#he was fine with it at first before it started affecting his self image and before the physical injuries

[somewherewithouttaxes]

Well if u insist, can we get some brain rot romantic relationship headcanons of Gambit and Nightcrawler (separate) from X-Men 97??

Holy crap I don't know when you sent this in but I know it was an ungodly amount of time ago. I completely either didn't see it or looked at it and said "I'll do this later" and did, in fact, NOT do it later.

Geez, I'm so sorry. You get a free mozzarella stick for your multi-month wait.

You asked for brain rot, but I'm gonna give you both brain rot and sincere headcanons for both. I can't believe I haven't done headcanons for them on my own.

GAMBIT

serious

as much as I hate to admit it, he would keep you a secret for a while

if you know "Guilty as Sin?" vibes, that. He'll have that going on for at least the first month

you called him out on it, to which he didn't even realize he was doing it. He's so used to hiding his relations that it has become second nature to him. That, and he assumed it's what you wanted. He's still convinced that no one could ever tolerate/love a swamp rat such as he

if you don't communicate with this man, nothing will ever get done. I'm talking clearly worded contracts that have to be signed and notarized for every expectation in your relationship

will try so hard not to make things awkward surrounding Rogue, but that in itself makes it awkward

but he's trying

likes to track down physical copies of music you like

can and will cut/style your hair for you

for your first Valentine's Day, he would do all the most cheesy and cliche things a boyfriend could give/do for his person, just because he likes the novelty of it. He didn't have the type of teenagerhood where he could've been that cringey teenager type with Belladonna, so he's doing it now

that being said, when the second Valentine's and on comes around this man is locking. in.

he's setting up a private dinner for you two, either homemade or courtesy of a friend of a friend who owns a fine restaurant in the city

for fem!readers:

whether or not it's homemade depends on your mood/menstrual cycle

(he knows you get like 3x hornier when he home cooks for you, so if a holiday correlates with the right phase of your cycle he's gonna become gordon ramsay)

(but then that's also not to say he's squeamish about certain phases over the others. It's out of consideration for you and your self image)

anyway back to the show

brain rot

wants to be a sugar daddy so badly. He has sugar daddy blood in his veins. Too bad he has no more than $500 to his name

if someone invented a powder or something that could grant you material objects, he would snort it. And then he would use his snorted genie powder to wish you things into existence

he sugar daddy spoils you with physical affection, though

and food. The minute he doesn't jump up and launch into orbit at the request to make dinner with you, you know your relationship may actually be done for

if you don't like crayfish and/or shrimp, he'll stop eating it entirely for you. Because one time he ate shrimp a few minutes before kissing you and you tasted it and were uncomfortable. And it made him so sad to be the reason you were mildly uncomfortable

you tell him not to stop eating stuff he likes. Don't do that. That's silly (derogatory)

does he listen and/or care? No.

NIGHTCRAWLER

serious

would rather start World War 3 than say anything that's slightly not a compliment to/about you

Kurt is such a calm and generally peace-making guy, but the millisecond someone makes a derogatory comment about your body he will be in the trenches

if it's an enemy who's taunting/harassing you, that person will discover just how much of a weapon his tail can be

will change his diet for you without a second thought

cannot cut/style your hair for you if paid. Cannot if you and Rogue were being tied up and held at gunpoint. Cannot if you got on your knees and begged him with tears in your eyes. He can't do it.

he CAN shop for you, though

he picks up on what you like very quickly, especially if you're into fashion in any capacity

for Christmas and birthdays he always has two parts to his gift: one part something useful that you've proven you need, one part fun clothing that you've been dreamy-eyed staring at in the mall for weeks

scene: you're window shopping while walking down the sidewalk to a destination. You make a pit stop in one of your favorite clothing stores (for the aesthetic, but you could never buy anything). You ogle a few pieces and point them out to him. When you reach one that has you particularly entranced and smiling, he looks at the price tag. You basically slap it out of his hand and say "it's $75!"

"not it isn't."

you check again. "Yes, it is!"

"no it isn't."

and he buys it for you

if he has to/chooses to return to Germany for a trip or something, and you ask to go with him, he can and will whip out the ring he bought months ago and get down on one knee RIGHT THERE

brain rot

is one of those boyfriends to be like "this one's for you" when shooting a hoop and completely miss

you once had a can of La Croix because it was free and only stupid people don't consume free food/drink. He tasted it. And then considered whether or not breaking up with you was worth it

you introduced him to Oreos and now he's an Oreo fiend

had to have a few team members help him act out how to meet your parents in the days leading up to his first dinner with them because babygirl was so nervous

then ended up bamfing into the kitchen with fear and scaring your mom at the skillet. Rice and chicken went flying

if you live on Genosha with him (or went to the party with Magneto and Gang), he actually almost passed out when he saw your party outfit. Like eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell

caught himself though

then wanted to do some rated R things to you in said outfit, but didn't want to risk ruining your whole thing

Again, I'm so sorry for however long a wait that was. Please un-blacklist me if you're really serious like that. I don't know. There are all types of species of people on this god forsaken app.

please like, reblog, comment, all the things :)

[hy6erion]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬 ఌ

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮- 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝! / 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞! / 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫), 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝

Viktor knew he was going to hell for this.

It started small—innocent, almost. At least, that’s what he told himself at first. You were his sweet, doting roommate, the one who always made sure he ate something that wasn’t just coffee and stale bread. The one who baked cookies late at night, humming some soft tune while their warmth filled the apartment. The one who, despite his sharp tongue and reclusive nature, still treated him with an affection he didn’t deserve.

He’d been fine admiring from a distance, stealing glances whenever you curled up on the couch with a book or stretched sleepily in the kitchen, unaware of how his golden eyes dragged over every inch of you. He’d been fine with that. Until one evening, he found something that shattered his self-control entirely.

It was a mistake, really. He hadn’t meant to go into your laundry basket—he was just looking for the clean dish towels you always kept neatly folded, but then he saw it.

White lace, soft and delicate, with pink satin bows.

Your lingerie.

Viktor had frozen, fingers twitching at his side as he stared at the matching bra and panties nestled between your other clothes. It was innocent enough, really—everyone wore undergarments. But this? This was something different. This was intimate, private, something that had been pressed against your soft skin, had hugged the curves he’d been secretly obsessed with for months.

His cock throbbed in his pants so hard it made his vision blur.

He should’ve put it back. Should’ve shut the basket and left the room.

But instead, Viktor reached out with trembling hands, feeling like an animal as he brushed his fingers over the lace. It was so soft. Delicate. Feminine. His breath was shallow, sharp as he let his thumb trace the pink bows on the waistband of the panties.

God.

He groaned under his breath, his body igniting with something filthy and desperate. He imagined you wearing them—imagined how the lace would press against your cunt, how it would hug the swell of your hips. His hand tightened around the fabric before he could stop himself, and before he could even process the depravity of what he was doing, he was stuffing the lingerie into his coat pocket and limping hurriedly to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

His heart was pounding, his cock already straining against his slacks as he yanked the stolen fabric from his pocket, staring at it like a starving man. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, his cane clattering to the floor as he leaned forward, clutching your panties in his hands like a relic.

The scent of your detergent, that soft floral fragrance you always smelled like, flooded his senses.

Viktor groaned, shoving the lace against his face, inhaling deep as his other hand fumbled desperately with his belt. He was already leaking, his tip smearing pre-cum against the inside of his pants as he freed himself, hissing when his fist wrapped around his cock.

“F-fuck,” he choked, hips twitching as he stroked himself, the stolen lingerie pressed firmly to his nose.

He was disgusting. A perverted, pathetic bastard who was jerking off to his own roommate’s panties like a deviant.

But he didn’t care.

The image of you burned behind his eyelids as he fisted his cock, squeezing tight at the base as he imagined peeling the lace down your thighs, imagined the way it would stick to the slick between your legs when he finally got his hands on you. He imagined pushing them aside, dragging his fingers through your folds, feeling how warm and wet you’d be—

His hips bucked, a desperate, strangled groan ripping from his throat as his cock twitched in his grip. The pressure built too fast, his body overwhelmed with how filthy this was, how fucking wrong it was, but he couldn’t stop. He was gasping, panting like a dog as he thrust up into his fist, chasing the heat curling in his stomach.

“Mmhh—fuck, fuck,” he gritted through clenched teeth, your name slipping from his lips in a desperate whimper.

The thought of you catching him like this—seeing him sprawled out on his bed, red-faced and desperate, his cock throbbing in his hand while he moaned into your panties—made his pleasure spike dangerously fast.

He came with a guttural moan, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fingers, dripping down onto his stomach as his body shuddered violently. His grip on the lace tightened, his cock twitching as he milked himself through the aftershocks, his mind a hazy mess of lust and obsession.

Viktor sagged against the bed, breathless and trembling.

But even as he stared at the soiled fabric in his hands, shame pooling heavy in his chest, he already knew—

This wouldn’t be the last time. Viktor should have stopped.

He should have shoved your lingerie back into your laundry basket and never touched it again. Should have avoided you the next day, put distance between you, done something—anything—to keep himself from spiraling further into this sick obsession.

But the problem was, he couldn’t.

Because the next time he saw you, you smiled at him.

Soft and sweet, like you always did, completely unaware of what he’d done the night before. You had flour dusting your cheek, your oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder as you pushed a plate of warm cookies toward him.

“Made your favorite,” you chirped. “You’ve been working too hard again, Vik.”

And fuck—fuck, you had no idea.

No idea that just hours ago, he had your panties shoved in his face while he came all over himself, moaning your name like a desperate little pervert. No idea that even now, as you stood there with your soft smile and your innocent eyes, he still had them tucked beneath his pillow, waiting for him to ruin them again.

He barely managed to thank you, his voice hoarse, tight. You just beamed, completely oblivious as you turned back to the kitchen, humming a tune under your breath while you washed dishes.

And Viktor just sat there, staring at you, burning the image into his mind.

That night, he fucked himself to the thought of you again. And again. And again.

—

It didn’t take long for things to spiral further.

Viktor became reckless.

At first, he only stole one pair. But then he found himself rifling through your laundry again, fingers shaking as he pocketed another—something soft and baby pink, satin this time, with tiny white ribbons. He stole a bra too, one that still had the faintest scent of your perfume clinging to the cups, and it made his cock throb so hard he nearly dropped to his knees right then and there.

He spent nights unraveling in his bed, fisting his cock with your lingerie pressed to his nose, moaning your name like a desperate, filthy thing. He dragged the lace over his shaft, letting the delicate fabric catch on the sensitive head, whimpering at the friction.

One night, he nearly lost himself completely.

He came so hard his vision blacked out for a moment, his cum spilling over the soft lace of your stolen panties, soaking them, ruining them. He should have felt ashamed, should have panicked at the evidence of his depravity.

But instead, he just�� brought them to his lips, sucking the taste of himself from the fabric, groaning at the thought of you wearing them like this—sticky, stained, his.

He was fucked. Completely, irredeemably fucked.

And then you started to notice.

One morning, as you sorted through your laundry, you frowned.

“Huh,” you muttered, rifling through the pile. “Weird. I swear I had more underwear than this.”

Viktor froze.

You were standing right in front of him, completely oblivious to the way his breath had just hitched, his fingers clenching around the edge of his book.

“Maybe they got lost somewhere in my room,” you mused, tapping your chin before shrugging. “Oh well. Guess I’ll just buy more.”

And then, as if you hadn’t just unknowingly set his whole body on fire, you stretched, your sweater riding up to expose a sliver of your bare stomach.

Viktor swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Vik,” you whined, pouting at him. “Can you help me tomorrow? I need to reorganize my closet.”

That was the moment he knew he was going to die.

Because your closet. Your closet was where you kept everything.

Your dresses. Your stockings. Your lingerie.

Viktor barely managed to nod, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Good!” You beamed, reaching out to ruffle his hair playfully before disappearing into your room, humming.

And Viktor sat there, trembling.

He needed to get a grip. He needed to stop.

But he already knew—when night fell, when the apartment was quiet and you were fast asleep—he would be between his sheets, your stolen panties in his fist, fucking himself into oblivion like a filthy, desperate man.

—

Viktor had never been good at resisting temptation.

The moment you had mentioned reorganizing your closet, he’d known he was fucked. Because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it—about all the things you kept tucked away behind those doors, soft lace and delicate fabrics that had graced your skin, kissed your curves.

So, when night fell and you were curled up in bed, unaware, Viktor found himself standing in front of your door.

He had no excuse this time. No justification.

He was doing something unforgivable.

But that didn’t stop him.

With a shaking hand, he turned the knob, the door creaking softly as it opened. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights through the curtains. He could hear your soft, steady breathing from the bed.

As quietly as he could, he stepped inside.

His heart was hammering, his pulse a deafening roar in his ears as he made his way to the closet, careful, slow. His leg ached with every movement, but the sharp bite of pain barely registered past the haze of arousal clouding his mind.

He swallowed hard as he pulled open one of the drawers.

And there it was.

Stacks of neatly folded lingerie—silks, lace, pastels, all things soft and delicate. All things that belonged to you.

Viktor exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling as he reached for a pair.

White lace, dainty pink ribbons.

His cock twitched violently, pressing insistently against his trousers.

God, he was fucking depraved.

He brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deep, his lashes fluttering as your scent filled his lungs.

And then—

“Viktor?”

The voice was soft, thick with sleep.

His entire body seized.

Slowly, his head turned, terror gripping him as he met your sleepy, drowsy gaze. You were sitting up in bed, blinking at him, your hair mussed from sleep.

The panties were still clutched in his hand.

The silence stretched thick between you, suffocating.

Then— “…Are you stealing my underwear?”

Your voice was gentle. No anger. Just confusion.

Viktor’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His mind was blank, burning with shame, his hands shaking as he fumbled for words, an excuse, something.

But then— Your expression softened.

“Oh, Vik,” you sighed, rubbing at your eyes, voice still thick with sleep. “You could’ve just told me you were frustrated.”

Something inside him snapped.

His body moved before his mind could catch up, crossing the room in uneven, desperate strides. The panties fell from his grasp as his hands cupped your face, his fingers trembling against your soft skin.

“You—” His voice was hoarse, almost wrecked. “You don’t understand—”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, still so unbearably sweet, so soft, and he couldn’t—he couldn’t hold back.

His lips crashed against yours, hot and needy, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped you. His fingers curled into your hair, tilting your head back as he devoured you, pouring every ounce of desperation, every filthy, pent-up fantasy into the kiss.

And you—oh, you melted against him so easily, your arms looping around his neck, a small, needy noise slipping from your throat as you kissed him back.

That was all it took.

Viktor groaned, pushing you back against the bed, his body caging yours beneath him as his hands roamed, desperate, hungry.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your lips, his voice trembling. “No idea what you do to me—how long I’ve wanted—”

His hands found the hem of your sleep shirt, shoving it up, groaning when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. His fingers dragged over the swell of your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you whimpered beneath him, arching into his touch.

“Viktor—”

“Shhh” he hushed, his mouth trailing down your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Let me have you. Let me show you how desperate you’ve made me.”

You shivered, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips traveled lower, lower, down your stomach.

When he reached the waistband of your panties, he groaned.

Pink. Satin. Tiny white bows.

Just like the pair he had ruined nights before.

Viktor was breaking. No—he was already broken.

He had lost control the second you looked up at him with those soft, innocent eyes, completely unaware of how deeply you’d wrecked him.

He needed you.

Not wanted. Needed.

His body was trembling as he pulled your soaked panties down, peeling the damp fabric from your skin, his breathing ragged, uneven. His fingers clenched tight around the delicate fabric, and fuck, it was wet—sticky with your slick, the scent of you hitting him so hard his cock twitched violently, already leaking inside his trousers.

“Fuck.” He groaned—low, wrecked, almost pained.

His fingers flexed as he spread your thighs apart, and then—

God.

He stared. Your cunt was so wet, glistening in the dim light, your slick already dripping down onto the sheets, so fucking messy—so needy—just for him.

“Shit—look at you,” he rasped, his voice shaking.

Your thighs trembled, your hands gripping the sheets. “Vik—”

He let out a harsh, uneven breath. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He was drowning in you.

His hands clutched at your thighs, desperate, shaking. “You’re dripping,” he whispered, his eyes dark, wild. “All this… just for me?”

You let out a soft whimper, flustered, squirming beneath his gaze.

He lost it.

A sharp, choked noise left him as he lurched forward, his lips crashing against your inner thigh, biting, sucking, worshipping. He couldn’t stop. He needed to taste you—needed you all over his mouth, his fingers, his cock.

You gasped, back arching, hips twitching as he pressed his nose to your soaked folds, inhaling deep, his entire body shuddering.

“Fuck, I need—need to—” He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore.

His hands shook as he slid his fingers through your slick folds, his breath catching as his skin glided over yours. You were so fucking wet it made him ache, made him shake with the need to be inside you.

“Vik—please,” you whimpered, your voice so sweet, so shy.

He growled.

“Please what?” His voice was rough, desperate, his fingers circling your entrance, teasing, barely pushing inside. “Tell me.”

You swallowed hard, hips twitching. “Please—touch me.”

His jaw clenched. His cock throbbed.

“Fuck.”

He shoved a finger inside you. You gasped sharply, your walls clenching down hard around him.

“Shit, you’re—” He whimpered—actually whimpered—as your tight, pulsing heat sucked his finger in, your slick coating him, so fucking warm, so perfect.

“You’re squeezing me already,” he choked out, his head falling forward, his forehead pressing against your thigh. “God, I—”

He pushed in deeper, his breathing ragged, his entire body shaking.

“Feels—so—fuck—so good,” he groaned.

You let out a soft, desperate noise, squirming. “Vik—”

His cock ached.

“More,” he gasped, “need more—”

He shoved a second finger inside you, stretching you open, and you sobbed, your body jerking, your thighs trembling.

His breath hitched. “Shit—shit, you feel so good—”

He was moving before he could even think, his fingers curling deep, rubbing against that spot— And you cried out.

Your walls clenched, your body jerking, slick gushing down his hand.

Viktor groaned, his entire body shaking.

“That’s it—” He moaned, his fingers moving faster, rubbing, pressing, forcing your body to break. “Again. Give me—fuck, give me more—”

A sharp gasp. A full-body tremor.

“Ohhh, fuck—!”

Your body seized, your thighs jerked, and then— You gushed.

Your release splashed against his fingers, soaking his hand, spilling down onto the sheets, so messy, so fucking perfect.

Viktor whined.

“God, you squirt?” His voice was wrecked, slurred, his fingers trembling. “Fucking—oh, fuck, look at you—”

Your face burned, your hands clenching in the sheets, your entire body trembling.

“I—” You gasped, a sob breaking in your throat. “I don’t—ah—!”

Another curl of his fingers, another deep press against that spot, and you gushed again, messy, dripping, soaking his wrist.

Viktor groaned, his cock leaking, precum pouring into his trousers, the fabric already damp from how fucking desperate he was.

“Again,” he rasped, “fuck, do it again—”

You sobbed, wrecked, your entire body trembling, and still, he didn’t stop—he wouldn’t let you stop.

Another press. Another stroke.

And then— You screamed. Your back arched, your hips jerked, your release dripping out of you, splashing onto his fingers, his wrist, the sheets beneath you.

“Fucking hell,” Viktor whined, barely able to breathe. “You’re so—so messy—”

You whimpered, shaking, utterly ruined, utterly his.

And Viktor��Viktor hadn’t even fucked you yet.

His golden eyes were dark, wild, starving, his soaked fingers trembling as he brought them to your lips.

“Taste yourself” he whispered, his voice wrecked, desperate.

Your lips parted, your tongue flicking out—

And Viktor snapped. Because he needed you now. And he wasn’t stopping until you were crying his name.

Every last shred of control had snapped the moment he saw you squirt, saw your body convulse under his touch, felt your release gush out, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything.

And the way you looked at him afterward—eyes dazed, lips parted, your trembling little body trying so hard to recover—

He had to ruin you.

He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

Not until you were his.

Not until he was buried so deep inside you, until you were sobbing with pleasure, until his cum was dripping out of you, marking you, claiming you.

“I—” His voice came out broken, ragged. His fingers curled tighter around your thighs, his whole body shaking. “I can’t—can’t wait anymore—”

Your breath hitched, your soft thighs twitching against his hands.

“Vik—”

He choked out a groan at the sound of his name on your lips, desperate and needy.

“Tell me you want it.” His forehead dropped to your thigh, his voice wrecked. “Tell me you want me inside you—please, I can’t—I need—”

Your fingers threaded into his hair, your nails lightly scratching at his scalp, and Viktor whined, bucking forward, rutting into the mattress like some desperate, depraved thing.

“I want you, Viktor.” Your voice was so sweet, so soft—too sweet for the filthy, depraved things he wanted to do to you. “Please—need you to fill me up—”

Fucking hell.

Viktor let out a shaky, broken noise, his hands fumbling frantically at his belt. He was so desperate, so fucking shaky, it took him three tries to undo the buckle before he was shoving his trousers down his thighs, gasping as his cock finally sprang free.

His tip was flushed angry red, already leaking, smeared with precum—so fucking sensitive from watching you fall apart under his fingers.

He barely had the sense to wrap a hand around himself, stroking once, spreading the slick down his length, before he was reaching for you, gripping your thighs, dragging you down the bed until you were under him, where you belonged.

“Viktor—”

Your voice was so soft, so sweet, and Viktor shuddered, dropping down, pressing his forehead to yours.

His cock was right there—so close, nudging up against your messy, soaked entrance, already dripping, already needing.

“I—I can’t—” Viktor’s voice was wrecked, desperate, his hips twitching, barely holding himself back. “I need to be inside you—need to feel you—please’—”

You reached up, cupped his face, kissed him—and that was it.

A broken, choked moan tore from his throat as he thrust forward, sliding into you in one deep stroke and fucking hell, you were tight.

“Shit—!” Viktor whimpered, his entire body shaking, his cock aching from the way your walls squeezed down around him, sucking him in, holding him so deep.

You sobbed, your nails digging into his back, your thighs trembling against his hips.

“Oh my god—” Your voice was so wrecked, so sweet, and Viktor couldn’t—he couldn’t.

“Too tight—” he gasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his fingers gripping at your waist so hard he’d leave bruises. “F-fuck, you’re—you’re squeezing me so much, I—”

Your walls fluttered around him, your body still adjusting, and Viktor whined, shaking, his hips already trying to move, already trying to fuck you.

“You feel so good,” he gasped against your neck, panting, shuddering. “I—oh, fuck, I’m going to—”

He had to move.

His hips drew back, his cock dragging against your walls—sticky, soaked—before he thrust back in, burying himself deep and you sobbed, your legs trembling, your fingers clutching at him.

“Viktor—!”

“Fuck—fuck—” His voice was so wrecked, shaking, desperate. “You’re perfect—so fucking perfect—”

He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down.

Couldn’t do anything but fuck you, deep, desperate, shaking, his hips slamming against yours, his cock pounding into your wet, tight heat—

Your sweet little sobs only made it worse.

“You’re crying—” he gasped, watching as your lashes clumped together, fat tears spilling down your cheeks. “Are you crying for me? Is it too much?”

You shook your head frantically, your hands gripping his shoulders. “No—feels—so—so good—!”

Viktor moaned, his thrusts deepening, his cock bruising your cervix, every wet, filthy stroke dragging against that sweet spot inside you—

And then— Your walls fluttered.

Your body tensed.

“V-Vik—!”

Viktor felt it the second you broke.

Your walls clamped down, locking him inside, your sweet, soft cunt milking him, sucking him in and you screamed, body jerking, pleasure ripping through you as you came hard, convulsing around his cock, so fucking tight—

Viktor saw white.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—!” He snarled, his vision blurring, his hips slamming forward, burying himself deep—

He came.

His body jerked, his cock pulsing, and then heat flooded you.

“Fuck—f-fuck—” Viktor whimpered, his hips twitching, pushing deeper, shoving himself inside you as his cum poured out, filling you so deep, so full—

And he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

He kept thrusting, slow, deep, pushing his cum deeper inside you, stuffing you full, ruining you— Until finally, finally, he collapsed.

Viktor shuddered, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged, his body twitching with aftershocks.

His cock was still buried deep, plugging you up, keeping every last drop inside.

You were whimpering, soft, tired, wrecked.

Viktor groaned, pressing a sloppy, desperate kiss to your lips.

“Mine,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’re mine.”

Your lashes fluttered, your soft, messy hands cupping his face.

“I’m yours, Viktor.”

And fuck, Viktor felt his cock twitch again, already hardening inside you.

Because he wasn’t done.

Not until he’d filled you again.

And again.

And again.

[nyancrimew]

oo if we’re doing queer confessions i got a bit of a long one

first relationship, classic story of not realizing we were into eachother for the longest time, even after regularly kissing and cuddling for almost a year lol (calling him bf 1). went really well actually after we properly got together

after about a year or so, bf 1’s ex (not on any sort of bad terms INITALLY) (calling him bf 2) who was my best friend asks if we wanted to just be in poly relationship together since we all had confessed to eachother at once point and we say yeah sure we still all like eachother, it took bf 1 a few months to think over first which was fine by all of us, so we just continued all being close friends for a few months till then. few months later, he says yea sure that’d be fine and so we started trying it out since we had all been really happy with eachotehr up to that point

literaly the same exact night that happened, bf 2 changed his attitude towards me completely and despite being very good friends before this and loving eachother he started ignoring me and claiming he just didn’t have energy to do anything ever, while constantly showering bf 1 in overwhelming affection and hundreds of smaller things like that where i’d get left in the dust while he would get mounds of attention. he was just as unnerved by it as i was.

i was a bit dumb and so didn’t really act on this for a while despite realizing immediently it was weird, and after a few months me and bf 1 started talking about it privately and realized he was just flat out lying to both of us and expected us to like. not talk about it?? like super blatant things llike telling me he didn’t value sex in a relationship at all and didn’t want it with me while minutes later telling bf 1 that sexual intimacy is the thing he valued most and wouldn’t want a relationship otherwise

one of the worst thing though (atleast in terms of how much it damaged my understanding and acceptance of myself)) was despite him being nb (he/they) and even experimenting with being a girl for a while he started constantly hanging our own gender identities over our heads and sayin shit like “well i’m gay so if you start identifying as a girl i’m gonna leave” to me when i brought up to him, the first person i talked to it about, that i wanted to be a girl which stunted myself growth by years and similar things to bf 1 who was very openly nb (which, wow i’m relazing as i’m typing this how casually mysoginsitc he was, he made all sorts of “jokes” about how inherently disgusting traditionally feminine bodily features were)

after about a year of this (me and other bf were just too scared to leave, but we definently should of) he actually broke up with me , and tried to speak on behalf of bf 1 claiming they just both wanted me out of the polycule, also just a straight up lie as when i talked to him about it . after talking for a while and asking some mutual friends we figured out he told literally every single person a different, conflicting story and putting the pieces together we came to conclusion that he was just using me as a throwaway tool to get back together with bf 1 to squeeze himself in the relationship, and tried dumping me out so he could be monogamous with him only.

needless to say bf 1 dumped his ass less than a week later after we finally were able to decipher the literally 10 different conflicting stories, and this story actually does have a really happy ending!! me and bf 1 are still besties and kiss a lot while he found another much sweeter and nicer boyfriend, i got another girlfriend with a shared pet kittygirl shortly after that helped me through the whole thing and i’ve never been happier about my body image/self image and gender identity in my life. IM FINALLY A CUTE GIRL WITH A CUTE GIRLFRIEND WE MADE IT NYALL :3!!!

(and as a nice bonus ontop, the only time i hear about him now is from other people realizing how scummy he was and cutting him off, leaving himself to rot in a hole of his own making surrounded by people jus like him. feels great to be away from that whole toxic friendgroup in general. freedom.)

(anyway thanks, “but we stay silly :3” was a quote regularly said to myself during the recovery of all this )

yipppeeee, we really do stay silly!!!

[court-jobi]

Let's Heal Each Other

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @gsony24))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (fem!reader is a semi-retired pro hero)

Words: 3.6K

Rating: T+ (18+ near the end for some spicy themes)

Warnings: talk about scars, past traumas, FEELINGS, body image issues, hurt/comfort, body worship, kissing, use of petnames

Summary:

You play a game only you keep tallies of: lay hordes of kisses onto your boyfriend until he breaks and gives into your sweet affections. It works-- making him reconsider keeping the majority of his skin (and insecurities) hidden from you, until he believes wholeheartedly that your love for him goes beyond scar tissue and that he literally never wants you to feel an ounce of self-hatred anymore, either. "I don't think I like this uno-reverse treatment. Aren't you supposed to be the flustered one, green eyes?" "You want me to stop?" "..no." "Then respectfully, hush your mouth, honey."

A/N: a love letter to sweet, sweet teacher!deku… I've lowkey always wanted to write for him~ horrified I'm not caught up on the manga/anime as I write this, but I had to dabble! Back into my MHA era I go~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

What began as you looking through his journals and hearing each and every one of your sweetheart’s passions from over his shoulder turned into a game of placing whisper-soft kisses on his cheeks. It was a private game that only you kept tallies of. 

Rules are… anytime he opens his mouth, the timer starts: how long can you hold out before forcing him to stop and take a breath after a quick pebbling of affection? Seeing him sigh at the first touch only encouraged you to do it more. He’d allow a few little pecks here, a few more there, or -like tonight- he’d suffer every one of your little presses until his patience broke, and he had no choice but to give you a kiss back.  It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear the content of what he shared– he was your own personal podcast, after all… but sometimes the fight to resist kissing him silly just turned tail and was nowhere to be found.

One long kiss turned into two and under the trae lit ceiling of his study, a bit of a makeout session grew as your lovely Izuku Midoriya relaxed into your affections, his hands roaming to your back to pull you comfortably over into his lap from your spot on the couch. He hugged you close and placed plenty of pecks along your cheek and jaw until you ultimately pressed him back into place– all so you could straddle him and face him properly. This move finally made him flounder and start to lose his vocabulary- even at the ripe ‘ole age of twenty-eight. 

You had to giggle a little and tease him for it; you’d expect a boy half his age to sport such a reaction, not a faculty member at UA highschool.

 "This is ok? I just wanted to see that cute face of yours-" you leaned back to give him enough space if he needed, letting your hands trail along his arms, down to his hands.

Izuku, or ‘Deku’ as his friends and the Hero World still called him, grasped yours and fought his wavering voice  to recover.

"N-no no! uh, it’s ok- yeah, it's fine!” want and desire brought out Izuku’s voice flip, “I just uhhh-heh~ haven’t had you sit this close up, like this before. I‘m... like it a lot."

You brushed your thumbs along his hands and linked his dominant's hand’s fingers with yours– noticing the pull of some scarring there for perhaps the first time. 

Izuku swallowed and tensed, pulling back to simply squeeze your hand briefly before letting go. Turning his wrist to turn down his cuff sleeve clenched that fist  so tightly,  the scars turned white.

"U-um.. yeah, I know it's pretty rough to look at. I hurt myself a lot my first year at UA- as a student, I mean. It's kind of embarrassing..." Izuku laughed it off, massaging his hand palm side up so you didn’t have to see.

"Embarrassing? Why?" You brushed his hair back on one side soothingly. 

Izuku met your eyes, finding nothing but genuine interest. Any effort to keep him talking would reward him in the end– only now you feared this was not a game anymore, but rather a necessary act of reassurance. He shook off any initial nerves with a quick tease back,

“... You’re just–  trying to get me to lay off the stats, aren’t you.”

“Course not,” you defended, “but it seems like if I touched a nerve, it must be important and I don’t wanna gloss over that either. So, I wanna know all about that, too.”

Izuku quirked his lip and carried on, "If you insist. I guess the short of it is, I didn’t know my limits when I enrolled, and I damaged myself beyond repair while training with ‘One for All’. The tightness is a lot better now! But I overdid it... and I'll always have these scars as a reminder- they're… still there."

Care for his younger self flooded you. It’s clear Izuku still had plenty of regrets surrounding his former hero days, at least in how he went about discussing it. Were he still active as a hero, he might view battle scars differently - just signs of the lifestyle. Now on him, they must be more painful reminders  instead.

"May I see?"

Once again, the man looked up in surprise to see your little half smile and steeled himself– not having the heart to say no to you when you were being sweet. You were his girl after all. 

So, Izuku shimmied himself out of his sportek hoodie, and you scooted off his lap to give him room. You always noted he wore a black underarmor shirt, no matter the weather, and now realized why. 

Biting the inner of his cheek, Izuku kept his sights up and over your shoulder as he rolled each sleeve off, wrenching it between his hands. Jagged scars ran all the way up his dominant arm to a big patch behind his tricep. His shoulder remained largely untouched save for a dangerous slice following where the underarm curved upwards. Without the pop of a shirt collar or the bunching of a hoodie, you now fully saw the stiff scar that trailed up his neck and matched in color to the one gracing his face.

For all the years that had passed since those days which he’s fully told you were a time of intensive training and exercise, you were surprised to learn that he’s kept up a workout discipline. His body was scarred, yes, but still incredibly strong. He’s clearly prioritized keeping himself in shape, if for no other reason than to maintain  flexibility and range of motion. 

The whole moment fell quiet, but extremely intimate– even as he left his  base tank top on. You ran your fingers up his now bare arm and hummed gently.

"Well..." you leaned demurely towards the back of the couch, admiring the freckles that stood out between the changed pigments, "for what it's worth, I think they read ‘I lived’ rather than ‘I failed’. And I don’t think they’re ugly." You kissed a broad line on his bicep and met his eyes. " ‘Scars are tattoos with better stories’, right? Yours even have ‘sparkles’." 

Though touched enough to give a sweet little hum back, his expression held tears right at the surface. He looked at your arm in comparison and let out a little sigh, his own fingers caressing the soft skin there. Didn’t take anyone with a psychic quirk to tell what he was thinking. 

"Here–”

You sat up and turned around, starting to lift the back of your own shirt, and you heard his squeak of surprise–

"UhhhHWHATareyoudoing!!" Izuku reared back as if his scandalized mother would enter the room at any moment. 

"Relax, tiger,” you fitted a look over your shoulder and teased. Holding the shirt in place over your shoulders, you activated your kinetic quirk and doing so illuminated some rigid scarring across your lower back- what looked like whip marks as you'd seen from the surgery notes.

Gemlike light shone through even your underclothes, up your back, then on a diagonal across your neck. These were your own battle scars from over the years. You pointed with your thumb starting at the low spine, 

"These were from when I was first captured in Panama. Up here, when I tried to escape." Then you twisted to the side a bit where a big gash shone brilliantly to just under your left breast, "this, I got when I tried to make a quick rescue during my first internship in the States. I had a little boy in my right hand and couldn't drop him, so I took a hit on the other side." You shared these stories softly and he studied each with complete care.

 Izuku reached a bit with his good hand, but stayed his motion when he hovered an inch away. 

You encouraged, with ultimate trust, "You can touch it." 

Despite your kind chirp, his eyes checked over you briefly and simply brushed you with the back of two fingers at first. He let out a shaky breath at the sight that greeted him– the light danced around his fingers, interacting with his presence like ethereal steam rising around the contours. There were so many moments watching you in combat with these sorts of emissions that he remembered blackwhip- one of the more practical gifts ‘One for All’ had offered him, though equally dangerous and hard to control.

You had your own ‘blackwhip’ and it gifted you similar lessons learned- he wasn’t the only one. 

"See? It's not so bad," you resolved any concern Izuku had shown so far. He sought your eyes again, catching sight of the side of your other cheek which was also glowing a bit. "-- at least we match in the face shot department~" 

With a scoot, you slid back to face him again; he noted the scar across the temple of your hair trickling down to the top of your cheek bone. The way the light shone mimicked a tear’s tread down a fogged windowpane.

Ultimate care brought Izuku to reach up -to stop it’s run somehow- and touched the skin with a gentleness you came to love about him. Anticipating his concern, you mumbled something about it only really hurting when you have a glare headache after too much screentime, reminiscing on the throbbing sensation.

"Huh..." Why couldn't he see them before? Why would your quirk hold onto pain this way?

"They only show up when I'm actively using my power to its fullest, and these are usually covered by clothes or face shield when I'm driving." You tuned into his thoughts perfectly. "But… I know they’re there, even if I’m completely covered up. I see ‘em in the back of my mind anytime I’m in front of a mirror." 

As you deactivate your illumination and your skin settled back to normal, you righted your sweater down to your waist so it didn’t catch in the sofa cushions. If you were bothered at all, you barely showed it through your shrug.

"Everyone carries scars- not every single one can be seen, but we all have them. If not physical, emotional then." Running your manicured hand along the edge of his jaw made him lean into the touch, not unlike a puppy. "Please dont think less of yourself because of this... you're too wonderful to even think so poorly. If nothing else, it's proof of how great a hero you are." 

He was one, after all, according to the annals of the Pro Hero Japan Registrar… but Izuku  hardly felt like one anymore. It was an old pain in several ways past the tangible. Because ultimately, he had his chance of being an active pro hero– which was now fully over the minute he expelled the last of his power and ended the cycle for good. 

Help of friends, mentors, and loads of therapy have helped him cope with the memories and pressures of his time in school– all to bring him to a better, more healthy mindset in terms of his place in the world. Putting in the mental work was his largest success, to his credit. In many ways, his life was even more fulfilling now; Izuku fully recognized that and expressed gratitude vocally. Teaching gave him both an outlet and a purpose that he shined in. Still, a selfish twinge of him still hurt knowing how it all panned out- how different his life ended up from what he’d dreamed. 

‘What a great hero I am’…What kind of hero am I?’ his eyes grieved with distance behind them,  ‘Now that I'm no more than a living legend like All Might? He at least got to have a full career.’

Behind a tight lipped smile, Izuku wanted everything in him to sink into your loving sentiments as they often consoled him like none other; but now he found his delight dropping against his will. And how could he fight your praise when you looked at him so earnestly? Like you believed it? It seemed this sentiment upset him. Izuku never once doubted your sweetness so visibly, until now. 

It seemed dating you brought some old feelings to the surface– try as he might to ignore them.

As if sensing the turn of his thoughts inward, you read the tiniest of changes in his posture and pressed on, pulling your legs up to stretch over his lap. Unphased, Izuku dropped the hoodie to the floor and absently caressed your calves.

“You do know you’re still a hero, right?”

Izuku cocked his head, not understanding.

“You were one before any of that madness. They show it all the time at the schools, y’know,” you shared with a good deal of pride, “The sludge monster that had your friend– that was Deku’s first mission. Bet you didn’t know it then, anymore than you do now: even while you’re teaching the next generation of heroes. Your words, your mind, and your heart– you’re still very much a hero… by all three you carry with you.”

And just like that, Izuku truly didn’t think he could melt into the floor like Mirio– until that very moment. It was that pinnacle point that Allmight identified it, too. The instinct that turned the rest of his life upside down. 

Betrayed by his disciplined nerves, his weepy heartstrings eeked out a catch in his voice, 

"How is it you always know just what to say?..."

Your brilliant smile pressed your cheeks into the most charming lift, knowing him all too well and being proud of it:

"I feel like you do, more than you think. I've gotten really good at masking my own issues, so I get it.”

In a split second, Izuku channeled all  self-pitying energy into full, protective alarm–

"IsSuEs?? About what?!–Yourself- how could you say that??"

You chuckled with a full heart, and gave him another doting kiss on the shoulder to try and deter him. 

"Well I'm not exactly a tiny girl anymore, hot stuff~ Mah thighs have been particularly blessed since I took a step back from active duty, and they’re at war with any skirt or pants I find." You palmed down your legs briefly, stretching and doing your best to be alluring, "You don’t seem to mind too much ‘bout my size though, so I don’t sweat it nowadays… You inspired me, actually.”

Light suspicion glared back at you, listening but friendly. “How so?”

You turned introspective yourself- but voiced your train of thought rather than shut it up behind pretty eyes and stunted vulnerability.

“Oh, that silly voice in my head shouts just as loudly as anyone else, so I’m plenty guilty of keeping myself down. She doesn’t serve me though, and that’s taken some reframing to get over… I started focusing on making you feel better, when I met you. Share something outside of myself. That makes me happy. Helps keep things in perspective and not stay hung up hard on myself either.”

Before you could read into how tenderly your Izuku was listening to you, you bombarded him with a bite of your trademark humor..

“I mean, let’s be honest– you’ve done the impossible work of convincing me to finish an entire Stanley before lunch, all in the name of hydration! That’s true love right there…”

You reclined back fully now- an extension of your true level of comfort with him. Watching you ease your way down, Izuku would have been flustered at any other time, but now? All he did was fawn after you like you hung the stars yourself.

“You deserve some happiness, baby,” you reminded him. “If I can play any part in that, give you even a fraction of what you’ve given me? I’m honored for the chance.  Not for everything you've done– but everything you are. To me."

Seeing Izuku’s newfound appreciation and sentimental smile, you feared he would slide right off the sofa and take you with him– until a newly confident smirk took its place.

A flit of his gaze down your body proved he’d decided otherwise: you were gonna pay for the  emotional roller coaster this night has turned into.

Picking up one of your bent legs and chucking it off the couch, Izuku stole you from your comfy position outright: he scooped you up, then plopped you down again with the immense strength he did in fact still carry– all to snuggle up by pinning you where he liked. The surprise had its desired effect, as you giggled at your hero snatching you– squeezing him in a tight, full body hug.

"If you're going to let me not worry about my arms,” Izuku curtailed his laughing, “-then I'll see to it that you don't worry about these–”

He muffled a kiss to your thigh after scooting backwards- one kiss each, then settled his chin on your tummy. 

"You’re really beautiful,” Izuku marvelled, “I’ve always thought that. Inside and out." 

You stuttered a bit and leaned up on your elbows. Your earlier bravery was slipping now that the roles were reversed. 

Next, he set a loving course of affections there on your stomach too, and scattered more smooches across your midsection, regardless of the barrier your sweater kept between. The hand not supporting his weight caressed your side and even dipped underneath the hem a little.

"Izuku...." you sighed a bit, running through his hair again. There he goes, making you thoroughly embarrassed.

“You should take your own advice, sweet girl,” he shared wisely, “-- treat ourselves as nicely as we treat others– and I don’t mean about keeping you hydrated, silly.”

You snorted back. No argument there– but you hear him out all the same.

“You’re right about that, y’know,” his sights adored you inch by inch as he spoke. “I can wish and wonder how things might have been n’let that keep me down… or, I can be proud of what I’m making now… the future I get to live and see… with the loveliest woman on Earth.”

These comments would be the death of you. Death by Deku.

You chuffed at the change, “Well, geez what happened to my blushing bride?  A little pep talk all you needed?”

“Mmmyup. Your turn, now.”

“I dunno if I like this uno-reverse,” you teased his scalp– “it’s definitely.. different.”

Izuku mouths a minute at your wrist, puppy eyes locked on yours, “You wan’ me to stop?”

“...No.”

“Then respectfully, hush your mouth, honey.”

Littering compliments on you caused Izuku to kiss you a bit slower, crawling up your body, pressing tiny kisses up your middle, skipping your chest (politely) and going for the open space from your off shoulder top to take a taste of you on your collarbone. He hummed on contact with skin, brushing some of your flyaways up and away.  He muttered between kisses. 

‘You smell good… well, of course, you always smell good, always feel s’soft…’

Sighs and spoken praise passed the man’s lips as chose a new spot on your shoulder to adore, claiming you as soft and warm in the tenderest of ways, humming distractedly along every spot he deemed worthy of worship.

Without your noticing, those very strong, steady, scarred hands guided your chin– leading your head away so he'd have room by your neck. This was a great tactic to hide your dizzying aversion, so you’d be damned to stop him now.

Completely unfair. Wasn’t it his job to be constantly embarrassed?!

Taking your pitiful moans as a hint for a breather, Izuku pulled back to savor how cute your face contorted in shyness.

Your darling Izuku leaned down to your ear while you hugged him closer than ever now. The hot anticipation in your belly let its tight grip loose to something relieving to your senses; a refreshing blanket of comfort, rather than white-hot lust and drive. He nuzzled you as he spoke, whispering such caring words,

 "You hold onto me, love, and I'll hold onto you. Let's help heal each other."

You hummed in agreement and gasped a little at feeling warm lips meeting your neck for the first time. The sound that left you, involuntary as it was, did nothing but give him the confirmation he wanted. 

Izuku’s kisses fell gently and sweet from that moment forward, tongue lapping after some sucked areas to ease any harshness on his way to your waiting mouth. He seemed to be lost in his actions, moaning little utterances of your name as he went. You called  for him too in your lovestruck haze, rubbing his shoulders and holding him in place lightly by the hair once he graced your lips at long last. 

His hands trailed all over your sides and with your encouragement finally reaching his ears, he grasped at your waist a little firmer. Strength and assurance on full display, he turned the both of you over so you laid in his arms fully, and he met your lips with newfound passion.

Pausing to catch a breath, you both looked at each other with such respect and understanding and  damn near reverence that you couldn't keep a smile in. He could have sworn you were sunlight. Warmth you'd never felt before bloomed inside.

Not that you’d ever be the one to make him stop once he’s on a roll, but you caught sight of the abandoned notebook on the ground beside you. Still open, long forgotten.

“What happened to quizzing me on Present Mic’s sound wave frequencies per mile~” you mouthed to him, breathless. 

Izuku simply held you tighter, onto his brightest sunflower. “Nah, maybe later. ‘Wanna play your game first.”

[sports-on-sundays]

Hiii!! So I have an idea for Oscar fic. He is dating a female plus size reader and he wants her to sit on his lap and she refuses bcs she thinks she will crush him. He is really patient with her and really tries to reassure her but when he can't succeed with his words he pulls her on top of him (maaaybe during a makeout session🤭) and goes like 'see woman???you are not crushing me!!!! And it's all fluffy and loving and oh my god I would die!!!!

adore you more / OP81

Summary: Oscar x plus size!girlfriend!reader - Summary up there ↑↑↑ Pure fluff 🤌

Warnings: self conscious about body/low self-image

Requested?: Yes!!!

Author's Note: THIS IS SO CUTE AND ADORABLE I LOVE THIS IDEA THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH!!! 🥰🥰🥰

The moment Oscar walks through the door of your shared flat in Monaco after a week of being gone at a race weekend, you immediately run to him and squeal, "Oscar!"

Right away, starts laughing, dropping all his bags on the floor so he can throw his arms around you in a tight embrace, saying, "Hey, Y/n."

You smile, leaning your head onto his shoulder. You stand there, hugging each other for a few minutes, before you finally murmur, "Wanna do something?"

He chuckles, kissing you cheek before finally leaning away again and murmurs, "Oh, angel, I just got home, and it's. Could you just give me a second to put down my bags and change first? I'm just a bit knackered; it's been a long last twenty-four hours."

"Oh- yeah, of course, Osc," you say right away. "You're just in a relaxing mood then?"

He smiles, nodding, and yawns, as if on cue. "Yeah, that'd be great. You wanna wait for me on the couch? Maybe you could put on a show, if you want."

You nod back and let him go off to do whatever he needs to do, getting his favorite series set up for when he's back and ready.

It's only a few minutes until he walks back into the living room in more comfy clothes, and flops down on the couch next to you. When he sees what show you've pulled up on the television, he says with a little smile, "Oh, my favorite."

You grin, responding, "I know," before getting the show started.

As you watch, Oscar pulls you closer and closer to himself, and once the show is finished and silence fills the room, he leans in and murmurs, "I'm so lucky to have a woman like you to come home to."

You smile softly at him, looking at him with nothing but pure affection in your eyes, and murmur, "I'm so lucky to have a man like you coming home to me."

He grins and kisses your nose, before whispering, "Come closer."

You chuckle softly and move closer.

"No, no, closer..." Oscar whispers again.

You giggle a bit more and say with a smile, "Honey, this is as close as I can get."

But his eyes seem to soften even further before he says with a little glimmer in his eyes, "No it's not. You can sit on my lap."

You know how sweet and loving it's all suppose to be, but in that moment, as soon as he says that, you seem to feel a terrible squeezing in your chest, and all you want to do is close your eyes and leave this situation altogether as you feel that sinking feeling drop in your stomach.

I can't sit on his lap. Why would he even say that?

Doesn't... doesn't he see?

"N- No..." you murmur. "That's fine. I don't really want to."

He frowns, thinking for a few seconds, before asking gently, "Y/n... why not?"

"Because- I just don't want to." You look away from him.

But he takes your hand gently. "Angel, you can tell me."

You swallow, looking down at his hands holding yours. Sigh shakily. "It's just..." you trail off, but he waits. You swallow again, before finishing with a soft crack in your voice, "I just feel like I'd crush you."

He stares. Sighs softly, before wrapping his arms tightly around you in a hug, so you cheek leans against his chest. "Honey. You won't crush me..." he says gently, near your ear.

"Yes I will..."

"Y/n," he lifts your chin, looking you earnestly in your sad eyes. "You will not crush me." He smiles softly, wiping the singular tear that slipped from your eye away. "You don't have to worry about that, angel."

"But, I..." you sigh, trailing off, looking away.

He sighs as well, but nods, saying softly, "But if you don't want to sit on my lap, I understand. You don't have to if you don't want to." He tilts your chin towards him again, just very gently, before adding, "But just remember, I'll always be ready to hold you in my lap. And you don't have to worry about crushing me either, okay?"

You just sigh, your damp eyelashes fluttering, but don't respond.

Oscar just gently pecks your lips before pulling you back close to his chest, holding you in his arms until the both of you fall asleep for the night.

The next morning, you wake up on the couch right where you fell asleep last night, the scents of Oscar presumably making up some sort of breakfast in the next room wafting in. You sit up, stretching with a big yawn, and are about to head to the kitchen, when Oscar peeks his head in and says, "You awake?"

"Does it look like I am?" you say with a teasing tone in your voice.

He smiles, entering the room fully and walking over to sink down on the couch next to you. He leans in, gently kissing the tip of your tone, saying, "I guess we both must've fallen asleep on the couch last night. But anyway, I just want to let you know... I felt so... blessed last night to come home after a long week to you. To be able to snuggle with you, and hold you in my arms..." He smiles softly. "It just really means a lot to me."

You smile softly back at him, your eyes flicking over him, before you murmur, "Aw, Oscar... that's so sweet..."

He smiles, and says with a little hum, "Not as sweet as you..." before leaning in for a kiss.

Once he pulls away, you say with a little teasing giggle, "So somebody's in the mood, I see...?"

He rolls his eyes before saying simply, "Well, after I got to rest up with you last night and get my hugs, isn't it fair for me to get my kisses, now, too?"

You smile, shrugging, and saying, "Alright. Point made. I won't complain." As you both lean in for another kiss, Oscar draws you closer to him, his hand cradling the back of your neck while the other rests possessively on your waist. He hums softly into the kiss, both of you feeling needy for each other. Connected. He fervently kisses you, his tongue dancing with yours, teasing and tantalizing. Making you feel completely lost in the most found way. As he deepens the kiss further, you feel his hand gently stroke down your body, painfully slow, before both hands grip your waist and he gently pulls you even closer to him, onto his lap. He doesn't want you to pull away from him, not even for a second, completely gone, addicted to you, but you do anyway, panting softly, and stare at him. "You-"

He smiles softly, leaning into to press his lips against your neck, before murmuring, "I know, I know, honey. But don't you see, Y/n?" He peppers a few more tender kisses on your neck. "You're not crushing me..."

You sigh shakily as he continues gently kisses your neck, before leaning back again to smile into your eyes. "Oscar..." you breathe, feeling a weight slowly being lifted off your chest as he gazes at you.

"Yes?" his eyebrows softly raise.

You throw your arms around him, causing him to chuckle softly, pulling you in, his arms wrapping around your back. "What?" he chuckles, kissing your cheeks.

"You know exactly what."

His eyes soften with pure affection as he gently rubs your lower back. And he holds you there, on his lap, a blanket of acceptance and calm and peace covering the two of you.

He kisses you on your scalp, murmuring, "I love you, gorgeous."

"I love you too, Oscar. In fact, I adore you."

He smiles, tilting your chin up to gently, slowly kiss you once more, in beautiful synergy with one another, before he pulls away to softly whisper, his eyes gazing intensely into yours, "I bet I adore you more."

[r0-boat]

Yessssss I lOvE your headcanons about the 2 unreleased kings 😋 must be because I love dark headcanons.... (and that in Abbadon is something couldn't miss out 😈)

But can you do some moreeee? 🥺 Like about the headcanons about interactions between kings perhaps (seven kings---!!!!) Or maybe between kings and MC pls 😚 I kinda crave for some dark contents right now (cus when I first play WHB, I already expect this 👀)

Only if you're fine with this request, and jusst ignore it if you don't okie 😘

Oh my God interactions with the Kings hshshs

I mostly just have really stupid headcanons about those guys interacting but I got some dark ones

Dark!whb King headcanons

speculation for asmodeus and belphegor(I'm writing these two before they come out)

Cw: yandere, murder, drugging/drugs, death, cannibalism, sexual slavery mentions of being sold off, most of this shit is just talking about a black market shcsdgj. This shit is dark dead dove do not eat

Disclaimer: I do not condone anything I write This is purely for fantasy written by adults for adults only!

Belphegor and asmodeus has been fully released here's the update

Links to little asks about people's questions

Question one about Satan's desires

Question two on Mammon

Satan

I don't think we talk about Satan's depression as much as we should have. What I feel like you would think himself as a wrathful monster unable to control his wrath, sometimes he would have depressive episodes where his personality is a completely 180. He's just as angry at himself as he is at everyone else.

The first time you've witnessed this depressive episode is when he accidentally struck you and made you bleed. His whole body starts shaking as he began to break down He tore apart his room and started crying and took weeks for him to calm down.

The reason why his subordinates are okay with him taking out his anger and physically hurting them is because if he doesn't have an outlet he'll take out it on himself.

Satan is dependent on you for his emotional needs. He loves you, and he needs you; please do not leave him.

Satan is definitely holding back a lot of his dark thoughts because he doesn't want to hurt you, and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold back these darker desires. Normally he tells you everything, but he doesn't want to scare you. He wants you to like him.

Leviathan

Leviathan is a budding yandere, He already stalks you. Trying to keep his obsessive thoughts underneath a layer of hatred. That hatred mixing into more obsession. Of course he wants you to love him, but he also wants to be hated by you just as much as he is loved because it gets him on your mind. And that's really all he wants. It doesn't matter if he makes you hate him. As long as you're thinking about him he is okay with that.

Because of his abuse as a child from angels I would not doubt he wouldn't know how to normally show affection.

He has killed another devil for you. And he will gladly do it again. He sends the heads of lower rank devils that you dare show a smile too under the name "You're admirer" isn't he so romantic.

Leviathan only tolerates the kings being around you because chilling one of them or they're subordinates would start a war. So to have you he must use sneakier tactics.

Beelzebub

He has a fantasy where he roofies you at a bar and takes you home with him. Whenever you go to the bathroom thinking that Your drink is safe with him, He stares blankly into the glass, thoughts swirling with mental images of your nice loopy giggly self being laid on his bed.

Angels taste like chicken, humans taste like beef, demons taste like pork. Humans so far is his favorite. Humanoid meat especially humans are delicacy and highly illegal in the Tartaros black market. A delicacy He has been recently craving.

If he ever dies he wants his last meal to be you after he fucks you of course.

Levi gives the bodies of the devils he has killed too Beel to eat.

Beel definitely does drugs He's mostly immune now... He hates that Adderall doesn't affect him the same as the others.

Mammon

Tartaros is home to the rich and the very powerful. They hold grandiose special parties where the wealthy gather. Of course Mammon attends these parties. These demons see you as a pretty little exotic pet unknowing that Mammon is the pet and you are the master. And these same demons frequently talk about how they would buy you at any price, talking about your body as if you are a piece of meat and a prize to be bought and sold. Sadly you are not for sale.

As the demon of greed flaunting is his specialty And he has definitely thought about telling you up and all his gold and jewels to bring you to one of these parties to show you off. As a message saying 'This is something you cannot have.

Mammon knows of the Tartaros Black market and he turns a blind eye, but he will gladly do something if you tell him to. Or if belphie gets off his ass and strong arms him.

Giving him a little more because getting asked for it: Mammon doesn't do shit about the black market because He owns part of it and he practically created it. This man runs his kingdom like a mafia and he is a mob boss. Shady dealings to other kingdoms smuggling goods anything for More money and greater goods.

Lucifer

Has purchased a human corpse from the same black market for scientific purposes he swears up and down.

He slowly corrupting himself He beats himself up over it but at the same time he kind of likes it.

"hey can I cut you open and look at your organs? No? Oh okay..."

Lucifer because of his past as an angel suddenly gets urges to kill you. They have gone down over time since his transformation as a devil but he really shouldn't be getting this hard over thoughts of putting his hands around your neck.

Makes aphrodisiacs as a paid commission for asmodeus. And asks you to test the drugs.

If you ever die he wants to keep your beautiful eyes.

Your blood is a beautiful drug like sweet wine. He's obsessed with the taste

Belphegor

Belphegor and his superpower of a kingdom are the only reason why the Kings actually give a damn about their laws. Nifleheim is a strong powerhouse and a great enemy to those who don't want to make one of them.

However, Belphegor isn't all justice and the law and order in fact far from that. He is the law whatever he wants he can bypass it and everyone will turn a blind eye. If you were ever sold by Mammon to the highest bidder Belphegor would be your buyer.

Grand spectacles of public executions are very popular thing in Nifleheim(Belphie Danganronpa fan)

The real horror is that belphie invest in cryptocurrency and has an NFT/j

Belphie is also completely dependent on you and he will make you stay any way necessary.

Belphie only hasn't cracked down on the others harder as he should is because he doesn't give a fuck what happens in other kingdoms if it is in his own.

Belphie thinks Asmodeus is a disgusting freak. Leviathan is an amateur to him. Satan and belphie would get along pretty well I think they would be FPS partners.

Asmodeus

All of hell's most heinous devils come here because the laws are so lax. You're wondering why this kingdom hasn't fall to complete anarchy... Apparently getting you addicted on sex and then withholding it as a punishment is surprisingly very effective.

Asmodeus would love to have you but hasn't invite you yet because... Well if your kingdom is filled with half trained rabid dogs and you throw a nice fine steak inside.... Yeahhh.

Asmodeus is actually a pretty nice dude, He's very calm, polite and chivalrous. Which makes you wonder how much of that is a mask. Something you'll never know.

Asmodeus has a harem I think that goes without saying. And he talks greatly about adding you to that harem and how you would be his favorite~

It's no secret that I think humans are a very sexualized being in hell. Asmodeus is one of the demons with a huge human kink. Humans in his eyes are still primal animals which is part of their biggest appeal to him.

Asmodeus thinks belphie has a stick up his ass and he needs to loosen the fuck up

[tacitusk1llwhore]

What's up, y'all? This post has been wildly anticipated, and I have literally spent days on it. So let's get right into it, yeah? The Van Der Linde Gang is not a family; it is not a group of down-and-outs living outside the law for freedom (not entirely). It is, in fact, a cult, or, at the very least, most of the time operates like a cult would. To understand this we have to know exactly what a cult is, so what is the definition of a cult? A cult (as according to Google) is a misplaced or excessive admiration for a particular person or thing. This is one of the many definitions. So there you are; it's a cult, case closed! Just kidding, I wouldn't make it that easy, so let's look deeper into cult mentality and how it relates to the VDL gang.

Let's look first at what some characteristics of a cult leader are, and then let's match them to Dutch as a person. Cult leaders are incredibly charismatic; they come off as personable, as these wonderful, easygoing people who accept those as they are and bring in those who have been deemed by society as undesirable. But what makes them so very charismatic? How is it so easy for them to fall into this role? Having an image of yourself rooted in grandiosity, not reality. But Dutch isn't like that! You cry, to which I say—hold on, I'm getting there. Dutch is like that; Dutch has always been like that. In the traditional cult sense, he doesn't believe himself to be god, nor does he proclaim himself supreme or anything that we typically associate with cults. What does he do then? He corrects himself; he blame-shifts, and often. One of the first hints that I got that maybe this guy isn't as cool as I thought he was was all the way in Colter. When speaking to Charles, Dutch tells him to get indoors, on account of the cold and his injured hand. This seems so sweet, something from genuine concern and care for someone under his leadership. Until he slips up in his language and says, "I—We need you strong." He starts off simply stating that he himself needs Charles strong, greatly overestimating the true need for Charles amongst the other gang members. Charles provides for the gang in the form of food, money, and little repairs. If something were to happen to Charles day-to-day, it wouldn't affect Dutch all that much. Who would it affect? Those that cannot hunt for themselves, Abigail, who can't leave camp on account of her son, those that rely on the men of the gang to provide for them. If there was a food shortage in the gang, Dutch would be just fine; he can hunt for himself. You know who probably can't? Tilly or Mary-Beth. By first and foremost stating that Dutch himself needs Charles strong before he switches to include everyone, we see the first sign of his exaggerated sense of self-importance. His use for Charles is exploitation; he can exploit his position, his lack of connection outside of the gang, to make him money. Others use it for Charles's basic necessities. It is also well known that Dutch is allergic to accountability, as we see in the phrase "You'll keep doubting me and we'll keep failing." This is said to Arthur after yet another one of Dutch's poorly executed and subsequently failed plans, through no fault of Arthur. Dutch needs a scapegoat; he cannot fathom that he himself makes poor choices, and so he narrows his perception, forcing a round peg through a square hole to frame himself as perfect. It was Abigail's fault that Hosea died; it's Arthur's doubt that makes their jobs not run smoothly; John isn't loyal anymore because of Abigail. Never once do we see Dutch take accountability, and we shouldn't expect him to, not when his sense of self is so insanely inflated.

Behaviors and body language also play into this; Dutch is very often seen standing, chest puffed, shoulders back, with a cigar in hand. He will stare off in silence, giving us this illusion that he's thinking, that he has all of these wonderful ideas running through his head so fast he simply has to take a pause to go through them all, to contemplate. Did you know that body language amongst cult leaders is typically comparable? This powerful, almost Superman-like pose is a common one amongst them; it exhibits power and confidence, combined with subtle, casual movements or actions, like smoking a cigar or rubbing the temples. This can and does give the illusion of not only intelligence but also power and empathy or deep contemplation. Dutch also dresses luxuriously; he wants to stand out against the gang as this intellectual genius. He wants to seem so much more well educated, with so much more money, so these people who are more intelligent than him but less confident or well off look at him and say, "Wow, I should follow him; he's doing well for himself; he's confident; he knows best." When in reality it's all a ruse, and body language, the set apart from the others, is another way he does this.

Now let's look at what I think is one of the most cult-like aspects of the VDL gang, and that is how they got their members. So many people say, "Oh well, how could anyone ever join a cult?" "Why not just leave?" "You'd have to be stupid to join a cult!" But the thing is, people do not purposely join cults. People are lured into cults in multiple ways: the promise of money, freedom, love, luxury, but most of all, family. You know who the prime targets for cults are? The marginalized, the poor, as well as the young, the naive, and the downtrodden. Take the analogy of the frog in water: if you slowly turn up the heat, the frog will boil alive—such can be applied to cults; no cult starts with these crazy behaviors, rules, or rituals; they condition you slowly, they put you into a position in which it is impossible to leave, and when you realize the truth, it's too late. Let's look at the stories of some of the members of the VDL gang, how they came to be. Arthur, taken off the streets after his abusive father was hanged, leaving him orphaned and destitute; John, saved from a mob trying to hang him for thieving, this, of course, after he was also orphaned and had run from an orphanage (orphanages in the 1800s were child workhouses); Tilly, who was rescued after running from her kidnappers, after killing one of them to escape. Javier, freshly in the US, running into Dutch while the pair were stealing chickens, Charles, a loner with no family who had been on his own for decades, accepted into the first group he's known that has treated him fairly. What do these stories all have in common? These people were all at their most vulnerable when they were picked up by Dutch; they all were destitute, poor, hungry, afraid, or searching for a place to belong. It's easy to indoctrinate those that have nothing waiting for them on the outside. Dutch preys on people who have nothing, because when you give people with nothing something—you buy their loyalty right with it.

These people are so very loyal to Dutch that they would die for him; they literally state it (or at least Arthur does). The framing of a family is also a common tactic; if you make these people see you as one big family, not little worker bees, you can convince them anything they do for you is doing something for their family—for the greater good, when in reality, it's for you—it's for your gain. These men are called "Dutch's Boys." This implies a fatherly role, almost infantilizing those under the leader and bolstering their importance within the dynamic. These men have killed, stolen, robbed, kidnapped, and done the worst of the worst for Dutch, under the guise of a better life for them and these people they care about, when in reality it's for Dutch and his ideas that never included them in the end. The rules themselves also point to a cultish dynamic; if you rat, or talk, or are considered a traitor in any way, you are killed. Molly was not the first to be killed for this; I doubt she was even the second. It was so bad at the end that people were sneaking away in the night; they knew truly they were never just free to leave, the thought, or fact, rather, that they would be potentially murdered in front of their fellow camp members outweighing any want or wish for goodbyes. Let this be a reminder that most of these people were so indoctrinated they watched a woman they had lived with and cared for be murdered in cold blood, then be burned rather than buried (a sign of disrespect then), and didn't say anything; they didn't try to stop it; they didn't even defend Molly. Uncle actually brought her back, knowing that she was drunk and hysterical, probably knowing what the outcome would be. We see Arthur, who was realizing the error of his ways and the error of the gang, try and stop things, and later Karen go off on Grimshaw in her drunken state, but besides looking a little shocked and then going right back to work, no one did anything or said anything. Reminder: that's not normal. Killing someone for a betrayal (that turned out to be untrue without further evidence in front of a group of people and presumably a child) with such ease and to state, "It's the rules." As an explanation, it is not a family unit; it is a cult.

I will say that just because this is a cult doesn't mean that Arthur seeing the gang as a family or those members calling themselves family is any less true. That dynamic was real for them,that love was real based upon personal relationships and at some point probably real for Dutch, but realizing that he could get away with anything because he gave these people everything turned slowly into something far more sinister. It went from taking from the rich, taking in the downtrodden to help them to, I saved you; now go do my bidding. These people saw him, saw one another as family, as friends and brothers, and he saw them as chess pieces; he states as much. Again, frog in hot water.

Is the VDL a cult? In many ways, yes—common cult tactics are used by the leader, including love bombing to the women and those who he has raised. Calling Arthur son, knowing he has no father, only when he wants something is manipulation; his interactions and the implications of the change in relationship between him and Molly also imply this. The VDL was never a true family as Dutch would have them believe or have us believe. Arthur is an unreliable narrator in that regard; that love was real, absolutely, but the unit, the scenario, wasn't. The VDL ran like a cult; Dutch was not a good person, and he knew exactly what he was doing the entire time.

That's my hot take for the day.

( @moeitsu I know you said you wanted to read my take on this so I figured id tag!)

[strangersteddierthings]

My Default's Self-Destruct (Oh, I'm Not Used to Normal)

@nburkhardt, this ones for you, since you've been so excited and patient! Title from Jillian Rossi's Not Used to Normal.

-

There is a doctor in his room, explaining the extent of his injuries to him and his uncle but Eddie quit listening when the doctor had started with it's our recommendation that he not start back on the scent blocker until-. Whatever the doc had to say after that was more for Wayne's benefit than his own, anyway. Eddie turns his face away from Uncle Wayne and the doc and stares at the wall.

Eddie knows he's a freak.

He never had an option to be anything else.

He was born wrong, a thing his dad would remind him of every time he was deep in his cups and feeling angry or bitter. Which is to say, he'd heard it every day until he was fourteen and, with his mom long gone and his dad's new prison sentence, he was shipped off to Hawkins, Indiana to live with his uncle.

It gave him a choice for the first time in his life.

It was salvation.

No one here knew a damn thing about him except what he wanted them to know. He got to curate his image exactly how he wanted it.

Loud, bold, mean, scary.

Anything that kept people at a distance because he wanted them to be. That's not to say he didn't let people get close. That he didn't have friends. He does.

He founded Hellfire sophomore year and made acquaintances with fellow nerds and geeks. Some stuck around, genuinely seemed to like him and he them, so he got some real friends out of it. Jeff, Frankie, and Gareth.

The only three people in the world who knew about him because he'd chosen to tell them.

But now with this doctor not wanting him to get back on his scent blockers as soon as possible, the whole town's going to know how much of a freak he really is.

His gut twists thinking about how Erica, Lucas, Max, Dustin, Nancy, Robin, and Steve already know. They have to know. Why else are they not here? There's no way they don't by now. Scent blockers need to be taken every day to work effectively. Missing a day every now and then is fine when Eddie knows he's not going to leave home or if it's just the guys he'd be seeing.

But he's missed sixteen days because today is April 7th, and he'd spent most of the prior three days fading in and out of consciousness trying to claw his way out of a coma. Now he's fully alert and aware. He'd woken up alone, but it wasn't long after that his uncle showed up, apparently summoned by a nurse.

"-ddie. Eddie, you still awake?" Wayne's voice is gentle in a way it never usually it. It makes Eddie want to pretend to be asleep.

"Yeah."

"The doc just left."

Eddie doesn't respond verbally. but he does turn his head back to look at Wayne instead of the wall.

"There's a boy down in the lobby. Been tryin' ta visit every day but, well," Wayne trails off with a one shoulder shrug, which seems the easier way to sum up all the events that place while he was in a coma. Wayne apparently making a fuss when the hospital finally got a hold of him and he'd come into Eddie's room to find his unconscious body handcuffed to the bed. No one's been around to explain the how or why to Eddie, but supposedly ten days after Eddie should have died, three days before he awoke for the first time, the "real" murderer was found and died in a gunfight with the police. Eddie's been pardoned, by some miracle.

"Why wasn't he allowed to visit?" Eddie asks, even as he dreads the answer.

"No visitor for murder suspects except family," Wayne says.

"Okay. But I was proven innocent six days ago."

"I know. This last week's been me. I told the staff no one but me could see ya until ya were awake enough to name 'em. Didn't know if that boy who led the manhunt was gonna try and get in, or send someone else after ya."

Warmth floods through Eddie then, both affection for his uncle and a hope that, maybe, no one's been here because they haven't been allowed to be. Maybe they don't- maybe they'll give him a chance even though he's a genetic freak of nature.

"Is it Dustin Henderson?"

"Nah, ain't him. He's been by as much as his ma will allow, though. Sits down there with the first boy."

If it's not Dustin then- "Steve?"

Wayne gives a one-sided grin before saying, "Steve Harrington Sir, if you wanna full name him."

That gets a laugh from Eddie. Wayne hates to be called sir, and he spent a full year calling Jeff 'Just Jeff Sir' when Jeff had made the mistake of correcting Eddie's introduction ("And this here, is Jeffery") while trying to be polite ("Please, it's just Jeff, sir."). Seems like Steve made the same mistake.

"Oh, fuck, don't make me laugh," Eddie wheezes, more from pain than laughter and Wayne looks only a little guilty for causing him pain. "But, uh, yeah. Steve's a-okay."

"Alright. I'll go let the nurse know. Anyone else you wan' ta come see ya?"

"Wait," Eddie says quickly, swallowing thickly. He has to know. "Do- have they... said anything? About me?"

"About you? What- oh," Wayne says. "Did they not know?"

Eddie shakes his head. "No. Not- I didn't tell them, but I haven't had a scent blocker since the first day of spring break. They have to know, right? Everyone always knows."

"Do you want me to ask before gettin' them approved to visit?" Wayne asks, softly and sincere and it makes Eddie's eyes water. He closes them to prevent the tears.

"No. It's fine. Better to, uhh, get this over with. Learn if this will change anything, y'know?"

"And you wanna start with Steve Harrington Sir? He's an alpha, ain't he?"

"Don't act like you don't already know. Everyone and their mother talks about how alpha he smells. I heard about Steve and his alpha scent before I'd even met the dude."

"Well, no need to be so uppity about it," Wayne grouses.

"Sorry. Guess I'm just... not in the mood to joke about this. People don't- they change how they treat me, once they know."

"Just Jeff didn't, nor Gareth or Frankie."

"Yeah, but they were my friends first. I- they saved my life but that doesn't make us friends."

Wayne shakes his head. "You tell that to the boy sittin' in the lobby right now waitin' to see ya."

That's right. The hope that has bloomed earlier. If they did know, they were still around. Either because they are his friends and they care, or they have... questions, possibly. Still, "You'll be in here? When he comes in?"

"I won't leave unless you ask me to," Wayne assures and then he's gone. Out the door, to retrieve Steve.

Jesus Christ, this is fucked. Eddie feels so anxious and scared and he shouldn't. He's never been afraid before. Just. Fed up with how people treat him. How they scrunch their noses when they smell him. When they look at the whole of him and realize there's something wrong with him and their expression changes to either pity or disgust.

Wayne's gone just long enough for Eddie to regret his decision but then it's too late. The first person to enter his room is Steve, followed closely why Wayne.

"Eddie!" Steve says, and Eddie is confused. Steve sounds... awed? A bit breathless like he's witnessed a miracle.

"Hey Steve," Eddie manages to squeak out and that's all the permission Steve seems to need. He crosses the room quickly, dragging a second chair from the corner with him to the opposite side of the bed from where Wayne has taken up station.

"Fuck, Eddie, we didn't know if you'd- but you did. You're awake," Steve says, even as he's trying to sniff the air. Probably trying to get a read on Eddie's own scent, and therefore his own emotional state. When Steve doesn't find what he's looking for, his brows furrow into confusion, and he looks so fucking adorable with his face scrunched like that. He's glad Steve can't smell that on him, at least.

"I'm awake," Eddie says.

Steve nods, but his confused face doesn't fade. Instead he sniffs the room more loudly, thoroughly. He looks to Wayne, then back to Eddie. He does that a few times before settling on Eddie.

Eddie sighs heavily. "Go ahead. Ask."

"What? Oh, uh, nothing to ask, I guess. Just thought Wayne would have scented you by now, but I don't smell him on you."

"Yeah. Wayne's nose barely works, so no point in that."

"A fact I'm thankful for every time you'd finally drag out the days old dishes from your room," Wayne quips.

"Hey!" Eddie shoots him a wounded look as his face gets hot. Low blow, old man, he thinks.

"Oh. Do you... not get isolation sickness? Is that rude to ask?" Steve asks.

"I don't get isolation sickness anymore, not since long before you were even born," Wayne answers. He's still hovering by the door, expecting to be dismissed by Eddie probably, since Steve's not- since Steve doesn't seem to- Eddie doesn't know. Is he too nice to ask out right? Too disturbed by it to even bring it up?

"And, uh, isolation sickness could never effect me," Eddie says, biting the bullet, looking at a wrinkle on his blanket instead of at Steve.

"What?" Steve sounds startled by the answer, as if he can't understand. Maybe he doesn't.

"I can't get isolation sickness."

"That doesn't- everyone but childr-" Steve cuts himself off, and Eddie hears more sniffing before his startled by Steve grabbing his arm. He looks up quickly, and sees Wayne move closer from the corner of his eye, as Steve shoves his nose into Eddie's wrist and takes a deep breath. A sound between a whimper and a whine comes from Steve. "But you- What?"

"Steve."

"Eddie, I don't understand?"

Eddie looks to Wayne, who raises his brows as if to ask want me to tell him? He almost nods, but this is going to be the first of many conversations, and he might as well get the practice in. "Steve. You can only get isolation sickness after your secondary gender develops. I can't. 'Cause I don't have a secondary gender."

Steve blinks at him. Then blinks some more. He opens his mouth, then closes it and blinks even more. "I- how- what? It hasn't developed yet?"

Eddie groans in frustration. "No, Steve. It won't develop ever. I don't have one, I won't have one! No scent gland will ever grow, no second puberty as my body changes to be able to send and receive emotional signals, no bonding gland to establish pack or mate!"

"Wha-"

"Don't! What aren't you getting? I'm a genetic fucking freak of nature who can't ever bond with pack or a mate because I don't have a secondary gender!"

Steve jerks back at Eddie's sudden outburst, "Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't- I wasn't trying to, uhh, offend."

Eddie scoffs and looks away. He wants to roll onto his side, put his back to Steve and block him out. Offend. Eddie's not offended. He's- fuck, he's sad and scared and angry. Because he spent a week flirting freely with Steve, who'd started to flirt back and now it's all back to just being a fantasy in Eddie's mind.

Steve's an alpha. Even if... even if he ever might have entertained the idea of being with Eddie, that's going to be gone now. Alpha's want omega's. They'll settle for a beta, sure, but that's what it is. Settling.

And Eddie's not even that.

He's nothing. No secondary gender, no place in society, he'll always smell like a goddamn child to everyone else. He knows how this goes. Until he's back on the scent blockers, which just make him smell like chemicals, they're going to treat him like a child, or like a pariah.

"Eddie-" Steve says, quiet.

Whatever it is, Eddie doesn't want to hear it. "I'm tired. I hurt. Please leave."

Eddie stares at a spot on the wall as Wayne escorts Steve from his room. He doesn't let himself cry until after counting to thirty in his head once the door's closed.

@i-less-than-three-you @afewproblems @skepsiss

[soullessjack]

something i was thinking about at work is jacks insecurity about being a burden to the Winchesters + Cas and how much that fits into the autistic lens of his character. obviously it starts with the fact that Sam and Dean were essentially forced into taking care of him at first because of the circumstances surrounding. Literally everything. but it goes beyond that all the way to jack just being what he is and that being inherently dangerous.

for one thing, the bunker (Jack’s only beloved home ever)

initially, the only reason sam and dean agreed to take Jack back to the bunker at all was to safeguard the public from his then-uncontrolled powers, and in last holiday mrs butters also suggests that they’re only keeping him there so he can’t destroy anyone else like he did mary (which jack doesn’t even fight against so.. maybe he’s fine with it being that way?)

then when you come to jacks powers themselves:

they are fundamentally [part of] what makes him different. they’re part of what makes jack dangerous. he can’t have public meltdowns or show extreme anger (or even any frustration, really) without there being consequences — the consequences of someone else getting hurt-or-worse by him, and him being perceived more negatively & fearfully each time it happens. those consequences are just added to the burden jack feels he brings to his family, which breeds guilt and frustration in jack for how he feels he’s affecting them and disappointing their expectations.

this in turn is why jack is so abrasive whenever the guys try to comfort or reassure him. it’s rejection sensitive dysphoria with a little more C4 to it, basically. and speaking from my own experiences, when you’re constantly in a state of low self image or rejection sensitivity, it creates a cycle of eggshell walking and people pleasing—putting all of your focus and energy into managing the feelings of others because you assume the slightest slip-up will make them upset or disappointed or even hate you.

you react to the idea of being rejected before it even happens, and even if it doesn’t happen, because at the core of it all you already perceive yourself in a rejective way.

and that’s exactly what happened between jack and mary after he tortured Nick.

after he’s done, jack turns to mary, ‘flushed with pride’ and grinning about what he did. it was cathartic and sickeningly enjoyable to do. but when he sees the horror on her face as she just says “what did you do?” his pride ‘curdles to shame.’ he’s already sensing rejection for what he’s done, and tries to justify it to mary, and somewhat console her; Nick was a killer who deserved it, and Sam and Dean would’ve been grateful for his death. if Mary thinks something is wrong with him for what he did then she’s the one who’s wrong, actually.

mary (honestly god bless her for still being sympathetic & patient with jack after that) just gently tries to tell him: “something’s wrong. it’s not your fault. you just need help and we’ll help you because you’re family and we love you,” but all jack hears is “something is wrong with you and it scares me. YOU scare me. I’m going to tell the others that something is wrong with you and they’ll be scared of you, too.” **

I don’t think i need to explain in-depth how jack loves his family a very normal and healthy amount, but suffice it to say that he’s established to have a deep fear of, and inability/unwillingness to accept, losing them. he can’t think about it because he hates thinking about it. he’d do anything for them (like self sacrifice or slowly burning a man alive) and to be with them again (like necromancy and unleashing biblical plagues upon nonbelievers).

so when jack perceives that the Winchesters would reject/hate/fear him because of what he did to nick—because there’s something wrong with him—he starts spiraling right there, and he can’t accept that Mary still loves him and wants to help him; he doesn’t even think he can be helped. he can’t deal with any of the rejections he’s perceiving and just wants to be left alone…..

I was going to try and reroute this post back to the whole burden thing, but it’s 3am and I’m losing my train of thought. TLDR i just think it’s very autistic for jacks nature to be narratively framed as both a burden and a threat and also something that just wants to be loved for what it is even though it knows it’s difficult ……. yeagj

**additionally i think he does the same when Rowena refuses to help but I’m getting too sleepy to write that in

Goodnight everypony (<__>)

[ominous-auburn-orbs]

Can you do a fanfic for Kinger and Caine's first kiss with mild NSFW

Here's some dialogue for help

Kinger: Wow.

Caine: Yeah.

Kinger: That was...intense.

Caine: Yeah.

This. This one was a struggle. But you were nice enough to give me dialogue. If you read my stuff for plot, there's not a lot of that to be found here lmao.

Also, same warnings as in the ask, slight NSFW, but it's basically just them semi-failing at making out like the sillies they are.

Kinger and Caine stood outside of the tent, watching the sunset. They held each other's hands, enjoying this moment of peace. Kinger eventually spoke up.

"Hey, Caine?" The ringmaster looked to him, immediately giving Kinger his undivided attention, although that was far from irregular. "This is our 7th date, right?"

"Indeed it is, my dear! It's sweet that you've been keeping count." It took a few moments, but the tone of Kinger's question started to sink in. "Wait, is something special meant to be happening? Is- does the 7th date hold a sort of significance? Was I meant to get you something specific? I-I'm so so sorry, my darling, I didn't-"

"No no no, you're fine!" Kinger chuckled, "There's nothing too important about the 7th date. At least, I don't remember there being. I was more referring to... our progress in our relationship."

"Why, whatever do you mean?"

"Well, we've been together for a little while now, and we, uh, haven't even kissed." His voice trailed off slightly. He knew he'd kissed people before, but all of those memories had a dream-like quality to them. He hadn't done much of anything romantic since he got stuck in the circus, so it felt like he was about to have his first kiss overall. It did make him feel rather self-conscious before it even began, worried that he'd do something wrong or embarrassing and ruin the moment.

"Oh. Yes, you're right, we haven't. I have done research on that, and kissing is allegedly a staple part of romantic relationships. But, I'm not quite sure how we'd go about it, considering our severe lack of lips." Caine chose not to admit that he had near to know idea on how to kiss someone, despite his extensive research. Very, very extensive.

Kinger brought Caine's hand to his cheek, requiring the ringmaster to fly in order to reach him. "How about we try anyway? Just use our collective knowledge, and... experiment, until we find something that feels right."

Caine felt heat spread across his gums. "A-alright, that sounds, uh, good. Very good."

Unsure, the two started to lean towards each other, Caine's teeth and eyes shut tight. Eventually, their faces touched, causing them to relax a bit more. Kinger moved the spot where his mouth would be against Caine's teeth. It did have a similar sensation to what kissing had felt like. Or perhaps he was remembering wrong. Either way, he loved it.

Caine opened his mouth partially, nibbling on Kinger's face, which was admittedly more pleasurable than he thought it would be, although the chess piece did have to hold in a laugh at the mental image of what their current situation would look like.

The ringmaster opened his mouth further. He remembered that he had read about how people would use their tongue to show more affection and passion, so he somewhat awkwardly ran his tongue across Kinger's 'mouth', which drew unexpected noises from both of them.

Since Caine didn't need to breathe and only God knew how Kinger's respiratory system worked, they continued this for a while. Saliva dripped down the front of Kinger's face, but he didn't care enough to stop. In an attempt to further chase the feeling of what he could only describe as his chest exploding from the inside, Caine bit Kinger's face, although harder than he intended.

"Ow-" Kinger pulled away, bringing a hand up to where he had been bit, but stopped before he touched it. There was no lasting mark on his wood, and the pain wasn't that bad. He started to think about how he wouldn't have minded Caine doing it again, but decided to leave that new feeling for another day.

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, my sweetness, are you okay?" Both of their faces were bright red and their collars were crumpled from where they had been grasping at each other to try and get closer.

The chess piece wiped at his face to clean off some of Caine's spit. "I-it's fine, I'm fine, I promise." Kinger put one of his hands on the ringmaster's shoulder and the other on his waist, while Caine encircle his 'neck' with his arms. "That was- it was a lot."

"Yes, a-a lot would be a good way of describing it." They continued to stand there in each other's embrace. Well, Kinger standing and Caine floating. "Did you like it, though?"

Kinger was silent for a moment before pressing his face to Caine's teeth. "Yes, I did. I'd love to do it again some time, sweetheart, if you don't mind."

Caine couldn't help but be flustered at the petname. Kinger knew how much of an effect it had on him. "O-oh! Ah, of- of course, yes, whatever you wish for, my dear."

[hexpea]

Ch. 32 - Black Rhododendron Black rhododendrons represent death, hatred, and despair among other negative connotations.

The next day arrived swiftly, which brought you and Naoya to Dr. Kikuchi's private practice for your very first ultrasound. As you stepped into the clinic, you felt anticipation tugging at your nerves. This was a moment you'd been waiting for for the past year, given it wasn't with the man you'd originally expected, but none of that mattered as much as it did before. As Zenin, Kikuchi's special patients, you were quickly ushered into a private room where a doctor that wasn't Dr. Kikuchi awaited you. Her warm smile immediately put you at ease.

"Good morning," she greeted cheerfully, already preparing the equipment for the sonogram. "I'm Dr. Harada. I'll be conducting your ultrasound today."

Your heart fluttered with anticipation. "Nice to meet you," you greeted with a twitchy smile, your nerves on high-alert with anticipation. Naoya gave a single nod, his expression slightly pale but otherwise its usual stoic-self.

As you greeted her, she had already busied herself with getting you a gown and handing them over to you. "Here, you'll need these. Everything off from the waist down," she smiled sweetly as you took the folded hospital gown from her and she slid out of the room.

Your cheeks flushed slightly as you turned toward Naoya. "I forgot about this part," you gave a sheepish grin. When you had been attempting to conceive with Naohiro, you read plenty of baby books, but it had been so long that you'd forgotten that the first ultrasound wouldn't be what Naoya was likely expecting. "Turn around," you instructed while giggling awkwardly.

Naoya couldn't help but smirk as he turned around obediently at your command. "I've seen you naked plenty of times, remember?" He teased, his tone light but tinged with affection. "That's how we got here."

"It's principle," you mumbled while rolling your eyes, beginning to slip out of your clothes to put on the hospital gown.

After you slipped the gown on, you settled onto the examination table, the paper crinkling under your weight. Naoya stood beside you, his complexion still a bit pale but otherwise holding its usual smugness.

The doctor returned after a few moments with a warm smile. "Ready to see your baby?" She asked cheerfully, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she concluded the preparations for the ultrasound by applying a plastic cover to the transducer and coating it in a slick gel.

Your heart fluttered once again as you gave an eager nod, your cheeks tinged with a rosy blush. "Yes, very ready," you replied as you laid back and Dr. Harada assisted you in getting your feet into the stirrups attached to the table.

You looked over at Naoya to hear his response to the doctor's question, you saw how pale he looked. He had only nodded in response, a weak smirk on his face. You couldn't help but giggle at his nervous demeanor, finding his usual smugness subdued in the face of impending fatherhood. "You okay there, tough guy?" You teased playfully, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you reached out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

Naoya's smirk deepened, though it held a hint of embarrassment. "I'm fine," he replied curtly, his voice slightly strained as he tried to maintain his usual composure.

The doctor smiled sweetly at the exchange, her eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth. "Alright, let's get started," she said gently, her voice soothing as she positioned the transducer against you. "You may feel slight pressure."

Your breath hitched slightly as you felt the intrusion. You glanced over at Naoya as you felt a flutter of excitement coursing through your veins. His eyes were glued to the screen, a slight tint on his cheeks. You turned your head to see what he was seeing and gave a sharp gasp. The image slowly appeared on the monitor, revealing the tiny form of your baby, what was, honestly, just a tiny blip on the screen and not much else.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight, your heart swelling with love and wonder despite the lack of much form. "Oh, Naoya, look!" You exclaimed softly, choking back happy tears. This had obviously been a moment you'd been waiting for for a long time.

Naoya's blinked hard at what he was seeing, his hands slightly clammy as he reached out to touch your shoulder. "That's…our baby," he murmured with an uncertain tone.

Dr. Harada began to point out the different features, her voice gentle and reassuring as she explained what you were seeing. "Here's the yolk sac," she said, tracing a small circle on the screen. "And here's the baby, of course,…and what looks to be a tiny heartbeat, but it's a bit too early to see much else," she pointed to the embryo. "Everything looks healthy and normal. Based on what I'm seeing, I would estimate that you're about six weeks along."

Naoya's chest tightened at the confirmation, his brain doing the math long before yours did. "Six weeks…" he repeated, his jaw tightening.

You shot Naoya a funny look, trying to figure out the emotion behind such a response. When you noticed his brain doing the calculations, it clicked. You'd conceived during your wedding weekend, likely the night of your reception. The memories flooded back with a rush, the way he'd looked at you with such intensity, the warmth of his touch, how he so eagerly declared to give you a Zenin heir of your very own. Well, it looked like he'd done it… That night felt like a lifetime ago, and yet there you were, seeing the physical manifestation of that night on the screen before you.

You turned back to the doctor, your expression a mix of concern and sheepishness. "Harada-sensei," you began hesitantly, "question. I only just found out about the pregnancy a day ago. I've been…drinking occasionally. Is…the baby going to be okay?"

Dr. Harada chuckled softly as her features crinkled with amusement, ready to reassure you. "Well, obviously, you'll need to stop now," she said gently, her tone understanding. "But rest assured, many who aren't aware they're pregnant have had a drink or two early on. As long as you stop now and take good care of yourself, the chances are very good that your baby will be just fine."

You let out a sigh of relief, a weight of guilt lifting off your shoulders at the doctor's words. "Thank you," you looked toward the doctor gratefully.

As you and Naoya left Dr. Kikuchi's office, a printout of the sonogram clutched in Naoya's hand, he examined the image closely. You couldn't help but feel a sense of elation bubbling up at the excitement flickering behind his usual smug expression as he scrutinized the photo.

"Can't see much of anything in these pictures," he mumbled, his brow furrowed in frustration as he held it close to his face, squinting as if expecting the image to magically change.

You chuckled softly, finding his impatience amusing. "Well, it's still early on," you pointed out, unable to suppress a grin at his obvious disappointment. "Dr. Harada said we'll see more when we come back next month to get a better look at how the baby's doing."

Naoya huffed in annoyance, his arrogance shining through even in such a moment of vulnerability. "I guess," he conceded reluctantly, though the frustration still lingered in his tone. "I just expected…I don't know, something more impressive, I guess."

You rolled your eyes playfully at his usual ego. Despite everything that had happened, that part of him remained in tact. "Well, our baby isn't exactly going to be doing backflips in there just yet," you teased. "Give it time, Naoya."

He shot you a mock glare, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his amusement. "I expect our child to be exceptional in every way," he declared pompously.

You couldn't help but laugh at his audacity, shaking your head. "Of course you do," you replied with a fond smile, feeling your heart swell with affection for the man beside you, flaws and all. "Your father gave me strict orders after all."

As you reached the LFA, he held the door open for you with a flourish, a smirk playing on his lips as he gestured for you to get in. "After you, princess," he said grandly, his tone dripping with exaggerated chivalry.

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, though you couldn't help but play along this time with a giggle as you slid into the passenger's seat. "Why thank you," you replied, earning a chuckle from Naoya as he settled into the driver's side.

As Naoya started the car and pulled away from the parking spot, you glanced over at him, a contented smile on his face. Despite it all and what laid ahead, you knew that with him by your side, you could handle anything.

The soft light of dawn filtered into the room, Naoya's eyes fluttered open, his gaze immediately drawn to the peaceful sight of you sleeping beside him. He couldn't help but admire your delicate features, your eyelashes casting soft shadows against your cheeks as you slept soundly. With a gentle touch, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, the warmth of his lips stirring you from your slumber.

You eyes opened slowly as you greeted him with a sleepy smile. "Good morning," you murmured softly.

Naoya returned your smile. "Good morning, beautiful," he whispered, his voice gentle and reassuring. As you stretched languidly, he couldn't help but admire your beauty. His eyes glanced down your body and to your small bump, now nine-weeks along. You had started showing just slightly enough to tell. "Today's the day," he said softly, his tone serious yet reassuring as he met your gaze.

You nodded as you nuzzled close to him, resting your head against his chest and letting your arm drape over his body. It was the day you were to testify against your father in front of the higher-ups, and potentially face your own consequences.

As if sensing your nervousness, he spoke up again. "Don't worry. I'll protect you, no matter what."

You sighed and tilted your head to press a single peck to his neck. "Thank you, Naoya," you whispered,"I don't know what I'd do without you."

Naoya squeezed you close to his body and he pressed his own tender kiss to the top of your head. "You'll never have to find out," he vowed solemnly. "I'll kill those stuck-up assholes before I let them touch you."

You chuckled softly. "Definitely don't do that," you advised him quietly as you cuddled against him, enjoying the morning's serenity -- potentially the last serene morning for you in a while should things not go your way.

"Why not?" He chuckled back, raising an eyebrow. "You don't think I could handle a bunch of old men?"

"You'll have a target on your back if you do," you rolled your eyes and rolled over in bed before sitting up, carefully placing a hand to your tiny bump. "A big, red bullseye."

He smirked and sat up with you, placing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you back against him. "Gojo Satoru is just a phone call away. I can just convince him to join our side. He's never been a fan of the higher-ups anyway."

You couldn't help but laugh at his audacity, shaking your head in disbelief. "You really think you can sway someone like Gojo?" You asked incredulously. "Last I checked, you weren't on the best of terms with him or his clan either."

"That may be, but it'd be mutually beneficial to take them out, wouldn't it?" He gave another chuckle and watched as you got out of bed to get ready for the day.

"Just behave, okay?" You turned to face him as you stepped out of your sleepwear. "I've faith that the higher-ups will see reason. It's not like any civilians are affected by clan politics. If they see I have no interest in going along with my father's insane ploys, maybe there'll be mercy."

That afternoon, the two of you arrived on campus for the meeting, more of a trial than anything. Naobito had arrived before the two of you, as did your father and Daisuke. It was likely they were already in the higher ups' meeting room and waiting for the two of you to arrive. As you meandered through campus to get there, you spotted a familiar lanky figure with a crop of bright white hair. He had his trademark grin, his presence already exuding its usual aura of light-hearted mischief.

"Ah, if it isn't my favorite soon-to-be-parents?" Gojo Satoru exclaimed with a playful smirk as he pushed away from the tree he had been leaning against. He sauntered over you to as Naoya audibly exhaled. "Congratulations to you both! So soon after the wedding, too. Though I must say, I never took you for the settling-down type, Naoya."

Naoya's jaw clenched in annoyance at Satoru's teasing. "And I never took you for the meddling type, Gojo," he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain.

Satoru merely shrugged off Naoya's hostility with a carefree grin. "Hey, just pointing out what I thought was the obvious considering your usual…habits," he chuckled playfully as he walked alongside the two of you. "Y/N," he glanced toward you through his black blindfold, "sorry to hear about your father. He always was a real asshole. Speaking of which, navigating clan politics can be a real pain, am I right?"

You nodded, offering a polite smile despite feeling a bit uneasy about Satoru's presence. "You could say that," you replied diplomatically, your hand instinctively resting on your tiny bump.

Satoru chuckled, his confidence oozing from every pore. "Well, lucky for you, I happen to be somewhat of an expert in dealing with the stuffy, traditional types," he declared, lifting up his blindfold to give you a playful wink. "Here's a tip: charm them with your wit and charisma. They won't know what hit them!"

Naoya rolled his eyes at Gojo's flavor of cockiness, resisting the urge to snap back a biting remark. "Thanks, but we'll handle it."

"Oh, come on, Naoya," Satoru whined with a pearly white grin to which you rolled your eyes and hid a smirk at his persistence. "Your wife's well-being is on the line here. You don't want just a little advice?"

Naoya shot Satoru a pointed glare, clearly not in the mood for his antics. When was he ever? "Gojo-kun," he charmed sarcastically, "maybe now's not the best time for your usual brand of humor." Toward the end, his voice held a hint of a warning, his patience, what little he had developed while with you, was wearing thin.

Satoru simply shrugged off Naoya's admonishment, his grin unyielding as the three of you came to a stop in front of the higher-ups' door. "Ah, lighten up, Naoya. I'm just here to offer moral support…and testify against Y/N's sister," he quipped, waving a hand dismissively. "Besides, a little levity never hurt anyone."

You sighed inwardly, caught in the middle of their dynamic. While a part of you appreciated Satoru's attempt to lighten the mood, you couldn't help but share Naoya's concern about what might happen in the room in front of you. "Naoya's right," you interjected, trying to diffuse the tension. "We appreciate the support, but this is serious. I just hope the higher-ups will see reason and understand that I was manipulated and I want no part in my father's schemes anymore. I have new allegiances now," you murmured, glancing down at your bump with your hand still resting atop it.

Satoru exhaled and crossed his arms like a child, his lips quirking into a half-smile. "Fair enough," he conceded, his tone more subdued. "Are you in good with your father-in-law? He might be your best chance at avoiding any…unpleasant consequences."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Satoru's attempt to inject some of that levity back into the conversation. "Let's hope so," you replied wryly, offering a grateful smile for his attempt to lighten the mood. "Though I'm not sure how much sway he'll have over the higher-ups compared to my father. You know how buddy-buddy traditionalists are."

Satoru placed a hand on your shoulder, plopping it down as if you were one of his students, his expression turning serious as Naoya jealously pouted next to you with his arms crossed. "Listen, Y/N, just because your father knows how to suck up to those old farts doesn't mean the Zenin don't have power of their own," he reassured you quietly. "So long as you have both your…husband…and Naobito on your side, that's all you'll need to tip the scales in your favor."

You took a deep breath and nodded as Satoru placed a hand on the door and slid it open. As expected, you found your father and Daisuke as well as Naobito standing in awkward silence. Your father stood rigidly, his milky white eyes unmoving as the three of you entered. Daisuke, on the other hand, let his eyes flicker to you with apprehension.

"Father," you greeted in a low voice, little care to your tone as you came to a stand under the single bright light in the room, surrounded by the screens the higher-ups used to hide their identities.

Your greeting fell on deaf ears, your father's refusal to acknowledge your presence cut deep despite the situation. Naoya's jaw clenched tightly, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive as he shot a warning glare at your father as if he could see his expression from the distance you stood. He gently placed an arm around your waist and pulled you close to his side as he glared at your relatives.

The entrance of the higher-ups disrupted the palpable tension in the room, their identities shrouded behind their screens. Once the group of them were settled, one voice spoke first booming into the silence. "We are gathered here today to discuss the allegations of treason against the Kamo clan," they announced, their tone firm and unwavering. "These accusations have been brought forth by the Zenin clan head, Zenin Naobito."

All eyes turned to Naobito as he stood tall, despite his usually drunken state, his expression both grave and resolute. "We have ample evidence to support our claims," he asserted. "My son, Naohiro, was killed under suspicious circumstances, and my other son, Naoya, nearly met a similar fate after the involvement of the Kamo clan."

Your heart twisted at the mention of Naohiro. You knew that Naobito understood that none of what happened that fateful day was your fault, he was just using it as ammo against your father -- at least you hoped. You hoped the same when he mentioned Naoya's struggle with Hanahaki Disease, leaving that bit out as well as the mention of your name. You could tell, again hopefully, he was being tactful with his reasoning.

Before Naobito could continue, Satoru interjected with his trademark confidence. "And let's not forget the casualties within the Gojo clan," he added while crossing his arms with a hint of authority. "Several members of my clan fell ill and passed away shortly after the arrival of Y/N's sister, currently married to my presently ill cousin."

The higher-ups exchanged murmurs of concern, the gravity of the situation sinking in as they processed the weight of the evidence before them. Your father had been their closest confidant when it came to matters of the big three. That was now all on the table, set for deep questioning.

"Your response, Kamo-san," another higher-up spoke up from behind their screen, their tone cautiously thoughtful.

Your father's response was measured as he cleared his throat and began to speak. "These are mere speculations, unsubstantiated by concrete evidence," he retorted, his words dripping with disdain. "The Zenin and Gojo clans have long held animosity towards the Kamo clan, and these accusations are nothing more than a ploy to undermine our authority."

Naoya's grip tightened around your waist, his protective instinct kicking in as he bristled at your father's dismissive tone. He was clearly struggling to hold his tongue.

The attention then turned to you. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before addressing the room. "Firstly, I want to express my condolences to the Gojo clan and the losses they've suffered at my father's hands," you began, your voice steady despite the tremor in your heart. "I understand the gravity of the accusations being made and I want to assure you that I'm here to speak the truth, regardless of the consequences."

You felt the weight of everyone's eyes on you as you stepped away from Naoya's protective embrace. "Y/N," he muttered carefully.

You took a moment to compose yourself before continuing. "My father instructed me to use my cursed technique to slowly weaken and eliminate members of the Zenin clan, including my late husband, Naohiro," you confessed, "however, I must clarify that Naohiro's death was not intentional. It occurred during an exorcism, and I bear the guilt of that accident every day."

Before you could delve further into your explanation, your father's voice boomed across the room, interrupting you with his vehement denial. "This is preposterous!" He shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the chamber. "My daughter is being manipulated by that Zenin brat into fabricating these baseless accusations against her own family. They're the ones with the ploy to increase the Zenin clan's power at the expense of the Kamo clan!"

You felt a surge of frustration and anger at your father's attempt to discredit you, but you maintained your composure. "With all due respect, Father," you countered, "I'm not being manipulated. I'm speaking the truth and you know it."

As the tension in the room reached its peak, the higher-ups exchanged solemn glances from behind their screens. Finally, one of them spoke up. "We've come to a decision…"

Your heart sank as you braced yourself for what was to come, knowing all too well the power and influence your father had over the higher-ups.

"We find the evidence against the Kamo clan to be lacking in concrete proof," the higher-up declared, obviously with bias. It felt like a heavy blow to your hopes, your future still uncertain. "Furthermore, the accusations now brought against the Zenin clan shall be thoroughly investigated. Until such time as conclusive evidence is presented, the Zenin clan's status as one of the big three shall be suspended."

The room erupted into chaos as Naobito angrily began to protest. "This is preposterous! Have you idiots no sense?!" He continued to shout expletives toward the higher-ups.

You stepped forward, lips parted as you began to protest, but Naoya's hand reached out to grip yours, his silent support immediately grounding you. For once, he was the rational one. Naobito then stormed out of the room, his rage still hanging around in the air even though he had left. The higher-ups also left no further time for argument, quickly and silently filing out of the room.

Satoru turned to you both, his expression sympathetic yet determined. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "but remember, this isn't over. An investigation means nothing."

You nodded, grateful for the Gojo clan's continued support. "Thank you, Gojo-san," you replied formally, sincerely.

With Satoru's departure, the room fell into an eerie silence. You found yourself standing face-to-face with your father, the man whose approval you had spent your entire life seeking only to be met with disappointment and betrayal. Naoya stood beside you, his presence a comforting anchor as his fingers stayed laced with yours.

Your father's cold gaze bore into you, what little vision he had settled on your blurry face. With a deep breath, you summoned every ounce of courage within you. "Father," you began with a trembling voice, "I've spent my whole life trying to earn your approval, to be the daughter you wanted me to be. But no matter how hard I tried, I was never enough."

Your father's stoic facade faltered for a moment, a flicker of something akin to regret flashing in his eyes before he quickly masked it with a cold, wrinkled expression.

"I used to believe that if I followed your orders, if I proved my loyalty to the Kamo clan, you would finally see me for who I am," you continued, your voice growing stronger with each word. "That eventually you'd be satisfied and let me live happily by your side without all the killing. With a family of my very own safely under the Kamo clan's protection. But all I ever was to you was a pawn in your game, a tool to further your own ambition…as are all of my siblings." Tears welled up in your eyes as you unleashed years of pent-up frustration and hurt. "You took advantage of my loyalty, my dedication to our family. You made me betray everything I believed in, all for your own selfish desires. And when I finally fell in love, you forbade it."

Your father remained silent, his expression bore no hint of remorse as he listened to your words. But you refused to be silenced any longer, you wanted him to hear exactly how he destroyed your life.

"I was willing to sacrifice everything for you, even my own happiness," you continued, your voice rising with anger. "After Naohiro's death, I wanted nothing to do with your plot but I convinced myself that maybe…just maybe…one more time I'd earn your favor. But now I see that you never cared about me at all. You only cared about yourself and your own power."

You took a breath. Naoya stepped closer to you again, placing a gentle hand back around your waist and looking at you in a way he'd never before. There was admiration in his eyes.

You glanced down at your stomach, gently holding it before looking up at your father one last time. "This child will never know a day of not being good enough, because unlike you, I will love them unconditionally."

With that final proclamation, you turned away from your father and your uncle. Naoya followed you, making sure to glare at them one last time before trailing behind you.

When you exited, you quickly leaned against the building as tears began to stream down your face, mingling with the sweat that was quickly accumulating on your skin from the oppressive summer heat. Naoya's arms wrapped around you immediately, offering a solid and comforting embrace. He held you close, feeling your tremors as you hyperventilated into his chest.

"It's okay," he murmured softly while rubbing small circles on your back with his palm. "It'll all be okay…"

Your grip on his shirt tightened as you struggled to control your ragged breathing. You felt like you were going to be sick, the stress and anxiety threatening to overwhelm your fragile state. But, eventually, your breathing began to even out, the hyperventilation subsiding as you found solace in Naoya's arms. You pulled away slightly, your tear-stained face turned up to meet his gaze.

Naoya noticed right away the sudden dark look in your eyes, a fierce determination behind them. "I'll kill him," you declared, your voice low and filled with a dangerous intensity. "I'll make him pay for everything he's done to me. To us."

Dates: July 26, 2018 - Y/N has her first ultrasound. August 24, 2018 - The trial between the Zenin, Gojo, and Kamo clans begins.

[gothushi]

my inbox is a bit buggy and some asks only give the option to post so😭gotta answer em like this.

anyway !

starting off with rob, i think he’d be the most respectful right off the bat. he’d be like … ‘did you mean to send that? i’m assuming not’ and calming u down whilst ur spamming his phone with apology texts and how ur so embarrassed. that doesn’t mean he wasn’t affected at all though. first glance had him double taking, and he’s ashamed to admit he stared for a good while before actually responding, too focused on how his cock throbbed whilst imagining the pretty lace under his palms. he does however send u back texts like ‘it’s okay i’m not upset’ ‘you look very beautiful, you don’t have to be embarrassed’ ‘y/n take a second and calm down .. i’d never be disgusted with you’ he soothes away ur embarrassed worries, and in the end compliments you once more ‘if you ever want to purposefully send some my way, i wouldn’t complain.’ overall, very respectful. though, once u guys start dating, he nvr lets u live it down

simon is probs pretty similar tbh. like, he’s surprised at first and he definitely feels his cheeks go red, his pants get a little tighter. but, he’s such a gentleman when it comes to u. same vibe as rob, reassures u it’s okay, u don’t have to be embarrassed, he knows it was an accident. even sends proof that he deleted the photos from ur chat. (he’s got them saved in his phone though.)

another one i see being totally respectful and sweet is seb. i mean, c’mon.. he totally drops his phone when he opens it, thinking it’s some meme or a cute photo, only to be met with u from the waist down in some cute new panties? he’s red in the face and stammering, wondering if u meant to send that to him. two seconds later and his phone keeps chiming with new messages, apologies and whatnot from ur anxious self. he deletes them upon ur request, and tells u ‘it’s totally okay u don’t have to be embarrassed’. later tht night though and for the rest of the week he gets off at least twice before bed with that image in his head

nikolai is … way different. u didn’t even realize u had sent smth by accident, having done so and put ur phone on the charger. he pops into ur place within the next ten minutes, cooing at u and getting all touchy. he fairly assumes u didn’t mean to do that, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna tease. when u start getting all flustered and blushy, he croons something like ‘you weren’t all shy sending me that photo, mm?’ has u scrambling to check ur phone and he laughs at the red coloring ur face as u babble about how u don’t know how that happened, it was an accident and ur sorry. u may just be friends but he cradles ur cheeks and whispers a sweet little reassurance, ‘my sweet girl, i’m just playing with you, it’s alright. besides, i quite liked it’

luke …. he doesn’t even see it right away LOL. u realize what u had done when the image pops up instead of the dress u were asking his opinion on. he’s at practice so he had just set his phone down to return to the exercises. the next half hr of ur time is spent rushing to the field and watching them, wondering how u can get to his phone without seeming suspicious. ur just too late bc he’s grabbing his things to go shower, u try to offer holding his stuff but he insists his bag is inside so it’s fine, even tells u to wait so u can go get lunch together. before he gets into the bathrooms however is when he checks his notifications and ohhhh he goes red in the face… has to spend a couple extra minutes under the hot water before he comes out. it’s kinda awkward for a few minutes and ur worried bc he hasn’t said anything, maybe he didn’t check it yet? in the car ride u ask to use his phone to check the menu.. to see what time it is.. he gets what ur doing and ends up huffing and just blurting out that he seen it. it’s like dead silent for an entire minute before u both go to talk at once, some apology outta both of u. (ur both so hopeless w ur crushes on each other..) he gets himself together though and lets u know it’s okay, accidents happen. slides in a comment about how the color looked nice on u

i’m lumping quinten and ernst into the same description bc .. yeah. makes sense, right? they’re both different but the most similar outta the bunch. both of them wld be extremely flustered, especially knowing that’s you. chews on his lip so hard it almost bleeds. u end up calling him to apologize, saying it was meant to be this stupid photo of a dog in a tuxedo costume. he’d be breathy and trying to laugh it off like yeah… it’s alright, no problem.. but he’s throbbing in his boxers so hard it’s making him lightheaded. where they’re differing is i think quinten would be kinda moody afterwards, bc he’s frustrated that it wasn’t meant for him. his crush on u overtakes his emotions and has him being kinda sharp and pouty a lot. ernst will be flustered and blushy for at least a week after, which makes u feel bad until u talk it out

[count-lero]

The session of plenipotentiaries that never happened,

Or The tale of how I rediscovered that one lithography of Isabey’s famous painting in extremely high resolution and went through a total recall, so that everybody could suffer (myself including) ⭐️

The arrival of the Duke of Wellington had not only affected Vienna's diplomatic activity and social calendar; it was also posing a problem to the painter Jean-Baptiste Isabey, who was trying to capture the congress on canvas. He had been working for some time, and he had finally found a way to balance all the strong personalities, many of them patrons, into one single painting, and yet not offend national sensibilities or fragile egos.

The painting, which depicted the delegates gathered in a conference room, turned out to be a compromise in the best spirit of Vienna diplomacy.

Metternich, the president of the Congress, draws the eye, as the only standing figure in the foreground.

Castlereagh, though, commands the center, sitting with his legs gracefully crossed and elbow resting on the table.

The light shining through the window, however, falls onto Talleyrand, sitting across the table with his dress sword at his side. An empty chair on both his right and left make him further stand out, as do the nearby figures who look to him, just as many of the smaller powers had sought his leadership the last few months.

As Isabey was putting the finishing touches to his composition, he had to figure out what to do about the fact that the Duke of Wellington was now also in town. Starting over was out of the question. Omitting a man of his stature was equally impossible. Yet it was not easy to incorporate him into a canvas on which all the best places had already been taken. The painter's solution was simple and elegant: why not make the painting commemorate the Duke of Wellington's arrival in Vienna?

That way, the duke could simply be inserted on the far left side of the painting, without any insult to his position. As for the duke's reluctance to be painted from a side angle (he was self-conscious about his nose), Isabey had overcome that with a well-targeted compliment: didn't Wellington look like the handsome and chivalric Henry IV? Pleased with this comparison, Wellington accepted, joking that Isabey was a "good enough diplomat to take part in the Congress".

The painter also had to apply his finesse to convince Humboldt to enter the studio. The Prussian ambassador hated to have his portrait made, and, sure enough, he first declined, claiming that he had "too ugly a face ever to spend a penny" on a portrait. With this statement, Isabey saw his opportunity and emphasized that he would not "ask the slightest recompense for the pleasant trouble I am going to take". Isabey only wanted "the favor of a few sittings".

"Oh, is that all?" Humboldt quickly came around when he realized it would not cost him anything. "You can have as many sittings as you like".

Later, many congratulated Isabey on his portrait, particularly the fine job with Humboldt. The Prussian did not pay anything, as agreed, and Isabey got his revenge, Humboldt joked, by painting "an excellent likeness of me".

Few could complain of the treatment received from Isabey's flattering brush. This famous painting of the Congress of Vienna was pleasing to all, though typical of this peace conference, the scene was purely imaginary. The group of twenty-three delegates had never met in exactly this way before. Isabey had painted the portraits of each figure individually, and then later assembled the whole group together.

And so, symbolically, this simulated image would commemorate a congress that never was.

After that spectacular depiction of historical context surrounding Isabey’s magnificent canvas by David King few things are left to be added. I would simply love to highlight some other figures of utmost importance for the diplomatic life of that illustrious historical period - there are

Karl August von Hardenberg, Prime Minister of Prussia at the time;

Herren Wacken and Friedrich von Gentz, two Secretaries who were responsible for the protocols of the most important Congress' meetings;

count Karl Vasilyevich Nesselrode, a Russian-German diplomat, who became state chancellor of the Russian Empire in 1816;

prince Andrey (Andrew) Kirillovich Razumovsky, an extremely wealthy Russian aristocrat and diplomat, for whom Vienna was like his second home;

and we shouldn’t (or rather can’t) forget about general Charles Stewart-Vane, Castlereagh’s younger brother who definitely knew how to throw an unforgettable party, so refined aristocratic society could discuss his wild adventures at their fashionable salon meetings day and night. ✨

P.S.

Perhaps, there should be more posts with other details of the lithograph as well as Isabey’s original canvas, I’ll just need some time and motivation for that. 👌

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Taking the hit (Issue #26)

Moon Knight Issue #26: Hit it! / The Cabbie Killer

Two in one! What a wonderful time to be alive! 

Also this cover really gives me modern comic feels and I have no idea why. I feel like I've seen a variant of this cover before or perhaps another comic did a similar theme. Hmmm. 

We start with an editor's note from Denny O'Neil! That's either a good thing or a bad thing when it comes to a newer comic that is experiencing its first big few years and establishing characters and villains. 

It reads: 

Falling on our noses? 

   In tai chi chaun, a gentle and wonderful combination of martial arts and exercise, there is a concept called "exploring the limits." This means testing how close you can let an opponent come before he hits you and how far you can extend yourself towards him before you lose your balance and fall on your nose. What you learn is where your body is, its boundaries, and the distance it can be extended and yet retain wholeness and identity.

In Moon Knight we're exploring the limits. 

We're asking: What kind of adventures can our hero have and still be his own unique self. (Can we do fantasy? Science fiction? Humor?) How long should stories be? (One per issue? Two? Three? Or should a story extend over a number of issues?) How many liberties can we take with the traditional comic book format? (Our black-and-white covers are a solid success. but we're not sure about our other experiments --putting the title on the inside cover, next issue ads on the back cover, text features, cover galleries and whatever we come up with next.) 

Lots of questions. Very few answers. 

But that's okay. In fact, that's fine. That's what makes working on Moon Knight just about the most exciting job in comics. I've always liked journeys and everyone likes surpirses and Moon Knight is both. The magazine--and character--are fluid, not fully defined and we're busy exploring the limits. 

Of course, we may fall on our noses. You'll let us know if we do.

-Denny O'Neil. 

Okay! So this is a big thing for early comics! Many of you are only familiar with newer age comics and have graced Golden Age comics with a peak or two. But we’re sitting firm in the early 80s and Moon Knight is indeed a character that is unlike any other that was sitting firm in Marvel’s top tier. Born from a supernatural/horror type portion of Marvel that saw the birth of Man-Thing, Werewolf by Night, and others of the likes, Moon Knight bordered on classic Super-hero and supernatural horror. 

The note about Tai Chi and extension is actually really beautiful and a perfect metaphor for Moon Knight. I’ll have to remember that one! 

Now, to have a clear call to arms in where to take Moon Knight means that they have had this conversation in the writing room. They don’t know what to do with the comic. They have classic stories and ideas, but they don’t want to start repeating themselves this early int he game, but they also don’t want to jump the shark. 

It also means that this particular comic that we are about to read might be an experiment on where to take the comic. So let’s see what the story of the week is! 

We open with some utterly outstanding art. I mean, this stuff is GOLD. We got TWO spreads people! 

The first page describes the colors of sound. The beat of jazz and how it affects the senses. 

"First there is black. Then tehre is light, and all the colors of Jazz. And there is sound in these colos. A wailing trumpet drips cool violet, threaded with smoke. Heavy blue lumbers from the bass... While the clarinet tempts and tantalizes in hot pink counterpoint. But the drum... The drum beats Blood Red." 

We move from jazz to images of various uses of the phrase "Hit it!" Hit it to be starting the jazz band swinging. To fix a malfunctioing TV, to encourage a baseball player to hit the ball out of hte park to a child's drawing....

"Double meanings sometimes multiply." 

An abusive father and a crying child. 

"But even as a trumpet screams through the night...The drum still beats Blood Red.” 

"Hit it, Moon Knight. The night is here, the moon is full, and caught between one and the other dark deeds will prowl. Hit it, Moon Knight. Hit it. 

Cats in windows, cries from the alley, shadows mixing, and mysteries cloaked for the kill. Hit it, Moon Knight, Hit it. 

Fear in lurking, money itching to change hands, twitching and always, always blood to be spilled. 

It's hot, Moon Knight, and it's dark and it's now--Don't be late, Moon Knight, Not for your time to howl...

It might be in rage or it might be in pain...But never fear, Moon Knight, it's always the same. 

Just hit it, Moon Knight... Hit it!" 

Sometimes I think Moench just shows off. And then Sienkiewicz just FLEXES. 

We see Moon Knight on patrol. He passes by a building and we hear some men talking. 

One complains about the graveyard shift to Joe. 

But Joe isn't paying attention. He's having a flashback. 

He's reading the newspaper. Specifically the Obituaries. We see a children's drawing of the angry father. Joe throws the paper and runs away. 

He runs to a jazz club where the crowd flows out onto the sidewalk. 

Joe runs into the crowd and comes across a man in the way. 

Moon Knight notices the commotion and heads on over. 

"Just down the street the colors are wilder --Neon shrieks without mercy...And the beat is younger, faster, harder... Pounding, driving, relentlessly slamming... Everybody is doing it these days, getting great satisfaction..." 

They move past the jazz club to a rock house. 

Along the way we see people beaten, bloodied, and terribly wounded. 

"By hitting...hitting...hitting it!" 

Joe makes it to his destination at last: The funeral parlor. 

"I'm coming old man! Coming to pay my respects!" 

The blood red drum beats and he bursts into the parlor. 

There he finds the coffin of his father. 

A priest tries to speak to him. 

Joe beats the man down. 

Joe is ready to fight. To fight anyone that tries to stop him. That stands between him and his father. Him and his past. 

"Did you come to hit me too? Well, come on then--Hit me! Hit me till your arms fall off! You might as well...

He did it often enough! He hit me till I couldn't sleep at night--Any night! 

And then he hit me some more! And then he ran away--Left my mother alone! Finally he wouldn't hit me anymore! Finally he wouldn't even give me that!" 

Narration: "Blood red... The beat never ends... Pain, catharsis, rage--They shriek through nights lost to time..." 

Narration: "Turn away, Moon Knight--You were wrong--It's not your time to howl. There are others with stronger voice, greater cause..."

The priest interrupts demanding that Moon Knight stop him. 

Moon Knight: "No... There's been enough hitting tonight... I won't add to it." 

While Moon Knight talks to the priest, Joe stands up and punches Moon Knight. 

Here we remember that Marc Spector was a boxer. His violence settling from the school yard to the ring until his father turned him out. Marc moved from the ring to the battle field to the mercenary role. Marc runs hot with rage and fire. Who is he here? The raging child fighting back or the monster with nowhere else to put his fire than into those around him? 

A Rabbi once told him to stop. A Rabbi that tried to lead him down a path of passive peace when the world around him was violence and pain. A father that could not stand the sight of his son fighting back. 

Now we see a priest telling him to fight and him standing up and saying there is enough violence in the world that perhaps just this once there can be peace. 

And when violence falls on him, he does not take the passive path. He can’t. Everything Marc is and has been is refusing to look the other way while he is hurt. 

Narration: The crowning madness... Long live the king. And so, Moon Knight, the night was yours after all... And once started, the drum beats blood red...Forever." 

He is angry with himself. Angry at his loss of control. Angry that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stop the violence. He couldn’t stop his own rage. His own need to hit back. To hit it. 

What an opener. This one has me feeling a lot here. The direction of past trauma on those around us. The need to get resolution only to have it taken away from us. How it leads to more pain. More hurt. More trauma. 

Does this remind anyone of anything?

Yeah. I went there. 

PART TWO: Cabbie Killer! 

This story is written by Denny O'Neil with artist Keith Pollard and editor Ralph Macchio. 

I know what you’re thinking. “Oh no, Jake!” 

We open on Jake sitting in his cab late at night. 

"This is Lockley. I'm headin' for the garage after I drop my fare." 

In the buses waits a man with a bazooka. 

Narration: It is quiet in Brooklyn, this cool autumn evening, as Jake Lockley ends a day of driving around New York City--Quiet for exactly four more seconds...Then, two events occur simultaneously. Lockley stamps on the breake to avoid "STUPID DOG" --and the car parked a few feet away erupts in eye stinging flame...

Jake's fare asks if it was an accident or a bomb. 

Jake sits stunned. "Neither. Just before the fireworks, I glimpsed a muzzle flash from the bushes. Weird as it seems, somebody shot off an old fashioned Bazooka! The thing that bugs me is, it looked like we were the target.... You got any enemies, mister?" 

Jake's fare decides it's probably safer to walk and departs the cab. Probably for the best. 

We cut to an hour or so later on a pier somewhere. We see a man in fancy military garb talking to another guy. 

He explains that because of the dog, he missed his target and the target got away. He explains that he will try again with success next time.

The other guy tells him he doesn't give second chances and to 'take a hike'.  

Military guy isn't happy. 

"You have hired me to destroy a taxi cab and so I shall--whether you like it or not. I gave my word--And Commodore Donny Planet always keeps his word. Understood?" 

Let me just say: WHAT A NAME. 

Oh no. I didn't think it was this issue. I suppose I take solace in knowing now that it isn’t Bill that gave us Speeden. It always seems wrong to see old Moon Knight drawn by someone else. They just don’t get the face right. 

But they sure do get the dialogue right. And the name. Steven. Because we all know who the vain one of the group is. Someone has to take care of the body and we all know it isn’t going to be Marc or Jake. 

Ladies and Gents and all of the others, I give you Speedo Steven. 

The pool scene wasn’t even needed. He literally came home after being shot at by a bazooka, changed into Steven, took a dip into a pool, then ran off to Brooklyn as Moon Knight. There was absolutely ZERO need for Steven to get into the smallest speedo he could find and take a swim. He even demanded that Marlene and Frenchie….wait. He demanded that Marlene meet him by the pool. She showed up in a bikini, expecting lovely pool time. Frenchie just showed up! In full attire. He was just there for the show. He takes it where he can get it, I suppose. 

Moon Knight, now flying over the city, spots something burning. On closer look, he finds a cab on fire. 

It seems the Bazooka man found a cab to hit. 

Saddened by the loss of a cab, he is at least relieved to know that Jake Lockley is not the primary target. 

Moon Knight tells Frenchie to take them to the Queens Cemetery. 

"For months, I've known that a lot of our local criminal types play poker there every Friday night...They figure they won't be disturbed. Maybe one of them will have some answers for us." 

Once there, he directs Frenchie to grab his cab and park it near the north gate. 

I just gotta say... I have always loved the idea that all the bad guys get together to play poker and complain about their foes. Takes me back to the Batman Animated Series "Almost got him" episode. 

I also gotta say that no one draws Moon Knight's face right in classic outfit with little emotive eyes like Bill. This one is just...lacking. They also over buffed him out in muscles. 

Just a small criticism. 

I do appreciate that Frenchie does still have his moon hat though. I love that stupid hat. 

Moon Knight takes out the guards and interrupts the poker party. 

One of the guys at the party knows something and spills it. 

"One of my boys was runnin' from the law...Ducked into a garage and hid a certain tape cassette the cops want in a cab. He told us that much before he died from a slug in the chest. Problem was he didn't say which cab or where in the cab he hid it." 

Turns out three cabs were in the garage that night. They hired Commando man to track the three cabs down. 

The boss man at the table laughs that Moon Knight isn't going anywhere and calls over a hired goon with a gun. 

Crawley! 

Now Crawley is a sort of undercover informant for Moon Knight and all the baddies at the poker table trust him. 

So Moon Knight has a problem. He can't fight Crawley like he was a regular thug. But if Crawley doesn't shoot him then they will know he's working for Moon Knight and lose all trust. 

Crawley takes a wide shot and Moon Knight uses the chance and kicks Crawley in the face. 

The choices he makes sometimes...

Crawley is knocked out and the thugs all scatter. He takes a moment to make sure Crawley is alright then runs after the main guy. 

The boss spots a nearby parked cab and jumps in. 

Moon Knight calmly sits at the wheel. 

He informs the boss that this is one of the cabs from the garage and that he suspects the Bazooka man is waiting at the garage for a shot. 

"You've got a choice: Either tell me where to find your assassin or we cruise 'round and 'round till HE finds US! Might take all night, but I'm in no hurry." 

The boss is more than ready to give up the goods and tells Moon Knight where Commodore Donny Planet is. 

He finds the Commodore in a boat. They fight and Moon Knight finds the Commodore to be freakishly strong. 

Moon Knight strikes at normally vulnerable spots only to get tossed around like nothing. 

It's near invulnerable vs. Moon Knight's ability to take the most brutal beating and keep going. 

Moon Knight switches tactics and tosses some Judo in, keeping the large man off balance. 

He knocks the man off the boat into a fishing net. 

"The safe thing-The smart thing- would be to just let him drown." He contemplates for but a moment. "No." 

He jumps in and saves the large brute then leaves him for the cops. 

And that’s the end of the cabbie killer. 

I must say, this one ended on a let down. I feel that if Moench had written it, we’d have ended on Jake finding the tape in his cab or something to indicate that he was the mark all along. Maybe that’s just me. 

Especially after the first half with “HIT IT”. That one was really amazing. Fantastic art, a very heavy subject, and only took a few pages to cover it. Even though it didn’t end with a distinct note, it still felt like an end. A story that needed to be told that still somehow painted a picture of Moon Knight despite it being a one off that didn’t give any sort of moral or definitive point. The man still was angry over a past pain that will never be resolved. He’ll end up in prison because of all the people he hurt, and his mental health will never be addressed. 

And that editorial at the start! What a piece! Learning to reach only as far as our body can go and learning not to get hit. I'm going to be thinking about that one for a while. Wow.

But that’s the story of Moon Knight, isn’t it? A story of underlining pain and trauma that affects his everyday life but that is never resolved, addressed, or healed. How it radiates out to affect everyone around him and the way he struggles to make the right choice and do the right thing…even though everything around him forces him back into that corner that forces him to fight for his life over and over again. 

[brianyololau]

December 5, 2023

Today is gonna be a positive journal. Sammie and I started this activity where we write down a list of our accomplishments in a notebook we gave each other. So, I have been focusing a bit on the stuff I achieved every day. It’s been nice so far seeing how much stuff I get done even though I normally wouldn’t give much thought into it. Seeing this list makes me pretty satisfied about my day. It’s like my day actually mattered even though I wasn’t making nursing money or getting a job offer.

One day at a time! I can also see how i’m investing into my life balance which feels amazing. I can see how putting time into friendships and communication actually contribute to stronger relationships and a stronger sense of well being.

I caught up with Tran recently, and I’m glad I did. We trauma dumped so much on each other, stuff that has happened in the past 6 years and more. I used to think she had an put together and perfectly fine life besides studying hard for school. That wasn’t the case at all.

In many ways, I learned she also went through similar experiences as I did, and in other ways, she went through her own struggle that taught her personal life lessons too. I felt as if I were speaking to a friend from the past even though we never officially hung out before.

Tran’s also super cute. I just wanna protect her from harm’s way & listen to her nerdy personality yap all day. She has a pouty demeanor when i’m teasing her, and she’s so sweet. She also has pretty eyes which is something I’m attracted to. Idk if we’ll work out tho. She might be too reserved and committed to school for me. I’m not trying to put her down, but I can see how this would affect a relationship between us. I’m not even sure if she sees me like that. I feel like she’d find a more suitable partner in crime if he was as type A as her. I’m surely not as type A, but I do fall under that spectrum. It’s probably why she and I were able to establish a bond pretty well. She’s just so cute. I wanna see her in one of my sweaters. I also love that she’s smart, not just book smart, smart.

but what am I saying…… focus man. You got bills to pay, a life to live, and friendships to manage. You’ve made it this far. You’ve even cut off ur father as an act to improve your life. I gotta rethink the life I want to create and the pillars I’ll represent as my own self without him in the picture.

After I cut him off, I thought life would’ve been the same the next morning. It wasn’t. I still have to deal with the guy, and I’ll probably see him at the burial event for Appac.

I also thought I would completely change for the better by now. It’s been harder than I thought. At first, I felt this strong sense of betrayal and loneliness. I was neglected for 24 years and nearly abandoned for 16. The feelings of pain suffered from his actions remain, and the younger version of myself has to just accept it.

It’s so unjust. My 24 year old self knows it’s wrong and is doing everything it can to help my child self process and heal. My 24 yo self is telling my younger self to point this glock at the memory of my father and to pull the trigger. Pull the trigger. Pull the fucking trigger. Pull it. That image was shattered a long time ago, and my younger self needs to let that shit go. Empty the clip because it was never real. What’s real is the fragmented fathering he’s shown you. It’s up to you to hold your own head high and face him for who what he truly is, a disappointing father.

Once you feel it, channel the weight of that anger and frustration into something greater. Let the flame of injustice ignite a fire in you so strong that it suffocates you, and even then, learn how to survive. For this new weight on your shoulders is going to teach you how to be a better man, a future father, and someone you can respect.

I’m proud of myself for going through all of this. I opened Pandora’s box and dealt with all the evils that have been haunting me for years. It even affected how I view relationships. This will be an issue no more. I’m in control of my life now, and no one can tell me I can’t be.

[neyzuko]

text under cut:

Well, first off, Inami feels pretty great about himself because Yashiro came to his place after being with Doumeki. Inami assumes that Y and D had sex, so he also thinks that Yashiro came skipping over because Doumeki was unable to satisfy him. Then Inami starts to insult Yashiro, calling him “slutty” for wanting sex even though he’s impotent. Yashiro responds by subtly reminding Inami that he should be happy Yashiro is that way, since it turns Inami on when his partners don’t appear to consent (i.e., can’t get aroused). In other words, Inami gets sexual pleasure from violence and domination. He’s a sexual sadist. With Yashiro not being able to get hard, he’s like an unwilling participant—and rape is the ultimate fantasy for a sexual sadist like Inami. Recall the first time they did it in the hotel room 4 years ago, when Inami tied Yashiro’s dick with a shoelace to prevent him from getting hard and “enjoying” the experience.

Then we get the flashback scene. I’m not too sure, but but I think the internal monologue in this chapter is a flashback rather than a stream of consciousness. We see Yashiro in different clothes, unbound, and with a beat up face, not to mention the monologue is positioned in the middle of an event and surrounded by a black border— this suggests that the changes in Yashiro’s perceptions came before the timeline of chapter 47.

In the flashback, Yashiro admits to feeling apathetic while having sex. He can no longer enjoy sex the way he used to, which clearly affects him a great deal. He thinks his lack of arousal is “poetic justice” for initially developing a body that “couldn’t live without sex.” In his mind, his impotence is his punishment.

Looking at the line, “I really, really didn’t care anymore. And I was so beyond redemption that I thought I was only fine when I felt pain.” Here, Yashiro explains why he continued to have violent sex after becoming impotent: 1) “I didn’t care anymore,” contrasted with an image of him on his bed in the daylight, which could refer to being awoken by his recurring nightmare and the accompanying loneliness and guilt (all related to Doumeki), and 2) “I was beyond redemption,” which just means that he doesn’t think that changing his habits at this stage in his life would make a difference. So, Yashiro continued to chase the pain of violent sex. I also think it was also a form of self-punishment.

Then the flashback ends and we come back to present tense. Yashiro is enduring the sex with Inami, when sudden images of Doumeki invade his mind. This isn’t really anything new— Yashiro always thinks of someone else, someone kind and gentle, when he’s having painful sex.

But now in 47, Yashiro has a different thought process: “Suddenly I realized, there’s no need to get rid of anything if I didn’t know it in the first place.” I think this has two meanings.

First, if we go back a bit in chapter 47, we see Yashiro refer to Inami and other men as rapists. Terminology is important, because it determines how we interpret meaning and events. If Yashiro understands that he was raped, then he also understands that he didn’t “want it.” He didn’t invite it, he didn’t enjoy it, and it’s also not his fault it happened. This changes his whole self-perception as well. Before, Yashiro believed he was perverted and twisted because he was addicted to violent sex, well into his adulthood. But once he realized that the act of rape impacted his life in ways he didn’t wish for, he was able to connect the dots and see himself as a victim/survivor, rather than a pervert. This realization also means that Yashiro is looking back on his life with with a deep sense of sadness, for knowing that he never knew love and respect before Doumeki. One of the reasons Yashiro abandoned Doumeki 4 years ago is because he didn’t want to “corrupt and sully” his beauty and purity with his own twistedness. So, if we put this information together, Yashiro has concluded that there is no reason to get rid of Doumeki because he himself is not a twisted person, and he ought to experience beauty at least once in his life… I’ll talk more about this further down, but I think this is the overarching theme of this chapter.

And the second meaning is more straightforward. Chapter 46 opens with Yashiro thinking: “I thought I knew him” (or something to that effect). Yashiro thought he knew all of Doumeki, yet as he’s come to realize over the last few days, he doesn’t quite know him as well as he thought. I don’t think I have to give any examples of Doumeki’s changes because we are all aware that he is different and a stark contrast from 4 years ago.

I don’t think I have to explain the importance of autonomy and living for yourself first. Doumeki has truly outgrown his boyish fascination with Yashiro that bordered on self-destruction and delusion, and has become a man with goals and principles that will outlive whatever circumstance he is currently in. This is not to say that he is incapable of loving Yashiro, but rather, this simply means that there is a place and time for all of life’s pleasures— love is one of them, but so is autonomy.

Yashiro is more than aware of this. In fact, the absence of autonomy was one of the reasons he let Doumeki go.

Back to this quote: “Suddenly I realized, there’s no need to get rid of anything if I didn’t know it in the first place,” accompanied by an image of Doumeki. The Doumeki in Yashiro’s imagination is the one that looks him in the eyes and says what he thinks. It’s not the Doumeki following him around blindly. The person Yashiro thought he knew turned out to be a lot more self-assured, independent, and wise, unlike the little bird who would fall to his death to follow Yashiro without thought. This is not someone Yashiro has to worry over either corrupting or endangering, because he is already a fully-formed individual with his own values, beliefs, and agency.

Back to Inami’s bedroom. After the sex, Yashiro asks for information about the Okuyama Group, which Inami offers up. Then Inami asks Yashiro to share his info. Yashiro refuses, saying his body should suffice as payment. Inami turns to him, and asks whether Yashiro is placing too much value on “being a tranny.” Yashiro smiles and tells him “no, try to understand the premise,” which basically just means that their deal is: sex for info. Inami gets sex, Yashiro gets info. The deal is not: we both get sex and then we share info. Inami, however, doesn’t seem to understand the premise— he thinks Yashiro wants sex from him.

When Inami drops Yashiro off, a similar sort of exchange happens, with Inami falsely believing that Yashiro wants to have sex with him. In this conversation by the car, Inami begins to insult Yashiro again. He tells Yashiro that he must be happy that another “decent” guy like Doumeki has fallen from grace. Inami is suggesting that Doumeki is decent, while Yashiro is not. Of course, this is referring to the fact that Yashiro lets men have hardcore sex with him.

Yashiro turns around and says, “decent, huh.” He was going to walk away, but he decides to lay it out again for Inami, so he understands the premise. Yashiro looks him in the face with a grin and says, “[Doumeki] thinks I’m the one wanting to have sex with you.” Surely this would ring some bells, but it doesn’t. Inami says, “but you do want to, don’t you? … you’re the one who wants to be treated violently.” Not only does Inami not understand Yashiro, but he also doesn’t understand himself. In his mind, Yashiro is the pervert in their relationship; Yashiro is the one that gets off on violence, not Inami. Inami thinks he is merely giving Yashiro what he wants. He’s deluded himself into believing that he’s a decent guy and Yashiro the sinner.

The Yashiro from 4 years ago believed this too. Yashiro always thought of himself as the masochist and pervert in all of his sexual relationships. Yet, what the relationship with Inami has shown us is that Yashiro is just a passive participant, often at the mercy of violent partners. Most of his sex partners have been yakuza that look down on gay men and treat them violently in bed. The same people then turn around and insult Yashiro, instead of acknowledging their own immoral behaviour. Yashiro had internalized the insults and beatings up until now.

In chapter 47, Yashiro calls Inami a rapist (in his mind) and challenges him head-on to acknowledge the true dynamic of their relationship. Again, this changes the onus of responsibility from Yashiro to Inami. This is a huge step for Yashiro. Like, really, really big. The shift in responsibility clears Yashiro of negative labels, including “pervert” and “twisted,” and goes back to my earlier statement about the overarching theme of this chapter. Yashiro has realized that he is not a bad person, and that he can and should be loved. When Doumeki shows up, Yashiro looks at him with a serene expression, and says, “he’s not my guard dog anymore,” meaning that Yashiro no longer fears corrupting an innocent and naive Doumeki, both because Yashiro is NOT a corrupting force and because Doumeki is mature enough to take care of himself.

And since I said I’d come back to the dream that was haunting Yashiro and subconsciously telling him to change: Yashiro has stopped resisting Doumeki’s advancement and is allowing himself more and more closeness. In chapter 48, Yashiro follows Doumeki back to Tsunakawa’s place, and of course, chooses Doumeki as his guard. None of this development would have been possible without the long-awaited recognition in chapter 47. Although it’s a long and slow process, Yashiro has started the hard job of forgiving himself.

Forgiveness

A Chapter 47 Analysis

I feel like I’m long overdue for a proper chapter 47 analysis, which is v shameful, considering how very important this chapter was. I can’t even overstate its significance tbh. I think some pretty rapid character development took place between chapter 46 and 47, much of it owing to Yashiro’s prior self-reflection, being around Inami, and having Doumeki back in his life.

In the first few chapters of volume 7, Yashiro was looking pretty tired around the eyes. He looked aged. He seemed listless and defeated, and we know that around that time he was having dreams/nightmares about Doumeki, which startled him awake. And I know I’ve talked about this dream many times before, but in light of chapter 47, its meaning has shifted somewhat. I think what is so nightmarish about the dream isn’t just that Doumeki was gone when Y turned around, but rather, the reason Doumeki was gone— and not for his lack of trying to hold on. The dream was largely focused on Yashiro himself, who broke away and ran from Doumeki, only to feel devastated when D disappeared and Y was left alone. Yashiro’s subconscious is clearly telling him something. “If you don’t want to feel this way (i.e., alone), then you need to change your actions.” We’ll come back to this later.

Alright, let’s actually talk about chapter 47 now.

Well, first off, Inami feels pretty great about himself because Yashiro came to his place after being with Doumeki. Inami assumes that Y and D had sex, so he also thinks that Yashiro came skipping over because Doumeki was unable to satisfy him. Then Inami starts to insult Yashiro, calling him “slutty” for wanting sex even though he’s impotent. Yashiro responds by subtly reminding Inami that he should be happy Yashiro is that way, since it turns Inami on when his partners don’t appear to consent (i.e., can’t get aroused). In other words, Inami gets sexual pleasure from violence and domination. He’s a sexual sadist. With Yashiro not being able to get hard, he’s like an unwilling participant—and rape is the ultimate fantasy for a sexual sadist like Inami. Recall the first time they did it in the hotel room 4 years ago, when Inami tied Yashiro’s dick with a shoelace to prevent him from getting hard and “enjoying” the experience.

Then we get the flashback scene. I’m not too sure, but but I think the internal monologue in this chapter is a flashback rather than a stream of consciousness. We see Yashiro in different clothes, unbound, and with a beat up face, not to mention the monologue is positioned in the middle of an event and surrounded by a black border— this suggests that the changes in Yashiro’s perceptions came before the timeline of chapter 47.

In the flashback, Yashiro admits to feeling apathetic while having sex. He can no longer enjoy sex the way he used to, which clearly affects him a great deal. He thinks his lack of arousal is “poetic justice” for initially developing a body that “couldn’t live without sex.” In his mind, his impotence is his punishment.

Looking at the line, “I really, really didn’t care anymore. And I was so beyond redemption that I thought I was only fine when I felt pain.” Here, Yashiro explains why he continued to have violent sex after becoming impotent: 1) “I didn’t care anymore,” contrasted with an image of him on his bed in the daylight, which could refer to being awoken by his recurring nightmare and the accompanying loneliness and guilt (all related to Doumeki), and 2) “I was beyond redemption,” which just means that he doesn’t think that changing his habits at this stage in his life would make a difference. So, Yashiro continued to chase the pain of violent sex. I also think it was also a form of self-punishment.

Then the flashback ends and we come back to present tense. Yashiro is enduring the sex with Inami, when sudden images of Doumeki invade his mind. This isn’t really anything new— Yashiro always thinks of someone else, someone kind and gentle, when he’s having painful sex. But this time there’s a big difference from before:

But now in 47, Yashiro has a different thought process: “Suddenly I realized, there’s no need to get rid of anything if I didn’t know it in the first place.” I think this has two meanings.

First, if we go back a bit in chapter 47, we see Yashiro refer to Inami and other men as rapists. Terminology is important, because it determines how we interpret meaning and events. If Yashiro understands that he was raped, then he also understands that he didn’t “want it.” He didn’t invite it, he didn’t enjoy it, and it’s also not his fault it happened. This changes his whole self-perception as well. Before, Yashiro believed he was perverted and twisted because he was addicted to violent sex, well into his adulthood. But once he realized that the act of rape impacted his life in ways he didn’t wish for, he was able to connect the dots and see himself as a victim/survivor, rather than a pervert. This realization also means that Yashiro is looking back on his life with with a deep sense of sadness, for knowing that he never knew love and respect before Doumeki. One of the reasons Yashiro abandoned Doumeki 4 years ago is because he didn’t want to “corrupt and sully” his beauty and purity with his own twistedness. So, if we put this information together, Yashiro has concluded that there is no reason to get rid of Doumeki because he himself is not a twisted person, and he ought to experience beauty at least once in his life… I’ll talk more about this further down, but I think this is the overarching theme of this chapter.

And the second meaning is more straightforward. Chapter 46 opens with Yashiro thinking: “I thought I knew him” (or something to that effect). Yashiro thought he knew all of Doumeki, yet as he’s come to realize over the last few days, he doesn’t quite know him as well as he thought. I don’t think I have to give any examples of Doumeki’s changes because we are all aware that he is different, but if I had to give one example, I would say:

I think this has said this before, but it’s is a stark contrast from 4 years ago:

I don’t think I have to explain the importance of autonomy and living for yourself first. I think the previous panel perfectly summarizes Doumeki’s maturity and growth. Doumeki has truly outgrown his boyish fascination with Yashiro that bordered on self-destruction and delusion, and has become a man with goals and principles that will outlive whatever circumstance he is currently in. This is not to say that he is incapable of loving Yashiro, but rather, this simply means that there is a place and time for all of life’s pleasures— love is one of them, but so is autonomy.

Yashiro is more than aware of this. In fact, the absence of autonomy was one of the reasons he let Doumeki go:

Back to this quote: “Suddenly I realized, there’s no need to get rid of anything if I didn’t know it in the first place,” accompanied by this image:

The Doumeki in Yashiro’s imagination is the one that looks him in the eyes and says what he thinks. It’s not the Doumeki following him around blindly:

The person Yashiro thought he knew turned out to be a lot more self-assured, independent, and wise, unlike the little bird who would fall to his death to follow Yashiro without thought. This is not someone Yashiro has to worry over either corrupting or endangering, because he is already a fully-formed individual with his own values, beliefs, and agency.

Back to Inami’s bedroom. After the sex, Yashiro asks for information about the Okuyama Group, which Inami offers up. Then Inami asks Yashiro to share his info. Yashiro refuses, saying his body should suffice as payment. Inami turns to him, and asks whether Yashiro is placing too much value on “being a tranny.” Yashiro smiles and tells him “no, try to understand the premise,” which basically just means that their deal is: sex for info. Inami gets sex, Yashiro gets info. The deal is not: we both get sex and then we share info. Inami, however, doesn’t seem to understand the premise— he thinks Yashiro wants sex from him.

When Inami drops Yashiro off, a similar sort of exchange happens, with Inami falsely believing that Yashiro wants to have sex with him. In this conversation by the car, Inami begins to insult Yashiro again. He tells Yashiro that he must be happy that another “decent” guy like Doumeki has fallen from grace. Inami is suggesting that Doumeki is decent, while Yashiro is not. Of course, this is referring to the fact that Yashiro lets men have hardcore sex with him.

Yashiro turns around and says, “decent, huh.” He was going to walk away, but he decides to lay it out again for Inami, so he understands the premise. Yashiro looks him in the face with a grin and says, “[Doumeki] thinks I’m the one wanting to have sex with you.” Surely this would ring some bells, but it doesn’t. Inami says, “but you do want to, don’t you? … you’re the one who wants to be treated violently.” Not only does Inami not understand Yashiro, but he also doesn’t understand himself. In his mind, Yashiro is the pervert in their relationship; Yashiro is the one that gets off on violence, not Inami. Inami thinks he is merely giving Yashiro what he wants. He’s deluded himself into believing that he’s a decent guy and Yashiro the sinner.

The Yashiro from 4 years ago believed this too. Yashiro always thought of himself as the masochist and pervert in all of his sexual relationships. Yet, what the relationship with Inami has shown us is that Yashiro is just a passive participant, often at the mercy of violent partners. Most of his sex partners have been yakuza that look down on gay men and treat them violently in bed. The same people then turn around and insult Yashiro, instead of acknowledging their own immoral behaviour. Yashiro had internalized the insults and beatings up until now.

In chapter 47, Yashiro calls Inami a rapist (in his mind) and challenges him head-on to acknowledge the true dynamic of their relationship. Again, this changes the onus of responsibility from Yashiro to Inami. This is a huge step for Yashiro. Like, really, really big. The shift in responsibility clears Yashiro of negative labels, including “pervert” and “twisted,” and goes back to my earlier statement about the overarching theme of this chapter. Yashiro has realized that he is not a bad person, and that he can and should be loved. When Doumeki shows up, Yashiro looks at him with a serene expression, and says, “he’s not my guard dog anymore,” meaning that Yashiro no longer fears corrupting an innocent and naive Doumeki, both because Yashiro is NOT a corrupting force and because Doumeki is mature enough to take care of himself.

And since I said I’d come back to the dream that was haunting Yashiro and subconsciously telling him to change: Yashiro has stopped resisting Doumeki’s advancement and is allowing himself more and more closeness. In chapter 48 Yashiro follows Doumeki back to Tsunakawa’s place, and of course, chooses Doumeki as his guard. None of this development would have been possible without the long-awaited recognition in chapter 47. Although it’s a long and slow process, Yashiro has started the hard job of forgiving himself.