#i'll make it through so much more. & it will be enough for me each time. enough for me to accept the reality of life

[nights-at-crystarium]

Okay this's a long post, but I'm BEGGING you to slow down and read the above stuff. The general sentiment's bleak and depressing, though, whether you're a creator or a reader, we're all stuck in this current reality.

In our xiv corner, I noticed that some people actually begin to look up to my work as an inspiration and a success story. While this "success" keeps being shaky and uncertain, I have to keep promoting my work like cursed in order to stay in the same place, I AM able to work on Fragments full time and have a home and eat, so I guess that qualifies as success these days. I hope this doesn't come across as bragging, in face of horrors I simply want to provide a positive example, to acknowledge how lucky and privileged I am that, despite everything, there are still enough people that love and support Fragments.

I'm in my 30s, but I've never had any real comic aspirations, no ocs that I dreamt of since I was a child. So, while I emotionally resonate with the jaded creators in this post, my story's a bit different. I'm forever a fanartist, a fandom dweller that tried making something out of pure love, and it happened to be in a fandom large and active enough to pick up.

It began in 2022, in the hellish post-apocalyptic socmed landscape that I've been able to navigate only because I have a decently analytical, "seller" mindset, and a lot of spite for the evil that took away MY internet. They shit all over my home, now I'm fighting tooth and nail to keep the tiny island that keeps shrinking every year (the censorship, the algorithms, the conservative and purist idiots). Audience becomes more and more shallow, hard to please (the oversaturation, everyone's an artist now), hard to grab (everything has to be FLASHY!!!!! Bite-sized, instant gratification), trained by twitter and tiktok to consume without giving anything back.

Making a comic (or fics, or regular art, anything) isn't hard. It's nice and fun. It's more accessible than ever now! But getting it out there? Will you have enough mental fortitude to keep pushing your work, day after day, for months, for years? If you stop showing up on people's feeds, you're forgotten. But what if there isn't enough new material to show? Not everyone can churn out a new art every day. Recycling old stuff? A part of you dies whenever you do that. Creators are also scared to interact and support each other due to the cancel culture, so everyone's on their own now. At least I am. I write, I draw, I publish, I promote. To say it's exhausting is to say nothing.

You have to conform. To make attention-grabbing visuals, to sterilize what words you type (unless you're on tumblr, bless) so that your post isn't dumped to trash by algorithm for having "support" or "dead" or "fuck" in it. Even if you jumped through all of those hoops, there's still a risk that people don't care for some reason. Try again.

One of the above posters expressed that to make comics is to be punk again, and boy does it resonate with me. I have so much anger and frustration and spite in me, I'll fight and retaliate until it literally kills me. My way of fighting is holding onto the one good thing that I have in my life, working on Fragments and then being a freak about it with my readers. Fragments is a mature work, it has the ~problematic~ shit that'll make the tiktok-brainrotted people clutch their pearls. Good. It doesn't even conform to the classic comic/manga layout, it's something else entirely, not even because I'm so desperate to be original, but because I do what works for me, what's easier to draw, what brings me joy. The entire comic's punk as hell in every way imaginable. And yet, it managed to find enough other punks that love it just the way it is. It's been 3 years, and I'm still blown away.

I'm a confident person, I know what I'm doing, I LOVE what I'm doing, I HAVE FUN (until I have to promote the goddamn thing again). My work's unusual and it'll probably never stop being niche. However, it's got just enough vibe to attract my tribe, for which I'm grateful. Just wanted to say don't give up, random person thinking of making a comic, be yourself, do whatever the fuck you want, prepare to endure a lot and then some more, but it might just work out for you even in 2025.

P.S. One last thing!! Never give in to the perfectionism. Done is better than perfect. Draw and move on, even if you feel dissatisfied with it. Chances are, you're your harshest critic, and no one else will notice the thing that drives you crazy. Don't get caught up in the loop of doom where you wanna redraw/rewrite what you've already published. MOVE THE FUCK ON. KEEP WALKING FORWARD.

In your view/experience. is the rate of "incompleteness" among webcomics more or less the nature of online personal projects as a whole? Or is there something specific to webcomics like laboriousness, audience expectations, relative medium infancy or whatnot?

well for one thing webcomics has changed significantly in the last ten years. it used to have a much lower barrier for entry, just get a smackjeeves account or set up a website with a wordpress plugin. starting a webcomic when i started my webcomic vs starting a webcomic now are totally different experiences.

so i can only speak to people who started their webcomics roughly ten years ago. and roughly ten years ago a lot of us were a whole lot younger with a lot more time and energy to spend on a comic for free. this part is probably still somewhat true for new artists.

but then you get older. your ideas change. your skill develops and the old stuff isn't as good. or you don't have as much time, you got a day job. unless you're one of like five people on earth your webcomic is not paying your rent. you need to make money. your shoulder hurts. you're 30 now. you're struggling to make updates on time between whatever else makes you happy and what else you need to do to live. you wrote this story when you were 21, you don't relate to it anymore, you have different ideas, you've grown up, your audience has noticeably dropped off from the peak, social media managing is hard, you have to go to work, you're so tired, all the time.

it's a lot of things.

[meiguicha]

Another Dawn Rises Once More

Phainon x Reader - Modern AU

The morning of a nightmare, there's nothing more he needs than to reaffirm his reality

note: mild 3.4 spoilers and also basically his entire character trailer, mention of character deaths

//listen to toodles' wiege cover right neow that is all i beg of you. listen to it now and hold the sweet child in your arms

Through the haze of dreams and muddiness of slumber, your humming drums at his nascent senses.

Phainon doesn't feel the familiar weight besides him, some strange fire creeps up his limbs and stalls his nerves, and as the machinations of the unconscious brings only torment, a tear squeezes through.

Seas of rising flames engulf his perception as the voices, the wishes of his friends ring in his ears. One by one, over and over again, each time the same as the last, their memories, their wills and wishes weigh heavy on his shoulders and yet it continues.

It never ends. His body cracks beneath the weight of it all, of his world, and his mind more so. But he has to keep going, he has to prevent—

You aren't here.

Faraway and distant, the soft lilt of your voice, gentle hitch of your breath feels unreachable to him.

Song echoes through your small abode, singing past walls and amidst rooms, though each step brings him closer, you still remain just out of his grasp.

He finds you in the kitchen, hovering in front of an open fridge, soft light illuminating the features of your visage. You still sing, absentminded but soothing nevertheless. You don't seem to notice his presence, he doesn't expect you to, and honestly all he needed was to see you again, to confirm with his own perceptions that his reality is true.

Though, he supposes it would be unlike you to let such a matter escape your notice.

"Did I wake you?" He can hear your pout even with your head ducked into the shelves. "I got hungry, I'll be back in bit."

You close the fridge door, yet instead of continuing your late-night snacking, your face shifts to an expression too sorrowful, too shocked to properly place as wonted.

In a few quick steps, you bring yourself into his presence, reach for his hand as he averts from your searching gaze. "Hey, what happened?"

"'s nothing much, I just had a bad dream." Shaking his head, he feels you only squeeze his hand tighter.

"Your bad dreams are usually Professor Anaxagoras making you write a thesis on dromases, and you usually don't look so lost after those."

He still can't bear to look at you. How can he? How can he face you knowing that it was you who still held onto him so dearly, that even in such brutality and senselessness, you—everyone— could still believe in him?

With no response, you take him into your embrace, bring the weight of his body onto yours. And just like the dream, you hold him, your hand rests on his skin and he can feel your heartbeat, thrumming against your ribs in that gentle hum.

"....I bore the blood of everyone I ever loved, over and over again just to save the world, only to find out that it was futile in the end." Phainon's voice dies in his throat, the words crawling from his lips in a last stupor, "They begged me to stop, but if I did, they would have all died."

"It didn't matter what I did different, we were just pawns in the gods' games and there was nothing I could do." Against your skin, his breath feels too warm, too scorching. Should any more words fall, he only fears it would melt your bones and sear your tendons, just like—

"Would you hate me? If I killed you?"

"I would," You respond all too quick. No shift in lilt or tone, merely objective affirmation. Yet your hold tightens, and how gently he can feel you nuzzle against him. "You know I'm not kind enough to say otherwise."

"But more so, I think I would be sad." Something wet tinges his skin and he hears it. Phainon hears the dregs of thought, how suddenly the thought of his own suffering would be just as painful to you.

"What being would be so cruel to put you through so much suffering?"

"How can anyone look at you and believe you deserving of such a life?"

You loosen your hold, just enough to urge his gaze, to rest your brow against his. Here, he can feel how your breaths start to mingle, could count each dewy lash upon your eyes. Your heart drums in that familiar rhythm, even as your very breath cracks. Once wild in his chest, burning in his throat, as though opening his ribs to let you in, he can feel his very blood mellow in his veins.

Unlike the dream, you do not crumble beneath his gaze.

A hand reaches to cradle his face, and once more you hum, "If I had your life in my hands, I would place you in a quiet village of golden wheat and azure skies, I would let you live in paradise and lead a life of travel and companionship."

You speak as if to create, that your words could reshape reality and form worlds with just a command. And perhaps, somewhere in his bones, he would wish for it to be so.

A loving god, a kinder god, one who only wishes to see mortals live. If it truly were you, if it were you who raised the sun and held the dead, not that of golden wounds and ruinous gaze, he would have met his friends once more, would have been able to bring them to the seas of golden wheat and clear skies.

You continue, "I would watch upon you until your final moments, and when you want to experience all it again, I would let you be reborn to live again."

But you aren't, and neither is Destruction.

And though maybe the world you would birth would be kind, gentle, it would be a world without you.

Even in suffering torment, even if boiling hatred burned away everything that made him, he wouldn't want to live in a world without you.

"And if I wanted to be with you? What would you do?" He whispers.

"Then I would become human to spend eternity with you," You hum. "No matter what life you want, I would give it to you."

The noise that leaves his lips is choked, strangled with an odd joy and emotion. He would never ask for anything so much from you, to be able to love, to see you and hold you, that is enough.

Phainon smiles and just that pulls one from you as well. "If that's so, I want to go back to bed with you."

"I want to wake up to you in the morning, and I want to brush my teeth next to you."

And tonight, in this place he calls home, you'll let him hold onto you a little tighter, and he'll let you take his hands into yours to litter fleeting kisses upon. He'll hum that familiar melody as you fall to slumber, as he watches your lashes flutter and your nonsensical muttering fall from your lips.

A life he wants, when he thinks of it, it's simple.

He wants to hear you and Mydei bickering in the kitchen over five or ten cloves of garlic. He wants to laugh while you struggle to pick up Little Ica as you chide Hyacine for spoiling him. He wants to see Castorice light up when you bring up the newest chapter for your favourite series.

He wants to go out for a meal again, watching futilely as Aglaea and Professor Anaxa argue over this and that, as Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon show off their latest invention, papers scrawled in colourful doodles and exact measurements. He wants to hear you join in with Cipher hot on your heels, how your laughter from her teasing would sound.

When he thinks of it, Phainon does live in paradise, for it is a world outside of the gods' touch, for it is a world that contains everything he loves.

[screamlet]

8 or 29 for the cuddle prompts please? 👀

hahaha did someone say angst!!!!!!!! i did!!!!!!! it's me!!!!!!!!!! cuddling reluctantly (8) and last cuddle (29). 800ish words of buck and tommy at the end of the world.

---

It's weird to know, definitively, that it's his last day on earth.

Over the years, Tommy's been put through more than anyone's fair share of near-death experiences. Still, even when it was bad bad, there was always that flicker of hope that said, no, not yet, we might get out of this, this isn't the end. He had been 99% sure that he was going to die and that 1% won out again and again.

Not today, though.

He parks his truck where he and Evan had jokingly called their spot: about an hour outside the city, a couple of winding turns brought them to a small bluff that faced west to the ocean. They had gone hiking exactly twice in the six months they were together and that was enough, apparently, to make this their spot.

Evan's already there and he looks like he's been crying. Maybe Tommy does, too. God knows he had been crying on the drive up, and he had every day, randomly, for weeks. Ever since everyone earth was sure, absolutely sure, that there was no avoiding the massive meteor in the sky. It would hit the Pacific by dawn, maybe earlier.

At least they'll go first. That's what has him tear up again as he opens the truck bed and goes into the cab to grab blankets, pillows, beers, coolers, everything else he brought. He brought too much and not enough—he'd never had to think before about what he would need for the end, the end of the world.

Evan unloads the Jeep and brings things over to the truck bed: more alcohol, more blankets to lie on and keep warm, a bluetooth speaker, everything they might need for the end of the world, including a small portable grill for a quick barbecue-for-two under the eerie light of the meteor.

"I'll get the grill going," Tommy offers as they rush together, holding and gripping each other so tight. They break apart long enough to kiss, then break apart again when they start to cry.

"Why me?" Tommy presses his forehead to Evan's and rubs his hands down his arms. His eyes are shut so tight because right now, he can't actually look at the last person he's going to see alive. "You have—"

"It'll kill me," Evan chokes out. "To be with Maddie and everyone, and the kids, and know there's nothing I can do to save them. You—" Evan laughs suddenly. "You don't mind, right? That we can't save each other."

Tommy feels hysterical as he laughs through his tears, but he can't help it. "Yeah, I'm here. And everyone—we're up here all alone, and they're gonna be just fine, right?" Evan sobs as he nods. "And you and me—"

"I'm so glad you didn't have plans." Evan's laughing, too, because now there's nothing left to do but grill some burgers and hot dogs, drink some beer, and laugh at all this.

They let each other go with another fierce kiss, the only sign of their fervent, desperate sadness. "Yeah, get the grill going, I'm gonna find some music," Evan says. "Spotify has to have a playlist for this, right?"

"Search for sad gay barbecue at the end of the world," Tommy replies.

He looks over his shoulder and sees Evan changing into one of his, Tommy's, hoodies that he'd thrown on the truck bed. Evan looks at him, caught, and just shrugs.

"You'll get the real thing," Tommy says. "Promise. We're gonna hold each other so tight."

Evan looks away, his chest shaking, then turns around holding another hoodie. "Brought one of mine, too. I bought an oversized one so it'd—it'd actually fit you."

"Thanks," Tommy says. "The one I stole looked too ridiculous to wear so I just. Kept it around."

"You could've kept me around," Evan says.

"Yeah, I could have. I'm sorry." Tommy tears up again. "Evan, I never thought I'd have this."

"What?"

Tommy laughs while something in his heart howls for more time, more this, more time. "We're gonna spend the rest of our lives together. That's something, isn't it?"

Evan rolls his eyes in response, but the grin reaches his eyes, the one that crinkles at the corners when he can't help be charmed by Tommy. He didn't have enough time to see Evan smile like that, but then again it's hard to imagine that he could ever have enough.

Evan joins him at the grill with two beers and clinks their bottles together. When their eyes meet, the meteor's glow makes Evan's eyes look even more otherworldly. Haunting, beautiful, and the last thing he'll ever see in his life.

"I'm glad it's you," Evan says.

"Me too," Tommy replies. "Lucky us."

Evan kisses him again, his hand gentle on the nape of Tommy's neck. Of all the ways they have to die, Tommy thinks, then stops that thought. They're not gone yet.

[gothicpaperback]

THE WAY HE CARES | SIX | JOEL MILLER x READER

<<< PART FIVE | MASTERLIST | PART SEVEN: COMING SOON >>>

wc: 3,7k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Joel Miller x You | Enemy Pregnancy

summary: Joel Miller has been my pain-in-the-ass neighbour for years. we argue more than we speak and when we do speak, it's usually through gritted teeth. but when my doctor tells me my fertility’s running out of time, panic sets in. I want a baby and I don’t have the luxury of waiting around for Mr. Right. Joel's a damn good father to his daughter, Sarah. that much, I can’t deny. so one night, fuelled by nerves and just the right amount of wine, I ask him the unthinkable: get me pregnant. no strings.no romance. just biology. i never planned on falling for him. but nothing about Joel Miller ever goes according to plan.

while the story is first person narrative, the OC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely physically described aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: neighbours, enemies to lovers, comedy, smut, sexual tension, mentions of fertility and reproductive issues, mentions of drugs and alcohol, self pleasure (male). i will add more tags as they become relevant.

specific chapter smut warnings: sexually charged dreams

taglist: @himboelover | @harrypotteranna23-blog | @isabella-rose-trastamara | @ro4nix | @sunndroppp | @harriedandharassed | @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 | @titlee78 | @olafsmiles2020 | @sophiagladiator | @sunnytuliptime

THE WAY HE CARES | SIX

After that moment that dreams begin.  

In the dream, we’re never arguing. Never rolling our eyes or slamming doors. It’s like my subconscious has rewritten our history in soft light and warmer tones. Last night in my dream we were on the couch and he had his hand on my thigh, just resting there with his fingers splayed possessively like I was his and he didn’t need to prove it.

And then the dream morphed and we were naked on my couch. Joel was on top, strong body crushing me into the cushions as be fucked me hard. His body glistened with sweat and his dark hair was falling into his eyes pitched black.

"Come on it and I'll give you a baby," he growled in my ear. 

I woke up to my blasting alarm, aching and annoyed because in real life Joel and I are friendly with one another but it's hardly anything you could qualify as sensual. 

Can swing by after 7. Sarah made extra brownies you want some Your garbage bins are still out

I guess it's confusing because I don't really dislike Joel anymore. He's not my best friend or anything close, but he's kind. We've tried the turkey baster process five times now. 

Five disappointing months.

And each time it fails I keep waiting for him to change his mind or to tell me he's tired of trying. But he doesn't, he shows up and we get to work. 

He remembers his phone now because after that last episode there was no way he was going to borrow mine again. But aside from that we don't interact much outside the occasional wave when we find ourselves at the mailbox. 

Sarah is busy with her final exams and going away for the summer with her Mom on a European trip. She's been talking about it non-stop whenever I see her. It makes me think of what I'll do with my own kid one day. I can't afford Europe summers but I can afford camping, water parks, beach days. I can give love and patience and everything I never had growing up. 

At work, I try to stay focused and bury myself in email chains and contract redlines and caffeine. I try to think about other things than my dwindling fertility. But Ben keeps appearing and not just in my office but in my dreams as well, like he and Joel are vying for my subconscious. 

With Ben in my dreams it's feverish kissing in the mailroom, fucking me over my desk after our coworkers are gone for the night. Its more degrading, more urgent.  It makes me blush when I see him in real life.

We met his first day and ever since then we've found ourselves in the same meetings, passing by the same offices, using the annoying copier that never collates properly. And each time we talked more and more until I started looking forward to seeing him. 

Now he shows up to my office almost every other day with some new excuse.

“Need someone to look over this signature line.”

“Just wondered if you had a spare staple remover?"

"There's fresh coffee in the break room." 

Today, it’s a signed vendor contract that he could’ve dropped with the front desk but instead, he leans against the edge of my desk like he has all the time in the world.

I look up. “If you keep finding reasons to come here, people are going to assume I’m the actual mailroom.”

He grins. “Maybe I’m just hoping you’ll accidentally staple my tie to the desk.”

I snort. “Kink unlocked.”

Ben laughs, and there’s a softness to it that makes my stomach flutter. He’s the kind of guy who smells like good cologne and remembers your coffee order without asking. 

“I don’t mean to bother you,” Ben says, shifting his weight. “I just like talking to you.”

I hesitate. It would be easy to flirt back. And I do, a little. Just a little because at the end of the day I am a single woman.

“You're not bothering me...yet," I say, teasing but not unkind. "And I like talking to you too."

"Yeah?" Ben smiles, eyes sparkling. "There's other places to talk other than work.”

And just like that, the air shifts and he lingers a moment's longer, waiting to see if I’ll bite.

And I want to, but I can't. Not when I'm in the process of having a kid. I don't even know if Ben wants kids. And that's the sort of thing that comes up years into a relationship. That's time I simply do not have. 

I need to pull back. 

“Thanks for the contract,” I say, deliberately glancing back at my screen. “I’ll make sure it ends up somewhere official.”

He gives me a mock salute. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

When he leaves, I stare at my monitor, pretending to read, but my brain’s running in twenty different directions.I like the way Ben looks at me like I’m someone worth orbiting. I like that he’s warm, funny and uncomplicated. 

But I don’t want easy right now. I want a baby. I want my cycle to cooperate. I want one solid chance before the numbers work against me.

Joel might drive me insane, but he’s already proven himself to be a good dad and Sarah is the proof. And I value his presence, he's been there for me during my hard times with this, steady and dependable. 

I trust him.

I should’ve known better than to check my mailbox on a Sunday morning. That was my first mistake. The second was making eye contact with Mrs. Shellstrop while doing it.

She appeared out of nowhere like a heat-seeking missile in orthopedic sandals, clutching a clipboard and wearing that terrifyingly determined smile that says: You will do what I ask. Or I will bake guilt into a casserole and leave it on your porch until you crack.

“Oh, there you are, sugar!" she called across her driveway, trotting toward me with all the grace of a mall walker on a mission. “I was just telling Frank you’d be perfect.”

“For…?” I asked warily, holding my junk mail like a shield.

She tilted her head, the way a cat does before it bites you. “For the Fourth of July Neighbourhood Spectacular! You know, games for the kids, potluck, water balloon toss, bake sale, the works.”

Ah. That.

“I didn’t realize I’d been nominated.”

“Oh, nobody was nominated,” she said brightly, already scribbling something on her clipboard. “You’re volunteering.”

I blinked. “Am I?”

“Of course you are. We’re all pitching in and you seem like the type who knows how to show up and follow instructions. You look very organized.”

 I was too slow to protest, and before I could think of a graceful escape, she was steering me up her walkway with a bony hand on my arm and a pen already thrust into my palm.

“Now, we’ve got the bouncy castle, the water station, cleanup duty, and ooh! You’d be wonderful for the crafts tent.”

“Crafts?” I echoed weakly, scribbling my name next to a column that I hoped didn’t mean glitter wrangler or finger-paint monitor.

“Oh, not that one.” She snatched the clipboard back before I could read what I signed. “We actually need someone to help run the lemonade booth.”

“That sounds… manageable.”

She beamed. “Exactly. It’s the easiest job and you'll have shade, too." 

Still, I smiled tightly. “Great. Looking forward to it.”

Mrs. Shellstrop patted my arm with the satisfaction of a woman who’d just manipulated a Supreme Court nomination. “That’s the spirit. I knew you were one of the good neighbours.”

She trundled back inside humming something that sounded suspiciously like a war anthem. I stood on her porch, blinking against the sun, wondering what I had just agreed to. 

I get a text message one afternoon, all caps from Joel but it's clearly Sarah using his phone. Joel won’t allow her to get her own cell phone until she’s sixteen (something I strongly agree with) so sometimes I open my phone affronted with a legion of emojis.

I MADE COOKIES AND THEY ACTUALLY LOOK GOOD 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪 YOU HAVE TO COME OVER NOW BEFORE DAD EATS ALL OF THEM 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

Before I can respond, she sends a photo: a slightly lopsided tray of chocolate chip cookies, golden around the edges, some clearly stuck together. But charmingly so.

I smile in spite of myself.

On my way

I’ve been popping by more often to their place, most of the time at Sarah’s request. It doesn’t feel strange anymore or intimidating. I know his main level by heart, I know where Joel keeps extra coffee filters and toilet paper. I know his favourite spot on the couch (by the window) and I know that Sarah’s room is decorated with stickers and photos.

The kitchen smells like sugar and browned butter when I knock. The door swings open and Sarah beams at me like I’m the guest of honour at a party she planned in secret.

“You actually came!” she grins, tugging me inside. “You’re just in time. Dad made coffee and I didn’t burn the house down.”

Joel’s voice drifts from the back of the kitchen. “I would like it on the record that I supervised the oven.”

“You sat on a stool and scrolled your phone,” Sarah fires back, hands on her hips.

Joel appears a moment later, drying his hands on a dish towel.

I feel my pulse spike because I can’t seem to forget those couch dreams. 

Come on it and I'll give you a baby. 

I flush at the memory and immediately shove it down. His eyes meet mine and there’s a flicker of something unreadable before he nods.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” I echo, tucking my hair behind my ear.

I sit on a bar stool and Sarah hands me a cookie with all the pride of a Michelin-starred chef. I dutifully take a bite.It’s warm and melty and somehow both crispy and soft and is it possible to make love to a cookie?

“Damn,” I mumble around the mouthful. “This is amazing.”

Sarah does a little victory dance. “See? I’m a baking genius.”

Joel snorts. “You followed a recipe.”

“And made it better,” she declares, and turns to rummage in the pantry. "I'm the one who put m&m's in it." 

You agree that the m&ms make it iconic as Joel leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Haven’t seen you around.”

I nod, licking chocolate from my thumb. “Work’s been busy.”

His gaze lingers. “Yeah?”

"It's the busy season," I shrug. “Mary won't stop showing me photos of her kids and Ben keeps finding reasons to stop by my desk so I’ve had to invent a fake filing system to stay sane.”

Joel’s face shifts just slightly. His mouth tightens as his brow twitches. 

“Ben,” he repeats.

“Mm-hmm.” I don’t look at him. “He's funny. Great hair.”

“Funny's overrated.”

I glance at him then, and for a half-second, he’s glaring at the sugar container like it personally offended him.

“Oh my god,” Sarah groans, suddenly appearing with a bottle of sprinkles. “Dad.”

Joel’s eyes flick up. “What?”

"You haven't even offered her a drink? What kind of host are you?" 

Joel's eyes sweep over to me. "You want a coffee?" 

Sarah looks at me, stage whispers, "I'm sorry my dad has such bad manners.”

I laugh. “Classic Miller.”

Joel glares at me now. “You want a coffee or not.”

"Yeah, I do," I say grinning. "I'm parched." 

I see a curl of his lip that he tries to hide as he turns from me and pours me a cup. I take another bite of cookie and nod emphatically. 

"Sarah these are like, the best cookies I've ever had. I'm not even a huge cookie person either." 

Joel returns, pushing a black coffee my way. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Both please." 

Sarah grins like Christmas came early. “This is great. I should start inviting you over every week. Or like, every day. You could be my official taste tester.”

“I don’t think your dad wants me here that often,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

But Joel’s voice is quiet when he replies, head in the fridge as he reaches for the milk. “Didn’t say that.”

That slows me down. Sarah raises an eyebrow. Joel is looking in the cupboard for the sugar so I can't exactly read his face. 

“I mean,” I say quickly, “you might get sick of me.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “You’re the only neighbour who we've had come over this much. You’re basically family now.”

The word hits me right in the gut: family.

I swallow. “Well, I’m honoured.”

Joel has turned back now but I can't look at him. He pushes the milk and sugar my way but suddenly I'm very aware that this moment is feeling intimate and it shouldn't. 

I stand a little too fast. “I should probably head back.”

Sarah pouts. “Already? You didn't even have any coffee.”

“I know, I'm sorry. I just forgot I have stuff at home I have to do.”

Joel’s watching me now. His arms still crossed, jaw clenched.

“Ben waiting on you?” he asks.

I freeze for a second too long. It's a weird thing to say and a weird tone to say it in. 

Sarah looks between us, eyes narrowing slightly, the gears in her teenage brain clearly turning.

“Nope,” I say, reaching for one final cookie to take with me. “But I’m sure he’ll come up with a reason to stop by my desk again soon.”

Joel just nods once. Tight. Controlled.

Sarah sighs, clearly sensing the weird energy but trying to salvage the moment. “Thanks for trying my cookies.”

“They were incredible,” I tell her, smiling. “Keep me posted if you open a bakery.”

I open the door and just before I step outside, Sarah calls after me, “Next time, stay longer.”

I glance back.

Joel’s watching me. Intently. Like he’s trying to work something out.

"See ya,” he says finally, voice low, before he turns his back and heads into the next room. 

The nausea came first.

Not like the kind I’d had before. Not bitter or heavy or anxious. This one was soft, curling at the edges of my mornings like a whisper. Then came the sore breasts, the sensitivity, the strange metallic taste that lingered no matter how much water I drank.

 It felt… different this time. Like my body wasn’t playing tricks on me. Like it had finally decided to hold on instead of let go.

I kept it to myself at first, memorizing each shift in my body with quiet reverence. I didn’t want to jinx it. But every day, the hope built like a bubble behind my ribs.

Three days before my period was due, I cracked.

I texted Joel:

“Can you come over tonight? I think…I think this might be it.”

His reply was instant.

“I’ll be there.”

He showed up just after sunset with the porch creaking under his boots like always. He looked cautious but hopeful, like he didn’t want to let himself believe it either.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping inside, his eyes searching mine. “You feelin' okay?”

“I feel… I don’t know. Good. Different.” I laughed a little, brushing a hand over my stomach. “Hopeful I guess?”

Joel smiled then, a small, private thing. “You sure you wanna test this early?”

“No,” I admitted, “but I can’t wait anymore. I need to know.”

I took the test while he waited in the living room. I made him promise not to come in.

Three minutes.

Three minutes felt like an eternity.

I sat on the edge of the tub, the test clutched in my hand. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I was already picturing it: what I’d say, how I’d tell him, what it would feel like to finally win this one battle against my body.

When I finally looked down, the line was stark. One. Not two. Negative. Just that word again, silent and final.

My breath caught. For a second I forgot how to stand. I can't believe I asked Joel to come over for this test. I was so sure, so positive the stick would turn pink. I wanted him to be here to celebrate. I even bought champagne. 

I'm pathetic. 

I stay in the bathroom too long. I feel time moving past me like wind under a door. But I can't move. Then comes the soft knock.

“Everything okay?” Joel’s voice. Careful but still holding on and it hurts to hear that thread of hope.

By the time I come out, face washed, eyes a little less puffy, Joel’s standing in the kitchen, arms folded loosely across his chest.

I cross the room and hand him the test. I can’t say it. I don't want to hear it out loud. His fingers brush mine as he takes the plastic test. He looks down and doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. His jaw is set, and he exhales slowly, like the air has been knocked from his lungs.

“I was so sure this time,” I whisper. 

He nods. “Yeah, me too.” He sets the test down gently on the counter, like it might break, and then he looks at me in a way that's all soft and concerned. “You want me to stay?” 

Normally I would want to lick my wounds in private but the disappointment is raw and messy and tangled with too many other things I still need to unpack. 

“Maybe just… for a little bit,” I say, voice thin.

Joel gives a small nod. “Okay.”

He follows me to the couch and sits with me in silence, close enough to feel the warmth of him, but not close enough to touch. He lifts a brow and gestures toward the kitchen without moving.

“You keep the wine behind the pasta, right?”

"Yeah."

He goes to grab it like he’s done it a hundred times, not like he owns the space just like he’s comfortable in it. He comes back and raises the bottle. “You want?”

I nod.

He pours two glasses and hands me mine. He comes to sit beside me on the couch, closer than necessary but in a way I appreciate.  No touch, no comfort-hug, just his presence quiet and solid. And, somehow, that’s worse... or better. I don’t even know anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he says, after a moment.

“It’s not your fault,” I say, swallowing. “It just didn’t work. Again.”

He nods, then glances over at the test still sitting on the counter like it might bite. “It’s not the end. Doesn’t have to be.”

“It feels like it is.”

Joel doesn’t argue. Just lets the silence stretch between us while we sip. We sit in silence for a while. The TV is on but muted, casting flickers of light across the living room.  He finally speaks, low and gravel-edged.

“Don’t mean it won’t happen. Just… wasn’t this time.”

I nod, eyes stinging. “I know.”

He shifts beside me, leans back against the cushions. His arm brushes mine. I feel the warmth of him, steady and solid. 

“I really thought it was different,” I say. “I was already imagining the name. Isn’t that pathetic?”

He shakes his head once. “Ain’t pathetic. Just means you wanted it.”

There’s a beat of quiet. My throat feels full. Then, softly: “You think maybe I was stupid to get my hopes up?” I ask.

Joel lets out a slow breath through his nose. “No. Not stupid.” He hesitates. “Hope’s the only thing that makes any of this worth it.”

I hum absently, eyes still wet. 

"You know,” he starts again, careful, “I’ve seen Sarah scrape her knee and cry for a solid half hour. But then she gets up the next morning and runs twice as hard.”

I look at him. “Are you comparing me to your kid?”

He smirks. “I’m saying you’re tougher than you think. And you’ve got more tries in you.”

God, why does he have to say it like that? Like he believes in me more than I do. I bite my lip, blink rapidly, and mutter, “Thanks. But I don't think you do.”

"Says who?"

"I asked you for one donation. And now this is five. I can't keep bothering you-"

"It isn't a bother." 

I glance at him. He’s looking straight ahead again, but his hand is close to mine now, close enough I could grab it. He doesn’t reach for me, but he doesn’t move away either.

"We'll keep doing this until it works," he murmurs. "Don't worry." 

After a few seconds, I lean into him. Not much. Just enough that our shoulders press together.

He doesn’t say anything. But I feel the smallest shift, his arm settles along the back of the couch behind me, his fingers barely grazing my shoulder.

We sit like that for a long time. And though nothing is fixed, I feel a little less alone.

i'm really glad that so many of you are commenting and sharing and letting me know what you like. i would love if it you would keep doing that! i really love writing a softer joel. i like to think that pre outbreak joel would have been more laid back, happier and sweet like this.

out of all my stories this is the one that has been easiest to write so please expect some more frequent updates soon

xx

💋💋💋💋

[siri-ike]

Tim's stupid alarm didn't go off. He was probably way behind on all his work. He got out of bed (hm, did Alfred mix up the bedroom sheets with the recovery room sheets?) He trudged out into the hallway and started walking

Suddenly, he became aware of his surroundings. He was nowhere near his lab. How long had he been walking? He rubbed his eyes and kept moving until he finally reached the big stairway. He was on the wrong side of the stairs. No wonder he didn't know where he was. He took one step down and so much pain shot through his leg. He couldn't help but let out a pained noise. Not quite a yelp, but also not not a yelp. He latched onto the banister while the pain faded. It burned? Throbbed, pressed, for an agonizing couple of minutes. It hadn't stopped by when Alfred got there, but the ice pack he threw on Tim's knee certainly masked it.

He said something. Probably something sassy. Tim didn't hear it over the thoughts flooding his brain. Why does his knee hurt? What happened? Did he get hurt? Which secrets did he divulge? The thing in the basement? The thing in the watchtower? The Thing? He had some non "deadly alien creature" related secrets, too, like the robot zombie bunker in the desert or the covert-covert team of humanoid animals, but they were less seacret and more private.

"Alfred," Tim grunted. "What happened?"

"Your knee is broken, master Tim. You are to stay put in the recovery room. Don't make me tie you to the bed." Alfred dragged Tim up and supported him back down the hallway.

"Did I say anything noteworthy?" Tt, subtle. Shut up, brain Damian.

"Your drug induced confessions are not my concern. I long since stopped expecting any of you to be honest with each other."

"It's not like I lied. Some things are just not important enough to tell everyone."

"Not important?" Alfred stopped infron if the door. "I take it we won't be expecting visits any time soon then."

Visits? OK, that rules out all the deadly alien creatures and the Robot Zombies. It must have been the mutanimals then. "I," Tim blinked in surprise. "I didn't think that was an option." Tim got on the bed. "Didn't think you would approve. Especially Bruce." Tim struggled to get his leg up on the bed.

Alfred looked shocked. "What could lead you to think that?"

"Well, he wasn't great to Superboy, especially at first, and Clayface. He generally doesn't seem on board."

"I'll make sure to speak with him. If I put everyone on their best behavior, do you think you could arrange a meeting? Perhaps over dinner."

DPxDC Prompt #20

Danny and Tim are married. (Sacrificial Bride, Meddling Ancients, Tax Benefits, etc.; exact details are dealer's choice.)

The Bats do not know Tim is married. They find because Tim gets grievously injured. High on pain, blood loss, and/or the good drugs; he turns to the nearest Bat and slurs out, "Don't tell my husband."

[jeongteen]

DON'T BE AFRAID TO BE VULNERABLE

Cho Hyun-ju x gn!reader

Notes : I need to write for my sweet Hyunju more 🥹 I would also like to write about other S2/3 girls, my requests are always open (read my pinned first if you'd like to request 🫶🏻)

CW : Mentions of basic squid game stuff

Summary : Hyunju gets another nightmare about the games, you comfort her.

Words count : 563

Hyunju and you have moved together when she came back from the games. You were so worried while she was gone, wondering where she was, if wasn't her to just leave like that.

When she came back, you decided it was better for the two of you to live together.

It took a while for Hyunju to open up about what happened. She struggles putting words on her traumas and she was too scared to put a heavy weight on your shoulders.

So at first you would just be there, not knowing what your girlfriend needed reassurance for but still being there for her.

When she finally opened up, you were in complete awe. Those bloody games seem like a story you'd tell your friends to scare them. It seems like it comes right from a horror movie. But it was real. And Hyunju managed to escape.

She often feels guilty about what happened, saying she couldn't save those who deserved it. The survivor's guilt it is.

Despite how long it has been since all of this ended, Hyunju still gets frequent nightmares about it. Most of the time she tries to handle it by herself, drinking a glass of cold water in the kitchen to ground herself, sitting alone for a few minutes, sometimes she even turns the TV on for a bit of light.

But sometimes the nightmares feel too real. It's almost as if she could smell the blood, as if she could feel a knife piercing her skin, as if she could actually hear the terrifying screams of the other players, as if she was back in that hell hole.

Today was one of those nights. She wakes up in cold sweats, panting, holding her hand to her chest. She tries her best to stay quiet and not to move too much, afraid to wake you up. But the sudden shift of her body next to you was enough to interrupt your sleep.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes in the process.

— Are you okay Hyunju? You ask in a tired voice, looking at her with eyes half closed.

— Yeah don't worry, everything's fine, I'll grab a glass of water and I'll be back, you can sleep.

You grab her wrist before she manages to stand up, resulting in her facing you, confused.

— Hyunju. You don't have to go through all of this alone you know. You're literally out of breath from how bad this nightmare was, please don't be afraid to be vulnerable, not with me. You keep a soft tone, making sure you keep her comfortable.

She doesn't answer at first, she doesn't really know what to say. Her selfless self can't help but think she's suddenly putting so much pressure on you, she thinks she failed protecting your peace.

— Come here. You let go of her wrist and open your arms towards her.

She hesitates at first but eventually crawls into your arms, her head resting on your chest.

One of your hands is stroking her hair and the other is tracing slow circles on her back. Your cheek is pressed against the top of her head.

You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, just taking in each other's warmth.

— Thank you. Hyunju's voice is right above a whisper.

— You don't have to thank me for being here, that's what soulmates are for.

[kantsuri]

WAVES ! [18+]

Kagaya instructs you to travel to Giyuu’s home and persuade him to join the upcoming Hashira Training. Seeing that reasoning alone won’t reach him, you decide it’s time to take a different approach���(strap-on is referred to as a cock /or can be read as an actual cock)

“[Name]...S-Slow down!”

Giyuu whines beneath you, his body trembling like a leaf as he struggles to keep up with your relentless rhythm. Every nerve in his body is aflame, his voice breaking into helpless whimpers when your hand harshly grips his face, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Are you going to join the Hashira Training now or what? Or do I have to keep fucking your stubbornness out of you?” You sneer, voice laced with venom. Your fingers trail down his flushed skin, grazing over his chest to circle one of his puffy, pink nipples. Giyuu’s body jerks as you pull and pinch the bud between your fingers, giving you a slight moan.

He shakes his head weakly, his thoughts a mess, slipping through his fingers like water. Giyuu's hips buck involuntarily, meeting each of your thrusts. A broken sob escapes his lips as you slap his thigh, leaving a stinging red handprint on his skin. “Answer me, or is your brain already too fucked to answer?”

"I don't know..." Giyuu chokes out, voice laced with need. He can’t focus on anything except the feeling of your cock driving into him over and over, filling him up so nicely. "Please...Please stop, I can't—"

He’s panting now, eyes glassy, hair clinging to his damp forehead. He’s never looked so undone—so wrecked and beautiful, right on the edge of surrender. You scoff, watching the way his body moves to fuck himself on your cock, how it craves more even as he begs you to stop. 

“Oh, come on Tomioka, don’t give me that crap,” you look down at him with lidded eyes, continuing your brutal thrusts as his hole clings greedily to your cock. “Don’t act like you’re not loving every second of this.”

Each of your thrusts hits Giyuu with waves of pleasure, his own cock throbbing and leaking pathetically between your bodies, the wet mess he's creating on himself growing with each second. He’s so close, teetering on the edge of climax.

“Please, please,” Giyuu babbles, drooling like a bitch in heat. “I’m going to—Fuck, fuck, I can’t—” His nails dig desperately into your back, leaving red welts in their wake. Just as he's about to cum, your hand encircles firmly around his dick, denying him the orgasm he so desperately needs. He writhes underneath you, practically sobbing now.

“[Name], please—”

“Give me the answer I want or I won’t let you cum,” You laugh, grip tightening.

"Nnngh...Not...Not fair..." Giyuu gasps out between clenched teeth, his fingers twisting in the sheets hard enough to rip the fabric. He can't take much more of this torturous pleasure, and he knows he has no choice. You're determined to break him, to make him submit...and a traitorous part of him almost wants to let you.

"...Y-Yes." The word falls from Giyuu's red, swollen lips, barely audible. "Yes, I'll...I'll join. Just...Just please, let me cum. I need...I need it so badly..."

[yellowhollyhock]

Okay so about Leo and the Shredder

First off there's their first meeting. Shredder bribes him with sword but much more than that, he entices him with the idea that there is a Great Evil which needs to be defeated, acting like he and Leo need each other as allies in order to protect the city. Gives this altruistic teenager the idea that he has a chance to be part of something bigger than himself. To give himself to a cause

Then Leo finds out from Splinter that Shredder is the evil one. In his mind, partially because of the specific way Shredder manipulated him, this is an epic battle of Good vs Evil. Everything the Shredder said was true except flipped. Master Splinter was already the epitome of goodness, but when he defeats the Shredder, it confirms for Leo that good always triumphs, and that his family is a force of the universe upholding that principle. Not monsters, not freaks, not even only ninjas who stay in the shadows: heroes. Responsible for making goodness triumph when the scales fall out of balance.

Then the window scene. He's already decided that doing the right thing is synonymous with standing up to Shredder. That night is nothing like a fair fight, Leo has a really bad time and could have been killed if they hadn't wanted to use him to scare his family. Shredder is the purest representation of evil to Leo, and he's literally using him as a weapon against his family (a kind of vengeance for not joining him that first time; if you will not be my sword, you'll be instead shattered glass, intended to make a loud noise and frighten my enemies, either out of the fight when they see what I've done to you, or out of hiding to be exterminated).

"I will not live in fear" is such a powerful moment, not just because it's wrapping up Leo's arc (Splinter brings up heights while his brothers say he was never scared of anything, but we've already seen Leo scared, not just as a tot but all through the show. He's terrified of making the wrong choice, usually manifesting as a fear of disobeying Splinter, whom he trusts to guide them true), it's also so powerful and important because he's talking about his family. He's responding to Shredder using him as a warning to them. He's standing back on his feet and drawing a line in the sand. He's saying, go ahead and destroy my body, do your very worst to us, You. Cannot. Make me afraid. And I'll be their courage if they lose it. He's on the offensive now; not just to defend against evil, but to go out and defeat it.

But you know, the next thing that happens is the hiding. The shame because he first talked to the Shredder, he was out there fighting while his family was safely hidden, he didn't have the strength to protect April and was protected by her instead. And he absolutely believes in what he said, but living it? It's a very high standard he's set for himself, and he feels he needs to take a bit of time to punish himself for not living up to it in the past.

So the first slump comes from finding out the Shredder was still alive, that they hadn't succeeded like he thought. Raph pulls him out of it, getting him busy with his hands, giving something he can hold and say 'my brothers got my back, and I'm strong enough to keep getting back up.'

Then, the City at War arc.

Shredder is gone, again. For good this time, they made sure. .... they made sure, right?

There's a lot more going on here than Leo feeling responsible and worried about the civilians getting caught in the crossfire. Mainly two other big things

1) The Shredder was a straightforward threat, warring factions of gangs are more complex.

Remember how he baited Leo with Good vs Evil? This was their big thing, not just a good deed. This was supposed to be destiny. So why is the world still dangerous and complicated? If defeating Shredder wasn't it, then what's next? Whatever it is he needs to get the drop on it this time, it can't be like it was before. It has to be better than it was before, otherwise what was the point?

2) Is he really gone?

"We did the city a favor!"

"Did we, Raph? Did we really?"

@nightwatcherraph pointed out to me how his voice gets growly like it does is season 4. One thing happening through this arc is Leo, like Splinter says, learning how to follow his heart, to do the right thing even if everyone tells him he shouldn't. But the other thing, the thing Splinter doesn't see, is the beginning of what will snowball into Leo being unable to heal and move on without serious professional intervention down the line

And you know? Not on a conscious level, but I think Raph does see it. He knows, he senses, something is off, but he doesn't know what, and that drives him crazy. I mean that's not the only thing going on, but it's there.

Because last time, not so long ago? Raph was able to pull Leo out of it when he saw him in a funk. This time, he's not budging.

Leo is worried about things being worse than they were with Shredder alive, that's real, but the way he asks this question also makes me think of the other possible meanings. Because they thought they'd gotten rid of him before, didn't they? If things aren't better, then maybe he isn't really gone.

I don't think Leo's thinking that on a surface level. I do think his body is having a real reaction to the idea that Shredder could still come back, and he's looking for reasons for that deep-down feeling of wrong.

When Master Splinter has a dream, it pretty much confirms things for Leo. This is our big battle. This is Good (following his Sensei) vs Evil (Shredder). This is destiny, Master Splinter literally had a vision. Once this is done, his family can rest.

Rest?

Hmm.

Die?

If it's destiny? If it's for the greater good? He wouldn't hesitate to give his own body--but now it's not just him. 'I could never ask you to,' Splinter is saying, and isn't that what he said to Leo earlier that night about even going after Shredder in the first place? In the moment he absolutely knows they have to do this, he waits for his brothers to say it too, but he pushes for it, he's confident. After all,

"It our fault. We couldn't stop him. We failed."

Ninjitsu is where Leo tends to excel, and he was no match this time for Shredder, nor for Karai (the ways she fits i to and influences and mirrors him throughout all of this is fascinating, but getting into it would double the length of the post, at least).

Just like in City at War, he feels he has to atone for his failures.

And then he doesn't get to die, and has to live with, again, two big things

1) He brought up the idea to overload the power core. They all agreed, but it was his idea. Shredder wouldn't have killed them--Leo would have (not my opinion, Leo's opinion)

2) That. Was it? It's over. They're not assuming Ch'rell is dead this time--they know where he is. He's in prison. Where destiny has been trying to lead him for decades.

So... what is Leo supposed to do with the rest of his life? The Big Thing, the Good vs Evil showdown... happened and ended?

Seriously, who wants to peak in high school?

okay that's not funny but I'm leaving it

If he's fulfilled his larger purpose, then he's no good except to his family, which... well. See number 1

Training with the Ancient One helps a lot--but then what happens?

The epic showdown of Good vs Evil! Ch'rell is gone, but that doesn't mean Shredder isn't around.

And Leo is, through that fight and going forward, a healthier, happier turtle. But there still continue to be Shredders, and he still has this absolute belief in fate--his fate, his brothers' fate, to be wielded, by Master Splinter, by the Tribunal, by the mysterious hand of fate, in the fight against darkness and evil. We see him develop an inner peace and handle things much better, but that belief in his family's role in the universe never goes away.

For example, we get a glimpse of it in BTTS, when they're telling Donny about what's going on in the city, and, busy with his quest to bring Splinter back, he dismisses them. "I'm sorry, but it's not my problem."

Leo's expression is just,, so crushed. They're all betrayed, but Leo is kind of floored. Not your problem? People are getting hurt? Fights are happening? You don't care that evil persists?

He looks so personally offended, and it does bring City at War to mind again, doesn't it? But this time, Leo doesn't dig his heels in. He's matured. He's appalled, but he stays level, and eventually Donny comes around.

That's the thing. They always come around. Leo will never fully stop believing that it all comes down to them, down to him, because experience just keeps proving him right

[docholligay]

I just wanted to say that even with my terminal case of shipper-itis, I'm really enjoying all your thoughts and writings on platonic R&R. I'm impressed by how well you've pinned down their vibe with relatively little screentime! I am also, as a manga/Brotherhood truther, praying that someday in the far-flung future we may be blessed with your analysis of the two together, which I'm sure would be fascinating regardless of where you landed (I suspect liking/disliking different things about both)

ahahahah every time a Royai shipper comes in and is like, 'Whatever. Fine. I can add 'and kiss' myself." and clicks on 'keep reading', I put a five dollar bill into my drinks jar. For me they will always be two absolute fucking disaster nutcases who desperately need therapy and will NEVER get it, and probably a break from each other and will NEVER take it, it's that rotting trellis and wisteria vine, and which one is holding the other up? Great question! Impossible to know. But if you try to pull them apart they both crumble. How other people think of that is essentially whatever so long as they are cool about me not doing it.

Girl, I am living in that miserable place of "I want more if you give me more I will scream" because Overwatch DID teach me one thing, and that is, having your fave as the center of lore-based attention sometimes is BAAAAAAADDDDD.

DO NOT TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT BROTHERHOOD OR THE MANGA I AM SPITBALLING I AM MAKING SHIT UP I HAVE NOT SEEN PAST EPISODE 18 OF THE 2003 ANIME PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL ME.

I have so many R&R based fears about getting the blanks filled in, and it's okay if the fill in is DIFFERENT from mine as long as it isn't ANNOYING. That doesn't mean I'll play dollies with the canon--there are canon SM facts that for the sake of my dollhouse do not exist--but I won't be annoyed. I'll just be like, 'Oh that's an interesting position to take"

But I live in mortal fear of like...Hawkeye screaming, crying, falling down over something which goes against my fundamental understanding of her, and actually what i LIKE about her. Her shit is together even when it isn't. The screaming crying falling down is internal and she is going to give herself a heart attack someday, I'm not even NECESSARILY opposed to her crying in a truly bad moment--she is a human being-- but like, she is still a woman with great decision making skills and if Roy has to come in and rescue the fair maiden I'm killing everyone.

Also, I'm familiar with a couple broad strokes of larger FMA culture (and I could be so so so wrong! This is very very much a guess based on vibes) and i don't want cool sexy guy Roy Mustang ahahahah. I want him dumped on his ass in a puddle. I love Roy! But I need him to not be....I am broadly familiar with the way shounen anime in the late 00s was, and I don't want that for him. I like him flawed not only emotionally, but not unstoppable, not perfect, his alchemy is already KIND OF OP, and I think so far 2003 does a good job of balancing Roy's own problems with that to make it feel organic and balanced as long as I don't think too hard. I am afraid that without some level of restraint we'll get a Roy who is very cool indeed but who I can no longer love and feel for. (While wanting him to get dumped in a lake)

That being said, if I love the two of them hard enough at the end of 03 it'll likely be a Harumichi sailor moon situation where Crystal and the manga could do whatever dumb fucking thing they wanted and I just picked the bits I wanted and left the rest on the table because I love them SO MUCH that it does not fucking matter.

I am not OPPOSED to doing Brotherhood or the manga! For my own sake I may flip through it when I finish and just never mention it. I just have fears, and some of these fears are fandom-based too! I KNOW Fma has a really....involved fandom. That's why I was afraid of doing this show in the first place! But as I understand it (could be very wrong) the brotherhood fandom is even more intense and my god.

ANYWAY, thank you for this! Sorry I basically vomited my fears at you ahaha.

[crab-people-overlord]

SP Headcanons - Kenny & Cartman Edition

Kenny:

Height: Tells others he’s 5’10 but really is closer to 5’9. Loves dressing in casual, bright clothes and often thrifts his shirts. Experiments with different facial hair throughout young adulthood, but by early 30’s keeps a permanent full beard.  By the time he’s in his 40’s puts on weight, and when his hair greys in his 50’s the kids call him Santa and he doesn’t correct them, just plays along with it. He says ‘ho ho ho’ to the kids who call him that and starts gifting random kids Werther’s Originals out of nowhere.

Still establishes a science center at South Park Elementary

Often dresses in an orange hoodie throughout high school and still keeps it covering his mouth. Sometimes he just mumbles for the hell of it because it's fun to have others have to guess what he's saying. He just finds it amusing.

McCormick family (sorry; I have way too many HCs here, but I'll try to keep it short):

Kevin was absolutely the guinea pig of the family and often bore the brunt of his parents’ dysfunction. Their parents aren’t physically abusive with the kids (just with each other, and often for foreplay), so Kevin’s cuts and bruises were often the result of getting into fights at school. Kenny also gets bullied at school because of his poverty, but it’s usually directly from friends who usually (aside from Cartman) know when to stop. Others in town also just know not to mess with Kenny, especially because they know his friends very much have a ‘we can make fun of him, but you can’t’ mentality and will kick anyone’s asses who actually do seriously go after him. Kevin didn’t have that same support system and protection as Kenny at school and was a lot more isolated, though eventually did get a couple close friends. He and Kenny are also pretty close -- there was never really a time where he and Kenny didn’t get along aside from normal sibling fights. Kevin doesn’t have money to go to college and works at Amazon with his dad ever since High School, but does climb the ranks quickly enough to move out of home - and he moves out of home as soon as he turns 18, which broke Kenny’s heart at the time (though he understood it more as he got older). 

Karen is a bit older than Ike, but they are in the same friend group in High School and are pretty good friends (both go through that angsty teenage phase together). When Karen goes through puberty, Sharon quietly pulls Karen aside after church sometimes and gifts her things like tampons and deodorant and some of Shelley’s hand-me-down clothes. Karen used to be bullied as a kid because her long hair was always tangled and unbrushed, but once she reaches middle school starts cutting her own hair. Kids still try to bully her at times, but after Kenny’s graduated High School, Ike steps in to defend her when needed (though Karen can hold her own in arguments). 

Speaking of their parents, they really do love their kids and often do get along with them, they just aren’t great at curbing their addictions and being… parents. Kenny, Kevin, and Karen have a sibling Snapchat where they mentally unpack things together, even throughout adulthood. They all get along better with their parents once they are moved out of the house. It’s a difficult relationship where they love their parents but also are hurt by some of the ways they were neglected at kids, but know that’s just life. Kevin is the one who puts the most distance between himself and his parents as an adult. Bonus HC: Stuart's got permanent injuries from Kenny's stint to get his parents to not have another kid.

School: he doesn’t really take school too seriously, even in High School -- but coasts along because he’s a fantastic test taker and good at doing homework last minute. He learns he loves science in college and does take that more seriously. He does so good on the SAT that he gets offered quite a few decent scholarships, and this is the only reason he even considers going the college route.The scholarships offer much more money than any job right after high school would, so it’s an easy decision to go to college.

He takes college much more seriously than High School (and likes it much better because it’s more advanced and focused on what he’s interested in, though he hates general ed classes). He thrives at college, getting full ride scholarships for his grad school degrees (my HC for this changes. Sometimes a physicist, sometimes research doctor, sometimes something way weirder. But always in some type of engineering/science field). 

Sports: he mostly plays sports with friends for fun, but he does join the track team to get something on college applications. He’s average at it (probably could be even better if he applied himself, but he just doesn’t care). He doesn’t really show up to any practices aside from Friday ‘fun days’. If money weren’t an issue, he’d get more into snowboarding, which is more his speed. The skiing/snowboarding scenes in CO are really taken over by rich folk and pricey, so he doesn’t get into it until after established in his career. He unironically gets a timeshare in Aspen and spends two weeks there every winter. 

Speaking of Kenny’s money as settles into his career- he does VERY well financially. He helps out his family with his money and secretly donates to various charities, but also does not shy away from spending his hard-earned money on things he’d always dreamed of as a kid. He’s got a rich-dude indulgence, but never forgets where he came from. 

Music: Still plays bass guitar, though often forgets he knows how as he gets older as he often forgets about it and it collects dust in his closet. Also did a brief stint in choir in HS due to his opera abilities.His friends made a lot of fun of him for it, but he did earn a trip to Disneyland because of the school’s choir performing there. Butters was also in choir and they had the best time in California. His music taste is extensive and includes pretty much every genre.

Occasionally will join Esports competitions in High School to make some extra money on the side. He works odd jobs throughout middle school and high school, but sometimes Kyle lets him use his fancy gaming PC for the competitions (though tries to coordinate this for when Shelia will be out of the house after Sheila once walked in on Kenny playing in a competition using some of the world’s most creative and vulgar trash talk known to man and had a major ‘what what WHAT’ moment. Kenny did not, in fact, win any money from that particular competition). 

Stan forces him into the gaming club in HS so he doesn’t have to deal with Cartman alone, and Kenny does enjoy it enough to start his own smaller club in college. This is one of the ways he forces Stan’s ass out of bed when he goes through another depressed state after Stan drops out of college. Usually will just ‘borrow’ Stan’s board games even when he has enough money on his own to comfortably buy his own, because it’s convenient and he just can’t be bothered to bring himself to pay for one. 

His deaths: are actually a nightmare to try to think of on any logistical level, so I usually don’t in a more canon-adjacent sense (though it’s so fun to think of different things for AUs), lmao. He still tries to figure out the cause of his powers and still uses his Mysterion persona to help out his community (though as an adult doesn’t dress up). Sometimes this involves confronting actual danger. But most of the time,  it’s just small things like walking a drunk teen home. I also HC that his deaths significantly drop in frequency as he gets older until they stop all together. He still tries to tell others, but they still never believe him. 

Still likes to resume his Princess Kenny persona occasionally, just cuz it’s fun to be the chick sometimes.

He always has the best restaurant recommendations for Denver outings

Has no desire to date exclusively in High School and college, even though many of the folks he hooks up with wishes he would. He’s just so goddamn busy all the time and doesn’t think he has the time for a relationship, and is also scared to get in one because he doesn’t want to end up like his parents.

Cartman:

Height: 5’6, though typically wears shoes that give him another inch. Has the biggest variety of a wardrobe out of his friends with clothes for every occasion. Goes out of his way to tailor an outfit for every special event (funeral, brunch, comic-con, etc. He’s got something for every occasion). 

His mom continues to get stricter with him as he grows older, with varying levels of success (which means pretty much no success. But she still tries). She also doesn’t settle into a set relationship throughout Cartman’s schooling, though Cartman still keeps trying to get her settled down with a rich man. He genuinely does not understand how she doesn’t see the logic in his plan. 

LOVES pop music and makes a point to go to lots of concerts in Denver

The others in the gaming club only keep Cartman around because he’s very creative at the storytelling-based games. He sucks ass at the more technical games but thinks he’s amazing at them. Even when others straight up tell him he sucks at them, he thinks it’s their weird way of complimenting him. They have in fact tried actually kicking him out and often secretly hold events without Cartman’s knowledge if it’s for a game they know he’d suck at (the secrecy was Nichole’s idea and works out pretty well). Despite this, he’s the undisputed best DM for D&D they have. 

Still keeps a journal of disturbing drawings and fan fics of his friends. He’s written at least 3 sequels to the Woodland Critters story. 

Doesn’t even try to go to college, and will loudly tell others he thinks college is a scam. Starts a podcast in High school that becomes successful enough for him to pay all his bills. 

His podcast starts as gaming commentary (an extension of Cartman Brah)  but evolves into a weird mix of conspiracy theories, business advice, and pop culture hot takes. 

Kyle has a decent following on TikTok and Cartman has many burner accounts so he can troll Kyle there. Kyle falls for the ragebait EVERY. GODDAMN. TIME,  but his passionate responses are one of the big things that’s given him his following. Cartman continues to do this because riling up Kyle makes him laugh, but he also secretly is just trying to help him out with his following. Stan corners him after one particularly bad and racist comment sets Kyle off for a whole week and confronts him about this in a failed attempt to stop it (‘we both know this is you, fatass’), but Cartman pretends he doesn’t know what he’s talking about

Tells everyone his mom’s house is actually his and that he’s just ‘generous enough’ to let her live upstairs. After his podcast really blows up, he finishes the basement and turns it into a very nice living space with its own kitchen and separate entrance. 

Still occasionally works with Butters on particular ‘business’ endeavors

He registers his podcast as a religion for tax-exempt status. Somehow that works. He’s also always suing somebody for something, at one point having a brief addiction to suing folks much in the same way that Bad Irene had an addiction to abortions. He’s sued competitors, former co-hosts, Twitch streamers, Mitch Connor, media platforms for deleting his horrible comments, etc. He once even sued himself in small claims court for ‘character defamation’ (he won). 

Is very active on LinkedIn unironically.

Has a soft spot for Shelley and Stan because he’s always secretly wanted a sibling, and he envies them. Shelley would babysit him often as a kid, and he liked pretending she was actually his big sister. Shelley was the only babysitter Liane could get that could put Cartman in his place even better than Cesar Millan. He also doesn’t understand why the Marsh siblings are always so exasperated with Randy, who he lowkey views as a hero. 

On the topic of siblings… doesn’t like to talk about how sad he gets at having no dad, but at the same time, also is still more upset that his dad was a ginger more than the fact that he’d had him killed and fed to his half brother

Scott Tenorman makes occasional reappearances in Cartman’s life to get payback (Scott has a fucked up mind of his own, so sometimes can give his half-brother a run for his money). Scott to Cartman is very much like an annoying recurring cartoon villain, something he couldn’t possibly relate to being. Cartman always rolls his eyes that the other dude just can’t let it go. It was forever ago that he’d had his parents killed and fed to him; the guys just being dramatic fr fr.

That said, Cartman secretly loves it. It’s everything he’s ever wanted in a sibling.   

[neonthewrite]

Fire Warning

( Prompt list courtesy of @valcove )

Day one, and I actually have something to show for it! Days late, because I was away from internet for the week. I'll play some slow catch up over the next while.

I'm not sure if I'll make it for every prompt this month, but I'm going to try at least a few of them! Writing has been a bit of a Process for me lately, but I think this might help with the habit.

Today's little story features Morrel, a character first seen in a previous GT July prompt, but this one takes place long before he ever received his shackles.

~~~

The trees could tell him things, when he bothered to listen. Morrel checked on the gossip among the branches when he could, though probably not as often as some of the elder trees would like. They passed information among them swiftly, and sometimes the message warped along the way. Morrel had long since learned that certain news wasn’t as big as they made it out to be.

Some news, though, drew his attention every time.

When the whispers of fire, fire, fire reached him, he woke from his trancelike slumber quicker than he ever wanted to. His wooden body creaked and the leaves splayed over his head fell away as he rose from the crouch that allowed him to extend his hands into the earth. As a giant-of-the-woods, Morrel had a responsibility to answer that distress. This was his home, but it was also the home of so many more that relied on him.

He rose to his feet, and then leapt deftly from the forest floor, light as a breeze despite standing over twenty feet tall. The canopy was his runway and he dashed over the crowns of trees he’d seen grow from saplings, barely touching them as he passed. They guided him with their urgent whispers, and with each touch he felt like he could reach the roots deep in the earth, become one with the forest.

It took him minutes to arrive at the fire they so desperately wanted him to find. When he did, he stopped and stared.

In the clearing, sitting around their small fire pit, a trio of humans stared back at him. His confusion wouldn’t show on his mask-like wooden face, since he only had his eyes and the sky colors within them. By the nervous demeanor of the diminutive visitors, they saw anger where there was only bemusement. Campfires, tended properly, were no danger at all to the forest.

“G-good giant,” one of the humans greeted, despite hisses of quiet from the others. “Well met, I, I think. Have you come to, ah, warn us?”

Morrel glanced around their would-be camp. They didn’t even have a tent, though he’d seen many a makeshift camp without one. They had bed rolls, and rucksacks, the usual marks of humans just passing through. He could gather up all of their things in one hand if he wanted. More importantly, their campfire was small enough that he’d be able to stomp it out with one boot if he needed to. They were making minimal impact in their passage through the woods.

That was fine, then. The trees could stand to calm down; Morrel rarely met much trouble with humans.

He lowered himself to a crouch, still at the edge of the small clearing they had chosen. One human glanced away nervously, perhaps looking for the swiftest exit. The one that had spoken kept her eyes on Morrel’s. He chose to address her. “No warnings yet, humans,” he rumbled. He gently placed a hand on the ground, just within the flickering light from their fire. “The forest takes note of your fire. See that you do as well, and all will be glad.”

Another human released a breath he was apparently holding. “Of course, of course, giant! We had one little spark go a-wandering, but we put it right out, right out we did!” The others nodded in eager agreement. They were so timid and jumpy, such small things. Like nervous little birds.

Morrel closed his eyes and bowed his head briefly, accepting their explanation. It fulfilled his duty to the trees well enough, and he saw no reason not to trust their word.

He settled himself further, his feet flat and his hands braced on the earth. “I would stay and keep watch,” he told them. “You will be safe here, for the night.”

The humans seemed relieved, and the one who spoke first smiled brightly. “We thank you, good giant, for your understanding. Would you be opposed to a few rounds of song? We cannot offer much else as our supplies are too short.”

Human song was a rare but welcome blessing this deep into the woods. Morrel tilted his head. “Please, little travelers. Sing as much as you like.”

[sysig]

Go play pretend on your own (Patreon)

[synthaphone]

the bad news is i'm still doing this. the good news is that playing brilliant diamond saps all desire i have to play pokemon, so i'm expecting to be back to drawing ocs again within the next few days

[rafeysbunny]

‧₊˚ ⋅ i'll show you, rafe cameron

stepbro!rafe x fem!reader

masterlist

synopsis. in which your stepbrother kindly offers to show you porn for the first time.

warnings. stepbro!rafe, innocent!reader (but she's not an airhead), virgin!reader, smut, fingering, rafe putting in just the tip, oral sex (fem receiving), rafe licks his own creampie.

word count. 4k.

author's note. idea by @matts1andonly. english isn't my first language so there might be spelling mistakes, don't hold it against me. enjoy!

it's past midnight when you finally slide out of your bedroom without making a sound. you have been waiting patiently for your mom and ward to go to bed so you can do this without risking getting caught. wheezie is already asleep too, sarah is out with john b somewhere, and rafe left the house earlier, not telling anyone where to, so you know he's going to arrive late, as always.

it's the perfect moment.

rafe's room is down the hallway, so you make your way there quietly not to wake anyone, your barefoot feet making soft footstep sounds when you walk. once there, you open the door as carefully as you possibly can, knowing it creaks every time it gets open. this time, thanks to god, it does not.

you manage to sneak into the dormitory unnoticed, then shut the door behind you. the place is dark, only a faint glimmer of moonlight coming in through his curtains, but you want to lay low, so you don't turn on the lights. by all means, the dim lighting is enough for you to spot what you're looking for.

rafe's mac, laying there on his desk.

what's the point behind all of this? you might be wondering. well, let me answer you real quick. turns out, this handsome, muscled college guy has invited you on a date. problem is, you have never been on a date. you haven't even hold hands with a guy romantically before, much less kissed or fucked one. you simply refuse to come off as a prude, which honestly you are, but that dream of a man doesn't need to know that.

and that's why you have decided that it is a good idea to break into your stepbrother's bedroom and borrow his laptop, since yours broke last week, to watch porn in it for the first time.

well, now that you hear it out loud, it probably sounded better in your head. anyways...

you stroll towards the desk with languid steps and sit down on rafe's chair, small hands reaching hesitantly to open the laptop. you turn it on and the screen light illuminates your pretty face right away. you swear your fingers are shaking a little bit as you open up the browser and type 'porn videos' on the search bar.

somehow, you feel like you are doing something wrong, and you can't seem to shake the guilt away. either way, you don't back out. you click the enter button and, after just a few seconds, a million search results pop up. honestly, you don't know where to start, so you click on the first one, which redirects you to a website called pornhub.

the home page is full of videos, the first thing to catch your attention being the obscene thumbnails of each one of them. your cheeks flush a deep shade of red. you read some of the titles as you bite your lip nervously, realising most of them contain the word 'stepsister' in them, and you wonder if that is the only content posted on this page.

how innocent of you not to know that the website is making recommendations based on your stepbro's most searched tag.

before things escalate further, you spot rafe's airpods max sitting there on the desk and decide to grab them, connecting them to the laptop and putting them on —this way you can make sure no one overhears anything. after that, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through the page, during which you discover that there's a ton of categories to choose from.

how are you supposed to know which one to pick?

you are so invested in your little research, headphones canceling the noise, that you don't hear neither rafe opening the front door nor him walking up the stairs and, surely, don't notice him standing behind you until he speaks. and it's too late by then.

"the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?" he blurts, complete and utterly shocked to see his naive stepsister fuckin' watching pornhub.

well shit, maybe you aren't as innocent as he thought you were.

you jolt instantly, jumping out of your seat as you feel all the colour draining from your cheeks. no way rafe just caught you in the act. this can't be real. despite how bad you want to run away, you are left with no other choice but to turn around and face him, wishing the earth would swallow you up.

"i– this is not what it looks like, i swear i can explain," you stutter nervously, taking of the airpods with trembling hands. from here on, the anxious rambling begins, "i wasn't doing anything... this guy– well, i... i uhm– i got a date, 'kay? with this guy from class and– listen, i know this is silly, but..."

"jesus christ, baby, slow down, 'kay?" he stops you, his heart nearly melting from how cute you look, so shy and flustered. he almost feels bad for interrupting whatever the hell you were doing here.

the colour has returned to your cheeks, and you are all flushed now, from head to toe. your face feels like it's on fire; you have never been this embarrassed before.

"could you please start over?" he asks, hoping to hear a coherent explanation to why you are in his room, in the middle of the night, and watching porn on his laptop.

you take a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you are so deeply ashamed that you don't seem to remember that you are wearing nothing but a flimsy white singlet and a tiny pair of matching panties. rafe's very aware of that fact, though, hungry eyes trailing all over your beautiful body.

"i've got a date with a guy from class," you start explaining, white teeth nibling occasionally on your plump bottom lip, "but i've never dated anyone, ya' know? i've no experience, and i don't want him to think i'm pathetic if we..."

"fuck?" he finishes your sentence, a roguish grin spreading across his handsome face.

if possible, your blush deepens even more at the vulgarity while you mutter a quiet 'yeah' in response.

honestly, he is a bit jealous of that guy. not only you are willing to let him fuck you, but you are also trying to learn how to do it properly so he has a good time doing it. yeez, what a shame for him he is going to kill him as soon as he finds out who he is; there's no chance rafe's letting you near any other man but him.

"i thought, uhm, maybe watching that would help..." you add coyly, his silence making you more nervous.

it is cute how you try to avoid saying words like 'fuck' or 'porn', like it is a crime to pronounce them or something.

"you know what? let's watch it together," he proposes.

there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed. you swear your cheeks might just explode at any second, and you can't help the pathetic stutter that comes out when you talk. "uhm, i don't think that'd be appropriate," you refuse, shaking your head.

"why not? you want help, and i can help you here, sweetheart," he answers, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle —unlike rafe, "that's what big brothers are for, aren't they?"

he takes a few steps in his direction until he is standing right beside you. then, he grabs the laptop in his large hands as he flashes you a wicked smirk, his curtain bangs falling messily on his forehead. you gulp, having him so close makes you feel a certain way; you cannot deny that.

"you, uhm, being my stepbrother is exactly why not," you stammer as you tilt your head back to look at him, his height towering over you.

"bullshit," he retorts, huffing. "you trust me?"

your first mistake is, probably, trusting rafe cameron. "yeah, i do, but..."

"that's why 'm perfect for the job, baby," he interrupts you. his words are clearly intended to manipulate you, but you are way too innocent to notice it, "i'm probably the guy you feel most comfortable with, aren't i? i can give ya' all the advice you need."

to be fair, he isn't wrong about that. you don't have any male friends, and you are honestly too embarrassed to ask your girlfriends for help on this department, not wanting them to think less of you. plus, rafe is a guy; he knows better what guys like, right?

"wouldn't it be kinda... weird ?" you ask, clearly hesistant.

"weird?" he repeats. "no, 'course not."

only a few more sweet, reassuring words is all it takes for him to gently coax you into watching his favourite pornos with him. his cock starts to harden in his pants just at the thought of having you like that. when you finally accept, he swears he's on cloud nine.

god, he's been wanting you for months now; he can't believe this is happening.

"c'mere, baby," he eagerly instructs you, getting on his bed.

he sits with his back resting on the headboard and pats the spot between his legs to invite you to sit there. he places the laptop next to him, the pornhub website still open on it. you move slowly towards him, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment as you settle on the mattress in between his parted thighs, your back pressed to his hard chest.

he wraps one strong arm securely around your waist, his hand coming to rest gently on your tummy. with his other hand, he reaches for the laptop sitting beside him, carefully bringing it closer so the two of you can see the screen properly.

your heart is beating so fast in your chest that he can probably hear it, too. the way he is touching you is not making it easier for you to stay calm, either, his fingers tenderly tracing patterns on your belly over the thin fabric of your shirt while he scrolls through the page.

he seems to sense your discomfort and chuckles low in his throat, his warm breath tickling your ear. "relax, sis," he whispers teasingly, his voice laced with amusement. "i'm not gonna make you watch anything that'll traumatize you."

"it's just– this is a bad idea," you babble, fidgeting nervously when he finally clicks on a video and a pretty young woman appears on screen.

the actress is beautiful; she has a gorgeous body and face. her lips are full and pink, and she has these big, expressive eyes that appear to gleam. and you don't realize it, but she looks exactly like you.

the scene starts playing; in it, the girl is watching some movie with a guy that, apparently, is her roommate —at least that's what the title says.

"shhh..." he hushes you softly, his voice barely audible over the sounds emanating from his laptop's speakers. "just watch. don't overthink it."

"okay," you answer between gritted teeth.

your pretty eyes are fixed on the laptop while you try not to cringe at how bad the script and acting are, which is nearly impossible, to be honest. despite that, you keep watching in silence as the video plays, growing more flustered as the clock ticks.

you didn't know mouths could be used for that... interesting.

as opposed to you, rafe's pretty chill behind you, like he's unbothered by this whole situation —he's actually hard as fuck inside his pants, the thing is you haven't noticed. you wonder how he can act so unfazed, since you keep pushing your thighs together to try and soothe the throbbing sensation building in between them while you take in the lewd actions occurring on screen.

you weren't expecting your body to have this reaction, and now you don't know what to do to make it stop.

rafe soon becomes aware of the way you keep letting out soft sighs and squirming in his arms, plush ass rubbing against his cock every time you do it. it's a miracle he is still holding back, though he doesn't know how much time he will be able to.

he's not even paying attention to the video anymore, his entire focus put on you. he finally ventures to lean in, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "you know, i could do that to you..." his hand slowly slides to your plush thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

his movements are measured and controlled not to scare you, but your breath hitches in your chest at his actions either way, body tensing up in his grasp. your brain is telling you to push him away, but the insistent throb in your sex doesn't like that idea, not one bit.

"you– you could?" you utter quietly, not taking your eyes away from the laptop.

rafe notices the uncertainty in your voice, but the way you haven't pushed him away yet emboldens him to continue, his large hand gradually sliding north.

"yeah, baby," he murmurs huskily against your ear, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh. "i could put my fingers inside you, just like he's doing to her..."

his words make you blush heavily as a little gasp is released from your pouty lips. "would it feel good?" you ask naively.

your eyes are transfixed in the sight of the guy on the screen pushing his fingers inside the girl's pussy. god, she seems like she's enjoying it so much... and you desperately want to feel like that too. you can't even bring yourself to care that it's your stepbrother offering to show you.

rafe's fingers creep higher and higher until they're barely brushing against your cotton panties. "yeah," he growls huskily against your ear, "it'd feel real good, sweetheart. i promise..."

you shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. you tear your eyes away from the screen, head falling back against his chest as you look up at him.

"it's throbbing, rafe..." you whine, self-control slipping from your hands. "can you make it better?"

rafe's fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. he rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.

"oh, baby, you're soaked through your panties..." he pants out.

your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure. the girl in the video moans, and you do too, both sounds echoing in the silence of his room.

taking your moan as an invitation, rafe carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.

"such a pretty little pussy..." he praises, eyes hungrily taking in the pink expanse of flesh.

you squirm and let out a soft whimper, biting your lip right after to avoid keep making noises; the last thing you want is to wake up your parents or wheezie. rafe notices your struggle and swiftly reaches up to cover your mouth with his free hand, muffling your sweet moans.

he gathers some of the wetness dripping out of your cunt before trailing his fingers all the way up to your clit, rubbing it gently. your eyes roll back, hips bucking up against his hand instinctively. the way your swollen bud throbs beneath his fingertips is going to make you mad. he begins to touch your clit in fast, tight circles, his other hand still holding your mouth shut to keep you quiet.

he leans in to whisper against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "if you make a sound, i'll stop, got it?"

you nod obediently in response, making your best effort to comply; you don't want him to stop doing this, never. as a reward, rafe slides a thick finger down your slit and presses it against your clenched entry, steadily applying pressure until your tight muscles finally give in and allow his digit ingress.

"so fuckin' tight," he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his finger.

withdrawing his finger almost all the way out, he teases your entrance with the tip, making you tremble with anticipation before pushing it back in to the knuckle, his palm cupping your mound as he starts to thrust in a smooth, lazy rhythm. you swallow a whiny cry while your eyelids flutter shut, pretty face scrunched in a blissful expression.

rafe works his finger in and out of your slick pussy slowly, marveling at how your velvety walls flutter around the digit. he curls it inward, searching for that special spot that's guaranteed to drive you wild.

after a few experimental pokes, rafe's fingertip finally brushes over your g-spot, eliciting a muffled moan from under his palm. he smiles wickedly against your skin, and you shudder in his grasp, pleasure waves running through your body.

"that's it, sweetheart... feel good?" he croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.

you can't bring yourself to reply, the sensation of his large digit fucking your pussy, added to the constant rubbing of his palm against your puffy clit has your mind feeling all fuzzy. your body language is the only answer he needs, though.

rafe leans in to tenderly nip at your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your slender throat as he keeps pumping his finger steadily in and out of your dripping cunt. he knows you're close when he feels your inner muscles starting to clench erratically around his digit.

"rafe," you moan onto his palm as you feel this new, strange sensation building in your tummy, pussy tingling so nicely.

heaven help him. hearing you, his stepsister, moan his name like that makes rafe's hard dick throb almost painfully against his zipper.

and then it happens. the coil in your belly suddenly snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as you cum for the very first time, on your stepbrother's hand. rafe continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

when you finally come down from your high, you're all shaky and flustered in his arms, panting heavily to try and catch your breath. he has a satisfied smirk on his lips while he slowly withdraws his slick digit from your quivering hole to bring it up to his mouth and lick it clean, savoring your taste.

"did so well for me, baby," he coos as he uncovers your mouth, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips.

you return it sloppily, eyes fluttering shut in the process, and you sigh contently against his mouth. he can't help but rock his hips against your ass, rubbing his hard on against you.

"did i make you feel good?" he asks between little kisses, his breathing growing uneven. you nod in response. "yeah? then it's just fair you make me feel good too, sweetheart... wanna do that f'me?"

"yes," you whisper against his lips without even thinking, feeling him smirk into the kiss.

"such a good girl," he praises.

at some point, the porn video playing on his laptop ended, so he simply closes it up and tosses it away, the device landing somewhere on his king size bed. then, he turns you both around, until you are laying on the mattress and he is on top of you.

he is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his raging hard on, which bounces against his abs. let me tell you this, he's big, the tip pink and fat, already leaking precum.

suddenly, realization hits you. this is your stepbrother for god's sake, are you really gonna let him fuck you?

he notices how your body tenses up, one hand reaching to stroke your plush thigh reassuringly while the other wraps around his shaft, giving it a slow pump.

"hey, baby, relax..." he whispers gently, "i'll put just the tip in, yeah? there's nothing wrong with that."

you hesitate. his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug you closer. then his cock brushes your pussy and you whimper. how are you supposed to say 'no' ?

it's just the tip.

"mhmm, 'kay" you end up agreeing with a little nod.

rafe flashes you a lopsided smirk, his hand gripping his cock again while the free one yanks your panties aside once more. keeping eye contact, he slowly glides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your arousal. you shudder as his tip eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.

"rafe," you whimper.

rafe's eyelids droop, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the reddened head up and down your chubby pussy lips with squelching sounds. his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick folds, reveling in your breathy whimpers. he feels like he's about to burst already, pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip and onto your flesh.

he can't fucking take this anymore.

with a slow, gentle thrust, he sinks his cock into your warm, slippery pussy, just the head breaching your entrance before he pauses, savoring the initial penetration. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"jesus, fuck." he grunts.

your cunt starts fluttering around him. he has barely slided the first two inches in, as he promised, but he's so thick that even that feels like a tight fit. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from rafe as your velvety walls clench tightly around his swollen cockhead.

"gonna– might just nut already, shit" rafe mutters through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to just drive forward and hilt himself deep. "so goddamn tight."

your hips buck unconsciously against his, making him slip in just a tad further —which nearly makes him lose all his self-control. somehow, he manages to keep his shit together, hips rocking slowly to thrust in and out of you while his veiny hand strokes the rest of his shaft.

you're totally enthralled by the sight, liquid heat pooling in your belly while you watch him use your body for his pleasure. he looks so good, you can't believe he's real. your chest fills with pride at the knowledge that you're making this greek god feel good.

this is the fastest rafe has ever cum, the movement of his hips becoming jerky and sloppy after a few minutes as he spills his sperm inside you. he's panting heavily, sweat beading on his brow while his fist squeezes the base of his cock tightly.

you're left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, pussy stretched out and leaking white spurts of cum. he gazes down at you with a smirk, lightly tapping the head of his dick against your swollen clit, which has you writhing beneath him.

"so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," he whispers, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your slit. you mewl in response. "hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart, lemme clean it up, yeah?"

you blush in response when he leans forward, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the heavenly feeling, his playful tongue delving between your folds to lap up his own release. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to mess you up again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he makes you cum again.

after tonight, you are cancelling that date, that's for sure.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

interruptions.

all he wants is to have you all to himself but everyone keeps getting in his way.

fluff and slightly suggestive. brief references to chaotic velocity and his myth.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

He groans against your lips as his hands caresses your hips, urging you to grind against his thighs.

His bedroom is silent apart from the sounds of your exchange of heated kisses, your heavy breaths in-between, as well as the rustling of your clothes as your bodies yearn for friction.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Sylus thrusted up to let you feel his excitement, and you responded by palming him through his pants, earning a low growl from his parted lips.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You pulled away as the ringtone of his phone blares closely next to you. You gave him a look before he pinches his temples and reaching for the device on his night stand.

"You better have a good reason to interrupt me on such an important time."

This is the third time in just two days.

Sylus doesn't know how much more interruptions he can take.

"Looks like I'll have to cut our time short again." Sylus frowns as he gets up from the bed. "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Don't worry about it."

Being Onychinus' leader can be demanding, so you're not mad at him at all. In fact, at the moment, you're doing your best to hold back a laugh.

"Before you leave, maybe take a cold shower first."

Two days later, as you were leaving your workplace, you ran into your lover who's dressed in his favorite leather jacket, bathing in darkness.

"Sylus?! What are you doing here?"

It's the middle of the week. You usually don't get to see each other until the weekends, unless spontaneous plans come up. You figured this is one of those special cases.

"Do I need a reason to see my girlfriend?"

"No, but you do need to be cautious when picking up said girlfriend from her job, which may or may not be interested in catching some suspicious people who love lurking in the shadows."

There's not an ounce of worry in his eyes at all. "Luckily, I have a strong kitten who'd protect me should anyone dare to put their hands on me."

You playfully punched his arm as you walked next to him. "You could've at least texted me."

"A surprise usually works out only if someone doesn't know what'll happen." He then taps your head. "There's a restaurant that I've been meaning to check out. Want to come?"

Your heart and stomach cheered happily, deeming him as your savior. After all, you're starving after such a long day at work. "Of course!"

Around ten at night, dinner was done and you ended up relaxing at an empty, quiet park. You sat down on a bench surrounded by red flowers and you rested your head on his left arm while he holds your right hand.

At first, the two of you enjoyed the moment of silence and appreciated each other's warmth and company.

You could've fallen asleep then and there.

If only Sylus didn't start leaving kisses all over your face. He dropped them one by one, slowly and softly, as if you're something precious that could vanish at any second if he isn't careful enough.

As his lips pressed against yours, his right hand brushes up and down from your knee to your thigh, warming up your body during the cold night.

Sylus' ragged breaths urged you to deepen the kiss while caressing his face, though your makeout session was short-lasted as a group of chatty, cackling teenagers had decided to hit up the very spot that you two are in.

Clicking his tongue, Sylus stood up and reached out one hand for you. "I guess this is our sign to leave. Shall we?"

"Yeah."

You couldn't even bother to hide your disappointment that your time together was once again shortened.

He came with you back at your apartment, though Sylus couldn't stay the night due to plans he has later on.

He wasn't even supposed to see you tonight; he forced it in his busy schedule because his urge to see you was just unbearably strong during these past few days, and the constant interruptions are absolutely not helping.

It's as if the world is purposely getting in the way.

The next interruption came during dinner at a restaurant that you and Sylus have been wanting to visit for months. You made a reservation two weeks ago, and you got to enjoy all the delicious meals and drinks that made the place worthy of Sylus' attention.

You were given the best seats in the restaurant, which would be the special table on the rooftop, decorated with dimmed, beautiful lights to illuminate the dark night, and flowers for your eyes and nose to feast on.

As you were finishing up your wine, you walked towards the edge of the rooftop to observe the scenery around you.

For a moment, Sylus remained seated, only shifting his position so that he could admire you in your beautiful dress.

It's one of his favorite views — you facing away from him, eyes beaming with happiness and lips curled into a soft smile, completely lost in the scenery around you and unaware of how bewitching you are and the trance that you always put him in.

He'll never get tired of it.

"Sylus, look!"

At your call, he appears behind you and immediately wraps his arms around your waist. He gave you a light kiss on the shoulder before moving his gaze to wherever you were pointing at.

Unfortunately, Sylus never got to learn what caught your interest because suddenly, you received signals that a Wanderer is nearby.

And so, dinner ended early and you spent the rest of your energy jumping in action.

The Wanderers certainly became Sylus' punching bags for the night.

At last, you finally won some time to spend in the N109 Zone.

You're at his house and you've just finished eating the dessert that you two made together a few hours ago.

And now, you find yourself trapped against the counter table with Sylus blocking all the ways to escape.

"Can't run from me now, kitten."

His lips touched yours.

"Boss, look what we found!"

"...."

"...."

"....oops..."

"...sorry!"

Luke and Kieran were frozen by the entrance of the kitchen, almost dropping the fancy looking weapon they were carrying.

You let out a laugh to break the silence. "Hey guys!"

Sylus sighs defeateadly. He did acknowledge the twins and the gift they brought to him by giving them a quick but sincere "well done" before turning back to you with a certain glint in his eyes. "I hope you're up for a midnight ride."

"Wait what?!"

He took your left hand and started leading you out of the kitchen.

"Right now?!"

Luke and Kieran only gave you a wave of their hands, still feeling guilty about the interruption. Sylus didn't look mad at them, but he does look frustrated.

Whatever he has planned out with you, they know not to interrupt. Even Mephisto stayed still after giving you a look.

"Here."

Sylus helped you put on a black and red helmet that matches the one he's about to wear.

You eyed the motorcycle and couldn't hold back your excitement.

"Blackrose Archfiend!"

The half-black, half-pink motorcycle with the trademark of a golden crow made you recall the first time you and Sylus rode it and race against other motorcyclists.

"It's been a while!"

Sylus smirks proudly. "I modified it again. I meant for us to test it out tomorrow when we have more time, but this is gonna be our ticket to peace and quiet so we'll use it now."

"Ticket to peace and quiet?"

He ascends the motorcycle and turns on its engine before reaching out a gloved hand for you, inviting you to join him.

"Will you let me be selfish for a little while?"

With a soft smile, you took his hand and sat behind him, holding onto his waist.

You didn't care where he'll take you or how long it'll take to get there.

Your heart races at the adrenaline rush from the roar and speed of the motorcycle, and the cold wind dances all around you as you dart across the moonlit, empty roads of the N109 Zone.

A high mountain roadside, underneath the stars.

That's where you ended up in.

Other than the noises made by the animals that live in the surroundings, there's absolutely no other sounds that'll disturb the comfortable, peaceful silence.

The only light source you have is the full moon right above you, but that's more than enough for you to see the look of content in Sylus' face.

His features are highlighted in such a way that makes him look like an artwork that deserves to be admired by many, and yet you're the only lucky one to see him like this at this.

"You're staring, sweetie."

"And what about it?"

He smiled and scooted closer to you so that your arms are overlapping as you sit on a giant boulder planted deeply on the ground.

"That means I get to stare at you as much as I want in return, right?"

You held up one hand in front of your face and used it as a wall to block his intense gaze. "No!" The way he gazes at you makes your stomach want to explode with various emotions.

No matter how long you've been together, he never fails to make you flustered as if it's just the beginning of your relationship.

Sylus laughed at your hand before intertwining his fingers with yours and putting your conjoined hands on your lap.

"You're mine for the rest of the evening, sweetie. Any objections?

You shook your head, melting at his words. "Not at all."

Despite your playful rejection earlier, Sylus' eyes were unable to keep away from you, finding you more entrancing than anything around you. While he could look at the moon, the stars, and the city lights, he can always see them every night.

He can't say the same for you.

Once upon a time ago, he lost you and you lost him. It was like having your entire world ripped away from you.

The day he found you again... he'll never forget the way that it felt. It was like seeing light for the first time in forever. Like gasping for air after holding your breath for so long.

He's reminded of how lucky he is to be given a second chance of a life with you. Even though he complains about the distance between your homes and your jobs sometimes get in the way of your plans, he'll always be grateful that he can spend any time with you at all.

He'll always cherish every second with you, and he will never take you for granted.

You didn't keep track of the time at all. You two sat there and enjoyed each other's presence, talking about whatever comes up in your head while admiring the stars above and the lights of the N109 Zone from below.

There were times when you two would pause your conversations and just embrace the silence, bringing nothing but comfort that made you want to cuddle — and you did.

At some point, your body had been enveloped by his arms. You're seated between his legs and your back is against his chest. You could feel his steady heartbeat that would occassionally lose its rhythm.

You're spared from the wind's icy kiss, but not from Sylus' warm, gentle ones.

It started off with him casually dropping kisses on random parts of your face. Sometimes, while you're in the middle of rambling, his lips will linger on your skin and you'd forget everything that you were about to say.

Then, his kisses gradually became more fierce. From the moment he fixated on your neck, you'd become a mess that's unable to talk.

After leaving a couple of marks, Sylus wore a satisfied grin before diving into your lips with his own.

He kissed you over and over and over again, taking full advantage of the isolation. Finally, no one can interrupt.

No one can take you away from him ever again.

[pseudowho]

"--and this is the staffroom," Gojo sing-songed, swinging open the door on your First Day Tour, with you a few steps behind him, "--ah! And that's Nanamin. Say hi, Nanamin!"

A tall, suited blond man looked up from his spot on the sofa as you peered in; at first, he simply nodded to you, disinterested. Then, Gojo spoke again while leading you out.

"--he's not very fun, don't worry-- no sense of humour."

Your final glimpse as the door closed, was of the blond man's irritated scowl.

It was true; Kento clearly didn't make people laugh, for he was either too mean or too subtle to be funny. This was the case, at least, until you. And you had no idea what your laughter did to him.

You had formed an alliance of respect, an easy bond that would have been camaraderie if not for Kento's standoffishness. You felt him hover nearby on joint missions, close enough to lunge to your rescue, but far enough that he could resist your magnetism.

Talking, and surveying the abandoned school, you spoke aloud as you walked down the stairs.

"So perhaps I'll take the East Wing, and you take the We--ergh!"

You reeled back, having walked headfirst into a buckled ceiling. Kento stepped to your aid, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, and lifting your chin to look at your forehead. He huffed, barely a puff of breath through his nose, wiping dust from your forehead before grumbling.

"You'll be alright. Not much in there, anyway."

You burst into laughter, and Kento electrified, absolutely rigid. You patted his chest, still giggling as you walked away, cooing back over your shoulder in a way that utterly melted him.

"So mean."

You soon learned that Nanami Kento was possibly the funniest man at Jujutsu High. Dry and unforgiving in a way that made your brittle colleagues crumble, you found yourself, instead, choking back laughter every time he crippled one with another savage put-down.

When Yuuji arrived late to a mission, Kento stepped over to him and, poe-faced, pulled up his shirtsleeve to show Yuuji his wrist.

"This," Kento hummed, flat, "is a watch. You can buy one at any good supermarket."

When a waiter slopped coffee over Kento's shoulder, Kento dabbed at it to the waiter's frantic, apologetic bowing. Kento raised a placating hand and insisted to the confused waiter.

"It's alright. I never liked this suit anyway."

When you stood at the staffroom window with him, watching a monsoon in companionable silence, Kento murmured over the rim of his mug.

"Lovely day."

He had timed it just-so, and barely concealed his lopsided smirk when you choked on your tea. Shoko walked in, drenched, looking at you and Kento in dismay. You coughed, opening your mouth to speak, but Kento got there first, firing shots.

"Is it raining?"

Shoko scoffed, sputtering, while you buckled against the windowsill.

Kento grabbed a hand towel and an umbrella, heading to the door. As Shoko reached for the towel, Kento pressed the umbrella into her hands instead, his expression flat, but his voice edged with a feral pleasure that made you come undone.

"You'll need this."

Kento's meanness was tempered only by his self-deprecation, and when you took as good as you gave, you felt his icey facade melt away completely, revealing such warmth.

It was no wonder you were drawn to each other, when the only reason neither of you laughed together, was because you were in a constant stand-off for who could remain poe-faced the longest. Kento always won.

Still, you felt the need to break him; you had cracked smiles, or the occasional chuckle out of him, but nothing more. You knew nothing more than the truest irony would do it.

The day came; you arrived, to your usual staffroom rendezvous, covered in blood. Kento paled, abandoning his book to rise immediately and reach you in three long strides.

"--you're hurt-- we'll go to Sho--"

"Kento. Stop. It's not my blood-- it's Gojo's."

Kento did a double-take, his eyes narrowing in disbelief, so you explained.

"Gojo invited himself to teach me about Curses that are 'above my paygrade', so he took me to one. I told him this Curse was clearly more powerful than it looked, and Gojo told me to step back so he could handle it. Said he'd even do it without his Infinity on. So I stepped back."

Kento's nose flared, barely perceptible.

"...and?"

You took a deep breath. "So, Gojo has a broken nose--"

Kento broke down with a wheeze, before bursting into a rich, deep rolling laughter that split the clouds with sun. His hands clasped the windowsill, his eyes crinkled, and his shoulders shook with wicked, throaty mirth.

You felt yourself becoming drunk off him, utterly intoxicated by his laughter. Kento couldn't stop himself, trembling with schadenfreude to the point of indecency.

Finally, sighing and straightening as if exhausted, Kento wiped his eyes with the side of his finger, and smiled at you with sweet adoration. Laughter still threatened to break through as he begged you.

"Would you-- would you like to go out for dinner? With me?"

You paused, your expression pained.

"Ah...no. No, thank you."

Kento froze, his face beginning to fall. You looked down at yourself, and announced, still deadpan.

"It's just-- I'm covered in blood, you see--"

That sent Kento over the edge again.

You remained content throughout the years of your marriage, for Nanami Kento to be viewed by others as boring and humourless. You found yourself jealously greedy of his rare laughter, anyway.

After marriage, you viewed it as the highest badge of honour to make him laugh like that while he was buried inside you.