#how am i supposed to be normal for the next WEEK!

[dear-ao3]

so. as you may know it’s christmas eve. as you probably don’t know i am eastern european. and probably the only real tradition anyone holds onto is christmas eve. normally my great aunt does all the food and very begrudgingly sometimes lets everyone help make like. one thing.

well.

this year. the year of our lord two thousand and twenty four. she decided she was done cooking and it was up to everyone else.

so i got a phone call from my mom a few weeks ago being like hey so. you’re making the cake. got it? good.

the cake in question is a walnut cake. i was entrusted with my great aunts recipe about seven years ago. i’ve made it twice. the first time i fucked up the frosting quantity. the second time i fucked up the eggs. both times were passable at best and notably! my great aunt did not taste either of them.

and i have to make this cake. on christmas eve. it is dessert. for everyone. my extended family will all be eating the cake. the walnut cake. on christmas eve. even my great aunt.

so yesterday, december 23 if you are counting, i went on the annual Last Minute Christmas Food Shopping Trip with my father, watched him climb into the case to get his half and half like he does every year, and stressed about my cake as i made sure i had all of the ingredients.

then. we went to my great aunts house. where i was met with Trial Number 1: The Cognac

this cake has cognac in the frosting. not a big deal really. except for the fact that my mom hates that there is cognac in the frosting. (my mom is hell bent on making christmas eve dinner vaguely healthier. no one else agrees.) and i was to be making the cake in my moms house.

also important to note: we (as in my parents) do not own cognac. mostly because none of us drink.

so my great aunt is like oh i have to give you the cognac. cause she knows. i am baking the cake. the walnut cake. (my dad told her. he is a traitor). and i say okay. sure. this won’t be a problem at all.

so she gives me. a shot of cognac. and when i say a shot. i mean an Entirely Full Shot Glass of Three Hundred Dollar Cognac. in a jar. for the cake. the walnut cake. that i have to make.

upon bringing the cognac home my mom says no we’re not putting that in. the cognac sits on the counter in its jar. no one touches it.

then i was met with Trial Number 2: The Frosting.

this recipe requires a pound of chopped walnuts. first. i couldn’t even find the walnuts. my sister and i searched high and low and in every cabinet we could find but no nuts. i called my mom. and said mom where are the walnuts? and she said. “they’re in the nut bag behind the basement door.”

oh of course. how could i have missed the nut bag? a holiday bag full of bags of nuts that was half hidden by wrapping paper and also behind a door?

in any case. could i have used a food processor? absolutely. did i? no. half because i forgot and half because i didn’t want to accidentally grind the walnuts into a paste. so i enlisted the help of my younger sister to chop the walnuts By Hand while i embarked on the real devil: the frosting.

which remember. is supposed to have cognac.

so i cream my butter. i add my sugar. i’m careful not to over sugar. i taste it a million times. i add my coffee and my vanilla extract (instead of cognac. which is still sitting on the counter) and it was all going so well until. the butter rebelled.

now remember. one time when i made this. seven years ago. i made too little frosting. so i made more this time. and i thought i had all my conversions right but evidently i did not because suddenly there was too much liquid in my frosting and it split.

the frosting for the walnut cake that everyone was going to eat. on christmas eve. the very next day.

i felt like a contestant on great british bake-off getting smited by the tent.

so i did the logical thing and shoved the whole mess into the fridge hoping that it would sort itself out overnight.

then it was time to face Trial Number Three: The Cake Itself.

as i have said this cake is a walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake that has been at christmas eve longer than i have been alive. and it requires no less than ten egg whites. which i whipped and i added to my walnuts and shoved the whole thing into the oven in my two baking dishes.

only to discover no less than 40 minutes later that the batter in the pans was Not Even (despite my best efforts). so i cooked one longer than the other and hoped that i hadn’t monumentally fucked up the walnut cake. like i had the frosting. which was in the fridge. and i was ignoring.

which leads to Trial Number Four: The Egg Yolk Cake

see i had ten egg yolks. i didn’t know what to do with them. my mom said flush them. my dad said make a custard. i proposed making egg nog. my mom said she didn’t want it in the house cause it was too fattening (a blatantly incorrect statement. please, if you are reading this, go drink a glass of eggnog. or some other fun festive drink. food is for the soul.) so i produced a recipe for an egg yolk pound cake. i made it. i still don’t know if it came out good cause i haven’t tasted it. i hope it did. but that was not the point. the point is the walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake.

and the following morning i was met with Trial Number Five: The Frosting Part 2

first i threw my failed frosting back in the mixer and it immediately secreted a brackish combination of vanilla extract and coffee so i did the only thing i could. facetimed my dad and said “father there are problems abound.” and he gave me the fatherly advice of “make it again.”

and so i did.

with more correct measurements. still scared it would split at any second.

though it didn’t.

and i didn’t add the cognac.

maybe no one will be able to tell???

my mom said that if anyone asks the first batch of frosting failed and i had to toss it. this is technically true.

but i had frosting. i had two uneven cakes. and it was time for Trial Number Six: Decorating

decorating cakes is easily in my top ten least favorite activities. decorating the christmas eve walnut cake is easily in my top three least favorite activities. because i am terrible at decorating cakes. and also because it has a filling.

the filling is jam. and i once again made the wrong choice because i put the jam on first before the frosting. which to be fair is what the directions say. but as everyone knows, the directions in recipes you get from your eastern european great aunt are not the real directions. so now i had to smear butter cream. on top of jam. for the filling of the walnut cake. for christmas eve. that we would be eating in a few hours.

and we didn’t have a cake plate. we had a large dish.

i had to use my fingers. i had to use three spatulas. i got jam everywhere. but i did it. and as soon as i set the top cake on top of the filling i realized my monumental mistake: i was supposed to trim down the cakes.

so now they were uneven. and lopsided. and there was nothing i, a mere mortal tasked with the impossible task of making christmas eve walnut cake, could do about it.

so i continued to spread my frosting. which i had enough of. and tried and failed to not get jam everywhere.

in the end it was almost presentable. not great. slightly lopsided. and definitely not as nice as any of my great aunts cakes.

which left me with Trial Number 7: Chilling It

our fridge was being taken up by other important christmas eve things (though not as important as my cake. the walnut cake) so i had to put it in the car. which was fine because there is snow on the ground.

i covered my cake. the walnut cake. in tin foil and hoped i wouldn’t accidentally squish it. and then i went outside. i tried to steal my moms shoes to walk outside. she was not impressed.

“you know, saph,” she said. “some of the time you’re pretty great. the other half of the time you’re really weird.”

i could not agree more.

i put my cake on the trunk. prayed to the cake gods and went inside.

on the one hand if the cake is good, i will be stuck making walnut cake for christmas eve for the rest of my life. on the other hand, if it sucks i will never have to make another one.

Trial Number Eight: The Tasting still waits.

[stxrslutrestored]

SILENT TREATMENT

pairing; rafe cameron x sweetie reader

summary; even after your little confrontation, rafe continues to neglect you, so when he tries to give you his affections, you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, little do you know how well that may end for you

content; body worship, oral (f receiving)

authors note; re upload! part 2 of waiting for you

last night was good, you wake up feeling relieved, happy to have finally resolved your issue with rafe. you can’t wait to spend time with him today. you roll over when you feel him stir, a smile pasted on your lips, “mornin’ rafe,” you grin, hand coming up to caress his sleepy face. he looks so pretty in the mornings. 

a little smile creeps onto his lips as well, his eyes peel open and he meets your loving gaze, “hi sweetheart.” 

you move to cuddle closer to him, but to your surprise he sits up. you sit up too, but don’t follow him as he gets out of bed and grabs his clothes. 

you tilt your head in slight confusion, but you keep smiling, “where you goin’? we only just woke up.” you’re dreading the next sentence to come out of his mouth. 

he nods absently, “yeah uh.. I just—” he points to the door over his shoulder, “got some work to do.” his voice trails off, and before you know it, he’s walking out the door. 

son of a bitch. 

you sit there for a few minutes in the company of your own silence. you can’t believe it. you’d had a whole fight last night, he’d acknowledged that he was prioritising work too much, and now, at seven in the morning, with no deadline, he’s gone back to it. without paying you a single glance at that. 

you get over it, sure, you are totally over it. you spend the day with yourself, but you can’t help but be peeved the entire time. in the evening you make yourself a meal, only yourself, one portion. rafe is nowhere to be seen, so why should you cook for him?

when he comes downstairs you are on the couch watching the tv with your meal in a tray on your lap. he walks over to the kitchen where the empty pot lies still on the stove. upon opening the lid of the pot and finding nothing his face falls, “you didn’t cook for both of us?” he asks, brows furrowed as he speaks to the back of your head. 

“I didn’t know you wanted food.” you say, “been workin’ all day, didn’t even know if you were gonna come down.” you take another mouthful of your meal.

“what am I supposed to eat?” his face contorts in slight frustration. he looks like a kicked puppy. he hadn’t had to actually think about what to get for dinner for ages, you’d always taken care of it.

“I don’t know,” you put a sickly sweet twinge in your voice, “you could get takeout… or cook. do you know how to do that?” you know it’s a bit of a mean comment but god dammit you’re hurt. he’s hurt you and you will hurt him back until he realises how shitty he’s treated you. 

it continues all week. the snarky comments and disregards of each other. rafe keeps to his work and you keep to yourself. 

you both ignore it with great passion. neither of you caring to acknowledge all the feelings, knowing that when you do, it will be a turmoil that you just don’t want to face.

of course it has to happen, and in a turn of unexpected events, it’s rafe who initiates the conversation. 

you’re just getting into your night clothes when he enters the room, speaking your name. he leans against the doorframe to talk to you. “you look nice.” he says bluntly. 

you smile, but you don’t look up at him, “thankyou.” you slip your nightdress on and then stand to walk over to bed. 

he sighs and meets you before you can sit down, “uhm.. d’you wanna.. maybe do something..” he asks, it’s awkward, he barely ever has to ask, normally it just happens. his hand rests on your hip. 

you shrug, “I don’t know.. I’m pretty tired actually.” you tell him, looking up at him, and yet it’s not an intimate eye contact like it should be right before you climb into bed with him.

“come on.” he murmurs, “let’s just.. be together y’know.” he smirks tentatively, rubbing your hip now, but you don’t return his energy. 

“no. I think I’d rather just go to sleep. you can lie with me if you want.” you make to move past him but he stops you, holding you back. 

“no.” he raises his voice slightly but quickly corrects his tone. “no— no you’re- you’re ignorin’ me.” he pulls you in front of him, his head cranes down just a little bit to keep your gaze. “I know why. okay— I get it but— I- I can’t make it up to you if you don’t let me.” 

you shake your head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about rafe,” you speak so matter of factly, “I just wanna go to sleep right now.” 

“no. no.” he pushes you back, “let— lemme make it up to you.” he speaks, frowning in upset, “I can show you I- let me show you that I’m sorry okay.” 

you furrow your eyebrows, it’s not like rafe to speak like this, he’s never sorry for anything he does, he believes every action he takes has a purpose and that nobody has a right to complain about them. rafe saying sorry is basically him admitting he’s completely and utterly pussy whipped. 

you stay sceptical though, “mhm. what are you gonna do to show me rafe? fuck me? again? for the one hundredth something time in our relationship?” you raise an eyebrow.

rafe stutters, thoughts faltering as you call out the plan he thought to be impeccable. “I’m- I’m not just gonna fuck you.. okay I- I-”

“you’re what? gonna make love to me? touch my innocence? be intimate—” the agitation in your voice starts to come through, you do just want to get into bed. 

his hands come to your shoulders, but the touch is gentle, not firm or commanding like it normally is. he hesitates for a moment and then makes a decisive noise. suddenly he’s lowering all the way to his knees, hands still firm on your shoulders.

“I- I love you okay.” he looks up to you, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes. his hands pull at your nightdress, tugging it off and discarding it to the floor. his hands run down your body. 

“love this body,” he says, “love you. love you so much.” he kisses your lower tummy, maybe in an effort to hide his now falling tears. you didn’t think your silent treatment would provoke such an emotional reaction from him.

“rafe…” you frown, hand coming to the back of his head as he looks right back up to you. you think about telling him to leave it because you feel bad, but then you realise that this despair in him could get you something good, and so you decide to be selfish. “show me.” you tell him, “show me how much you love me.”

rafe’s head lowers and he begins to move down your body. he starts to place wet open mouthed kisses on every spot that his face passes and his hands follow after. he works his way all the way down until he’s kissing just above your pussy. 

“god.” he exhales, “gonna— gonna show you okay.” his hands come up to support your hips as he brings his face down again and his open mouth comes into contact with your most sensitive spot. 

you seethe a breath, legs weakening from the contact but his grip on you is strong and he keeps you upright as he begins to move his mouth. 

he kisses and sucks with ease, tongue swirling around your clit. you have to hold back surprise at the fact he’s so good at this, you’re not sure he’s ever eaten you out before. 

he lets out little murmurs and breaths that seem to send vibrations through your entire body. you have to throw your head back in pleasure, you feel so good.

rafe comes back for a breath, pulling away with a pop. his lips and chin are glistening with your wetness, he looks up to you with wide eyes and swollen lips. 

“do you believe me.” he asks breathlessly, he looks so desperate. so desperate. you take sympathy on him, his hurt puppy look, those wide sad eyes.

you nod, “I believe you. I know you love me.” you smile down at him. he lets out a breath of relief, a smile forming on his own shiny lips. 

he keeps your gaze for a moment and then he goes back down, now with a newfound energy that just makes it so much better. with his face still buried in your pussy he makes to turn you around so that you can fall back onto the bed. you realise now, that you are in for a good night.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

1  2  3  4  5

Chapter 6

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: implied possessive and obsessive themes/actions/behaviors/thoughts, reader is one second away from having a panic attack, indirect mention of death, mention of murder, implied toxic family/child abuse, very, very light choking, mention/possible stalking, Toxic marriage/relationship, Reader is so done mentally despite only living in the Argece mansion for one (1) day, Reader becomes sassy, jealousy, everyone ooc

NSFW warnings: Very suggestive, throw back to their first time, implied dacryphilia

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE THEY ARE BOTH ARE  EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS 

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DON’T INTERACT/REBLOG WITH FANDOM STUFF DNI AND PLEASE DO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS

= = =

“You never once referred to Dion as your husband.” 

“P-pardon?” 

That caught you off guard. Frankly speaking, calling the man your husband aloud is stomach-turning. Not that you would admit that, or rather not that you could. The punishment you would receive from Lant if it were to ever reach his ears…

 “Well, we haven’t been married for even a week.” Carefully explaining yourself, you scan behind her to check if anyone was there. “So, I am still a bit shy about it.” you smile shyly. Blood rushes through your veins and you can hear the thundering pumping and feel it. 

Your blood becomes ice and skin slime as Roxana observes your behavior and reaction before making a move. Fresh coral lips tug into a soft smile as Roxana sees past your lie and stares into your soul. Her eyes remind you of your husband’s; glowing scarlet that curtains their true emotions and thoughts. 

Sinister or otherwise, you’re afraid to drown in them. 

“I see. That’s adorable.” She reminds you of a venus fly trap; inviting only to trap you. Even so, her ‘affection’ towards you nearly has you tripping on your feet. No. This is how she gets people. 

“Lady Roxana, I had a fun time speaking with you.” You halfheartedly bid her farewell, bowing. You plan on walking the moment you raise your head. What you don’t plan on doing, however, is returning to your chambers immediately. 

Ah, but… where would you even go? 

“Oh, right. Do you remember the way?” she blinks at you while you blink back. Your mind is a void - absolutely nothing in it. Next, she laughs. 

It sounds like bells on Christmas, a chorus in the church, that exciting and relieved feeling you get once you hear ‘shift’s over,’ from the managers. Head full of cotton, you allow yourself to simply enjoy this moment. Once the blissful laughter has ended, she offers to guide you.

Personally. 

“O-oh, it’s fine - “ you just got mind fucked - Roxana willingly go anywhere near Dion’s room? Something’s not right. You take a step back. 

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” You give her a faux smile, worried.

 Worried for what? Your safety? The possible argument that could break out between the two half-siblings? Seeing something you’re not supposed to? Or having to awkwardly stand to the side as Dion acts weirdly and creepy towards his sister?

“It’s fine; I’d like to get to know you more. We’re family now, so it’s natural.” 

We’re family now. 

“...I’ll accept then. Thank you for taking care of me.” The scream that wishes to burst from your chest, the saliva drowning your gums and mouth, the quiver that threatens to take over your body - you hold it back. You have to. 

“It’s not a problem.” 

Fear prevents you from asking about Hana. 

You follow once she starts to walk, the sound of heels hitting the floor echoing. Even her back is elegant - perfect form, back straight and head up. Carrying an air of sophistication and confidence, Roxana Argece deserves the female lead role. Her blond waves lightly bounce with each step. 

She is the definition of beauty. 

And as a dedicated fan - also driven by fear and mental stress - you will stay steps behind her. It’s for the best, it’s for your safety. Walk in her shadow but not at her side. Let the spotlight shine on her so you won’t be noticed, left alone by anyone and everyone. That is one plan for survival. 

“Oh? Sorry, I didn’t realize that you were behind me.” The fifteen year old girl waits for you to join her side after stopping, refusing to walk another inch until you do so. And your eighteen year old self  heistates - not because you feel inferior to her. God no, but because her mind is a puzzle you can’t solve. 

You don’t have the power to read her thoughts. You are only able to guess. 

This isn’t fiction anymore. 

“It’s fine. I was also lost in thought.” Busy with admiring her rather. You pick up your pace a bit if only to please her. She resumes guiding you once you’re right by her. Nothing falls into place despite observing her from the corner of your eye. You don’t sense anything.

No hostility nor mischief. There wasn’t a hint of pity on her face. Mockery was also absent, genuine joy nonexistent. 

“If I may say, you’re more lovely than I heard.” She compliments you, offering another one of those sweet smiles. And like the fool you are, you trip over both your feet and words. 

“A-ah, you’re too kind. If anything, the saying goes towards you.” Your neck feels hot and your mind is turning to mush. “Truly, you are indeed an interesting person.” 

She stops again, taken aback. But she quickly recovers before returning back to the conversation. “Interesting? You’re the first person to describe me as such.” 

“That’s a surprise. I thought many would have.” You think about it. What was the first thing everyone notices about Roxana? Her beauty, of course. 

But, as a reader, how could you ignore and forget her personality? 

…then again, this entire time you were mentally obsessing over her appearance and voice. You were no better than everyone else.

You take a turn in the ridiculously long hallway. Just for a moment, tranquility replaces the harshness of reality. Funny. 

One moment you’re afraid of her and the next she brings you peace. She’s a bit easier to deal with than Dion. Softer, gentlier, and outwards she is humane. The most sane person in this hell. 

“We’re in the main hallway.” Roxana informs, and the staircase looks familiar. When you had made your way with Hana to the dining room, you were disoriented so hard you didn’t even realize your feet were moving. 

“Up these stairs and we’ll be closer to your room.” Roxana tells you, a hint of disgust in her  voice. Aha. So she doesn’t want to go near him. Then why guide you? 

“Oh,” you say, “how nice.” How wonderful indeed, seeing the husband who left after your first night, who’s acting weird, who’s brutal personality is hidden beneath a layer of indifference, who probably stalked you while - 

Oh. 

Oh God. 

“? Are you okay? You look pale.”

Roxana’s question brings you back to reality. Blinking, you try to calm yourself before your breathing gets heavier. Your heart won’t stop rattling. Your blood won’t stop rushing. Your ears are ringing. 

Never once did you think of the possibility that Dion Argece had stalked you during the duration of your engagement. The shampoo, the sheets, that horrifying look in his eyes - 

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. I’m just a bit… nervous.” Did he stalk you? If so, why? To drill even more fear into you, to show you that he could easily cause you harm? To silently threaten the safety of your family if you were to ever act out? 

“But yes, I’m fine. Just need a minute to gather myself.” 

Either out of curiosity or obligation, or even consideration, Roxana lets you do just that. 

- - -

You got to the door sooner than wanted. Way too soon. 

Despite the show your sister-in-law displays, she can’t hide the disgust and hatred in her eyes as she stares at the heavy double doors. You don’t blame her. Even if he acted out on orders, your husband still killed her brother. Their brother. 

He also attempts to harm her mother. Just to see her cry. 

…would he do the same to you?

“Well,” turning to her, you show a smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes. You’re too tired to even try. “Thank you for showing me the way.” 

You open the door before she could even get a word out. Shut it behind you before every single ounce of bravery evaporates, leaving you a slimy mess. Monster or not, Dion Argece is still your husband. And, as you were raised, you have to play the role of his wife. 

 His pretty, little, obedient wife. 

Only to see that no-one is in the room. 

“...haha…wow…hahaha!” like a mad woman you giggle, falling to the floor as your legs give out. Was it from stress? Relief? Does it matter? 

You’re happy - you don’t have to see his face for a bit longer. Even if it’s only for a minute, you don’t have to be in his presence. But with happiness comes realization - Dion will eventually show up. He told you such. 

“...I… I just want to sleep.” your shoulders slump as you become boneless - so much happened within the span of a few hours. Odd behavior, old memories, confusing feelings - you’re not meant for this environment. Forget about being murdered or tortured - your mind would dismantle before anything could happen. 

The floor is uncomfortable but all of your strength is gone. Were you always this weak? This hopeless? So much that you couldn’t even last a single day. Pathetic. 

“...” ahead of you is the bed. The same bed you lost your virginity on. The same bed you will have to share with your arranged husband. It was comfortable, but the fact you laid with Dion on it makes you sick. 

You’d rather sleep on the floor. 

Moonlight fills the room from the glassdoors closing off the terrace. Jeremy said you should escape. Is it worth it? Was jumping off the terrace to attempt an escape worth it? Would you survive it? 

Get caught? 

Die?

Your mind is becoming muddy. You haven’t even met with Lant yet. The worst of the worst. Yet here you are, already thinking foolishly. Of course you would be caught. Dying wasn’t something you wanted to do, though. Neither was being punished for attempting an escape. 

Your ears perk at the sound of the door opening behind you. 

“Do you find the floor more comfortable than the bed?” Low and deep, Dion doesn’t even properly greet you. Well, not like you want to either. 

You want to tell him to try it in spite. But you’re too tired to even turn around and face him, much less stand. His footsteps get closer until he’s right behind you. Your eyes shut close. 

“Wife.” he calls once, and you don’t respond. You don’t want to.

You want him to stop calling you that. You want him to stop talking to you. You want him to stop existing. 

His footsteps echo in the room before he kneels in front of you. Finally, you look at him. What type of expression are you making? 

His hand is cold as he brings it up to cup your cheek. Scarlet that glows in the moonlight that looks at you in such a strange way. Do you know what was swirling in his eyes? Do you want to?

“...Dion. Welcome back.” acknowledging him, you peel his hand away from your cheek. He already touched you the night before. That’s enough. 

Instead of leaving, he grasps your wrist. Firm enough to where you couldn’t tug your hand away. You eye it before giving up. Just for now. 

“I’m sorry, but i’m too sore from last night,” you say, assuming that sex is on his mind. Obligation, lust, routine. Either one could be the reason. 

“I’m not here for that. Nor do I want it.” 

Your head tilts to the side before he continues. “Father expects us to dine with him tomorrow.” 

“I see. Is that all?” 

“You look dead,” free hand cupping your face - again - Dion gently swipes his thumb under your eye. “Worse than when you showed up for dinner.” Hah. Is he enjoying himself?

“I’m just tired,” lying your eyes travel to your lap. “I’ll… if that’s all, then I’ll retire to bed.” You want him to leave you alone. You want to go home. 

On shaky legs you force yourself up and your husband lets go of your wrist. Your knees buck as you walk towards the bed. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. All you need to do is make it to bed. Changing clothes isn’t even on your mind - you just want to lay down. 

“You’re not going to change?” Your husband inquiries. What was wrong with this man? He barely spoke a word to you before the wedding. He left after cumming and leaving you alone, in pain and shivering like a fucking newborn foal. He didn’t spare a fucking glance at you during dinner until his siblings showed up. 

“Where is Hana?” You ignore his question, focusing on the one person who doesn’t feel like a death trap. 

“She retired for the night. On Roxana’s orders.” 

“What? Why?” you almost get whiplash from how hard and fast you turn your head to look at Dion. Your husband has been looking at you this entire time. 

“She didn’t think I’d show up here.” 

I wish you didn’t. I wish you would have stayed indifferent as you were until today.

“Oh. Then, I’ll just sleep like this.” Flopping onto the bed, you kick your heels off. The corset is still tight, and it makes it harder to breathe. But you refuse to ask him for help. 

Thankfully, your husband makes no move to. Instead you hear him walk and the sound of the closet opening. Ruffling of the clothes before it stops. From what you heard, nothing dropped to the floor, rather, heavy boots walk towards the bed until they stop right at your side. 

Amazing how being so mentally and physically worn makes a person forget their survival instincts. How it makes fear turn into annoyance and gulps become huffs. 

But annoyance becomes confusion when something soft and loose lands on your back. Did he just… throw something on you?

Why can’t your husband just pick a side? Decide to ignore you. To be nice to you. Not go back and forth like it’s a fucking swing boat. 

“Wife,” there he goes again with that dreadful title, does he not remember your godforsaken name? “You won’t fall asleep with it on. You’re unable to.” You’re one second away from tearing your hair out. One second away from strangling him. 

You can regret everything tomorrow. 

“... Will you leave me alone if I change?” Supporting yourself on your shoulders you crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Your husband only nods, not explaining why he’s so insistent on having you change. 

You’re so done that you don’t even realize he’s enjoying this side of you. Your frustration, your annoyance, all spent and directed towards him. Tomorrow, when you’re of clear mind you’ll freak out, kicking and yelling at yourself for risking making him mad, only to question why he didn’t say anything in the first place. 

“I can’t reach behind my back,” you communicate to him, waiting for his reaction. A reply that may never come. 

“Just lay face down. I’ll untie it and won’t touch you further.” You wish he would leave and maybe fall down the stairs and break something. Ah, but maybe Lant should go through that instead. Break his neck and lay there, lifeless. How would the scene play out after that?

“Alright,” you give in, preparing for a war that doesn’t exist. Dion removes whatever he threw onto your back before nimble fingers quickly and carefully undo the strings on your dress. Once he’s done with that, he works on the corset, completely gentle. 

Wait, something wasn’t right. 

“Wait, how do you know how to undo the strings so quickly?” Waiting for his answer, you don’t make an effort to watch his reaction. You’d rather not look at the man who’s walking on thin ice right now. Yes, you are going to consider chucking yourself into the nearest river tomorrow. If you could find one. 

“... I was taught.” 

“By?” 

“A teacher.” 

He leaves it at that, choosing to leave out the details. It makes you suspicious. …was he also taught those techniques by a so-called teacher too?

Considering the amount of wives Lant has, STDs most likely don’t exist in this world. Regardless, the mere thought of your husband sleeping with someone before you irritates you. Not because you were jealous or anything of that sort, no; but because it was hypercritical. You were expected to stay ‘pure,’ a virgin while -

“You are the only person I’ve touched, much less slept with.” Was he a mind reader? Or were you just that obvious?

“As your wife, I think I should meet and thank your ‘teacher.’” Exhaustion does wonders to a person. The brain doesn’t work as it should and fright is no longer a thing. Instead it’s replaced by reckless behavior and a clouded mind. 

“Although, I do wish they also taught you aftercare.” 

“That person,” Dion begins, “is someone you know but are unable to see.” Sure Dion Argece, sure. “As for afterwards… Father called for me.” 

“Mhm. For what?” Cold fingertips barely graze your spine as he looks at your skin. By now everything was untied yet the male doesn’t move. With lidded eyes he considers biting it. But he’s already breaking his promise by granting himself to graze it. 

And you’re giving him a pass, perhaps with a blurred mind. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be having this conversation, much less show something other than fear in his presence. 

“To discuss further action regarding our marriage.” 

“You know,” you yawn out, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “most people in arranged marriages would refer to the marriage as ‘this,’ not ‘ours.’” The call of sleep is tempting you. 

“I’m not most people.”

“I know. If you were then you…” 

“Then what?”

Then you wouldn’t be a product of two insane and mental people. You wouldn’t be so jaded nor affection starved to the point you consider hatred as it. You wouldn’t have killed your own siblings or live solely to make one cry. You wouldn’t wander around the earth until your sister decides to kill you. 

You change the subject. “You could have let me finish at least once. It was my first time - you’re supposed to make it a positive experience.” Why you brought this up, you’re not sure. You doubt he feels guilty about it. 

“...Should I make you now?” He traces your spine, the cold sensation making you shiver. Odd. His touch doesn’t feel as gross as earlier. You must be going mad. 

Even more so since you’re hallucinating the hint of hunger in his voice. 

“No. I hated the entire thing. Just jerk off and I’ll shove it in, or something.” The idea of his cum going anywhere near you repulses you, but you understand your role as a wife. His wife. 

“You also found my crying cute. I don’t like that, I actually hate it.” Was communication always this easy when your body is boneless and mind worn? Was he so talkative because he’s tired as well? 

“I can’t help it, “ Dion rubs circles between your shoulder blades and it makes you melt. For a split second, you forgot who you’re talking to. Where you were, who your husband was, your in-laws forgotten. For a moment, everything was ordinary and domestic. 

“I enjoy seeing you cry.” His fingers travel higher until his fingertips are at the sides of your neck, feeling your pulse. He wants to squeeze it, see you squirm. The urge to make you cry over and over again from overstimulation gets harder to resist. You’re allowing him to touch you, to see the skin of your back, to see you so vulnerable - surely, you could offer him a taste too, right? 

“...You’re not supposed to be this way.” A light chuckle comes from your chest. “You’re supposed to be brutal, selfish, unredeemable - well, you probably still are, but still. You’re not supposed to be married nor basically asking your wife to fuck.” 

You go on. 

“You’re not supposed to be this way. You’re driving me crazy, acting so different from what I know.” You’re supposed to be the character that was written in the series. Not… whatever this is.

Maybe you misunderstood his character. But you never did finish the novel and the webtoon was put on hiatus because of the shit the artist went through… you hope she’s doing better now. Way better. 

“Even Jeremy and Roxana are behaving weirdly.” You leave it at that, becoming silent. Dion doesn’t say anything. 

You decide to ask him a question that’s been nagging you ever since he mentioned his ‘teacher.’ 

“Oh, by the way… how would you react if I also had a ‘teacher’?” An undertone of teasing laced your voice - of course, you didn’t mean it. Unless it was a lover, you wouldn’t sleep with anyone outside of marriage. Although, you never did enter a relationship once prior to your engagement. 

The atmosphere becomes stiff. You suddenly remember who you’re dealing with - an Argece. Dion Argece, to be exact. 

Horror spreads throughout your body once you realize just what you asked him. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him lean over you, fingers putting slight pressure on your neck, a silent threat to choke you. He’s like a heavy cover, you can barely breathe. 

When he talks it’s lower and deeper, sinister and possessive, his breath hitting your ear as he answers. 

“Easy. I would kill them.” 

[creepercraftguy]

NAEGIRI WEEK 2024: Day 1 - DISCOVERY

Makoto Naegi is the unlikely headmaster of a rebuilt Hope's Peak Academy, navigating its haunting past and uncovering hidden secrets alongside Kyoko Kirigiri, who confronts the emotional and physical scars left by their shared tragedies.

@naegiriweek

Full Story below the cut. You can also find the story on my WattPad and AO3.

In case it wasn't already obvious, Makoto Naegi was not your typical high school headmaster.

Several months after the Final Killing Game, Makoto and the Future Foundation decided to rebuild Hope's Peak Academy, with him becoming the principal and working alongside Kyoko. This was a decision that many had found...questionable...Especially considering almost every bad thing that had happened to Makoto, and by extension, the entire world, all originated from this prestigious, but ultimate twisted academy.

Any other person would have been more than happy to scrap the building, abolish the Ultimate system entirely, and maybe even build an entirely new academy to teach the next generation of youths, but Makoto's idea of Hope was much stronger than the average person. The symbolism of turning a school that had fallen into despair, and transforming it into a beacon of Hope once again was just too powerful to pass up, and thus the Future Foundation agreed to give Makoto this one opportunity.

But there were more reasons than just that. Hope's Peak still hid many secrets within its walls. Secrets that could potentially be exploited for evil. Makoto knew that if anyone was going to find these secrets, he was the best person for the job. And who better to help him uncover these secrets than Kyoko, who was well acquainted with the school herself?

With that being said, progress on the investigation was slow, and Makoto mostly handled it himself due to Kyoko's condition. She had almost died due to the NG poisoning during the killing game, but miraculously, she left the building alive, having been recovered by Mikan from a near-death state. However, the poisoning had still destroyed a large portion of her body inside, leaving her arms and hands horribly scarred. The doctors were able to fix the damage, but unfortunately, the burns were so severe that Kyoko had lost nearly all vision in her left eye, and needed a walking stick to help move around.

Makoto knew she would never be able to live a normal life, but he was glad she was able to survive. Even though it had been a month since the incident, she was still getting used to her new disabilities. Makoto offered to have the Future Foundation provide her with the best possible prosthetic arms and legs, but Kyoko refused, saying she wanted to overcome her struggles using her own strength.

Unsurprisingly.

Still, today was a bit different, as out of the blue, Makoto had asked Kyoko to come and visit him at the school. He hadn't been clear on the reasons why, just that it was important and involved her. Kyoko had agreed, and now the two were standing in the middle of the classroom together, looking around as Makoto spoke.

"So you're probably wondering why I asked you to come here?" he said.

His voice was almost teasing, as if he was enjoying being the one in the know while Kyoko didn't; a rare switch in their usual standing that he was very happy to take advantage of.

"You wanted to show me something," Kyoko answered, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room, "That's the only reason I can think of for why you would invite me here."

"Correct," Makoto nodded, "so...you know how we've been looking around the school, and we keep finding these hidden rooms that each serve a different kind of purpose?"

"Yes," Kyoko nodded, "are you saying you found another one?"

"I am. But there's a reason why I called you here instead of anyone else who could help me check it out. I know you're supposed to be resting, but it felt right to invite you over. It was a bit hard getting you to come here without spoiling the surprise, though."

"That was an annoying effort, I'll admit," Kyoko smiled, "but you did a good job."

"Thanks," Makoto smiled, "So...you ready to see it?"

"Lead the way," Kyoko replied, gesturing forward.

Makoto gave a single nod, then proceeded to walk over to the wall where the hidden room was. With a quick tug on the right books, the door to the secret area opened up. The room was small, only big enough to fit one or two people inside, but it was still impressive. The walls were lined with monitors and a few keyboards, all of which were powered by an electrical box that was sitting in the corner of the room.

Kyoko also saw a few shelves with dusty paper files on them. At a glance, it was clear which one's Makoto had already read and which one's he had left be.

"What's all this then?" she asked.

"Well, I was hoping I could your opinion on that," Makoto told her, "but from what I can tell, this room was supposed to be some kind of secret study. A place where someone could hide and work on stuff away from everyone else."

"A spy room?"

"Possibly, or just a place to think."

"Junko's?"

"That's what I thought at first, but...Well, when I was looking around, I found a bunch of these files on the shelf," Makoto explained, "past investigations, secrets about the school, and even a few hidden journal entries that somebody left behind. All of them are signed with the same name..."

"Who's?" Kyoko tilted her head. Makoto swallowed, as if he was hesitating telling her, but did so anyway.

"The previous headmaster, who died prior to our Killing Game," Makoto told her, "Jin Kirigiri. I think this was his secret study."

Kyoko's eyes widened.

"My...father's?" she asked.

"I know how crazy it sounds," Makoto replied, "but this place has the same vibe that his office did, and the writing style in these documents matches up with what we knew about him. Plus, I can't think of a reason why anyone else would be hiding this place, not even Junko."

Kyoko felt a little bit of emotion rise up inside her, but quickly stomped it back down, keeping her expression calm.

In the eyes of many, and in the heart of Kyoko herself, she and Jin Kirigiri were related by blood, but nothing more. For most of her life, she believed that Jin left her when she was a little girl and that he used her mother's death as an excuse so that he could leave the house, never knowing him as a father because they never really spoke to each other much during their days together.

It was Kyoko's disturbingly twisted grandfather, Fuhito Kirigiri, a man she had spent her whole life looking up to before she found the truth of who he really was, who encouraged her to hate her father. In reality Jin left the family because Fuhito showed no care when Jin's wife died.

When Kyoko found out that her father died in the school at the hands of Junko and Mukuro, and found his skeleton, she didn't show any feelings towards his death. But Makoto, who was looking at the remains of her father instead, noticed that she didn't even look in the box.

Makoto somehow knew that somewhere in her heart she must have thought she was wrong and guilty about her father's death. But she never showed it. Not even now.

"That is certainly interesting," she commented, "I wonder why he didn't tell me about it, if this is his secret study."

"I don't know," Makoto said, "maybe he was just hiding it in case anyone tried to snoop around and found his investigation papers? I mean, it's not like you would have remembered it was here after Junko wiped our memories, so maybe he did tell you and you just don't remember?"

"Fair point..." Kyoko nodded, "So what's in here that you think is so important?"

"I think it'd be easier if you saw for yourself..." Makoto gestured towards some of the shelves, "just...be careful. The dust is thick in here."

Kyoko was honestly hesitant. Yes, as it turned out, Jin Kirigiri wasn't the poor, selfish man that Kyoko thought he was, but at the same time, she'd been avoiding places associated with him since their escape from the school. She didn't want to think about him, or about her past in general, because she didn't want to stir any painful feelings inside of her.

But still, Makoto had been nothing but kind to her, and he had taken time out of his day to find this secret study. He had even invited her specifically, despite knowing how she felt. Kyoko would have been lying if she said she wasn't at least a little curious, so with a deep breath, she walked over to the shelf, grabbed one of the folders, and flipped it open.

Makoto, for his part, lingered in the doorway, letting her read alone, but waiting nearby enough so that he could offer his support if she needed it.

"Is this..." she whispered, her voice trailing off as she began to read.

"Yeah," Makoto said, his own tone low, "it is."

On the inside of the folder, Kyoko saw a picture, a list, and some handwritten notes. The photo was of a young girl, around 10 years old...Unmistakably herself as a child.

Her style was a bit softer and less hardened than her current self, though still notably professional and reserved. She had long, silver-purple hair tied in a neat, straight ponytail, with her bangs framing her face and covering part of her forehead.

Kyoko wondered how her father got this picture of her. After all, this had been taken long after they'd been separated, so where did it come from?

"There's a letter," Makoto mentioned, "you can read it if you want, but I've already done that."

Kyoko knew that even though he said she could read it if she wanted, his tone suggested that he really wanted her to read it now. Maybe not out loud, but still while she had it so she wouldn't forego the chance to read it later.

She sighed and found the letter he was talking about, and her eyes began moving along the page, silently reading her father's words:

Dear Kyoko,

I hope this letter finds you, though I can only imagine what state you might be in, should it reach you at all. And I hope, despite everything, you will still find it in your heart to read it.

The world seems to have fractured at its seams, spiraling into something darker with each passing day. This tragedy...it is beyond anything I could have predicted, even in my worst fears. I can only wonder how you and your classmates are managing in the middle of it all. I do not know what kind of future is left for you, or for any of the young souls burdened by the chaos we failed to prevent.

I can only apologize, though I know it will never be enough. For not being there when you needed me, for all the unanswered questions I left you with. Believe me, leaving you was not a choice I made lightly. I told myself that my distance would protect you, that it was the only way to keep you safe from a fate darker than loneliness.

Seeing what you have become...an accomplished, highly intellectual detective, I believe that my father's teachings served you well, even if I disagreed with the notion myself. Yet now, I can't help but regret it. I can't help but wish that I had been stronger, had found another way. One that did not mean leaving you on your own.

But even in my absence, Kyoko, I have always cared. You must know that. I followed your progress from afar, watched you grow into someone more resilient and brilliant than I could ever have imagined. I see in you the strength I had hoped for, though I had no right to ask it of you.

Hold fast to that strength. The world may be coming undone, but I have faith that if anyone can navigate it, it is you. I say this not as your headmaster, but as your father, and whether you accept as much is not for me to force upon you.

With all my love and my deepest regrets,

-Jin.

Kyoko could feel her hand beginning to tremble as she reached the end of the letter, and she quickly placed the folder back down on the shelf. She took a deep breath, then turned back to face Makoto, who had patiently waited for her.

"It's a shame," she commented.

"What is?" Makoto asked, a little confused.

"This room," Kyoko explained, "all this space, and for what? To keep secrets, and hide things away. Such a waste..."

Makoto knew exactly what was going on, though. He knew her too well not to.

"We'll get the chance to make better use of it," he reassured her, "once everything's settled, I'll have a room cleared out. You can store all the important evidence you need in here, and nobody will be able to get to it. You can make it your own personal study, and we'll call it the Kyoko Kirigiri room!"

He flashed her a bright smile, hoping to cheer her up.

Kyoko stared at him blankly, but there was a twitch in her mouth, as if she wanted to smile back.

"We can discuss that later," she said, turning back to the shelf, "for now, I should check over the files and make sure we're not missing anything."

"Sure thing," Makoto agreed, "but...Kyoko?"

"Yes?"

"You know you don't have to be like this ALL the time, right?"

"Excuse me?"

Makoto sighed.

"I know you've been like this for as long as you can remember. You keep your emotions in check so that the people around you can't take advantage of them. It's the best defense mechanism you've got. But, the world's different now. We're rebuilding it. We've overcome the worst of our despair," he asserted, "You're among friends. I know this is gonna sound cheesy, but you're safe. There's no reason for you to have to keep putting on a mask all the time, not when we're here for you. You don't have to be so cool, calm and collected 24/7. If you want to cry, then cry."

Kyoko shook her head.

"I don't want to cry," she made this clear, "but...you're right in that I feel...emotional...about this..."

"There's...actually another thing in that file that you might want to see," Makoto mentioned, "it's a photo. I'm not sure who of, but I can take a guess."

Kyoko turned back to the files, and found the photo.

It was of her father, and another woman sitting next to him, back when he was much younger. She was sitting on Jin's lap, her head resting against his chest. A wide, contented smile was spread across her face, and Jin was grinning down at her, his arm wrapped protectively

She looked a lot like Kyoko. She shared her composed demeanor and elegant appearance, with some physical similarities. She had a refined, calm aura, and her hair was a muted shade, worn in a practical yet stylish way, possibly in a short, neat cut or a simple, low bun.

"I was thinking that might be your mother," Makoto mentioned.

"I agree," Kyoko nodded, and surprisingly, a smile broke across her face, "so that's what she looked like?"

"You didn't know?" Makoto asked.

"I never met her truly," Kyoko said, "she passed away when I was too young to remember her. I'm sure I'd have some semblance if I was allowed to visit her, but my grandfather forbade me. He wanted to prioritize my detective work."

Makoto clicked his tongue. Even though he knew that he had been an iconic figure in Kyoko's life, he couldn't hide his disdain.

"I know this isn't my place to say. I can't speak for either of you, after all," he said, "but Kyoko...Jin really did love you as his daughter. I'm certain of that now. Whether you agree or not is a matter for you, but you can't deny the proof."

Kyoko nodded.

"You're right," she said, "as far as my father's involvement, there's no denying the facts."

She put the file back on the shelf, then turned and looked at him.

"Thank you, Makoto," she said "For showing me this, I mean. I think you were right to. This isn't the kind of thing you can just ignore, no matter how hard you try. It's something that has to be faced."

"I agree," Makoto smiled back, "so it's no problem, really."

"And, also, I'm sorry. For putting you through this, for making you deal with my issues. You're trying so hard, and I appreciate that," she said, "I'm a bit embarrassed, honestly. I'm supposed to be helping you with your investigations, and instead you're doing all the work and having to worry about me on top of it. You'd think, with all my experience, I'd have a little more self-control..."

"Hey, it's fine," Makoto assured her, "it's okay to lose your composure once in a while. In fact, I like this side of you. Not to say that you're a dishonest person. I just want you to be more honest with yourself, just like you are with us."

"Honest with myself?" she frowned curiously.

"Yeah, when it comes to emotions, anyway," he elaborated, "We're friends, so we don't mind. Just...don't shut yourself out. Don't pretend you're okay when you're not, and don't pretend like you're not hurt when you are."

"I suppose I could work on that..." Kyoko said.

"Yes, you could," he chuckled, "just...if you need to let your emotions out, do it any way you please, and I'll help you with it."

Kyoko paused, considering his words for a moment.

Makoto was completely the polar opposite of her. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and never usually hid how he felt. Even when he tried, he was usually bad at it.

His kindness and compassion for others were evident in his every action, and that was one of the many reasons why everyone who had been affected by the tragedy adored him.

Maybe there was some wisdom in that. After all, Kyoko wasn't sure how much longer she could go on keeping her feelings to herself. And she trusted Makoto with her life. She had every reason to, after all.

"If that's...really how you feel..." she lowered her eyes for a minute, brushing some hair to the side with her hand, "could you...come closer?"

"Sure," Makoto nodded, carefully moving a little closer, "is there something else you need me to look at?"

"Not quite," Kyoko replied, "I was actually thinking that I'd like to return the favor..."

She carefully wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Makoto paused for a moment before he returned the gesture, as Kyoko rested her head on his shoulder.

True to her word, she didn't cry. But she did take a minute to bask in the feeling of having someone so close, a warmth she hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Makoto didn't say anything back, but Kyoko didn't miss the small, comforting squeeze he gave her as they stood there, embracing each other in the secret study.

In that moment, Kyoko felt the urge to say something more.

Maybe the world wasn't ready, maybe she wasn't, or maybe it wasn't the right time. But even so, the words bubbled up inside her, and she wanted nothing more than to say them. She lifted her head, and stared into his eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked.

"Sure," Makoto said again, without hesitation, knowing that this had been a long time coming.

The two moved their heads closer, and their lips met, as Kyoko's hand found its way to Makoto's hair. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, and she let out a soft sigh.

After a few minutes, the two reluctantly separated, and Makoto gave a small laugh.

"So...did you just kiss me because you were grateful?" he asked, his tone light and teasing, "or was there a little more to it than that?"

"You're smart," Kyoko smirked, "I'm sure you can figure it out."

"Well, maybe you could give me a clue?" he suggested.

Kyoko thought about it, and her answer came quickly.

"It's not something that needs a reason, is it?" she said, "If two people love each other, then there's no reason not to express it. That's my opinion, at least."

Makoto blushed.

"Love?" he said, his tone incredulous, "Is that how you feel?"

"I wouldn't ask otherwise," Kyoko shook her head, "you know me. I'm not the kind of person to ask something like that without meaning it. Unless the idea of your lips on mine is that revolting."

"Don't be stupid," he chuckled, pulling her in for some more.

Time passed, and eventually they broke away. Kyoko left the files where she had found them, took her cane, and they walked out of the study, locking pinkies.

"I'll definitely come back to that room later," she said, "I...think there's more I want to learn about my father."

"Me too," Makoto nodded, "just make sure you let me know next time. I'll come with you."

"You don't have to do that," Kyoko assured him.

"I know, but I want to," Makoto said, "for a few reasons of my own."

"And those are?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, for one," he listed, "I also want to learn more about Jin. And even if I didn't, I want you to know that come hell or high water, I'll be there to support your or lend you an ear if you need it. That you can lean on me if you have to."

"A fair point," she said, "but also, I hope you don't feel like you have to watch over me or worry about me. I am an independent woman, after all. You don't have to treat me like a porcelain doll."

"Oh, I know," he nodded, "it's just that...well, it's nice to have someone watching your back."

"I agree," Kyoko nodded, "sorry for being difficult. Are there any other reasons?"

"Well," he leaned in, his tone and expression surprisingly low and flirtatious for him, nuzzling his cheek against hers, "I don't think anyone else knows about that study yet. So it's nice to know there's a place we can go without getting...interrupted..."

"Psh...You dog...!" she snapped teasingly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

[fishisoepic]

god i am SO CRAZY OVER TODAYS EPISODE. WHATTHWYHTBDHRGJEHTNSHRH WHAT THE FUCK !!! AAHAHHAHAHAHAHGSJRHHAHRHRGRHHRGRG

[dazais-guardian-angel]

this torture we're going through with the anime must be divine karma for slandering Bones all this time...... they said "oh, you don't like how we adapt things? you say the manga does it better?? okay then, well now there is no more manga. it's Bones or bust, bitches."

[stormyoceans]

THEY ARE SO FUCKING TENDER I NEED TO RIP MY HEART OUT AND THROW IT TO THE WOLVES

[ladyinthebluebox]

Little Dragon

am just. can't stop thinking about it.

[raisinchallah]

this is so fucked up the second my iron seems like its recovering i go back to having periods as heavy as when i was a teenager..... like can u please give me a break here im giving u perfectly good blood here why are you throwing it away!!!

[syn4k]

i normally refuse to be a truther but oh my god jordan is so aspec and he seemingly has no idea ive been watching him for a decade and its always been sooo obvious.

im not even truthing him people can do whatever they want with their identity and i'll believe tjem i dont give a shit. I just. I just started watching Mianite and i havent watched this guy seriously like ever in my seven plus years of mcyt and ive always heard about captainsparklez and just assumed he was straight and or had a partner like the rest of the dudes i watched. i didnt even know he acted like this. jupiter sent me the syndisparklez kissing comp. [guy who has had a very solid and comfortable part of his worldview completely shattered in the span of ten minutes and is staring into empty space with his head in one hand while holding a pirouette cookie like a cigarette voice] don't worry guys i'm fine i just need a minute ok? yeah no i'm. it's fine. thank you for asking

[kimmkitsuragi]

if i dont see my friends tomorrow i will literally die

[talentforlying]

my friends, if you want to be successful in school, my advice to you is not to raise your dose of ADHD meds right before hyperfixating on your twin semi-original characters whose backstories have the Most Involved Comic Lore possible. i have written 7k of backstory and i'm not even at the modern day yet. at this point i am 99% physically comprised of the first 30 issues of hellblazer, daniel bruhl's 2021 indie film passion project, and kashmiri tea. thanks for coming to the TED talk

[straylaughs]

stressed and having absolutely zero drive within me to complete anything god how is this year already off to such a great start

[raeathnos]

.

[meanderfall]

think im just going to have to fully accept that my day starts at like. 1 pm and ends at 4 am

[acityinagarden]

when you’re an only child and have a father who expects the world of you and nothing you ever do will be good enough and you thought it would end after college but you were naïve and now he’s asking you about grad school and you literally just want to walk around in a field for the rest of your life