#i don’t even remember WHEN i first read it

[kitimeq]

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ better than revenge 🤍 rafayel 祁 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ೃ࿔pairing: lads rafayel x reader

ೃ࿔summary: rafayel did not come home to me three banners in a row so i gave him a mommy kink and delayed gratification out of pure spite. how about this u shrimp i’m so mad.

ೃ࿔word count: short!!

ೃ࿔tags: 18+, smut, pure smut, let him suffer the consequences of his actions, i wrote it in like 20 minutes don’t take this seriously, p in v (because i’m a good person at the end of the day he should be grateful), delayed gratification, mommy kink, i love my men a little bit pathetic, pure filth i’m sorry, argument, but they love each other of course they do!!! begging, it somehow got angsty??? What the HECK is going on in my head i’m not sure anymore. i freaking hope i will get that god of the tides or else…….

NOT checked for errors, i’m sorry!! It is a crime of passion this time.

!!DON’T you DARE read if you’re not 18+!!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafayel was so regretful and you could see that—in the way his brows furrowed, his arms holding your frame tightly, his eyes never leaving yours, tears already glistening on his eyelashes. You could also hear that— in his whimpers and mewls, soft moans and whines that were leaving his lips uncontrollably at this point. And you could definitely feel that—in the way he was desperately kissing at your cheeks, neck and shoulders, leaving wet skin behind; in the desperate rutting of his hips against your closed thighs.

And this one time you allowed yourself to feel satisfaction because of the state you managed to put him in.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, please.” He whined against your skin, his face nuzzling into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His arms held you tightly, his hips never stopping its erratic movements against your leg, sliding your skirt up in the process, desperate to feel your bare skin against his hard member. “Cutie, please. I already apologized so many times, just—please. Please, cutie? Let me in, yeah?” He looked into your eyes again, his gaze full of pleading and desperation, and you forced yourself to stay indifferent.

“Raf, no.” You answered, even though you wanted him too. But you couldn’t give in yet, not when you wanted to mess with him more for the way he treated you not so long ago. “First you scolded me for not talking to you, even though you knew that I had a rough week at work. And then, when I visited you, you called me, and I quote Rafayel, irritably clingy.” You answered, keeping your face turned away from him.

You still remember how you came into his home today, ecstatic to see him because you missed him the whole time you were away, hugging him and kissing at his mouth and cheeks happily only for him to push you away. The image of him turning his head away from you, his hand slightly pushing you away, a pout on his lips, is still vivid in your mind, making your heart squeeze painfully.

He didn’t care that you were truly busy, your legs aching from a whole week of fighting SSS-class Wanderers, your head begging for some rest. And instead of comforting you, he gave you his attitude, rejected your affection, called you clingy. You knew that most of the time he was not speaking seriously, and that he was prone to exaggeration and dramatics, but this time, you knew that you didn’t deserve such treatment.

You decided to give him a taste of his own medicine: you waited until he calmed down, then proceeded to seduce him, and when he became desperate and ready to get down to business, you were the one who pushed him away this time, refusing to let him in.

And he wasn’t taking it very well, especially after your time apart. Your previous touches ignited a flame within him, filling him with desire so tangible it was practically pouring out of him.

“So, let’s see who the clingy one really is now.” You added, and squeezed your tights even tighter, his hot breath warming your left cheek.

“Nooo, no, no, no. You know that I didn’t mean it, cutie. It was just, just a bad joke. A mistake I really regret. I really do.” His face nuzzled your cheek, hips still moving against your leg. His whimpers never-ending. “I love when you touch me. Kiss me. Hold me. I love it, you know that, you do.”

“Well, sometimes it would be great if you actually showed it to me instead of being mad at me for having a job.”

“I will! I promise, I will. I promise. I’m sorry.” He brought your body closer to himself, his arms going up and down your waist in a comforting gesture. “Let me in, please, you—you riled me up and—and left me, and I can’t, I can’t, I need to be inside you, please.”

“Rafayel…” You breathed out, your hands going to cup his warm cheeks, his pleading eyes meeting yours. You couldn’t give in that easily. “No.”

He choked out a cry.

And you saw how he snapped, his jaw tightened and eyes closed, one tear slipping away. Then another, and another, until he completely broke down, his face now wet, a pout on his lower lip, his hands touching your whole body erratically.

“Please. I’ll be good. I will.” He whimpered, completely out of control. You knew that until you gave him your consent, he would not force you to do anything. And the way he respected your wishes, although his whole body was trembling while he knew, he felt that you wanted him too despite your negations, was starting to made your resolve wither. “I’ll make you feel s’good. S’good like I always do, just—please. Open up for me?”

You shook your head and his lower lip trembled in response, his head going to rest on your shoulder, his hair wet and cold, making you shiver. He was sweating so bad. His hips were still rutting against your leg, but you knew that it wasn’t nearly enough for him; the friction only made him feel more impatient.

He choked out another broken cry, took your hand in his, kissed your knuckles, and continued kissing up your arm. You didn’t know how long you’ll be able to keep denying him, it was the first time you saw him acting so desperate, so pathetic for you and your need to comfort him was starting to become unbearable.

His glossy eyes met yours and you saw how red his lips were from how much he had been biting them. He leaned down and placed a soft, wet kiss on your lips. One. Two. Three kisses. All of them gentle, all of them apologetic.

“Please.” He whispered into your lips. Another kiss came, as soft and warm as the ones before. “—M—Mommy, please. I’m sorry.” The word that slipped from his lips was new, your eyes widening, your core squeezing on nothing but air.

Oh, god.

“Will you forgive me? Mommy, please, w—will you?” You looked at his face between his soft, gentle kisses and you’ve noticed how red he was, the embarrassment spreading up from the tips of his ears, down to his chest. “L-Let me make you feel good. I’ll be a good boy. The best boy.”

Your head was spinning, your cheeks turning red too. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hide how much you liked when he called you that way. God, what was he doing to you?

“Mommy, let me in. I need you. I need you s’bad I—” He opened his eyes and pressed a kiss to your brow and eyes, his hands shakily caressing your hair. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? I just—I just can’t live without you that’s why I—That’s why I said these things. I always worry that you’ll forget about me and that’s why I’m gettin’ so defensive and mean. But I know you won’t, because you love me, and I love you and—i’m sorry.” He looked into your eyes and you had a feeling that if he won’t stop talking he was going to make you cry too.

You hugged him to yourself tightly and he reciprocated the hug immediately, his head resting on your chest. He sniffed and started to calm down, his body no longer shaking.

��I do love you, Rafayel.” You said into his hair, and you made him look up again, your hands going to grab his wet cheeks. His eyes glistened with hope, his lips swollen and wet. He looked so adorable that you couldn’t be mad at him anymore. “Next time you’ll miss me, just text me okay? Tell me how you feel, and no matter how busy I will be, I will find time to at least send you a voice message. And I will try to keep you updated when I’m away on missions.” He nodded happily, and you swiped the tears off of his cheeks. “But please, don’t push me away when I miss you just as badly. I get hurt too.”

“Yes. Yes, I won’t, I promise. I do.” He answered and kissed the palm of your hand, nuzzling into it. “I’m really sorry. I will never do that again. I swear.”

“Okay.” You answered quietly and then loosened up your thighs, making a place for him between your legs. His breath came out shakily, his cock immediately landing on top of your panties. Your skirt had been pushed up long ago, the material now resting on your stomach, giving him an easy access to where he wanted to be buried in from the very beginning.“Now come to me, my little fishie.”

He pressed a wet kiss on your mouth once again, and before you knew it he quickly grabbed your panties to the side and slid right into you, making you gasp both in surprise and out of pleasure.

He slipped the tongue between your lips and kissed you without mercy, his hips snapping quickly and erratically, the rhythm uneven, the force of the thrusts relentless.

Suddenly, he cried into your mouth, his whole body shuddering and then going completely still. You felt the reason why a second later.

The warmth spread inside you, overwhelming your senses.

“F—Fuck, sorry, I—I didn’t mean to…So fast…” He managed to utter, his body still shaking in the aftershocks of his sudden orgasm. Your hands went up to his hair, stroking the strands gently, showing him that you didn’t mind, wanting him to calm down and let himself drown in the pleasure.

“Shh, it’s okay. You did so well.” His face was red, his eyes avoiding yours, and you smiled gently at him. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and swiped your hand on his chest affectionately. “My sweet baby boy.”

“Yeah, yours.” His hips started to move again, making you moan in surprise. You wrapped your legs around him and he put one of his arms under your back, lifting you in order to make his thrusts reach deeper. “Always, yours. Only yours.” The pace was getting quicker, your moans mixing with his grunts, your heartbeats although unsteady, seemed to match each other’s tempo.

“M-mommy can I—Can I come inside again? I—I can’t stop.” He almost whispered into your ear, and you shuddered, the pleasure spreading throughout your whole body in the form of goosebumps. His lips were not leaving your body, pressing kisses on any patch of skin he could reach. “I missed you too much. You’re so warm. So safe.”

Rafayel’s beautiful eyes met yours, the purple somehow standing out in the darkness of the night. He send you a gentle smile, his thrusts slowing down, the movements becoming more precise and controlled.

“I don’t want the night to end, cutie.” He said quietly, as if he was sharing a secret. His hands cupped your cheeks and he studied your face, searching for any sign of pleasure. He wanted to know if he was making you feel as good as he promised he would. “Let me make it all better. I will show you how sorry I truly am, my love.”

The night was just getting started. And after several hours of moving rhythmically against each other, loosing yourselves in your passionate embrace, the sunrise was a witness to Rafayel’s vow; your wet bodies and tangled limbs a good enough proof of his fulfilled promise.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

GOD i’m so embarrassed. I wrote it in like half an hour and it SHOWS forgive me. I’ve never in my life written something so short and filthy. If u liked it screenshot it bc i’m not sure i will let it haunt tumblr for long 💀 UPDATE: OKAY I HEAR U I WON’T DELETE IT I SWEAR!!!! I had no idea it would be SO therapeutic for all of us thats actually so sad dndbsb ENJOY!

Better hope i’ll get that god of the tides or else rafayel will not know peace…. I will continue to bully him with my pen i swear to god.

[natsaffection]

Code Red. | N.R

older!Surgeon!Natasha x Younger!Intern!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N=35, R=24), Sexual tension, mention of sex, blood, hospital atmosphere

word count:

A/n: READ!! There’s way too much we could add to The Phantom, so I’m not even starting a series, because it would go on until I’m dead.

So, I’ll start with this chapter and add more whenever I have ideas or just want a Grey’s Anatomy episode with Natasha. AND I’m definitely waiting on my knees for your input, anything! Smut, fluff, hospital shooting…? 🧍🏻‍♀️

AND, dear Anon 🧸, please don’t point out any mistakes in this. Thank you 🙂‍↕️ I’m not nervous at all about having a real doctor on my profile.

The first thing you felt was warmth. Not the comfortable, wrapped in your own blankets kind of warmth. No..this was different. Too warm and too solid.

A slow, creeping dread settled in your stomach before your brain even caught up. Something was wrong. Your bed wasn’t this soft. Your sheets weren’t this silky. And..oh God, your room didn’t smell like this. Clean, crisp linen. A faint trace of something expensive. Something dangerous.

Your breath hitched as the weight beside you shifted, a slow, unconscious movement. Someone was next to you. Your entire body locked up. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.

Your pulse skyrocketed as your fingers clutched the edge of the covers. Your entire life flashed before your eyes. Because you weren’t just in a stranger’s bed. You were in a stranger’s bed naked.

A slow, excruciating turn of your head confirmed your worst nightmare. There, draped across the pillow like a goddamn work of art, lay the most devastatingly attractive woman you had ever seen in your life. Red hair, tousled from sleep. A sharp, elegant jawline. Bare shoulders, toned arms, and, oh.

You whipped your gaze away, biting down on your lip to keep from making an undignified noise. You were going to die.

Memories flashed, fragments of last night slamming into you like a truck. The bar. The teasing smirk. A hand at the small of your back. A whisper at your ear. Your legs shaking as you stumbled through a door. The sheer heat of a body pressing you into the mattress. Oh my God!!

You bolted upright, panic exploding through your chest as you threw the covers off, eyes scanning the room for your clothes. There, jeans by the nightstand. Your shirt, hanging from the damn lamp.

“Fuck..” you whimpered, scrambling out of bed as quietly as possible. Your hands trembled as you shoved one leg into your jeans, your movements frantic. What did I do? What the hell did I do?! You had never done something like this. Never!!

A one-night stand? With a woman who was clearly older, clearly experienced, and clearly too damn attractive for your own good? No. Absolutely not. No. This wasn’t your life-

“Leaving so soon?”

Your soul left your body. You froze, every nerve ending screaming at the sound of that voice, low, smooth, amused as hell. Slowly, so slowly, you turned. And immediately wished you hadn’t.

The woman was awake now. And stretching. Naked. Completely, unapologetically, naked. You made a sound that could only be described as a dying animal. You whipped your gaze away so fast you nearly snapped your own neck. “Sorry..”

A low chuckle. “Cute.”

Your entire body locked up, heat rushing to your face. “You’re- you’re naked..”

“Mmm.” The woman sounded smug. “So were you, if I remember correctly.”

You clutched your jeans tighter, swallowing a scream. “I-I was drunk!”

“I was too.” she mused. “But didn’t seem to bother you when you were on your knees for me.”

Your knees buckled. “I-I have to go!” you blurted, tripping over yourself in your desperate attempt to shove your foot into your jeans.

The sheets rustled. And then, bare feet on the floor. Your stomach dropped. Your body locked as a presence closed in behind you. Overwhelming and too close. You sucked in a breath, hands trembling as you reached for your shirt.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” The voice was lower now, teasing, dangerous. You felt it before you saw it, a ghost of warmth at your exposed shoulder. A deliberate, torturously slow touch that never quite landed.

Your stomach flipped. “You were so eager last night..” she murmured, voice mocking, sinful. “Kept saying my name over and over again. Clutching my hair like your life depended on it-”

“S-Stop!! I don’t remember that!” you squeaked, your face burning.

A smirk. “Shame.”

You whimpered. You needed to leave. Before you did something stupid, like look at her again. “I- I have work!” you blurted, nearly falling over yourself as you shoved your arms through your shirt. “I- I have my first day-”

“Oh?” The amusement in her voice was undeniable. “First day?”

Your blood ran cold. You had said too much. But before you could backtrack, before you could even process the absolute disaster you had just walked into, she moved. Closer.

A single finger ghosted down your spine. Barely there. Not touching. Not quite. But enough. Enough to shatter every last coherent thought in your brain.

Your knees buckled, a firm grip caught your waist, steadying you. “Careful, sweetheart.” the redhead purred, lips dangerously close to your ear now. “Wouldn’t want you falling apart before your shift even starts.”

You made a noise you would never admit to. That was it. You were leaving. “I-I gotta go!” you sputtered, yanking yourself free and bolting toward the door, nearly tripping over your own shoes.

You didn’t look back.

You stumbled into the hospital lobby, heart still racing, legs still weak, body still on fire from this morning’s disaster. There was no time to process, before you could even take a breath, you were swept into a sea of white coats and nervous chatter. The new interns, all buzzing with a mix of excitement and terror.

You needed to get it together. You needed to forget. You needed to pretend you hadn’t just woken up in some impossibly sexy, dangerously confident woman’s bed.

“Are you okay?”

Your head snapped up, startled. A guy, tall, dark hair, sharp eyes, watched you curiously. “Yeah.” you lied instantly, gripping your bag’s strap like a lifeline. “Totally fine. First-day jitters, y’know?”

He smirked. “Oh yeah, we’re all on the verge of puking, don’t worry. I’m Levi, by the way.”

“Y/n.” you replied, shaking his hand, “are way too calm about this.”

He chuckled, and soon, more introductions followed, Taryn, Helm, DeLuca names and faces blurring together in your already-frazzled mind.

Then, a clap cut through the chaos. “Alright, listen up!”

A senior resident had arrived, scanning the group with a sharp, assessing gaze. “Welcome to hell. You’re the new interns, which means you’re at the bottom of the food chain. You don’t speak unless spoken to, you don’t slow us down, and most importantly, you don’t kill anyone. Got it?”

A chorus of nervous “Yes, doctor.”

Between navigating the endless white hallways, trying (and failing) to keep up with the nonstop stream of medical jargon, and the sheer terror of knowing you were now responsible for actual patients, you were barely holding it together.

But finally, finally, you felt like you were catching your breath. Until you slammed straight into someone. The impact sent you stumbling back, clipboard slipping from your grasp, papers flying everywhere.

“Crap, sorry-” you started, already bending down to grab your things. Then you looked up. And your blood turned to ice.

Your heart sank, breath caught in your throat, the entire hospital suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating, too cruel.

Because standing before you, in full scrubs, arms crossed, an obnoxiously amused smirk plastered across her face, was your one-night stand. The woman whose bed you had fled from like your life depended on it.

The woman you had spent the entire morning trying to erase from your memory. Pure delight flickered in her emerald eyes, her smirk widening as she took you in.

“Well, well.” she drawled, clearly entertained. “Look what the hospital dragged in.”

You wanted to die. “You..!” The word stuck in your throat, barely making it out as you gripped the edges of your coat. “You work here?!”

Natasha’s smirk deepened, her arms folding across her chest like this was the funniest thing she’d seen all day. “I do now.” Her gaze flicked to your intern badge, amusement curling at her lips. “And you, Dr. Y/l/n… are probably my new intern.”

You stopped breathing. Your stomach plummeted. Your jaw tightened, heat crawling up your neck, not from embarrassment, not from flustered panic, but from pure, burning frustration.

This couldn’t be happening. No, this was actually a nightmare. You clenched your fists, forcing your voice to stay professional, even. “No.” you said flatly. “No! You are not my attending!”

Natasha arched a brow, that damn smirk never fading. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

You gritted your teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

She chuckled, tilting her head slightly. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

You flinched. Hands curling into fists. Jaw locking. Blood boiling. You had worked your ass off to get here. You had sacrificed everything to stand among the best, to become a damn surgeon. And now? Now you had to work under the woman you had made the worst mistake of your life with? Absolutely not.

“This is unprofessional!” you snapped. “I don’t care what happened last night, but here? In this hospital? You are my boss. Nothing more.”

Natasha’s grin widened, far too entertained. “Boss?” she echoed, feigning innocence as she took a step closer. “That’s funny. Didn’t seem like you minded me being in charge last night.”

Your blood boiled. Your body tensed, face burning, not in embarrassment, but in sheer, unfiltered frustration. “I don’t want to work under you.” you bit out.

Natasha’s eyes gleamed, her smirk turning downright wicked. “Oh, sweetheart.” she murmured, voice low, teasing, dangerous. “You already did.”

You nearly exploded. Heat rushed to your face. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to say something, to argue, to shut her down, to tell her exactly where she could shove her insufferable smirk.

But you couldn’t afford this. This was your career. Your future. So instead, you forced yourself to breathe, forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, forced yourself to be the bigger person.

“This is a professional environment.” you said stiffly, snatching your clipboard off the ground. “I don’t care what happened. It’s done. It’s over. I’ll switch teams if I have to, but I refuse to let this interfere with my job.”

Natasha hummed, mockingly considering your words. “You do that..” she mused. “But until then, Dr. Y/l/n…you’re stuck with me.”

Your jaw clenched, nails digging into your palm as you swallowed the thousand curses sitting at the tip of your tongue. You straightened your spine, lifted your chin, and without another word, stormed past her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

——

The ER was chaotic, but in a way that was almost comforting. Here, surrounded by the hum of beeping monitors, the shuffle of rushing nurses, the sharp calls of orders being thrown across the room, you could breathe again.

Here, you could focus. You could forget. Forget the fact that you had woken up in Natasha Romanoff’s bed. Forget the way you had slammed straight into her in the hallway like some kind of rom-com protagonist in a fever dream. Forget the way she had smirked, amused as hell, like she hadn’t just wrecked your entire existence with one night.

Because right now? There was a patient to save. And that was all that mattered. A nurse shoved a chart into your hands as you jogged toward the trauma bay. “27-year-old male, motor vehicle accident. Multiple lacerations, blunt abdominal trauma, and a closed femur fracture. BP’s dropping, and he’s tachycardic. He’s all yours.”

Your first real patient. Your heart leapt into your throat, but you didn’t hesitate. “Got it.”

Pushing through the curtain, you snapped on gloves, immediately assessing the scene. The man on the stretcher was ashen, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Blood soaked through his torn shirt, pooling from a deep gash across his abdomen. His leg, bent at an unnatural angle, lay immobilized.

Internal bleeding. Hemorrhagic shock. “Sir, can you hear me?” you asked, pressing a hand against his shoulder.

The man groaned, eyelids fluttering. “Hurts…”

“I know, we’re going to help you.” you assured him, eyes flicking to the monitors.

He was crashing. “We need two large-bore IVs.” you said, voice steady. “Hang a liter of lactated Ringer’s. Crossmatch for blood.”

“Already on it.” a nurse confirmed.

Grabbing trauma shears, you cut through his bloodied shirt. The wound was deep, gaping. Bad. Focus.

You reached for the ultrasound probe, pressing it against his abdomen, and there it was. Dark, pooling black on the screen. Blood. Internal hemorrhage. Your stomach clenched.

“Scan is positive.” you reported quickly. “He’s bleeding into his abdomen.”

“We need imaging.” a nurse said, already prepping the portable X-ray for his leg.

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ll get an abdominal CT after he’s stabilized-”

Then the monitor alarm blared. BP dropping. Heart rate spiking. “Pressure’s tanking!” a nurse shouted.

Your pulse skyrocketed. You knew what to do. You knew, but suddenly, everything felt too fast. Your mind whited out. Your hands shook as you grabbed the saline bag, fumbling with the IV.

“We- we need to push more fluids, get blood down here-”

“Move.”

The voice was sharp. Cold. Unyielding. Before you could process, Natasha swept past you, taking control of the situation without hesitation. Gone was the amused, smug woman from earlier. Gone was the flirty, teasing tone.

This was Dr. Romanoff. And she was all business. “Push a unit of O-negative now.” she ordered, her voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “I want a second line in, 18 gauge. Keep the fluids running. Prep for an emergency laparotomy.”

The room snapped into motion. No hesitation. No wasted time. Natasha’s hands moved expertly, assessing the injury with calculated precision. “He’s peritoneal. This isn’t something we wait on.” she said briskly. “He’s going up to the OR.”

The OR. You stared, blindsided, mind short-circuiting. You had expected Natasha to take over. To push you aside and tell you to go chart it like a good little intern.

But the OR? That meant surgery. That meant you were going with her. “He’s going up?” you repeated stupidly, voice higher than it should’ve been.

Natasha shot you a look. “That’s what I just said. Unless you want to stand here and watch him bleed out?”

You snapped out of it. “N-No, I- right, OR. Got it.”

“Then move.”

She didn’t wait, already calling ahead to the surgical team as the gurney rolled forward. You hesitated for only a second before grabbing the other side, helping push the stretcher toward the elevator. Your heart hammered, adrenaline surging through your veins.

This was happening. You were going into the OR. On your first day. As the elevator doors slid shut, Natasha finally looked at you. Not with amusement. Not with the teasing glint she had worn this morning. This was different. This was real.

“Do not freeze up in there.” she said, her tone cool, firm. “If I let you assist, you stay focused. If you panic again, I’m kicking you off the table. Understood?”

You swallowed. You nodded. “Understood.”

She studied you for a beat, then nodded. The elevator dinged. The doors slid open to the bright, sterile lights of the operating room. And just like that, you were in it. Bright overhead lights glared down on the open abdomen of the man on the table, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air, mixing with the sterile burn of antiseptics. The beeping monitors echoed through the room, a steady, nerve-wracking reminder of how little time they had.

Your hands shook as you stepped up to the table, gloved fingers hovering over the surgical field. “Y/l/n, you are assisting me, not standing there like an idiot.” Natasha snapped, not even glancing up. “Hands on the field. Now.”

You snapped into motion, placing your hands on the edges of the incision, breath uneven as you took in the damage. Blood. So much blood. The patient’s abdomen was a mess of pooling crimson, dark and slick, spilling out with every passing second. Too much blood.

“He’s still bleeding out.” Natasha said briskly, already moving, hands precise, unforgiving, unstoppable. “I need a better view. Retract.”

Scrambling for the retractor, you adjusted your grip, unsteady fingers pulling back the edges of the incision, exposing the ruptured spleen beneath.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “The splenic artery’s still hemorrhaging..” she growled. “Suction, NOW.”

You fumbled with the suction catheter, pressing it into the cavity, watching as more blood gushed out, fast and relentless.

“Another clamp.” she ordered, hand outstretched, not even looking up as the instrument was placed into her palm. “Suction here. I need a clearer field.”

The nurse complied instantly, moving in sync with her. Natasha was in control, the chaos of the OR bending to her will, her focus so absolute that for a moment, you were just trying to keep up. You had never seen someone move like that, so sure of every decision, so damn precise. And you had certainly never seen this version of Natasha before.

Gone was the teasing smirk, the smug amusement, this was nothing like the woman who had toyed with you in the hallway, nothing like the one who had made you feel like the punchline of some inside joke. This Natasha was something else entirely.

“Y/l/n, I need you to assist.”

The words snapped you back into focus. You moved to the other side of the table, the weight of the moment slamming into you. This was real. This was happening. Your heart pounded, but you nodded, swallowing the nerves that threatened to choke you.

You were ready. Or at least, you thought you were. Then it all went wrong. The blood flow surged again, faster than expected. The clamp slipped from its position. A sudden gush of dark, arterial blood flooded the cavity, spilling over the sterile drapes, soaking everything in red.

The room changed instantly. A beat of silence, then voices overlapping“BP dropping-” “He’s losing pressure-” “Get another unit of blood down here-”

Your vision blurred. The sounds around you became distant, muffled like they were coming from underwater. The instruments in your hands felt foreign, too heavy, too light at the same time. You could feel the eyes on you, the other surgeons, the nurses, the interns watching from the observation deck above, staring down at you like a lab experiment about to fail.

Your breath caught in your throat. You were freezing. Natasha’s hands had stopped. She wasn’t fixing it. She was waiting. The realization hit like a slap. She wasn’t saving you. She was letting it happen. Letting you drown in the moment. Because if you couldn’t handle this, if you couldn’t keep it together when things got bad, you had no business being in this OR.

Your lungs burned. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You couldn’t breathe- A touch. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just a single gloved hand pressing against the back of yours, steady, deliberate.

Not taking over. Not fixing it for you. Just grounding you. “Look at me.”

The words weren’t sharp this time. They weren’t barked over the chaos. They were quiet. Firm. Your eyes flickered up, locking onto green. Natasha was looking at you. Not the patient. Not the monitors. You.

Not mocking. Not amused. Just watching. Your chest tightened, but then, something clicked. You had trained for this. You knew what to do.

The blood obscured the view, but the clamp had only slipped, it wasn’t lost. You forced your hands to steady, gripping the instrument properly this time. Found the artery beneath the pooling blood. Slid the clamp into place, securing it with the exact pressure needed to stop the hemorrhaging without crushing the tissue.

The bleeding slowed. The monitors stabilized. For a second, the entire OR seemed to pause. Then Natasha nodded, expression unreadable, and went back to work. “Good.” she said simply. “Now keep up.”

And just like that, you were back in it. The panic didn’t disappear completely, but it shifted, settling into something you could control. Your breath steadied. Your hands followed Natasha’s instructions, each movement more sure than the last.

By the time they were ready to close, you could barely believe it. You had almost fallen apart, but you had done it. And Natasha had let you break just enough to prove you could put yourself back together.

As you placed the last suture, Natasha watched you for a moment, then simply pulled off her gloves and tossed them onto the tray. Without looking at you, she said, “You won’t forget that moment.”

The hallway outside the OR was quieter than it should have been, considering how loud your heart was pounding. The rush of the surgery still coursed through your veins, but it wasn’t just the adrenaline anymore.

It was her. Natasha. The woman who had pushed you to the edge in that OR. The woman who had watched you struggle. The woman who had let you drown just enough before forcing you to swim. And now, she was standing against the wall, arms crossed, smirking like she already owned the world.

Or worse..like she owned you. “Not bad.” she mused, tilting her head slightly, watching you with undeniable interest. “For an intern.”

You swallowed, fingers curling into your scrub top as you forced yourself to breathe. You should walk away. You should thank her, say Goodnight, Dr. Romanoff, and pretend your legs weren’t seconds from giving out.

But something was gnawing at you. Had been since you stepped into that OR. Natasha had picked you. But why?

The question stuck in your throat, creeping under your skin until you couldn’t ignore it. You forced yourself to ask. “Did you..Did you pick me because we-”

God, you wished you could swallow the words back down. But Natasha was already on you. She stepped forward, slow, predatory, her smirk deepening as she leaned in just enough to make your body lock up.

“Because we fucked?”

Your breath caught. Your face burned. The heat of her body, her presence, too overwhelming, too much. And then, just for a second..That teasing flickered. Just for a second, Natasha’s smirk softened. And when she spoke again, her voice was lower.

“I picked you because you were the best.” she said, her eyes locking onto yours like she was pinning you in place. “Because you had the highest scores. Because your recommendations spoke for themselves. Because I wanted to see if you could handle real pressure.”

Your chest tightened. And somehow, that made everything so much worse. Because you had been afraid of the answer. Afraid that this morning had been a mistake you would never outrun, a stain that would follow your career before it had even started.

But it wasn’t. Natasha had picked you because you were good. And somehow, that made everything so much worse. You barely had time to process it before someone else entered the hallway.

“Dr. Romanoff.”

You turned just as another surgeon approached, her stride purposeful, her eyes locked onto Natasha like she knew exactly what she wanted. She didn’t even glance at you. Instead, she stepped in close, fingers grazing Natasha’s arm with easy familiarity, her touch dragging just enough to linger.

“I’m waiting for you..” she murmured, voice low. Suggestive. “Sleeping room.”

Your stomach twisted. And Natasha? Natasha just smiled. Not her usual smirk. Not teasing. Not mocking. Something pleased. Something interested. She turned back to you, her smirk curling just enough to be infuriating.

“I’ve got business to do.” she said smoothly. “See you around, Dr. Y/l/n.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t move. You just stood there, watching as Natasha turned, as she let that other woman lead her away, as she disappeared down the hall like none of this even mattered.

Like you weren’t still standing there, pulse still racing, skin still burning from where she had touched you. And maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe this was exactly what you should have expected.

Maybe Natasha had only been proving a point, showing you that you had nothing to prove. That you had been chosen for your talent, not for a night you barely remembered. But the sick feeling in your stomach said otherwise. The way your skin still tingled said otherwise. And the fact that Natasha hadn’t looked back?

That said everything.

-

-

-

-

[linkons-most-wanted]

LIs Build IKEA furniture

I couldn’t get this out of my head, so enjoy 🤣

Zayne ❄️

Immediately takes charge of the process, doesn’t realize he’s doing so until you tease him about it

Treats the process like a surgery, you become the assistant. “Hex wrench. Number sixteen screw. Panel C in a vertical orientation.” When you tease him, he pretends to brush it off but then leans into the bit. “Phillips head screwdriver, stat.”

Never gets confused by the diagrams. Quietly notes errors and typos in the instructions. Seems to be able to use the tiniest details to know the correct orientation for each piece

Somehow had sandpaper on hand for when the pieces don’t fit perfectly

You hardly got a chance to look at the instructions but he still made you feel like an essential part of the process

Furniture is assembled perfectly in record time

Xavier 💫

Happy to help you out, starts reading the instructions while you sort the parts

Falls asleep reading the instructions

You take charge, waking him up on step 3 when you need him to hold something. He falls asleep holding it but somehow doesn’t drop it

When you ask for a part he just stares at the pile and picks up random things to offer you until he gets the right one or you point directly at it

Ask for the same part a second time, “Which was it again?”

You attach the last part and turn to high-five him—he’s sleeping again

Rafayel 🎨

“You want to spend time on this weird project instead of hanging out with me?” “This is us hanging out.” “What? But it’s boring. Can’t we, like, get someone else to put it together?”

You start building anyway

When you ask for something specific (“hold this”) he does so without hesitation but keeps complaining

“If I have to hold this board up any longer I’m going to get wrist cramps and then I won’t be able to paint for a week!”

“Ow ow, I think that gave me a splinter! Look at it! It might get infected! I need first aid, like, immediately.”

“This color is boooring, we should paint it later.”

This might be taking longer than if you just built it yourself

Sylus 🚗

“Did you steal this?” “No.” “Then why is it still in pieces?” “It’s how they sell it. It saves money.” “Why didn’t you say something? I’ll take you to a real furniture store.” “I want this exact one though.” “Can’t you pay them to assemble it?”

All you have to say is “I guess you’re not up for the challenge” and then he’s sitting on the floor next to you, also staring at the instructions

You both get confused on the same steps. Which side goes up again? Can you tell by the number of holes? Eventually you both shrug and hope for the best. Sylus brute forces a few pieces that probably don’t actually go together.

You realize you put a piece on backwards three steps ago and Sylus patiently helps you backtrack and fix it

“You’re being surprisingly cooperative.” “I am?” “Yeah, I thought you’d be way more annoyed.” “I never feel annoyed when I’m with you.”

“Where did that piece go?” (Mephisto stole it, it was shiny)

Caleb 🍎

“Hey Pipsqueak, remember when I built that bed for you? Even though you were in high school you still reeeeally wanted a pink one…” “Ugh, stop! It’s embarrassing!”

Takes the bag of pieces and the instruction book right away, uses his gravity Evol to hold up the parts. “Caleb, you took all the jobs! Let me help!” “You can help by getting us some snacks.”

“Caleb, I don’t think that goes there.” “Of course it does, are you really going to doubt the mechanical skills of a former fighter pilot?” Ten minutes later when it’s clear you were right the whole time: “Caleb, you dummy.”

“I switched the delivery notification number in your account over to my phone number since you’re going to need me to build whatever you buy, anyway.”

“You should come over to help me build my furniture too.” “But you didn’t let me help at all!” “Snack duty is very important, Pipsqueak.”

[niccolites]

sentinel species - i. canary

victorian, zombie apocalypse au, kyle garrick x fem!reader. read on ao3 here

You have a half-rotted candle, but you leave it in your bedroom so that you are unseen as you creep across the landing towards the stairs.

It is a week before the world ends; you sit on your parent’s stairs and listen to them reject your betrothal. 

This is your third courting season, which has had more success than the first two so far. A few gentlemen have shown interest in you, and your mother has had her hands full managing expectations and courtships on your behalf.

One man shines far above the rest, a distant relative of the Duke, Mr Evans. Distant enough that you don’t think anyone else is aware of the relation, but your mother reminds you every tea time, as if to keep you aware of the benefits that lie down the road of this specific courtship.

This is not the man being discussed in the drawing room of your home, for once.

You recognise the voice in your living room, as he asks to formally court you, as he has every intention to be your husband.

Mr Kyle Garrick is the very picture of a gentleman. Kind and attentive, you remember when he had taken notice of you on your first courting season. Your mother had tried to catch the attention of some of the men, to get them to sign their name on your dance card, but there had been no biters. Left alone for a moment, the picture of pathetic, and Mr Garrick had been there. He led you in a waltz and complimented your dress, your hair, how sweetly you spoke. You had nervously pulled most of your hair out of its updo, but it felt rude to contradict his compliments.

He had been enlisted, you remember, and you hadn’t seen him since that first courting season. You did see his older sister sometimes. You remember asking about him a few times, feeling some kind of obligation towards the man who had been kind to you when he didn’t have to be.

And here he is, back in your living room, speaking with your parents about your nuptials.

You listen to him, outlining his intentions for you. He has saved up his money from his service, and he is prepared to buy a home for the two of you, and start a life together.

You cannot comprehend it, certain that he must have mistaken you for someone else. He must think that there is another girl up here. The hush of his voice, drifting up to meet you. You want to catch it in your palm, cradle it there like a newborn lamb.

He had been kind to you, but you didn’t know each other. Hadn’t seen each other in years at this point, not that you would know with how certain his voice sounds. Vowing to be a dutiful husband to you. Your name spilling out, thudding up the stairs to reach your ears. Any doubt has fled, but has left behind the certainty of insecurity in its wake.

You didn’t know when he had gotten back, some moonsick dream that he came straight here from the train. You shake it off, the thought just a little bit too fanciful.

You know that your mother is going to decline, moments before she starts to. You hear her excuse this given your attachment to the Duke’s cousin - your attachment being that he is taking you for a walk tomorrow - but you know this isn’t the real reason. Mr Garrick may be a decorated officer, a kind enough man. But he barely has any standing in society. His father was a boxer, and you know that his entire family fit into a small house despite the fact that they are not a small family.

Your mother has high sights set for you, and you do not think she has any intention of lowering them. Even if that requires not consulting you in the matter of your future and who you will be spending it with. Your father had passed a few years ago now, and you knew that your mother needed to match you with someone that could sustain the two of you. Your home wasn’t your own, legally owned by some cousin of your father’s, who hadn’t taken an interest, yet.

You shift on the stairs, bare feet on wood, as you listen to the beginning of a protest from Mr Garrick before he swallows it down and thanks your mother for her time.

It’s dark upstairs, you have only found your way to the steps with familiarity. You can see the door of the drawing room open further as Mr Garrick picks up his hat and makes to leave. At the front door, he turns his head, and you swear he can see you. He can’t, you know he can’t, it’s pitch black up here. Your candle is abandoned on your dresser, the white of your nightgown is drowned in the darkness of the landing.

He hesitates for a moment, gaze darting all around you as if to find you before he exhales and turns to leave.

A week later, you can see Mr Garrick on the opposite wall to you, and you think about the defeated slump of his shoulders that night. You think you may be flattering yourself, but you think it’s still there, hidden under the shoulder of his coat. It’s likely improper for him to initiate conversation with you, beyond the level of politeness if you were to bump into each other.

Your fingers twitch underneath your gloves, feel the stitching of the seam scratch against your skin. Mr Evans is somewhere around here, and you know that you will have to put a face on, spin around for a few dances with him. Ask him about his travels around Europe, even though you surely have heard all of the stories already.

For now, you are happy to lean against the far wall and flutter your fan as if to sweep everyone else away. Your mother is speaking with a few of the other mothers, so you only have a few moments to slouch before you are caught and reprimanded.

The band starts playing, and there is a spin of skirts as the first dance starts up. You’ll likely get in trouble for dodging Mr Evans, given he had you booked for the first dance. However, you could always plead that you had attempted to find him, and the two of you had always just missed each other.

You suppose there is nothing terrible about Mr Evans, he is a perfectly polite, even kind man. He is just not interesting, and your mother had to ask most of the questions once when he had come over for tea. Something that had gotten you into trouble later that night.

You can see the mop of blonde hair that could be Mr Evans and you stand up straight, starting an idle, if quick, stroll around the opposite side of the room. There’s a door to the patio off to the side, and you duck through the door and inhale a lungful of fresh air.

It’s quiet out here, the music following you out but it’s caught in the open space, drifting up into the sky, insignificant. It’s the late evening, and the sky burns red, the sun catching on the edge of the landscape, flaming the distant fields.

This is the Oakwood estate, and they usually host the best parties of the season. A large mansion, white and pristine, surrounded by flattened grass. Perfect for playing cricket on, if one wishes. And they often did.

You smooth your hand over the wood of the railing, white paint giving the effect of marble. On the underside, you chip away at it to expose the brown wood. Out of sight, a pathetic rebellion but you take what you can get.

You know that in a few minutes you will have to return to the dance, find Mr Evans and do your usual verbal dance. Apologise for missing him, let him take him for a dance. Perhaps ask him his day was, if he lets you get a word in. You know that this is your lot in life, the idea of truly rebelling and shaming your parents is enough to curtail you, just before you can get too many ideas.

Not that it doesn’t leave you bitter, but you’ve gotten used to chewing on your words. There is a sickly feeling at the back of your throat, and it has just gotten more poisonous over the years. You’re too young to be so bitter, so you resolve to give yourself another minute of fresh air before you return to reality.

At the forest line, you can see a man in a suit shifting, and you squint, trying to make out the shape of him. A dot, with arms and legs, sprinting from what must be a mile away. You stare, unsure of what you are seeing. Inappropriate, you think, to approach this party on foot rather than via carriage, but you couldn’t see who it was to surely throw any judgement.

A call of your name behind you has you spinning around. Mr Garrick stands in the doorway, slowly shutting the door behind him as he takes you in. “Hello,” he greets, bowing his head to you slightly.

“Mr Garrick,” you start, giving an aborted attempt at a curtsy. You falter, unsure as to whether to bring up the proposal that you saw the previous night. You decide not to, settling on something more polite. “How are you?”

Mr Garrick smiles at you, impossibly handsome. You are struck for a moment, about someone so beautiful, wondering for a moment if you have imagined the entire scene from the prior night had even happened at all. “I am well, thank you,” he replies, clasping his hands behind his back. He’s broad in the shoulders, a faint strain in the fabric of his coat that draws your eye for a moment. “Just wondering why you were out here instead of inside.”

You shuffle, unladylike, for a moment. You turn back to the railing, facing the open field again. Easier, you think, to speak directly to the sun if faced a little away from it. “I just needed a moment, it’s a little close in there.” You hadn’t spoken much, before he left, but at the burr of his voice, you slip into memory. Pulled forward before you stop yourself, remembering how easily he pulls conversation from you, a loose string that unravels.

He hums, steps to the railing himself. There is a gap of space between you, the amount that is appropriate, but you still glance behind you uneasily. He had left the door open behind him, the door slanted at an angle so the sounds inside are slightly muffled, but still present. It cuts through the space between you, the constant reminder of the rules of your lives behind you. “I understand the feeling, myself,” Mr Garrick confesses, forearms braced on the railing. His head is tilted towards you, eyes dark and pretty.

“Yes?” you ask, blinking at him in surprise. You hadn’t seen Mr Garrick at many dances like this, granted given he had been so recently away, but for a man whose back was so unbent, you didn’t imagine he was someone to be intimidated in a crowd.

Mr Garrick hums again, giving you a small smile. It’s affectionate, in a way that has you flushing. “Indeed. It’s strange, in France, my garrison had 3-score more men than there are in that ballroom, and yet it felt easier to move through.” He gives you a self-deprecating smile. “I must sound very silly.”

“Not at all,” you rush to say, rocking forward before reeling yourself back in. He watches you for a moment, an amused uptick on the corner of his mouth. Your fingers flex beneath the cotton of your gloves. Count the stitches that rub against your skin. “It’s nice to find companionship in an isolating feeling,” you add, shy at how forward your words sound.

He doesn’t move for a moment, eyes darting around your face. Your name comes out of his mouth, soft, like it’s still sitting on his tongue. You turn towards the field again, see the figure of that man in the distance. He’s closer now, more than a dot now, the faint image of a person.

“I should find my mother,” you say, wanting to hunch in yourself, but forcing yourself to turn back to the doors. Light filters out, caught in the dark of outside and disappearing, swallowed up.

Mr Garrick takes a step closer to you and you inhale, feel the catch of it on your ribcage. You forget how much taller he is than you, until he is this close. The light from inside catches on one side of his face, relieving it into clarity. There is the faintest scar in his eyebrow, a slight blemish in his otherwise perfect face. His hand, bare, slides across the railing, thumb where you think you have picked at the paint.

“Mr Garrick,” you start, eyes caught on his hand, before darting back to his face. 

“I believe I asked you to call me Kyle, once,” he says, giving you an amused smile.

You don’t frown but it’s a close thing. “I don’t think that would be - appropriate,” you manage. The same response you had given him back then as well, you think.

He frowns instead, and you feel guilt curdle like lukewarm tea in your belly. You shuffle, taking note of how he leans back. You want him back in your space, want the heat of his attention.

“I’m sorry,” you add, desperate for him to not look sad again. You think about his face, searching in the dark of your stairway. It’s impossible to reconcile that he had proposed to spend his life with you. And you cannot even extend the kindness of his name towards him. “Kyle,” you add, before you can stop yourself.

His head turns back to your, full lips tilting in a soft smile. Your name exhales again, catches in the air around you and warms you. His hand flexes and he reaches up, a flicker of uncertainty on his face that lingers for a moment before it dissipates. His hand drops. You imagine how it would have felt against your skin. You’re certain that he boxes just like his father, you wonder if his hand would be calloused against your skin, or if it would be soft and deliberate.

Another voice calls out your name, and it ruptures through the slight breeze around you. Once again, you are reminded of the propriety of your situation, and you take a step back, even though you hadn’t been doing anything wrong. You recognise the voice, the uptilt at the end. Mr Evans, and you didn’t want to find out if he reported to your mother that he couldn’t find you.

“I should go,” you murmur, shuffling uncertainly for a moment before you turn around. Mr Garrick doesn’t try to stop you, which makes you feel rotten.

You turn your head just before you step back inside. A painting in candlelight that throws Mr Garrick’s face into real life, like he has stepped out of a painting. The furrow of his brow and the slightest downturn of his full mouth. The stranger out in the field, closer now, the swing of his arm as he runs. You bow your head and turn around.

-

Mr Evans is the dullest man that you have ever met. You try not to think too uncharitably about him, but as he spins you around again and reminisces about another business man who owes him some money, you wonder if it would be better if you were to fall and hit your head. Or maybe if he did. Nothing too serious, but enough blood to scare off any further attempt at conversation.

He isn’t terrible to look at, a strong jawline, his smooth blonde hair. Charming enough that your mother coos at everything he says. It didn’t have the same effect on you, unfortunately.

“Your mother is a very handsome lady,” Mr Evans informs you, something that has you blinking to focus. Your palm pressed against his as you step away and then step back into him. “She has graciously invited me over for afternoon tea with yourselves tomorrow.”

You give him a stiff smile. You had been there when it had been arranged. “Yes, our cook makes the best pastries, and my mother does enjoy letting people experience them.”

“I look forward to it,” Mr Evans tells you. You smile again and let him turn you.

The smooth slide of the violin soothes through the hall, catching on the floor and bouncing back up. You let it wash over you, until individual voices quieten, smoothing together into a mistakable blur that you cannot distinguish.

It is hot in here, a heat that catches in your throat, crawls like a bug over your skin. You imagine walking back out to the veranda, wondering if Mr Garrick is still out there. It’s cool out there, you are parched for the bite of wind in your lungs.

You decide to give yourself one more dance, and then you will go out there again. A reward, for doing your duty.

The bow of the violin screeches, a horrid twang that has you flinching, the entire room stuttering. There is a crash outside, something wooden snapping.

You turn, stumbling in your slippers as everyone looks towards the balcony. You cannot see at first, trying to peek over everyone’s shoulders. Pushing yourself onto your toes, very unladylike, before there is another smash and then someone is shrieking.

What once was a still crowd that you were a part of seems to turn on you, a tidal wave that breathes in before it suffocates you. Everyone scrambles, and you get shoved back, momentarily affronted before the screaming gets worse, more and more voices joining the chorus.

Your foot gets trampled on and you whimper, shoved back until your back hits a wall. Pulled along for a few moments, before the crowd starts to thin and you can see the moment of clarity by the large windows. 

There is a man on the floor, Mr Casings, you think. It is like your mind cannot make sense of the scene before you. There is another man, knelt over Mr Casings, and there is the red of his guts over the floor, red caught in the broken doorway. Thick and malleable looking, you watch as a stranger rifles through the torso of another man and guides his hands to his mouth.

There is a catch in your mind, the click of a door stuck in a jam. The moment before you saw this and now, your mind is syrupy slow, half still trying to remember your next dance move. You cannot make sense of what you are seeing, so you feel stuck in the run up to it, half parsing through recent memory to try and decipher it.

There is the rumble of a keening noise and it takes a tickle in your throat for you to realise that it is coming from you. You lift a hand to your mouth, try to suffocate it.

The creature kneeling over Mr Casings must hear you, its head yanks up in your direction. You think it may have once been a man, but anything human must be gone from it, leaving behind pallid skin, gore in its mouth as it makes a groaning, snapping noise at you.

Quicker than you think it should, it darts up and starts to charge at you, leaving you crying out as you start to sob, scrambling as you try to get away.

You think about lying on the ground like Mr Casings, the useless silk of your dress ripped open until the warmth kept within you went cold in the open air.

You hear the snap of teeth and you scream, an animal sound tearing out of your throat before there is a grunt and another thud.

You’ve hit the wall again, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Whatever was charging at you is pinned to the ground, and you sob as you watch Mr Garrick grab the creature by its head and smash it into the floor.

You flinch with each thud, unable to look away. Watch as it continues to buck and twitch until it finally stills, blood on the floor where its head used to be. Where before you had felt slow, five steps behind what was happening before you, now you feel stuck, finally caught up. Door no longer caught on a jam, now thrown open, hinges loose and rattling.

You can’t look away from the image of Mr Garrick, sitting on the back of this man-shaped creature that now had a blood splatter for a brain.

Your name comes out hushed, barely able to comprehend that Mr Garrick is crouched in front of you. “Can you hear me?” he asks, and you blink at him, uncomprehending. “We have to go, alrigh’?”

You don’t move, eyes still stuck over his shoulders, the gush of blood. You can see it seeping in through the gaps of the floorboards. Mr Garrick’s head lowers before he murmurs that he’s got you, and then you feel yourself getting lifted up.

Slung over his shoulder, you have enough presence of mind to cling to his back before he takes off. Sound filters through the front of the hall, screaming and yelling. Mr Garrick darts off to the left, towards the balcony with Mr Casings.

Mr Garrick neatly steps over the carnage, shoes grinding in the broken glass. You whimper as you catch sight of his empty eyes staring upwards. Mr Garrick shushes you, smooths a hand over the back of your thigh even as he doesn’t falter.

Outside now, the cool air hits your face. The sun is still setting, the sky red and you squeeze your eyes shut at the colour. The death that you’ve seen in the hall is closed off, and if you don’t breathe in too deeply, then you won’t taste the bitter tang of blood, and maybe it’s all gone.

Mr Garrick curses sharply and you get pulled forward until you're on your feet, and tugged into his chest. He yanks you into the wall and steps in front of you, shushing you again before you can make a sound. Not that you were going to, shaking and clinging to the lapels of his jacket. You peek over the broad of his shoulder, and see why you have both stopped.

Gravel is getting kicked up from under the feet of guests as they run out from the estate. Others are running towards them, across the field and you choke on your breath when they collide. It must be more of those creatures, some type of sickness. You didn’t understand, they had the silhouette of men, but you hear the yowling when they brought a woman down and tore into her.

“Christ,” Mr Garrick mutters, cradling you in his front. “Shit, we need to get a horse.”

The stables were around the front, even though you are several feet away, you imagine you could smell the blood being spilled from here. You whimper again, shaking. “My mother,” you manage, unable to find the words for what you really want to say. My mother must be with that group of people, and we can hear them all dying. There aren't words designed to sit in the mouth like that.

Mr Garrick considers you, mouth pressed in a tight line. “Alright, wait here, do not come out unless I come back, ok?” You nod, but when he steps away, you find your hands still fisted in the lapels of his coat, like you cannot let go. He steps back, smooths his hand over your wrist, just beneath your glove. You jolt at the feeling of his bare skin, some old propriety from a lifetime ago are enough to startle you into relinquishing your grip. “I’ll be right back, keep hidden,” he tells you, pushing you further into the slight alcove.

And then he’s gone. You stare out across the grass. They play cricket out here in the summer. You remember, suddenly, the man running out in the field, wondering if that was the man that killed Mr Casings. His blood stains the edge of your dress, guilty. You want to cry, feel like a sick animal out in this open air.

Your father had a hunting dog once, and you remember how it had looked when he put it down. Mad, he’d called it, saliva foaming in its jowls. Wild eyes that had looked around, uncomprehending and yet piercing. You inhale, shaking, wonder if you look the same.

You refuse to make a sound though, lean against the brick behind you. Shake as you listen to screaming and growling that travel through the open field to reach you. You fist your hands in the skirts of your dress, try to breathe steadily. You don’t know what you will do if Mr Garrick doesn’t come back. You hope he comes back with a carriage, your mother inside to pull you inside. What you wouldn’t give to be scolded for crying and ruining the delicate rouge that she had spent precious time delicately smoothing on your cheeks.

Time is elongated and unbearable until it returns to you with a crack at the sound of a horse. You peek out, and you make out Mr Garrick astride what must be a horse detached from a carriage. No saddle, but reins around its face.

It’s only Mr Garrick who thuds down in front of you, who gathers you up and ushers you towards the horse. “My mother, where is -” you start, pliant beneath the ushering of Mr Garricks hands.

“I couldn’t see her, there’s a chance she got away, like we have to, right now,” he tells you, his voice strained as he steadies the horse, looking over your shoulder.

“I don’t -” you say, but Mr Garrick has had enough talking, and lifts you onto the horse, side straddle, before smoothly pulling himself up behind you.

He kicks the horse into motion, and you set off, quick enough that you still don’t understand.

You feel half your mind is still back on the balcony, trying to decide if you were going to go back inside. You look over Mr Garrick’s shoulder, and imagine you can see her, staring out at you. Seeing you but not understanding.

The band between the two of you pulls until it snaps. You jolt, a wounded noise high in your throat, but hidden in Mr Garrick’s broad chest.

Your father had shot your sick dog, barrel of the gun against the back of its head. Mr Garrick’s hand on the back of your skull, fingers in your hair, holding you steady. Right there, the press of his last finger on the give at the start of your neck. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you swallow it down and choke on it.

[glowettee]

✧˖° the identity shift: start thinking like an A+ student

post 1

💭 before you even touch your notes, before you highlight a single word, before you drown in exam stress. change how you think about yourself.

most people study with the mindset of “i hope i do well” instead of “i am the kind of person who excels.” and that’s the difference. if you want to start acing your exams, your first step isn’t flashcards or practice tests. it’s shifting your identity. because an A+ student doesn’t just work hard, they think, act, and exist differently.

this is the second post to the final exam survival series. the last post, was focused on how to actually enjoy learning and using that to motivate yourself for school. this post will focus on shifting your identify, which can also work great for manifesting and law of attraction/assumption. i will try to give you the best possible tips to help you shift your mindset to already have the A+ mentality. love you guys <3 - mindy

disclaimer: please don't think i expect you to be perfect, i use 'A+ student' as a way to help you when using loa or manifesting. YOU ARE A HUMAN; DO NOT THINK YOU NEED TO MEET STANDARDS TO BE PERFECT! i love you all and wanted to make sure you know i am NOT setting an unrealistic standard. this post is to help you with manifesting good grades and to inspire you. not for toxic motivation or unrealistic standard setting. - mindy

✧˖° ➼ 01. stop identifying as “bad at studying”

you will never outperform the identity you attach to yourself. if you keep telling yourself: ➝ “i suck at this subject.”➝ “i’ve never been good at exams.”➝ “i’m just not a naturally smart person.”

then you’ll stay stuck. why? because your brain is wired to prove yourself right. but when you shift to: ➝ “i am fully capable of mastering this material.”➝ “i am becoming an A+ student.”➝ “i study in a way that works for me.”

your actions start aligning with that belief. the way you approach studying changes. and suddenly? you’re not “bad at it” anymore.

✧ homework: rewrite every negative academic belief you’ve held about yourself into a new, empowering one. read them before every study session.

✧˖° ➼ 02. start acting like an A+ student right now

not when you feel “ready.” not when you’re already good at the subject. right now.

✨ an A+ student doesn’t: • cram the night before and hope for the best • avoid studying because it feels overwhelming • rely on last-minute motivation to get things done

✨ an A+ student does: • plan their study sessions like an actual strategy • break down material into small, digestible pieces • work consistently, even when they don’t “feel like it”

✧ homework: take one small action today that your A+ student self would take. even if it’s just organizing your study space or making a realistic revision schedule.

✧˖° ➼ 03. use strategic learning, not just memorization

most students study to remember. A+ students study to understand. if you keep forcing yourself to memorize facts with no deeper connection, you’re setting yourself up for forgetting everything under pressure.

🖇 better study strategies:• teach the material → pretend you're tutoring someone who knows nothing about it. if you can explain it simply, you truly understand it. • apply what you learn → don’t just read about a formula, actually use it in practice questions. don’t just memorize historical dates, understand their impact. • switch up your methods → your brain loves novelty. use diagrams, study cards, summarization, and active recall instead of just rereading notes.

✧ homework: find one concept you’ve been struggling with and try teaching it to yourself out loud as if you were giving a TED talk.

✧˖° ➼ 04. start believing you deserve high grades

subconsciously, a lot of people don’t actually believe they’re the kind of person who gets top marks. they might think: ❝ i’ve never been a straight-A student, so why start now? ❞ ❝ my past grades weren’t amazing, i probably won’t do much better. ❞

but what if you let yourself believe otherwise? what if you fully accepted that you deserve to succeed just as much as anyone else? because you do. and the moment you believe that, you start acting in ways that make it true.

✧ homework: visualize yourself receiving your dream grade. feel the confidence of knowing you earned it. then ask yourself: what would my future self tell me to start doing right now?

✧˖° ➼ 05. control your environment like a top student

your surroundings play a huge role in your academic identity. A+ students set themselves up for success by designing an environment that makes focus effortless.

🖇 small shifts that make a huge difference: • keep your study space clean & minimal (no distractions) • use a dedicated study playlist to trigger focus mode • have a go-to beverage (tea, coffee, water) to make studying feel like a ritual • wear comfortable but put-together clothes to signal to your brain that it’s time to work • remove your phone from your workspace entirely (or use app blockers)

✧ homework: make one intentional change to your study environment today. observe how it affects your focus.

✧˖° ➼ 06. stop waiting for motivation

A+ students know that motivation is fleeting. they don’t rely on feeling “in the mood” to study. instead, they: ➝ create systems (set study times, routines) ➝ make studying automatic (habit, not a debate) ➝ use momentum (just start. five minutes can turn into an hour)

✧ homework: set a 10-minute timer and study right now. no overthinking, no debating. just start.

✧˖° mindy’s personal tips

💌 your identity is everything. if you don’t believe you’re an A+ student yet, start acting like it anyway. your mindset will catch up. 💌 make studying feel aesthetic. wear cute study outfits, light a candle, make it a whole vibe. enjoyable studying = effective studying. 💌 romanticize the glow-up. your academic transformation is a story. imagine looking back and realizing this was the moment everything changed. 💌 you are not behind. you can reinvent yourself as a top student at any time. even now. even today.

xoxo mindy

[sandwitchstories]

She's Not Wrong

Hi everyone!! Just sharing a little drabble I've had taking up space in my brain for days now! I hope this little exchange gives you a laugh, I know it made me giggle as I wrote it! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!

For more adventures with Mouse and Sukuna, check out my Daddy Duty Series on my AO3 - Here! )

If you prefer to read on AO3 please click here !

Summary: Mouse is struggling with the adjustment to being a big sister and having a baby in the house. It's day two with two kids and Mouse has some suggestions of how to handle a crying baby.

WC: 800+

CW: Reader referred to as Mama but not described, new siblings, breast feeding, Boob humor, Dad!sukuna, dilf sukuna, family fluff, SFW, toddler dad Sukuna, girl dad!sukuna, boy dad!sukuna, true form Sukuna (4 arms),

“Papa! Put it back! It too loud!” Mouse said loudly as she clapped her hands over her ears.

Sukuna sighed and rolled his eyes. “I cannot put your baby brother back, Mouse.”

“Papa, quick! Eat him!” she said, pointing at the baby wiggling and crying in your arms.

“Mouse, I am not going to eat your brother.” Sukuna gave her an unamused glare. “I mean look at him. He has no fat on him. Meat needs fat to have flavor. Not to mention he’s even more of a runt than you were. He’s not even an appetizer at this point.” 

“Not helping,” you glared at your husband.

“Then sell him.” She said with a look of agony on her face.

“Not happening.” It was only day two with the new baby and already Sukuna was wondering if you should have decided to be one and done.

“Mouse,” you said her name, getting her attention as you tried to soothe the baby. “I know he’s loud-”

“And very stinky!” Mouse said, pinching her nose from where she sat perched on her father’s leg. She added a dramatic fanning of the air in front of her face.

“But he is just a baby. It’s only his second day on earth. Crying is the only way he can talk to us,” you tried to explain in a tired tone. 

Tired did not describe it. You were beyond exhausted. Your son, nicknamed Monkey yesterday by the same sister who wanted him annexed today, was fighting going down for a nap. 

You didn’t remember being this exhausted the first time around. Then again, Mouse had been easier to soothe and you hadn’t been simultaneously trying to wrangle and soothe a toddler who was used to having you and her father completely to herself.

Mouse pressed her lips together, a look of concentration coming over her face. She hummed in a tone you had never heard her make before as she stared down the baby still making noise in your arms. You took in her antics, trying to figure out what she was trying to do.

Sukuna arched his eyebrow at his little imp. “What are you doing, brat?”

“Shh, please and thank you, Papa. I tryin’ to understand him,” she said, leaning forward as far as Sukuna’s hand on her belly would let her go. 

You struggled not to laugh at just how serious her expression was. It warmed your heart that she had gone from trying to oust the baby to trying to understand him in a moment’s time. Maybe there is hope yet.  “What do you think he is saying?”

Mouse gave a hum before sitting back and looking up at you. “Him still hungry, Mama. Him saying give him a boob, please and thank you, Mama. Just give him a boob and he’ll go night night.” 

Sukuna choked on air, sputtering at her response. He was unable to stop his head from falling back against the headboard and the laughter from falling from his lips. You could almost swear you saw tears in his eyes as he wheezed at her wording. You narrowed your eyes, realizing he was going to be absolutely useless in this situation.

“Mouse, don’t say it like that,” you said, trying not to let your husband’s immature sense of humor rub off on you when you were trying to parent your daughter. Someone needed to act like a grown up but did it have to always be you?

“But… it not wrong, Mama,” she looked very confused. “Him hungry. You milk in you boobs. Him eat from you boobs. Him eats then him sleeps.”

“You are correct. But let's just call it feeding him, okay? No need to mention boobs when talking about eating, okay?” You said, not wanting to make a big deal out of it but also wanting to discourage the use of that phrase, no matter how accurate or amusing it was.

“Speak for yourself,” Sukuna bristled.

You ignored him and cupped Mouse’s cheek before you rearranged the baby and helped him latch. He immediately quieted down, nuzzling into your breast and resting his little hand on your chest. You kissed his head and looked at Mouse to see her giving you a smug look from the lap of her equally smug looking father.

“What’s with you two?” You asked, hand rubbing soothingly on Monkey’s back.

Mouse answered first, “Told you him was hungry.”

“It would seem you were not wrong, little Mouse. And what about you?” You asked your husband after giving Mouse a smile.

“I can’t say mine because it involves saying a word I cannot say with another word,” he smirked shamelessly at you.

Mouse looked from him to you and then decided that since she had translated for her brother, she should also translate for her father. “Mama, him means sayin’ boobs.”

“Thanks Mouse,” you groaned. 

Sukuna grinned and leaned over, kissing your forehead and saying softly, “Well, yet again, she is not wrong!”

[rimqueen]

LONG POST AB PLAGIARISM!!! PLS DONT SKIP 😭 this is also 1/2 !!!

hi.. this has been plaguing me for a while if I am honest .. I am too nervous to speak up about plagiarism lately mostly bc I feel as if I am being oversensitive or a narc bc I used to overreact a lot on my old blog lol and I also used to get a lot of racism/hate there and it kind of made me hesitant to call it out. plagiarism is one of the reasons I have been so writers blocked and disheartened when it comes to writing lately

usually I dm the person if the fic is not too similar but clearly inspired and ask them to give me credit which i have done a lot lately literally about 3 times in the past few days! those people all complied and added credit and one even took the fic down which I didn’t ask her to do but she did it bc she was apologetic!

I approached @acynicalsweetheart with this too! DMs are below if u can bother reading them bc there’s a lot.

she is very sweet and apologised immediately explained herself and took my point of view into mind which I appreciate a lot!! i was ok with being credited as a framework at first bc I didn’t want to be too pushy or whatever but I had only skimmed a few of her fics as I have had anons before ab it being copying but never answered bc I don’t like to name and shame without reason and also was too nervous for it which sounds stupid but sometimes I’d rather just let something pass instead of getting rape threats and racism!

I was genuinely at first under the impression that it was only a few fics however I asked some of my friends n mutuals if I was overreacting but they said that this is def valid and most of all it’s upsetting to see mutuals, people who read my fics praise work that is legit my fics patched together.. like I know when someone hasn’t written a fic it’s hard for them to see the plagiarism but it hurts my feelings that a style I’ve been working on for so long could be emulated so easy.. I was ok with the credit but like then I read more and more and it became clear to me that the plagiarism is so.. like there’s so much you could mistake the fics as mine and I completely understand inspo but this is just straight up plagiarism and I wished I had called it out beforehand I feel like I have been kind by simply asking for credit or if she would make a post admitting to it bc I know that these huge callout posts only lead to hate and like blocks and it isn’t always fair but like this is just likes on fics that r reworkings of mine and my fics patched together

ok.. so there’s like sooo many screenshots like there’s so many past what I have added in this post! the most noticeable is of my fic Somebunny loves you and acynicalsweetheart’s fic bunny love! I do not mind inspo!!!

my fic starts with leon talking about hunnigan, he steps out of work and it’s raining. fraise’s fic starts like that too. the left is mine right is fraise… OFC it doesn’t seem too overly the same but like the mention of the vintage leather jacket being ruined by weather? 😭 what r the odds and it’s like a lot of this I wouldn’t note as overtly copying if the rest of their fics weren’t also taking on a similar pattern to mine

then it keeps going on and my fic is ab Leon feeling guilty ab fucking his bunny hybrid.. that’s what fraise’s is ab again.. nothing too insane like hybrids and guilt r common in fics LOL but like again.. copied from lovey dovey is just this section rewritten

and then there’s a part in my fic rotten luck where as Leon fucks reader he remembers the Latin prayer his mom taught him. And he remembers it slowly as he fucks reader and again it would be nothing of note but with the rest of the copied content ?? and btw tjis is just small snippets like if u read both fics side by side it’s insane how similar they are but fraise’s fic is just lovey dovey and Somebunny mixed together

^^ the first is fraise’s and the other 3 screenshots r from my fic

there’s also little things like Claire using terrasave to save hybrids that I made up in my fic that fraise also uses whixh again!! would genuinely be nothing of note but it’s as if my characterisation of Leon, how I see him interact with other characters has just been taken, Like I know it’s dumb but I loveee to build my own views on how Leon interacts w Claire ashley and hunnigan and whoever and to see it be taken .. almost word for word is like? I just don’t get how someone could even take headcanons and the way a fanfic author. Characterises rather than building their own views on the source material and it’s not like I mind any of this but it’s the plagiarism that gets me 😭 I don’t want this to be taken as me upset somebody is inspired by this work or whatnot im upset that it’s plagiarism ! this is a smaller one but it’s still? so similar .. the first is fraise and the second mine

and I also wanted to give the benefit of the doubt and be like theyre not doing this on purpose and they were genuinely inspired but a lot of this is just purposely taken from my fics and reworded to sound different and it would be ok if it was a couple lines but the whole fic?? and a lot of it is done cleverly enough that it looks like im reaching to find things to nitpick on but I do this a lot in fics.. I cycle through what Leon thinks characters are going to think of him for doing something awful I have done this in two parts of rotten luck.. I have done it in Somebunny loves you and lovey dovey and even just certain descriptions are taken from like parts of strictly business (chris sounding and looking constipated LOL) and carefully pieced together to create some Frankenstein of my fic instead of just writing ??? like surely that would be easier

the other fic which is very similar to my fic softer softest is fraise’s fic love is a losing game! mine is about curly coming home after a long trip and fraise’s is ab curly about to leave this the opening passages of both.. and again if u read the fics side by side u will so many more similarities rhese two fics r also fraise’s original ones where as the ones that are requests tend to differ from my writing? so it’s like your two original fics are just copies of mine but a little different 😭 The first two screenshots r mine the third is fraise’s fic

on my tumblr I actually made an upset post ab this and then legit 5 mins later I was credited so it’s not like they don’t understand what they have done and I do appreciate the credit ?? but 😭

and these..the first two r from my fics aita and a drabble I wrote for jimmy… I also write that line a lot and the third image which is fraise’s is just a combo of both those lines like 😭

there’s a next part.. so yah linked hereeee only bc there’s screenshots I couldn’t fit..

[f1daydreamer]

Always Been You

---

You were 14 when you first fell in love with Franco Colapinto.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t earth-shattering. It was quiet, like the way rain softens the world, like the way the sun rises every morning without needing permission.

Franco was 16, already in love with racing but somehow more in love with you.

You still remember the day he asked you to be his girlfriend—hands slightly sweaty, voice a little nervous, as if you hadn’t already been his long before either of you admitted it.

“Are you sure?” you had teased, grinning at him.

Franco had huffed, rolling his eyes. “Amor, I’ve been sure since the day I met you.”

And just like that, you became his, and he became yours.

---

Six Years Later

It never changed. Not when he moved up through racing. Not when life got busier. Not when the world tried to pull him away.

Franco loved you like it was his purpose.

He showed it in a million ways.

Like the way he still texted you “Good morning, mi vida” every single day, even if he was halfway across the world.

Like how he called you before every race—not just for luck, but because your voice was his calm.

Like the way he still tied your shoelaces for you when you were too tired to bother, even though you were fully capable.

“I can do it myself, you know,” you mumbled one evening, sitting on the couch while Franco kneeled in front of you, fingers expertly looping the laces of your sneakers.

He looked up, grinning. “I know. But I like taking care of you.”

Your heart ached in the best way.

God, how did you get so lucky?

---

The Little Things

Franco wasn’t just a good boyfriend. He was the best.

He memorized your coffee order.

He knew the exact way you liked your blankets folded at night.

He always kissed the top of your head before leaving, even if you were asleep.

Once, you got sick while he was away for a race.

You told him not to worry.

So, naturally, Franco panicked like the world was ending.

Within two hours, there was a delivery at your door—your favorite soup, medicine, and a handwritten note that simply read:

"Rest, mi amor. I’ll be home soon."

And he was. The second his race ended, he was on the first flight back.

When he arrived, you were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket.

Franco sighed, dropping his bags. “Mierda, baby, you look—”

“Don’t say terrible,” you cut in, voice hoarse.

He bit back a smile, walking over to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I was going to say cute.”

You sniffled. “Liar.”

Franco laughed, settling beside you, pulling you into his arms without a second thought. He stroked your hair, murmuring soft words in Spanish against your temple.

And just like that, you felt better.

---

Forever, Without a Question

Six years together, and not once had Franco made you doubt him. Not once had he looked at anyone the way he looked at you.

One night, as you lay in bed, his hand lazily tracing circles on your back, you whispered, “Are you ever scared?”

Franco turned his head, meeting your gaze. “Of what, mi amor?”

You hesitated. “That one day… we’ll change?”

He was silent for a moment, his fingers halting their movement. Then, in the softest voice, he said:

“I don’t think I could change even if I tried.”

You blinked.

Franco propped himself up on one elbow, cupping your cheek with so much tenderness it made your chest ache. “It’s always been you. Since we were kids. Since before I even knew what love really was.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to your forehead. “So, no. I’m not scared. Because loving you is the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”

Tears pricked your eyes.

You buried your face in his neck, whispering, “I love you, Franco.”

His arms tightened around you. “I love you more, mi vida.”

And as he held you close, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt—

This wasn’t just a love story.

This was home.

[humanradiojmp]

First impressions with The Gaslight District trailer

Really enjoy how the animation is done. Almost seems like some of it was done maybe on twos instead of ones (24 fps is average and considered animating on ones, so twos would be half at 12 fps) giving it a slightly choppier feel in some instances. Could be wrong on that part, but do know going back that there’s moments where the point of impact is delayed to give an extra punch to whatever is happening. With the editing, gives an impression those are some serious moments.

Stylization very unique and different than the previous two shows. I remember in GlitchX 2023 it was mentioned they were pushing themselves with the stylization and their attempts at getting it right, and it shows. It almost makes me think of a video game with how the graphics are, and I mean that in a good way. Lots of clean but dramatic lighting and solid models for the characters. some of the camera angles also gives this idea, like when it pans from the side to the front of the house (shop?) makes me think the beginning of a cut scene. Plus, some of the details on skin and hair make me think of almost cell shading for comics where there’s a slight line to indicate muscle or hair strands.

Speaking of that particular moment, I’m almost getting earlier 3D animation, like from the 90s-2000s, specifically Monster House. Something about it gives me that same vibe. Also kind of resembles Claymation with the texturing and such, but clearly computer animated.

Honestly just going over the trailer a few times the animation is soooo good. the studio really is getting better and better every episode of their series. Like thinking how Murder Drones started verses how it ended in graphics alone shows how they improved. There’s even signs of better quality between episode one and four of Digital Circus. and it just looks so professional. Big round of applause for everyone who works there/for them for their efforts.

Both from the synopsis of the video and a few things in the video itself indicates the series is going to be quite a doozy. Undead gangsters in a (potentially) gothic punk environment. Whole bunch of conflict from that alone I’m sure, plus what’s going on with our main lead (trying making out her name but just can’t quite get it; if someone could tell me what it is, that’d be great). The main character seems to be loyal to the family she’s part of, but also curious as to where she came from. One scene shows a part of a conspiracy string board with a photo of her and what I’m assuming is her father figure, a torn paper reading “where do I come from?” and a newspaper clipping about humans and how they’re tied to a prophecy involving the destruction of the Gaslight District. Probably suspects she’s not actually undead, or was a human that was killed and revived but with her memories fuzzy at best (We got quite a few characters with memory problems in the Glitch verse. First Tari in Meta Runners, then N in Murder Drones, Pomni and the rest of the humans in Digital Circus and now our main girl here. Is having some form of amnesia a required trope for Glitch? /j)

I swear I know the voice of the main girl, but I can’t put my finger on it. Big butcher bug looking guy kind of sounds like Pete from all the Mickey Mouse stuff (grew up watching a lot of Disney stuff don’t come at me for the first idea I got) but a lot more gravely.

I feel like I’m going to say this a lot, but very unique designs for the cast. With things like animation what makes them stand out from one another is the designs of the cast and world as a whole. There’s some gangly boney like characters in the background and then the main cast. There’s the bug butcher that also almost makes me think of the Kraang from TMNT 2K12, a guy with a loaf of bread for a head, skin degrading skeleton guy, and our main girl that looks mostly mummified if the wrappings around her body are any indication. Not to mention that giant thing with the eye both in the thumbnail and family photo. I feel like @endomentendo is really going to get a kick out of the designs here because a lot of reminds me of their art, at least with some of their OCs. I want to push my capabilities of drawing characters that aren’t quite perfectly human so I might try my hand at drawing one of these guys for practice. (anyone else notice one guy eating cars that has a head that I think is supposed to be a luggage bag but looks a lot like Caine?)

Intrigued by the soundtrack. Like the hollow-ish bell sounds in the first half and then the more hopeful, light track of the second half that’s paired with the violence. Bright happy music with sad or violent things has got to be one of my favorite tropes. And sound design in general is really good. with the whispers and the different sound effects like the gun shots and punches and drowning, all well done.

Overall, a testament to the team’s work and skill, and showing another example of someone’s creativity being highlighted in a way they may not have had the chance before. I vaguely remember how Part Time Seagull (the creator of The Gaslight District) was working/planning to make this a series, but 2D and had some concept art, which is how he was found by Glitch. It really is great that the studio is trying to help people have their dreams realized and helping others showcase their works and ideas (thinking how GlitchX 2024 was more of a showcase of others’ works then their own). Truly a powerhouse of indie animation.

Watch the trailer here:

[smallestapplin]

Rescue bots romance headcanons

Yes, hi, I was dragged into this and now can’t stop thinking about it.

Reader is gn!human. Nothing but fluff here (if you have any less fluffy ideas please throw them at me, I’m desperate for these fuckers)

-

-

Chase

Chase is so dense it’s a miracle he even managed to realize his feelings for you were more than just platonic, the tightness in his chassis every time he spoke to you, the claminess of his servoseach time he felt the urge to grab your hand. Oh yes, you had this police bot wrapped around your finger before he even realized it.

However, he is a very by the books bot, courting will be done properly! He scares you half to death with his siren softy ‘bwoop!’ing, sadly you aren’t the only one who gets spooked by it, as Chief Burns gets a good jump if he happens to be riding in Chase’s alt mode, same with the rest of the family if they are around when he doesn it.

The only ones not confused are the other Rescue bots, Blades and Heatwave do not stop teasing Chase for his little crush on you, making the poor bot more flustered about it than he already is (even if his expression doesn’t change much.)

Blades tries to offer some advice though from all the movies he’s watched, but most of them end up in a sillier fashion than Chase would like. Heatwave attempts to help but he’s really got nothing but support for him. Boulder, luckily, is Chase’s saving grace, using passages from the dating advice books Chase has read to help him.

He had to ask Charlie for help obtaining flowers, chocolate, a plush toy with hearts, and a request for leaving later in the night, which he was delighted to be granted.

The hard part comes with actually asking you out to a picnic under the starry sky under a nice clear night. You try not to laugh at how cute he looks with a barely big enough magnetic bow tie, a radio playing older cheesier love songs, and his gifts in his servos. He has an entire thought out speech for you, from the very instant he realized his feelings to the actions he noticed most about you that made him fall helm over pedes for you, to finally how he wishes to start a pre-conjunx endura courtship with you.

Agreeing and you have the rare chance to see such a sweet smile on his face plate and cheeks twinged blue.

Chase is a very interesting bot, he remembers very VERY little things, the date and exact time you agreed to date him, from your first hug to your first kiss, he has a calendar with all of it marked and timed, your first night in each other’s rooms in some way. Down to the last millisecond.

Protective boyfriend, very protective, it takes his job as a rescue bot very seriously and never hesitates to save people, but when it’s you in danger of about to get hit he becomes an entirely new ferocious bot, adrenaline coursing through him to get to you and take any hit for you, to get you to safety first.

Call him for anything, do you feel mildly uncomfortable around someone? Congrats, he is right next to you and putting himself between you and whoever else. He’s observant to little things, any nervousness you have will instantly be addressed by him, cause he wants you to feel safe and comfortable.

A little awkward on affection, Chase likes holding you in some way but kissing gets him bashful. Handholding, cuddling, hugging, setting you on his shoulder all come to him like second nature with you, but kissing? Please do it, he wants to kiss so badly but is unsure how to approach the subject or bring it up.

-

-

Blades

how YOU don’t know Blades has a crush on you is beyond everyone else, it’s so obvious and just a fact. “Grass is green, the sky is blue, and Blades has a crush on that nerd.” It’s almost adorable but painful to watch. Blades thinks he’s hiding it sooo well, he’s so cool and no one knows! It’s not like he gets nervous around you and starts stuttering, it’s not like his cheeks burn blue with bright energon when you’re around him, it’s not like he squeals happily and bounces in place when you agree to watch a movie with him.

He plans every hang out to a T, always has snacks for you, what movies to watch, blankets Dani and Cody let him use. Please don’t ask him about the movie. He was too busy staring at you with a smitten look on his face plate.

Blades wasn’t a flight mode bot until he got to Earth, so he doesn’t have much control over his wings like one would think, as the rest of the team calls him the sweetspark alarm for the sole reason of they don’t even need to look up from what they are doing to know it’s you, the second they hear fast ‘ptptptptpt’ they know you are at base and Blades spotted you.

Once more with Heatwave’s banter, calling him a sap and to just go for it already he’s getting a processor ache just watching you two.

Anytime you leave base Blades mopes around, sighing, slumping over the couch already missing you and he lets everyone know it. Even his confession came out by accident, he got hurt trying to protect you and when you held his helm so gently everything just came spilling out in rapid succession.

How could you say no when he’s looking at you like you are his world? His joy makes him forget his rotator is damaged, and truthfully you wouldn’t even know how he picks you up and spins you around, cheering.

Blades is a big sweetheart, a very needy one too, he loves your attention and affection so much! If no one can find him then he’s with you, he’s so attached to your hip. Please flirt with him, even the smallest or silliest pick up line has him making a wheezing sound before covering his blushing face plate and giggling, he’s so easy to make swoon.

Please hold him while watching a horror movie, he loves them dearly but he’s such a big chicken he needs to be held and smooched instantly.

He may be fearful but that never stops him from protecting you or getting hurt trying, but please be careful on rescues and missions he will cry if you are hurt. He holds and treats you so tenderly, giving the injured area gentle kisses and apologizing he wasn’t fast enough, and always asks if you need anything. Nurse Blades is at your care to ensure a good recovery.

Blades can be a bit hard on himself and often thinks less of himself, he’s not as strong as Boulder, as smart as Chase, or very confident like Heatwave, sometimes he needs a little boost and some reminding he’s loved and perfect as he is. Cover his helm in kisses, whispering praise and what you love about him inbetween, hold him close, it really makes him feel a thousand times better.

Call him a pretty boy, he will go to you with a skip in his step and love in his eyes. You are not immune to his pet names either, ones he’s picked up from too much tv, from ‘sweetie’ to ‘honey’ to ‘cherry pie’ though the look on his face was priceless when you explained the meaning of the last one, he has called you it once and then never again he was so embarrassed.

-

-

Heatwave

Mr I'll keep all my emotions right here until i die’ is not above finding himself smitten with you and it angers him at first, he is here on a mission nothing more nothing less and yet you throw a wrench into those plans. Your stupidly cute smile, you dumbaft adorable laugh, that stupid stupid happy sparkle you get when you see him, it’s infuriating! No one can tell what’s upsetting him, he avoids you as much as he can and uses the training dummies to get all his frustration out.

It takes him so long to calm down and fully realize this isn’t just some crush that’ll go away, no, he’s in love with you. It doesn’t help you look up at him with a smile and a happy greeting of his name, his name has never sounded better than it does leaving your lips, he could listen to you say it all day.

Once Heatwave realizes these feelings aren’t going away, prepare to have scary dog privileges, as Heatwave is very protective over you and slightly possessive, your safety and health come first and if he catches anyone saying anything that isn’t praise for you it’s on slight. He doesn’t like sharing your time, he will find some way to drag you away from others or at least keep you by his side while you talk to everyone else, even if he doesn’t speak he just grunts but makes sure you are within arms reach.

More ‘bwoop!’s of sirens, cybertronian courting at it’s finest, he likes letting you know he’s there and he always puffs his paneling when it not only works but also gets your attention. Anytime he’s pulling up he’s ’bwoop!’ing anytime you move past him he’s ‘bwoop!’ing his siren softy. His spark melts everytime you chuckle at his calls.

Kade has made ONE offhanded comment about you and it likely ended into the worst argument the team has ever seen the two have, as Heatwave does not take kindly to any bad mouthing of you, whether you are there to see it or not. The leader is a firm believer in ‘keep my sweetspark’s name outta your intake.’

And he hasn’t even asked you out yet, speaking of! When he finally does ask you, it’s late at night, everyone is asleep except you two, neither of you could sleep so you both sit in the backyard, it’s quiet aside from the sounds of the crickets and birds, and you lay so close to him, he can feel your warmth. It’s quiet between you two but it’s not uncomfortable, it’s nice, but for some reason it has him spilling his spark out to you, from his background he’s never told anyone, to how much he truly adores you, loves you, everytime you’re near he can barely think right.

Returning his affection with a smile and a kiss to his shoulder earns you one loving but grumpy bot. Constantly reminding you to take care of yourself or he will do it for you, and that is a promise.

Heatwave isn’t a huge fan of PDA, he prefers to keep your affection private and behind the closed doors of his habsuite, though he doesn’t mind a little hand holding or more subtle touches.

This is now where his slightly possessive nature kicks in, anyone even slightly hinting at flirting with you and he will stand behind you glaring something deadly to whoever you are talking to. Without hesitation he will step between you and others, he always likes keeping you at his side or slightly behind him so he can protect you. His pet names for you mostly have ‘my’ at the start of them.

Banter, I hope you like banter, because he is still a snarky bastard, he can’t help but tease you, calling you short stack (even though he is unfairly tall), or his tone mocking as he calls you ‘your majesty/princess/prince’ he lives for playful roasting each other, cause with you it always ends in someone getting a kiss to shut the other up and he won’t admit it, but he does want that kiss.

His temper can cause a bit of problems, but he has gotten better at working on it! Please, he will tell you he just needs a moment to cool down, and he will go to you when he feels calmer, cause the last thing he wants to do is say something in the heat of the moment and hurt you.

Gifts are interesting, he's more of a quality time and acts of service kinda bot, but you do in fact get gifts, sometimes it's some ancient treasure from pirates that he yoinked, sometimes its a pretty rock from an abandoned island they went to, and other times it’s a little action figure of himself and his team (which you had a good laugh about, but adore so much.)

Primus, help if you are ever injured, he goes into rescue mode but his intake is in worried partner mode and keeps trying to reassure you he is not leaving you anywhere.

Also Primus, help if someone makes you uncomfortable, he is not above catching a charge, much to the dismay of Chase.

[insidekatmind]

New Professor~Hwang Jun Ho

Wearning: +18,smut, age-gap.

The start of the school year is always a mix of excitement and anxiety for you. You’ve always been the shy and reserved girl, the one who sits at the back of the classroom and prefers the soft sound of pages turning to the loud chatter in the hallways.

This year, however, it seems like the whole school is in an uproar over a new thing that everyone is talking about: the new literature teacher. Word spreads fast and wild among the girls in your year, painting him as some sort of divine apparition.

“Have you seen him? He’s beautiful!” Minji exclaims one morning as she emphatically places her tray on the cafeteria table. “Tall, muscular, and that chiseled jawline… he doesn’t even look like a teacher!”

You barely look up from your book, curious but not too convinced. However, when you finally sit down in the literature classroom for your first class and he walks in, you immediately understand what they mean.

Hwang Jun Ho is young, probably in his mid-thirties, with dark, intense eyes that seem to scan every detail of the room. His black hair falls lightly over his forehead, and his perfectly pressed white shirt highlights his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He certainly doesn’t have the stern look of a typical literature professor.

“Good morning, everyone,” he greets in a deep, warm voice. “I’m Professor Hwang, and I’m here to take you on a journey through classic and modern literature. I hope we can learn a lot together.”

The girls in your class seem to have lost the ability to speak. Even Jisoo, who is always ready to launch into frivolous chit-chat, is left speechless, her cheeks flushed.

You, however, only care about the way he speaks. His voice glides smoothly over the words, as if each sentence has been carefully chosen. There’s a genuine passion in the way he explains that impresses you more than any appearance.

In the days that follow, it becomes clear that your classmates all have a crush on him. The classroom seems increasingly crowded, especially during his lectures. Girls you’ve never seen interested in literature now sit in the front rows, smiling enthusiastically and asking questions that don’t seem to have anything to do with the program.

Yet, he never seems to be truly distracted by their attention. His eyes, dark and piercing, always end up lingering on you, as if trying to understand what you’re thinking as you carefully take notes.

One afternoon, after class, as you gather your books more slowly than usual, he approaches you.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, with a gentle smile that seems to melt away all your defenses. “You have a way of looking at things that’s different from others. As if you read more deeply. Have you ever thought about writing something of your own?”

The question takes you by surprise. No one has ever asked you something like that. You blush and look down, stammering out an answer you don’t even remember. But he smiles again, and his gaze remains fixed on your face.

“If you want, we could talk about it someday. Maybe over coffee. Not as professor and student, but as… literature enthusiasts.”

Your heart is racing. You don’t know if it’s a professional invitation or something else. But a part of you wants to find out.

And that’s just the first of many conversations that will change everything.

As the weeks went by, you and Professor Jun Ho ended up sleeping together many times. Each time you told him it was the last time but there you were again, bouncing on his cock in his empty classroom.

Jun Ho's eyes darken with desire as he watches you, his gaze trailing over your curves. He leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that so?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you can't get enough of me."

He stands up, his tall frame towering over you. In a swift motion, he pulls you close, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. You can feel the heat of his body, the hardness pressing against your stomach. "You say it's the last time," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin, "but your body tells a different story."

His hands roam over your back, your sides, your ass, squeezing and kneading. He grips your hips, lifting you easily onto his desk. Papers scatter as he spreads your legs, stepping between them. "Tell me again," he demands, his voice firm, "that this is the last time. Look me in the eye and say it."

But you can't. You're too lost in the sensation of his touch, the smell of his cologne, the way his eyes burn into yours.

"You feeling so good, so big" you whimpered as you clung to his muscular shoulders.

Jun Ho's smirk widens into a grin at your words, his ego clearly boosted. "That's right, baby," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs. "I'm the biggest you've ever had, aren't I?"

He leans down, capturing your lips in a rough kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth, dominating you completely. One hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss.

"You love it, don't you?" he growls against your lips. "Love the way I fill you up, stretch you out. Love the way I make you scream."

He reaches between your legs, finding you soaked. He chuckles darkly. "Look at you, so wet for me already. You're insatiable, you little slut."

Jun Ho's lips close around your nipple, sucking hard as his hand guides your hips, impaling you on his thick shaft. He groans against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his voice strained. "Take every inch. Fuck, you're so tight."

He starts to move, thrusting up into you as he pulls you down onto him. The desk creaks beneath you, papers flying off the sides as he fucks you harder, faster.

"Look at you," he pants, his eyes glued to where you're connected. "Taking my cock like a pro. You were made for this, weren't you?"

His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub. "Come on, sweetheart. Scream for me. Let the whole school hear who you belong to."

“Jun ho” you moaned scratching his back. “I’m coming."

Jun Ho's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he feels your walls clamp down around him. "That's it, baby," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Come for me. Milk my cock."

He buries his face in your neck, biting down on your shoulder as his own orgasm crashes over him. He fills you with his hot seed, each pulse sending a shudder through his muscular body.

"Fuck," he pants, collapsing back onto the desk. "Every time is better than the last. You're going to be the death of me, woman."

He pulls you down onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you possessively. "But what a way to go," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "My little student slut."

You cuddled up to him, sighing softly, your legs shaking with pleasure.

Jun Ho holds you close, his large hand stroking your back soothingly. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling deeply. "You're so beautiful when you come apart in my arms," he murmurs.

He shifts slightly, his softened cock slipping out of you. You both groan at the sensation. Jun Ho reaches for some tissues, cleaning you up gently before tossing them aside.

"We should get dressed," he says reluctantly, helping you sit up. "Someone might come looking for me soon."

He starts to gather your clothes, handing them to you with a wink. "But don't think this is over, sweetheart. I'm not done with you yet."

He pulls you in for a deep, passionate kiss before releasing you. "Tonight, at my place."

[the-astronome]

There are two voice lines Pathologic 3 Quarantine which really caught my attention, a funny one and another one that I find rather interesting

Please note that these voice lines are from Russian dub, and I’m providing my own approximate translations here (since I didn’t play the demo in English and honestly not planning to).

1. Starting with a funny one, one of the possible things Seraphima can say is “You should reread your own early academic works, chief. That is if you were the one who wrote them.” I don’t know what kind of beef these two have going on, but roast him Seraphima, keep the prickly prick in line

2. Switching to a more serious voice line, a phrase the Inspector can say upon starting a conversation with him: “Вы убили-с”.

It’s a bit difficult to translate it into English without loosing the original subtext, but overall it can be translated as “You killed [someone], good sir”. Note that at the and of убили there is an additional letter -с, which is a словоерс (no idea what linguists call it in English). Словоерс is an archaic (is now and was so already by the beginning of 1900s) form of showing respect to the person you’re speaking to (as if singular Вы wasn’t enough already). And even though it was used occasionally in P1, I don’t remember it being used in P2 or P3 (talking about the demo obviously). That’s why when the Inspector used it in his replica it immediately grabbed my attention.

There was something familiar about the phrase as well, like if I’ve heard it somewhere already…. Well, I tell you, apparently it’s a quote from Crime and Punishment (by Dostoevsky, obviously) said by Porfiriy Petrovich: “Вы и убили-с”.

(Small note: here an и in between is used, which gives the phrase slightly different vibe, id est I would translate the phrase as “It was you, who killed [that person], wasn’t you, good sir?” It’s even more mocking and ironic than the first one. The detective knows perfectly you’re the killer, it’s just he enjoys mocking you as well. Tbh Inspector from P3 might have used that и in his replica, but I missed it - usual stuff for me.)

If you haven’t read the book, Porfiriy Petrovich is a police detective investigating Raskolnikov (who is a murderer but a rather lousy one. Not gonna explain the plot here, read the book), and he says that phrase when talking to Raskolnikov, trying to make him admit he’s indeed the killer. Inspector does indeed have many similarities with Porfiriy Petrovich in investigation style, for instance, they both say to the suspects that they’re not accusing them of anything (while actively doing so), they both ironise and taunt the person they’re interrogating. It’s basically about making the suspect to admit their guilt themselves. Technically the suspect was never accused of anything, but the interrogator pushed on their conscience just enough for the accused to come back with a sincere confession of their crimes.

Moreover, coming back to словоерс, in 1860s, when the novel was written, that -с already lost it’s original meaning (showing respect) and turned into ironic and mocking addition to otherwise neutral phrases. So the Inspector is practically scoffing and, well, bullying Daniil (and the Bachelor actually calls him out for that) throughout all the dialogue.

Finally, the phrase in question is a pretty well known quote among Russian-speaking people who’ve read Dostoevsky’s works, so this reference should be quite easy to recognise for native speakers.

Well, that’s it for now, I’ll come back if I find anything else catchy and curious.

[choerrysjubiles]

Just Ride

pairing: anton x fem!reader

warning: smut! fellatio, making and using home made dildo, filming :3

wc: 1.8k

a/n: i have another anton fic queued for tomorrow and ive been sitting on this one hehehe happy anton day

The few days you got to spend with Anton was always special. He was a hard worker and strove to be better and better; if something was perfect he'd find a way to make it better.

He was constantly away for practice, preparing for their touring schedule and getting his stamina up for the back to back schedules. While he had a few rest days before the flight out to their first stop, you and Anton were inseparable.

Constant dates while you had time together. Going to cafes and trying new items, art museums with new sculptures and art exhibitions, walking around parks, and relaxing together at home. Anton constantly had his phone on him, taking candid and posed photos of you every chance he could.

When your dates would end, you two were latched onto each other. Laying on top of Anton as you watched a movie together, cuddling together while falling asleep, huddling as you cook together.

While you were laying watching some show, you heard your doorbell ring.

"Package?" Anton asked, as you got up from the couch to check.

You looked at the cardboard box in confusion, you don’t remember ordering anything. You set the box on the kitchen counter, finding something to open the tape you cut the box open. As if the universe couldn't make you feel even worse, your package delivered was a penis molding kit. Something you were thinking about bringing up to your boyfriend.

"What is it?"

“I wanted to ask you something." You felt yourself grow shy.

“What's up, baby?"

He stood up, walking over to you and the mysterious box.

"So I saw this was on sale. It's a little kit for us, y'know, because you'll be away for a while on tour."

"What did you buy?"

"It's a molding kit for your, uh." You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"You want a dildo of my dick?" Anton smiled at you.

You shyly nodded your head, trying to look anywhere but Anton.

"Because you'll be gone for so long, I wondered if I could mold your dick."

"I would love to." Anton smiled, walking closer to see the kit, kissing your head as he walked by.

You both read the instructions before setting everything up, mix one powder to make the dry clay-like mold before inserting his penis into it to make the mold. When it's dry mix the silicone powder to then pour and wait to cure.

Anton went to the bathroom to clean up before putting his dick into the paste. You set everything up, mixing the powders and setting up the mold as Anton felt a giddiness when walking back.

Anton rolled the condom onto his dick, slowly jerking himself as you were putting the paste inside the tube.

"Could I get some help?" He asked, nervously looking at you.

“Of course.”

You walked over to him, replacing his hand with yours as you continued jerking him. His eyes shut as he felt himself sigh in relief. He's gonna miss this feeling when he's gone. He leaned down and kissed you, feeling himself grow fully hard as you massaged him. Feeling him at his hardest, you grabbed the tube and pushed it down onto his dick.

"This feels so weird." Anton said, looking down on the tube surrounding his dick.

"Does it?" You wondered how it felt, “Next time we can make, like, some kind of fleshlight of me."

You both laughed before waiting for the mold to harden, drying enough to remove him from the mold you carefully slid the tube off of his penis.

"Can you help me?" he asks, dick still incredibly hard.

You set the tube down before dropping to your knees. Taking his dick into your hands, you take his condom off as your mouth latches onto his tip. You suck around his head, tongue licking across his underside before taking him farther into your mouth.

You moan around his length, feeling him twitch in your mouth as his hands lace through your hair.

“Right there.”

Anton's so sensitive it only take a couple bobs before he's cumming in your mouth. He warns you beforehand as you still suck up and down his length, feeling his cum flood into your mouth. Feeling his hot cum flood your mouth as you swallow as much as you can.

Getting up, Anton helped clean you up before you mixed the silicone mix and poured the liquid into the tube. The directions say it will be fully cured in 24 hours.

"Are you gonna use this when i'm away." He whispered right into your ear.

"I can send you videos every day." you leaned up and kissed him.

"Everyday?" He laughed.

"Multiple times a day. Your gallery will be filled with me." You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

You set an alarm for the next day before you both returned to your show. Cuddling before falling asleep on the couch.

The next day was filled with packing. Spending as much time together left very little preparation time for his tour. You helped pick out his shirts and pants, his jewelry, which shoes he should take with him. Anton didn’t have nor need much, he was mostly going to use his suitcases to buy more clothing and souvenirs throughout his tour.

You drove him to his company, helping him take his suitcases up to the area where his members were meeting up. Walking around and going throughout the labyrinth of the building to get where he should be. You hugged him goodbye as he walked in to meet his members, they waved at you before needing to leave.

You drove back home, relaxing into your sofa as you unwound your muscles. Feeling your phone vibrate along the cushion, you saw some texts his members sent to you. Some were pictures of Anton, others were general updates. You sent them all good luck messages before closing your phone.

As you were cooking you heard the loud ringer of your alarm go off. Completely shocked, you entirely forgot about the mold, so caught up in packing and driving Anton around.

You turned the alarm off, finished up cooking and ate before walking over to where you let the silicone cure. You were able to pull the dildo out, it was firm and a little flexible, fleshy, pink color from the silicone powder mix. It was well made, looking quite similar to Anton. Inspecting it, you remembered putting the vibrator inside the toy before curing, seeing the small battery lid peaking out.

You looked around for batteries, finding some to put into the toy. Switching it on the dildo had a light vibration, nothing strong but nothing weak. You debated whether it was the time to use this. It was rather soon but you could tease him with a video. See if he would reply with something back, even if it was just pictures.

You walked to your bedroom, setting it on your nightstand for later. After some thought, you set it up on the floor. You were already planning on using it, why not now?

You started cleaning up your bed, sweeping the floor where you were going to record, hanging a flat sheet over the edge of your bed as a backdrop. Stripping your clothes, you set up your phone on a makeshift phone stand before setting the dildo into view. You dimmed the lighting before checking your phone to see how grainy it looked, after some adjustment you found the right angles and light to start.

Adjusting your phone, you hit record before beginning to grind against the toy.

You felt nervous, never doing any kind of sex video before, this felt exposing, even if it was just going to Anton. Feeling it graze against your clit and dripping core as you imagined how Anton would see this. Would he grow hard? Excuse himself away? Would he send a video back?

You felt yourself sigh and moan as you thought of the possibilities. Moving on top of the toy, you began teasing your slit with the head, thinking of Anton and how he's always tease you before pushing in. Sliding down, you felt yourself moan louder as the toy filled you. You slid all the way down, unlike when you're with Anton. You'd usually need prep and time to fully take him, but your neediness and wet pussy perfectly took him.

"Anton." You moaned.

You stayed sat on the dildo, relaxing your muscles before adjusting your legs to begin bouncing. Feeling the dragging feeling of your walls against the silicone was different, the way you could really feel how much you clenched around the girth of the toy.

You leaned forward, putting weight on your hands as you kept the silhouette of the toy in frame. You watched how the toy continued disappearing into your core as you slid back onto it, carefully moving to go back to your first position.

The more you shifted and changed, the more of your slick you saw drip down the toy. You moved your hand down and rubbed your clit, feeling shocks of pleasure wash over your body. Your thighs twitched inwards, trying to close around your hand.

"Anton."

Your thighs began aching, adding to the overwhelming stimulation of the dildo. You continued going faster as your breath grew quicker. Wordless moaning escaped you as you continued fantasizing about Anton.

You felt yourself grow hot and desperate, bouncing harder as your legs tightened and continued rubbing your clit. Feeling a long drawn out moan escape you, you froze as your orgasm hit you.

Harsh, deep breathes were the only sound as you tried catching your breath. Sliding off of the toy, a thick trail of cum connected you to the dildo, incredibly visible to the camera. You popped it off of the floor for a second before switching on the vibration.

Sliding back down, you tried stifling your moans. Grasping onto your breast to tweak your nipple as your other hand continued rubbing your clit.

“I’m gonna cum so fucking hard.”

You bounced lightly onto the toy, only going an inch or two up from the base. The vibrating feeling so deep inside you was addicting, needing to feel it for a little while longer.

You sat down, almost flushed to the very base of the dildo, rocking your hips into your hard as your fingers slipped and rubbed along your wet clit. Your harsh breathes and tight core signaled your orgasm. Feeling that white, hot sensation you came as you laid your hand against the floor. You tried keeping yourself held up as you came, overstimulating yourself with the continuous vibration.

You carefully slid off of the toy, seeing a stronger, messier trail of cum as you flipped off the vibrator.

"Love you." You said before turning the recording off.

Setting the dildo to the side to clean, you opened your messages to send this to Anton with the caption "I miss you :("

[weirdmageddon]

first i wanna say whenever i said “differentiation” above i actually meant “individuation”. sorry got them mixed up they’re kinda similar words

#op had no clue you were looking at the tags thank you for the very #very smart addition with all your sources (wow) #felt like I was reading a paper I felt educated! #I love how I didn’t get that into what I was trying to say in tags but you completed my thought anyways #multiple times I went ‘that’s EXACTLY what I’m saying’

whaaat of COURSE i'm looking at the tags. i soak up what people have to say like a sponge. i think i was looking for a discussion and you got the ball rolling by bringing new information to the table i didn't know, but immediately knew how it fit into all the connections i've made, and i accidentally just gave birth to an essay?

i swear i wasn't even intending it to be a full-fledged essay. i just have a lot to say. there is a LOT i keep in my head because i don’t expect most people to have as in-depth of an understanding as me about it, but when it can actually pass as relevant to a discussion i’m so happy to be able to put it out there without alienating myself. from my perspective, twas a normal post for me to make when i have a lot of information i've been sitting on. and i like citing sources so that people can read more if they're interested. but this is probably unusual or for most of the people reading this, i mean who else have you seen casually posting something like this, BE REAL

also, YES "that is EXACTLY what i'm saying" that is one of my favorite feelings ever. i live for that. so glad i could expand on your thoughts!

#also jung in the houseeee!! idk if it’s just my family but we love jung over here #I really gotta read up on it my grandma is a therapist who practices only in jungian(?) #clearly im uneducated on the proper word here it’s also 4 am so forgive me #anyways yeah my gma big into jung then my mom and my brother and I was just talking about the dream book he has today #so I went ‘omg! Jung!’ while reading this #it’s always so nice to see someone with knowledge and passion throw down #I was just gonna stick to canon or in text examples

canon or in-text examples are great too, they’rereally the basis for everything. but i see connections between my interests and can’t help but smash them together in a way that deepens them individually cause they complement each other.

personality typology, carl jung’s ideas, socionics, etc. are given living breathing context to manifest within so it's not just a cerebral abstract theory. it’s reunited with the substance that these psychodynamic theories originated from in the first place.

the venture bros is inextricable from its creators because so much of themselves and their experiences are put into the show. i remember doc once said in some interview “we plumb our own lives”. in the commentary jackson said one of the streets in the show was designed based on a block from his childhood and that these are the same kinds of steps he'd sit on. or in the art book, “what’s one of the most embarrassing things that happened to me in my life that i can write from?” their philosophy is both very “write from what you know” (that’s also what i do). so analysis of the show and its characters, and by necessary extension, the creators, is deepened with tools that allow the analysis into the nature of self that complements the development of characters.

#also I didn’t want to get too into it in my tags bc I do feel uncomfortable theorizing the existence of a character #bc I knew Jackson mom passing had to be such a strong part of him but I felt uncomfortable going into that #they also made this show in their 20s? 30s?#the time frame where you end up thinking about your identity #there’s a commentary where doc mentions he at the time couldn’t let go of internally gay bashing himself #a thing his bullies did that he has now internalize but he found it weird bc he’s so old now and alone so why is he doing it? #and then I went there it is there is that proof I needed to know this is a breathing art

to tell you the truth, when i was writing i actually wasn't thinking about that at all. “feeling uncomfortable theorizing the existence of a character because you knew jackson's mom passing had to be such a strong part of him but felt uncomfortable going into that”. so reading you think that made me feel a smidge guilty/embarrassed in hindsight now for not even considering that. because, yeah, i don’t know jackson in person, i’ve never interacted with him personally. but i know enough about him as a person just through the show itself and how he reveals his personality through his relationship with doc hammer, his own words, his actions and writing decisions and that makes me just…..objectively confident about what he can handle?

i think the reason i didn’t feel uncomfortable talking about it is because i have no reason to think that jackson himself would mind it if he were to hypothetically read this. i don’t think i’m being presumptuous when i say i believe he’d find it interesting and insightful that i linked those things. i think he’d find it a lot more interesting and perceptive than... i dunno, a lot of the interview questions they’ve been asked? from my perspective it's like a “hey, i see you” kind of thing.

i mean come on they had the episode Assisted Suicide which LITERALLY depicts rusty’s id, ego, and super-ego as characters with their own clever designs and shit (it was written by doc hammer but still jackson publick was part of the production and the idea of it.) i really doubt either of them are averse to psychological exploration, so long as it comes from an informed foundation and not someone who literally doesn't know what they're talking about.

like yeah it is personal in the sense that it is personal to his life, but that doesn’t necessarily mean uncomfortably sensitive. you can talk about personal things and still have an ability to neutrally reason about it as a fact of life, or even joke about it. if you think about it that's basically what the whole show kind of is. that’s a big part of the actual spiritual composition of the show, right? (and based on comments i've read around, that's probably why it's got an antidepressant effect for a lot of people.)

as doc says, "we grew up weird and we're doing our best to just spread our version of love. Which is trying to find out who we are." well that's exactly what i'm doing too. exploring psychological forces is the stroke that's underlying the entire show. “how did these actions affect the internal development and emotional development of xyz”. i believe that's part of why why the narrative is so effective and plays off the character's dynamics so well and how they organically evolve.

(p.s. i’d love to have a new edition of the art book that accounts for the movie, assuming they’re not under some NDA about the scrapped season 8 ideas.)

and you’re right it IS breathing art. that’s how the show was made. the creative process was more spontaneous than having the whole thing planned out.

10:28

Chris: But I want to talk about the creative process here. I think fans of Venture Brothers will know the feeling that there’s this kind of amazing tension that drives the show, between planning and discovery. And you’ll have whole seasons or specific episodes that are kind of these amazingly intricate clockwork plots with these insane payoffs, but then there’s also this element of pure discovery, of something that was a toss-off joke or someone who happened to be a background character in one scene, because they were a background character in that scene having to become a main character three seasons later. So, I was just wondering... could you speak to that tension between planning and discovery?

Jackson: Uhh, more discovery than planning. And then just having a dumb memory and ticking on stupid things. And always like, from day one, the least important background character... I insisted that everybody look a little interesting. You know, like everbody’s appearance implied a story we weren’t telling you. And that paid off a few times. We got a few main characters out of that, ultimately. You know, like White and Billy were just these two weirdos at a science convention. And Doc was like, “I wanna write for the little eyepatch metal hand guy. Why does he have that?” You know? And then once you start doing that, you're like... “I gotta tell the story of how he got his metal hand! Cause I got nothing else.”

Chris: Yeah.

Jackson: So yeah, mostly discovery and accident and uh... mental catalogue of everything... that, you know... that sits in the back of your memory for years and these molecules just bounce off of each other.

Doc: Yeah. And we talk about these characters- we spoke in their voices for months. (Jackson laughs) Every day, at the expense of every relationship we’ve ever been in. (Jackson laughs harder) When we invented Sgt. Hatred’s voice, the guy at the deli-

Jackson: Oh my god... (wheezing laughing)

Doc: The guy at the DELI was like “what is WRONG with you”, I’m like, “(Hatred's voice) Eyeah, I’ll be havin”…

Jackson: (laughing)

Doc: “The black and white...”

Jackson: (mic peaking, Hatred's voice) “EYEAH go ahead and uh Slap auh smidge a mustard on that, would ya?”

Doc: Through the voice we developed the character, and everything came from that. And since we’re obsessive about these voices and these characters, we lived them... We can’t have a conversation for more than ten minutes without doing an impression of one of our characters. And usually ones we don’t do. So you get to hear our horrible impressions of each other. That is just the way we thought.

Sean: So this season, why did you decide to explore so much of the Venture past?

Doc: Did we?

Jackson: Did we?

Doc: I think the season before this we got even crazier. We had to answer Billy questions that nobody asked.

Jackson: Right. Yeah, that was the season with old Billy, ORB, uhh..

Doc: Yeah. We went 100 years into the Venture past. So this one we kinda stayed...

Jackson: We did a little Spanakopita, we did a little um, in the Rose stuff and the... but those were pretty quick flashbacky things.

Doc: Little quick flashbacks...

Jackson: But also the show is all about these people who are kinda.. haunted by, and trying to live up to their pasts and what the promise of what their life was supposed to be like. And it’s... the history is constantly pouring more shit down on their heads. Like, we’ve always had a show where things come back to get you like that.

Doc: Even things that happened so long ago and nobody knew about until that moment. Yeah, we work in past, present, future... it’s that kinda show.

#vbros is still to me and morel Orel shows that are created with intention #and by people who were working through a thought so clear you can see it from space #and that intention is something so interesting and unique #anyway amazing analysis

you’re also so right, and thank you for kind words

if i had the opportunity to talk to doc and jackson, i’d love to see what they have to say about what we touched on: about hank’s developmental arc always feeling like it would fit the end of the vbros and kind of culminating in its overarching theme of individuation (whether they explicitly knew it or not. it’s in the material no matter what because that’s what organically happened to the show itself), and what they had wanted to do with him before they had to cut it down to movie size. was hank going to really Go Through the psychological ringer or what. how much were we going to see of that that was cut out.

also the unintentional retreading of jungian ideas in the show (though a lot of superhero stuff is about playing with identity in these ways that could be examined through analytical psychology like bruce banner and his other side, the hulk.) i wanna hear about how playing with the self and personalities and self-discovery factors into it all. hank’s alter-egos being a personification of psychic structures, or complexes/sub-personalities? (was i right about my interpretation?)

how similar is the relationship hank has to his alter-egos to the relationship jackson publick has to hank and the monarch as characters he created? like hank's alter-egos, they could both be considered autonomous mini-personalities stemming from jackson’s own self, as he said hank (and monarch) contained the most of him, drawn from his “own dumb thoughts, actions, and misbeliefs”. like a meta fractal thing. and that’s part of the creative process just as much as anything else about the show, probably one of the most vital to the quality of the characters yet subconscious and not really talked about. i'd looove to dive into that with them.

especially with hank’s no mommy plotline and how personal that was to hank, which reflects jackson’s reality. we can’t really see who worked on what scenes since the movie was collaborative, but i want to know who was writing hank. his emotions felt so authentic but it also felt big because we’ve never seen hank so serious, you could feel a shift with hank buckling down which made it feel important. my guess would be jackson since his understanding would enable him to channel that masterfully into hank which makes it so compelling. but i could be wrong since i know doc said he can write eight pages for psychological issues (look at me doing it too god fucking damn it) but writing action is like a tiny footnote.

basically i wanna talk to them about everything i said up to this point in this post. if anyone reading this has connections, get me in contact. i’m invested in this now.

whereas dean was tormented by being a clone and hank wasn’t, not having a mom or mother figure seemed to torment hank a lot more than dean which is interesting.

[writteninthesewalls28]

Racing Psychology

Summary: The morning after her first interaction with Lando is not the easiest, but a surprise is waiting for Josie.

Please read part one if you haven't already.

Warnings: swearing

I woke up with the worst headache in my entire life. I slowly opened my eyes, but immediately closed them again as the bright light burned painfully in my sleepy, hungover eyes. I let out a groan. 

What happened last night? Everything was a blur, all I could remember were the most extraordinary blue-green-ish eyes staring right into mine. And then the memories hit me like a truck.

I broke up with Lukas. And then met Lando at a bar. Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver that not only one student at uni had a crush on, he brought me home. Or atleast that is what he must’ve done because I certainly forgot that part of last night. 

I opened my eyes again and found myself lying in my bed in my apartment not far from the university I studied at. I couldn’t remember actually walking up these stairs or saying goodbye to Lando, but I must’ve, right? Or else I wouldn’t be here. My memories faded away once I sat in his car after fleeing from Lukas. Did I fall asleep?

I got up, in the desperate need for an aspirin or anything that stops the continuous pounding in my head. I left my bedroom and crossed a mirror in the hallway on my way to the kitchen and saw that I was still wearing the jeans and the shirt from yesterday night. So maybe it indeed was Lando who brought me up here and put me in bed. A warm feeling flooded my stomach making up pictures in my head of how he carries me up the stairs to my apartment and lays me down on my bed. 

Reaching the kitchen, I was surprised once more. On the counter stood a glass filled with water with an aspiring and a little note right next to it. 

I took the note in my hand and read it. “Bet you need that. Text me how you’re doing. L.” He had written his phone number under the few words and I couldn’t help it but smiled to myself. Not only did he have a beautiful, nearly vintage handwriting, I never thought a combination of numbers on a sheet of paper could let my heart rate rise like that. 

The phone number of Lando Norris. He wanted me to text him. I first took the medicine and then walked through my apartment trying to find my phone somewhere and finally saw it right next to my bed on the nightstand. First I checked the time and found out that I must’ve been asleep for roughly 10 hours now. It was already 3 in the afternoon and I had 4 missed calls and one begging text message from Lukas that I would definitely ignore, no matter if he continued with this weird way of getting me back or not. Even though it seemed completely different last night, I did not want him back, I did not need him for my own happiness.

I typed in Landos number and hesitated whether I should call him straight away or just send him a short message thanking him for his help last night and saying that I was okay. One option would make me appear desperate, the other like I did not want any more contact with him and my fast-pounding heart in my chest definitely told me otherwise. 

I sat down on the bar stools on my kitchen counter and stared at his contact for at least another 4 minutes before I simply clicked the calling button and waited for someone to pick up. I was a grown ass woman and I could call a guy after he brought me home, right? 

After the fourth dial tone, my left foot was bouncing anxiously up and down on the bar stool and I was convinced he wouldn’t pick up and I just had to send him a message instead, when I suddenly heard a sleepy “Yeah?” coming out of my phone. 

“Hey, here’s Josie. Sorry, I did not want to wake you up.” I greeted him and immediately felt extremely bad for having the horrible idea of calling him in the first place.

“Josie.” Did I hallucinate again or did his voice slightly lit up when he said my name? “No, don’t worry. It’s good that you woke me up, if I would have slept even longer, the jetlag would’ve killed me tomorrow.” I heard the smile in his voice and immediately felt my mood rise as well. “How are you though?” 

“The hangover is pretty brutal, but it could be worse. I just wanted to say thank you for– everything, I guess.” I laughed and I lost my nervosity of speaking with a true celebrity with every word I said and it felt just like last night when I first met him. 

“No need to thank me. You would’ve done the same thing for me.” Lando answered and his voice felt like balsam for my soul. I heard him taking a breath and mumbling a quiet “Fuck it.” under his breath before he then said: “Listen, Josie. I would love to see you again. Are you free on Sunday to watch my race? We could meet up after that and have a little chat maybe.”

I took a sharp breath because that invitation totally came out of nowhere and I couldn’t have predicted that when I called him a few minutes ago.

“Yeah.. I mean– sure.” I stammered. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I can take a no.” Lando interpreted my words in the wrong way. His voice was shaking a little and I smiled to myself, noticing that he was nervous. Lando Norris was nervous asking me out. 

“No, it’s not that.” I laughed. “You just caught me off guard there and Formula 1 is not really my thing.” 

“That’s not a problem if you don’t want to watch the race, we can also only meet afterwards.” 

I wanted to agree, no crowded places and people screaming and shouting for me I guess, but then I hesitated. Did I really want to miss out on this big opportunity of experiencing Formula 1 live? Other people would kill for this. 

“You know what? I changed my mind, I would love to come.” I told him instead.

“That’s great. I will send you the details later, see you tomorrow, Josie. I am happy that you are coming.” 

We hung up and I found my heart beating fast in my chest as if it had to compete against Lando’s car. 

“I'm gonna meet him again,” I mumbled under my breath and an excited grin appeared on my face that also wasn’t gone after showering last night off my body and changing into more comfortable clothes.

The chance of seeing Lando and his perfect eyes again made me the happiest girl on the planet. Maybe even in the universe. 

In the afternoon, I was on my way to the university’s library to meet up with one of my closest friends for a study session. Having experienced so many crazy things in less than a day, it actually felt rather awkward doing something as normal as thinking about my studies when I would literally meet Lando again tomorrow. 

As I walked into the huge, calming library, I immediately saw Nico only ten feet away from me sitting at one of the round tables with her laptop in front of her. She waved at me as she saw me and I walked up to her with a mysterious grin on my face that I can’t seem to be washing off my face today. 

“Where is that big smile coming from?” She asked me even before I could hand my thin jacket over the back of the chair. She turned away from her laptop, clearly excited for my news, whatever they were. 

I let her wait until I had also packed out my laptop and noticed the anticipation growing inside of her.

“Where should I start?” I first said and then proceeded to tell her about my rough break up with Lukas and how I found out he cheated. It was still not the easiest thing for me to talk about and I felt tears growing inside of me, but I managed to push them back down where they belonged right npw. When I came to the point of meeting Lando in the bar, I was unsure whether or not to tell her who he really was, but I simply risked it. “And then there was a guy at the bar sitting next to me and we chatted a bit and you know who that was? Lando Norris.” 

Nico’s eyes widened in shock and she let out a gasp. “No way. No fucking way.” She breathed out and looked at me as if I had just told her that unicorns are real.  

“And it gets even better.” I let out the part of meeting Lukas there and him bringing me home and just skipped to the part of our call in the morning. 

“You are going to his race?!” Nico raised her voice and grabbed my hands in pure shock. I shushed her. 

“Please keep your voice down though. I don’t want everyone to know, alright?” I asked her and she quickly nodded. 

“Makes sense. But oh my god, Josie. That is the wildest story I have ever heard.” She leaned in closer to me and whispered in my ear: “Imagine he falls in love with you and you have a relationship with a racing driver.” 

I shake my head in shock. Why didn’t that idea come to my mind earlier? “I couldn’t do that, I first have to finish my master and he is travelling around the world, I am sure he wouldn’t want some long distance thing.” I shake my head in an attempt to rub off all these overwhelming thoughts. They are for later to worry about. “And besides, he could have anyone, why would he pick me then? Plus, I don’t even think I am ready for a new relationship yet.” 

“But you do find him attractive, right?” The knowing tone in Nico’s voice left no room for imagination and I couldn’t help but think about his lips on mine in a passionate kiss. How would they taste? How would he taste? 

“Yeah, I do.” I answered my best friend and buried my face in my hands before letting out a muffled groan. 

Still not looking up, I felt Nico’s soft touch on my arm. “It’s okay, Josie. You don’t need your entire life planned before it even happens.” 

I slowly look up into her concerned eyes. “But am I not supposed to be heartbroken because of Lukas?” 

She let out a sigh. “You are not supposed to be anything, girl. You decide what you want to be, and if you want to get to know a hot Formula 1 driver then that’s the way life is taking you.” 

“And if I don’t know what I want at the moment?” 

She shrugged. “Give yourself options, before he asks you to move in with him or cancel your master for him, you are not obligated to do or be anything for him.” 

I slowly nodded, unsure what to think of her advice. 

“But Josie, may I say one thing that might be hard to hear?” She waited for my nod. “Don’t overthink everything and let that ruin all the fun moments. Just go to the race, have fun and get to know Lando. If you don’t try something, you won’t know.” 

[0deathpainting0]

first date

choso x f!reader

summary: yuji helps choso get a date with you before choso deletes the dating app

warnings: fluff that made me want to bite a brick x and some swear words

a/n: prob the softest shit i’ve ever written 

w/c: 2.2k

                                        ≽^•⩊•^≼

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“Dude the point is to actually talk to girls.” Yuji watches as Choso swipes past every girl on his screen. 

“I’m looking.” he mumbles. 

“Barely.” Yuji groans. “I can’t even tell their hair color before you swipe..” he rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t need your help to look.” he goes to swipe and stops his thumb. 

“Finally!” he watches as Choso actually taps to the next picture and then the next. “You like herrrr.” he shakes Choso’s shoulders. 

“Get off, you’re an idiot.” he glares at him. Yuji snatches his phone and Choso’s eyes widen. “Stop.” he lunges at him. 

“Just tryna like her for you.” Yuji pushes Choso back while he swipes up, using a super like. “Ohhh it’s a match.” he shows him the screen. 

“Why’d you use a super like?” he groans, wiping his face. 

“Doesn’t matter, it's a match.” he grins. “What should I say?” 

“Nothing.” Choso’s eyes go wide. “Delete the app. I don’t want to do this anymore.” he goes to snatch his phone back but Yuji is across the room already typing furiously before Choso can take the phone back. 

choso: heyyy wanna go out?

“Are you serious?” Choso stares down at his phone. “Why did you use so many ‘y’s?” he exits the app and goes to delete it but a ding comes from his phone. 

“Did she respond?” Yuji gasps. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Check.” Yuji nods with a smile. 

“No. I’m deleting it.” he narrows his eyes but his thumb hovers over the app debating on opening it. 

“Lemme see.” he grabs the phone again and Choso groans watching Yuji type. He collapses back on the couch giving up for the moment deciding to read the conversation when he’s done. 

you: when?

choso: tonight?

you: really? 

choso: yeah or i’ll get too nervous and back out 

Yuji giggles as he sees the bubbles appear and disappear. Choso sinks deeper into the couch wanting to just be swallowed whole by it. 

you: same so meet in an hour then? before we both have time to back out?

choso: yeah fs meet me at the restaurant on the corner of main and 3rd

you: okie

“Go get ready, you have to meet her downtown in an hour.” Yuji tosses Choso his phone back.

“What? No. Dude no. Are you joking?” Choso groans, opening his phone and going through the messages. 

“Go get ready.” he starts to walk to Choso’s room. “Let’s go.” 

“Fuck.” he softly curses before pulling himself off the couch. “I hate you.” he mumbles as he sees Yuji pulling out different things from his closet. 

“Wear this shirt.” Yuji tosses him a shirt. 

“I can dress myself.” Choso grumbles, pulling off his hoodie. 

“Just put it on and fix your hair.” he waves him off. “Dude literally all of your clothes are black.” 

“And?” he walks into his bathroom and starts to tighten the ties in his hair. “Why do I have to do this?” he looks at himself in the mirror. 

“Cause you’ve never been on a date and you’re like super old.” Yuji pops his head in and pushes a pair of pants into his hands. 

“I don’t know what to say to her. Am I supposed to bring something?” he starts to think about everything that could possibly go wrong. 

“This is just getting to know each other. Go in with no expectations and you’ll be good.” Yuji says from the other side of the door as he finishes changing. “But pay for dinner.” he nods to him when he steps out. “And compliment her.”

“I don’t know if I should do this.” Choso sighs. “What if she doesn’t even show up?” 

“Then get food to go and we’ll hang out and eat.” Yuji shrugs. “She’ll be missin out though..” Choso glares at his grin knowing that- “Cause you look so cute! Ohh don’t start pouting Cho, it makes you even cuter.” 

“Are you done?” he blinks at his brother. 

“Yeah cause you gotta go.” he nods to the door. “Remember compliments and pay for dinner.” he opens the front door for him. 

Choso sighs and walks out the door. He looks up at the setting sun and starts the short walk trying not to overthink. Of course then his mind races with everything that could go wrong. You were gorgeous in your pictures. Your smile, your eyes. He shakes his head not knowing if he’ll be able to handle seeing you in person but he’s almost desperate to. He quickens his pace not wanting to be late in the off chance that you’ll actually grace him with your presence.

After a couple more blocks the restaurant is finally coming into view and he can’t get a handle on his nerves. Is he supposed to wait outside for you? Check if you’re already inside? Maybe he should message you. Or Yuji. He doesn’t know what to do and now he’s stopping under the restaurant sign. He takes a deep breath and walks to the bench across from the front doors to collect himself. 

“Choso?” he turns his head and has to remind his knees to hold himself up. He stares at you and you tilt your head. “Or?” your brows furrow. 

“It’s me, yeah.” he clears his throat. “Hi.” he continues to stare at you. 

“Are you okay?” you blink up at him hoping he’s not upset with the way you look. 

“Yeah.” he shakes his head. “Sorry, you’re just so.. Beautiful.” the blush that spreads across your cheeks has his knees weakening once more. 

“Thank you.” you chew your lip. 

“Do you wanna get some food?” he nods to the restaurant behind you. 

“I would like that.” you offer him a small smile. 

He walks to the doors and opens one for you and you offer him a whispered thanks. You’re both led to a table and offered menus which you both look at as if there will be a test on them. Every time he glances at you he’s thankful he’s sitting down and flicks his eyes back to the menu. You peek at him from over your menu and try not to swoon at how perfect he is. A perfect mix of cute and devastatingly attractive. He looks up and finds you staring at him before your eyes widen and you look down at your menu. 

“I’m sorry.. I’m bad at conversation and..” he can’t even look at you but he can feel your eyes on him. “I dunno if I’m supposed to tell you that I’ve never been on a date but like I haven’t and..” he clamps his mouth shut to stop his nervous ramblings. 

“Me neither.” you whisper and his eyes snap up to you. 

“Really?” he feels his shoulders relax a bit. 

“Guys don’t really like to go on dates anymore.” you mumble and he tilts his head. “Everyone just wants to hook up.” you look back down at the menu. 

“I don’t want to hook up with you.” you flush deeper at his words. “Well I..” he groans at his stupidity. “I wanna take you on dates first.” you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest at his words. “I’m sorry, I should stop talking.” he shakes his head. 

“No, it’s okay.” you nod. “I’m nervous too.” you offer him a smile when his eyes meet yours. 

“Is there something I should be doing better?” you shake your head quickly. 

“No. I think you’ve been very kind.” he feels relief at your words. You both fall into a silence once more but it’s more relaxed. You place your orders and look at each other now that the menus have been taken. “Tell me about yourself.” you watch his eyes widen slightly. 

“I just live with my younger brother.” he shrugs. “Video games, reading, tv..” he internally groans at how pathetic he sounds. “I’m sorry if that’s lame.” 

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” you watch his cheeks faintly flush. 

“Well I feel like I’m doing really bad.” he fidgets with his fingers. 

“You’re not.” the smile on your face reassures him all the more. 

“Thank you.” he offers you a small smile that makes yours widen.

The food is brought out and you both begin to eat. You can’t believe how sweet he is and you find it absolutely adorable at how shy he is. Every time you glance at him you find him already looking before he quickly averts his eyes. He’s positive you’re the most perfect girl he’s ever met and he wants to know more about you but he’s terrified to ask. He looks up at you and finds you waiting with a smile and he looks away again. 

“So what made you decide you needed to have your first date tonight?” he looks up from his food at your question. 

“My brother kinda forced me.” he furrows his brows when your face slightly falls. “You were the first girl I looked at. Like actually? I don’t..” he shakes his head mad that he ever opened his mouth and thought he could speak to you. “You’re just so pretty. I didn’t even think you would show up..” you watch as his cheeks flush again. 

“I didn’t think you would show up either to be honest.” his face scrunches at your words. 

“I would be stupid to not show up.” he shakes his head. “Though I think I’m stupid for showing up too. I keep saying stupid things.” he sighs, looking down at his food once more. 

“I think it’s kinda cute.” his eyes snap up to yours and you watch a blush bloom across his face. 

“You don’t have to say that I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to say something. You can think I’m stupid if you want. Fuck.” he whispers the last word. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why does he keep talking?

“I think you’re cute.” you nod and his eyes widen. 

“Well I think you’re cuter.” he swears his heart stops at your giggle. 

The conversation for the rest of your meal is light and surprisingly flows well. He was finally able to relax and not over think everything he said. He paid the bill as Yuji instructed and was rewarded with your smile once more. He leads you out of the restaurant and you both stand there lingering and not sure what to do next. 

“I um.. I could walk you home?” he tilts his head and scratches his neck. “In like a friendly way of course.” he nods. “Or is that too much? But it’s late and I would like to walk you home so you’re at least safe.” he clears his throat. 

“I would like it if you walked me home.” you nod. “And maybe fumble your words for another five minutes about how we should hold hands to be even safer.” you chuckle watching his cheeks tint.

“You wanna hold my hand?” he searches your eyes. 

“Yeah.” you nod and slip your hand into his. “This way.” you squeeze his hand and start to lead him in the direction of your place. 

“So can we go on a second date?” he glances down at you. 

“Yeah, that comes after the first.” you smile up at him. 

“So you didn’t think I was too stupid?” he watches you roll your eyes. 

“I did,” his brows furrow. “But your cuteness outweighs it.” you give his hand a squeeze. As you round the next corner you start to frown seeing your building. You slowly come to a stop and turn to him. “Thank you for the walk home.” he nods quickly. 

“Of course, thank you for letting me.” he tries not to think about how you’re still holding onto his hand. 

“Message me when you get home. I want to know you’re safe too.” your soft voice takes his words away and he just nods. 

“I will.” he tries not to pout when you finally take your hand back.

“Thank you for dinner, Choso.” you internally groan at how his pout makes him even cuter.

“Of course.” he nods. “Have a good night.” he smiles as you offer him a small wave before walking into your building. 

He replays the entire date over from start to finish the entire walk home. Your perfect smile and when it was paired with your giggle he’s sure he could die on site. You were so sweet and he thought he ruined the date at least ten different times but you kept reassuring him. He can’t wait to tell Yuji and thank him for actually making him do this. Then he gets to message you and set up another date. He can’t wipe the smile from his face when he enters the front door. 

“How’d it go?” Yuji jumps up from the couch and waits with a grin. Choso goes through the entire night down to every last detail and ends with him walking you home. “So did you kiss her?” Choso’s eyes get wide.

“No but I held her hand.” he nods with a smile. 

“That’s sweet dude,” he’s genuinely happy for his brother. “Well you go message her this time. Mm,” he hums, getting Choso’s attention again. “Try to get her number so it feels more real than an app.” he nods. 

“Thank you,” Choso nods back at him. “I guess I owe you dinner.” he turns and closes himself into his room for the night. 

choso: i’m home 

choso: thank you for going out w me 

choso: can i have your number? 

choso: the app is good too whatever you prefer

choso: i’m sorry im being stupid again 

you: *number sent*

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                                      masterlist

the cuteness aggression w this fic was real fr