for him, reading aloud from a book, playing a very old, out of tune banjo you found (probably Bo’s but you doubted he knew how to play), and doing cartwheels. The last one had spooked Vincent into getting up and catching you, and worriedly dangling you from his arms in mid-air whilst he looked pointedly towards the large boiling pot of wax.

You are just about out of ideas so you go to the only people you can rely on for information on how to distract Vincent- Bo and Lester.

You find Bo in the garage and yell out to him. His hackles rise and he turns round with a gritted smile,

“Please, don’t do that. This was a respectful town before you came along”

You stick your tongue at him and he rolls his eyes, “What do you want? Actually. Let me guess, it has something to do with Vincent hmm?”

You mock gasp, “how did you know, are you a psychic!?!”

He laughs, “Nope, just full o’ shit. C’mon, spit it out already.”

“Well, how would you go about distracting Vincent?”

“I hope you’re not distracting him from his vital work here y/n” you give him puppy dog eyes and he sighs, “alright, alright. I guess he works hard enough. I dunno, play some loud music?”

“Tried that already, what else you got”

“Uhh, have you tried injuring yourself”

“Th…that is the worst idea”

“Alright, okay. No need to get mean. OH!” his loud exclamation makes you jump a little, “how about ruining one of his paintings. That would definitely get his attention”

You fix him a look, “whose side are you even on?”

“My own, do you have to ask? Anyway, that’s all I got- take it or leave it” he waves you off and turns back to…well whatever it is he does in his spare time, don’t know, don’t care.

You groan, you were definitely leaving those ideas alone. You should have known Bo wouldn’t be much help. You start seeking out the other brother in the hopes that they’ll have a better idea.

 Lester is at the edge of town on the other side of the flooding, sat on the back of his truck petting Jonesy.

“Hey Les!”

He looks up and smiles, waving to you, “You stay there, I’ll come over to you. Wouldn’t want you getting your pretty clothes all dirty!”

He hops over, Jonesy in arms and sets her down on the other side. Lester smells about as good as usual, but hell you’ve actually got used to it by now, and you know his job is important so who are you to complain.

“Well hello (miss/sir), what can I help you with today”

“Well I was wondering Les, you know any good ways to distract Vincent. I asked Bo, but his ideas were all dumb”

Lester cackles, “well of course they were, Bo’s just a pretty face when it comes down to it”, you laugh along with him, “Hmm, lemme have a think”

Lester looks around, as if searching for inspiration. His eyes light up, “How about showing his some sorta collection? I show him my knives sometimes, wanna see?”

“Not right now Lester, I’m on a mission. But maybe tomorrow? But that’s actually a pretty decent idea. What else you got, hit me?”

Lester looks a little uncertain.

“Don’t actually hit me Les, it’s a saying”

He looks relieved, “riiight, right. I knew that. Okay, idea number two coming up”, his eyes close tightly shut and he makes a strained noise, “ooh ooh ooh!!! Craft something for him!! I helped him craft those knives he has and he looooves those”

“Lester, you are so much better at this than Bo. Thank you, thank you!!” you grab him in a hug in the excitement, promptly remembering the smell but then deciding fuck it- nothing a shower won’t fix.

 As you head off, Jonesy follows you and Lester motions at you to take her with you. You head back to the house feeling pretty positive. You have some pretty seashells and rocks in a box from various visits to places in your room. Once you’re home you head up and grab the box before heading back down to Vincent.

“Hey Vince, how’s it going?”

He pauses and looks over to give you a thumbs up. You sit on a stool nearby and a take a deep breath before giving your newest plan a go.

“I was just thinking about some trips I went on where I got these cools shells, look at this one, it’s…” you drivel on and Vincent does falter for a moment but keeps his resolve.

Unbeknownst to you, Vincent has a sinking feeling in his stomach. Oh god. You wanted to leave. Why else would you be talking to him about all these trips. Your words were no longer reaching his ears as he could feel the guilt eating away at him. His stomach churned, how was he supposed to fix this. His hands kept moving on autopilot but he’s not really paying attention. It’s not long before his hand slips whilst crafting a nose. He grunts frustrated with himself.

Vincent’s grunt interrupts you, and you trail off the end of a sentence thinking he’s annoyed with you. You look up at him from your box and realise the nose of his latest sculpture is looking pretty wonky. So much for distracting him. All you’ve done is fuck up his work.

“Sorry” you mumble, but he’s too focused on fixing the mistake to hear you.

You sigh and put down your box of shells, walking over to where Jonesy has placed herself. You grab an easel and some paints and lie down next to her, passing time with a fingerpainting project.

Vincent fixes the nose, breathing in relief when it forms properly under his hands. He’s about to gesture to it to show you that VIOLA! He fixed it, but he realises you’re no longer on the stool, the only sign of you the discarded box of shells and rocks. He dejectedly reaches towards it, looking carefully over them. Maybe he should let you go. You clearly loved exploring and this town wouldn’t allow for much of that. His dark thoughts start to descend on him but a warm giggle interrupts him and he glances over to your new location. He nearly gasps at how full his heart is at the sight before him.

Jonesy, not happy with no one paying attention to her, has walked through your paint palette and onto the easel to lick at your face. You laugh and push at her,

“What are you doing? Silly girl. Guess it’s a collaboration piece now!”

The dog ignores any protests and continues to try to grab your attention. Vincent struck by the view makes his way over and kneels, ruffling Jonesy’s ears and glancing towards you.

You look up at him, a little shocked, before smiling wide.

“About time you took a break Vince”

He cocks his head to the side, but lies on his belly with you, looking you deeply in your eyes.

And then he splats a hand in the paint and onto the easel before you can track what the heck he’s doing.

You laugh in surprise, “Oh, really? You wanna be a part of this collaboration?” You gather paint on the tip of your index finger, “that can be arranged” you flash him a cheeky grin and lunge towards him, trying to land the paint on him.

Vincent dodges out the way last minute and thus starts a game of cat and mouse round the house. And Vincent swears he can’t imagine a time when laughter filled the house this much.

[paradife-loft]

like, mmm... I really don’t know what to do with the situation where societally, subculturally, etc., there are clear Narratives emerging and entrenching themselves about what sorts of presentation & readings, from what sorts of people, are considered legibly nonbinary (aka “actually” nonbinary), and those narratives rely heavily on (re)sorting every aspect of presentation & embodiment (back) into male/female/masculine/feminine categories (and then privileging specific combinations over others) --- but it also feels really horrifyingly destructive and life-denying to the idea of being nonbinary at all, to essentially end up in a place where.... everything is again still categorised as masculine or feminine (regardless of whether that’s the intent of the person using some aspect of presentation), but for the purpose of analysing micro and macro expressions of power structures this time?

I mean idk, I feel like I’m constantly in a pendulum swing wrt my relationship to “scrutinise the way you subconsciously think about xyz thing and how you put your attitudes on that back out into the world!” as a whole.... piece of attempted self- & social improvement; I think to an extent it (or something like it) certainly has a place because we... do pick up baggage and need to try and push back against it? but idk that consistently digging through everything that makes you feel off-balance, ripping apart every aspect of how you present yourself in the world to see if it’s contributing to the Bad Power Relations, is the best way to do that...?

and with other things certainly, I know I’ve pretty confidently felt good settling in the space of, refusing to let yourself have xyz thing that brings you joy or comfort or whatever else because you NEED to be sure it’s not because deep down you have internalised whatever you need to clean out!!! - is a shitty, unproductive, stressful way to live? and I do think a rule of, well there HAVE to be spaces where individual people can opt out of these binary “is it good? is it bad? are you one thing or the other thing? you HAVE TO PICK ONE” choices, is a part of that. something something, the ability to imagine other possibilities besides just the options, the power relations, whatever, that society has institutionalised, and functionally thought-controlled us all into believing really are the only ways of being? I dunno, I just know there’s something that fucks me up a lot to think that oh, because I’m wearing such and such clothes, I’m being Masculine, or because I put some sort of makeup or nail polish on, I’m being Feminine, or if I’m doing both at the same time I’m being Androgynous (i.e. Both Masculine And Feminine At Once), when I’m just like.......... fucking hell, all I’m trying to do is wear something vaguely acceptable for the venue/temperature/task that isn’t horribly uncomfortable and screamingly full of gender, and ideally looks pretty? let me have my own goddamn determination of what any of this ~means~ (hint: Nothing, There Is No Gender Here), ffs.

....anyway yeah I‘m well aware that the vagueness/generality of this writing would make it REALLY easy to read in bad faith, but... frankly I’m kind of just going to say fuck it because I don’t currently have better words in my head, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot and it’s kind of eating me and overall I seem to be allergic to NOT writing things as generalities to begin with, so!!! I am going to... not refrain from saying words in my own space just because they’re not perfect. and we can all simply deal with that.