#ill try to dig it up i thought it was neat

[thesaintelectric]

whenever ppl try to argue grammatical and social gender are entirely separate I just think about a study that showed if a word is feminine/female people more often associate it with feminine adjectives and the opposite for masculine objects. like yes congrats you've worked out that a table does not inherently have gender but if its feminine in your language your mental image will be different to if its masculine

[bitchimasnake-sss]

Okay so.. what if the monster trios partner just randomly swapped from bottom to top in the middle of freaky time (pretend the word freaky has that funny ass font)

oh,,, you mean 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 freaky. i hear you, i see the vision, and i must torment these men. ps: gonna add ace n law just for funsies <3

🌙thinkin' about: the monster trio, ace 'n law! vs switchin' things up!

VERY SHORT DRABBLES, OKAY? OKAY. NOT PROOFREAD, OKAY? OKAY. cw: pussydrunk men. dom-ish reader. nsfw thoughts include: handjob, teasing, cocky and pathetic men, creampie, doin' it raw. oh, and pussydrunk men. okay, thats it. MDNI OR ILL HUNT YOUR PETTY ASSES. m.list

🍒monkey d. luffy: tonight, let me be your little plaything.

❤️he just laughs when you thread your fingers through his hair and pull it backwards so meanly, "hah, what's wrong?" "w-wanna be on top," you pull him downwards, trying to turn him around and your captain complies happily. too happily, perhaps. grinning, he turns around to be on his back and uses his firms hands to stabilize you on his aching dick. "are you sure? i can—" luffy tries to ask, tries to really show you what a thoughtful and careful captain he is. but you just tilt your face downwards, and you drink in any enquiries he has like it is water. his mouth parts, lewd strings of saliva glistening between you as you slowly sink down on his length, and promptly moan into him as he finally bottoms out. as he looks up at you, he cannot help but fuck upwards into you harder. your hair sticks to your forehead and chest, the strands plastered against your soft skin like modern art, your lips parted and lust-driven, haze eyes trained on him as if he was your prey for tonight. his voice stutters slightly, body tensing in anticipation as you gently run a finger across his taut chest, "w-what?" "shh, let me take care of you tonight." you swipe your thumb across his bottom lips as his eyes roll back as your neat, manicured fingers dig into his chest. as you bounce on his lap, he lets out such pretty, vulgar noises, "mhph baby, l- harder." "harder?" you circle your hips, the motion almost enough to send you both into a orgasmic bliss. luffy digs his fingers into the fat of your hips, bruising and breaking the skin. eyes barely open, his lips slack open as his pace falters, "s-shit, so good. keep going, fuck—" "as you wish, cap'n."

🍀roronoa zoro: don't try something you cannot keep up with.

💚"hm?" the swordsman quirks an eyebrow, his flushed face looking down at you with tepid anticipation, "what now, woman?" you had been pawing at his bicep, weak fingers curling against the taut muscle as if to sway him physically. you pout, the expression enough to disbalance even the greatest, "i wanna be on top, today." "huh?" the swordsman grins in return, gliding his flushed tip against your clit easily, familiarly. as if it was a routine he was well-versed in. well, technically, one could say that. when he speaks, his tone is that of mockery, "think ya can handle that? your thighs start burning after two pumps, 'm not kidding—" "—shut up, why don't y-you, zoro!" your breath hitches at the sudden sensation of zoro abandoning your aching cunt. scoffing, he pulls you up, "alright then," the swordman lays down, pulling you on top of him firmly. gazing up at you with a challenge drawn into his features, he husks, "c'mon, show me what you're made of." "don't get co-cocky. i'm gonna ruin you tonight." you hiss as his length toys against your inviting opening. you throw your head back at the feeling the intimate veins and ridges against your gummy walls as he sinks in deeper and deeper and depper. zoro hisses, "shi- hah. easy now." rocking your hips, you both moan as he finally bottoms out. looking down at the (once) cocky swordsman, you're delighted to find a man entranced by you. his half-lidded gaze falls on you, lips parting as he raises his hips to slam into you, "go on, s-show me what you can do." you laugh, something sort of airy, as you thrust back into him with just as much vigor. your pace fastens and you swear you see his eyes roll back as he gasps, "ngh shit. w-wait a min—" resting your palms flat against his chest, you rasp, "don't order me around tonight, roronoa."

🫐vinsmoke sanji: whatever my girl says, i do.

💙you could ask vinsmoke sanji to give his life up for you and he would in a second. so, don't expect him to question you as you close the door behind and push him onto your shared bed, unbutton his blue shirt and tell him you want him right now, right here. of course, he doesn't question, but that doesn't mean he doesn't quirk an eyebrow and address you breathily as you straddle his clothed hips, "what's with the haste, love?" "need you." you admit so quickly that you're surprised your words sound coherent at all, "need y'so bad." "hm?" the cook hums in delight as you rub against him even with all your clothes on. his strong arm wrapped around your torso, bringing you down to face him. his breath is hot against your lips, "that bad, darling?" before the cook can attempt to turn you around and pin your to the mattress, your hand tug his wrists to pin them up instead. he doesn't even struggle under you, accepting his fate all-too-happily as you rasp from above, "no. you're bottom tonight, vinsmoke." and you're crazy if you think sanji does anything but grin in delight, fighting an erection and the insane urge to submit to you fully within a second, "as you say, ma'am." the cook of your ship moans under you as rut against him. your lewd fluids seeping into the fabric of his dress slack and drenching his weeping cock in such an unholy manner. his breath stutters as your pace fastens, as you throw your head backwards and push yourself harder against him. "g-gonna tease me all night long, gorgeous?" the cook smiles deliriously and you tug his tie to pull him up and kiss him senseless. admitting through hot pants and restrained breaths, "if that's what you want, then sure." "i'm all yours." the cook admits dopily, his lips still entangled against you as your aching cunt rubs against his straining erection, "whatever you say, goes." "in that case," you pulled your top off easily, looking down at him unhurriedly, "strip."

🦋portgas d. ace: oh really? think you can do this? yes, yes you can.

🧡"oh, baby." ace throws his head back, his pretty locks falling backwards to show his pretty face, "don't tease me like that." "like what?" you echo back, looking down at your boyfriend so innocently as his arms tighten around you, "i was s'posed to be finishing paperwork, angel." "do that, then." you softly take off his hat, putting it on yourself against the backdrop of his moans, "i'm not saying anything." "y-your hands are saying more than enough." and at his words, you tilt your head downwards to see the sight of your hands fisted around his pretty cock. your thumb swipes over his wet slit and ace moans, his arm going slack against you, "sh-shit, okay. i get it, you wanna fuck. i won't make you wait." his arm tightens around your waist once over as he picks himself up from the chair he was sitting on. dragging himself to the bed, he throws you just to cage you under him. "no." you say loud enough for him to stop, "what is it?" you entangle your index against his red-beaded necklace and pull him downwards just to ghost at his lips, "i'm going on top tonight." the section-commander just quirks up his eyebrows in delight, "really?" and in a minute you're on top of him, looking down at such a flush-faced, shirt-less man. ace hums, "okay, then. have your fun. i've missed seeing you like this." you adjust his hat, the beaded string dangling as you rid him of his pants, "and i've missed making you cry out my name." "hm?" ace hums hotly into the air, balancing himself on his elbows to peer up at you, "guess we have a lot of catching up to do." his voice waivers pathetically as you run your soft hand up and down his shaft, looking at him with your predator-like gaze, "seems so." you lick the tip languidly, tasting the salty pre on your tongue. moving your hand up and down, never once breaking eye-contact, you command, "now shut up, and let me do the talking." "as you wish, angel."

🪻trafalgar d. water law: don't give the man new kinks, please.

💜"captain," you say the word so softly that law finds himself keening at just the sound of your voice. his voice is breathless, raspy, undone from the way he was thrusting within your gummy walls, "y-yeah, what?" you look into his eyes, words falling into an easy smile, "change positions, please?" and soon enough he realizes that that's not a question, rather a command, "i wanna be on top." and so, law complies. mostly, to flatter his own ego when you'd get tired and complain about your thighs burning like you always do when you're on top, but a little bit to make your bratty ass happy. with his tattooed chest on display and his arms tucked behind his tousled head, law looks up at your leisurely, "go on." you grin, hips moving down so suddenly to take all of him in, "wasn't waiting for your permission, captain." shit. and now, law might be the one going into a neuro-psychotic breakdown from the way you move your hips. up and down, sideways, sometimes circling him as your greedy, snug cunt swallows him whole. your gummy walls gnaw at him, pulling at him so greedily that he has no choice but to buck up fiercely, white-knuckle the linen sheets and purse his lips lest he utter something so embarrassing. "what's wrong?" you ask in that same airy tone, as if oblivious to the way your snug cunt was sucking him in and milking him dry, "having fun?" "ohmygod," the captain brings up a tattooed hand to his face, covering his eyes as his hips buck up into you wildly, "don't stop, don't fucking stop." his voice falters. it quietens pathetically, in a manner that is so unlike him, "p-please." "that good?" you ask softly, tracing your index finger up till it lands against the column of his throat. as you close your hands around his throat, you can feel the stuttering breaths under his skin, "law?" "wh-what?" his eyes widen as he takes his hand off, and you squeeze his throat in response, "ya like it?" the fact that you feel his hips stutter under you, his breath fasten and the familiar, warm fluid splatter against your walls should be enough of an answer. "seems like you do."

a/n: how much do i love pathetic men? yes. AND OKAY YEAH THIS ONE'S FOR THE HOT GIRLS WHO GET TIRED AS SOON AS THEY GO ON TOP (like me 😞). anyways, my writer's block goes wild. either i don't write for two weeks or i write like five things in one day. anyways, this is a scheduled post, hope you hotties enjoy mwuah <3 m.list

[dizzydennis]

Sonic x Knuckles - Cover Story

(Translator Note: This was an older translation that seemed to get lost to time, but I found a half finished file I made and decided to punch it up a bit. I am not coming back to tumblr, but wanted to fix this and the Tails story just for archiving the Cover Story translations)

It was a normal afternoon on a sunny day on Angel Island.

In the middle of the jungle full of massive trees, various speices of moss, and other creatures and plants was Knuckles. He was looking everywhere for something. So much so that he was digging up the ground everywhere around him.

Suddenly, Sonic jumped over and sat on his head.

“Hey, Knuckles! What are you doing?

“Sonic! What are you trying to pull!?

Sonic had seen Knuckles furiously digging into the ground and thought he would go and say hello. However, knowing how Knuckles would react, Sonic couldn’t help teasing him a bit.

“Come on! Anybody would want to play whack-a-mole with an echidna who’s constantly popping in and out of the ground!”

“What’d you say?!”

Knuckles leapt up and swung at Sonic; just barely missing him.

It was hard to tell if they were fighting or just playing. But this went on for a while.

“You didn’t answer me no matter how many times I called out to you. It’s not my fault you didn’t notice I was here!”

“Shut up. Tsk, you never change.”

Once they both got tired of goofing off, Knuckles caught his breath and talked about the dream he had seen.

In his dream, he saw long lost ancestors dressed in tribal garments.

They said they wanted to give something to Knuckles as he was a decendant of the Knuckles Clan. They said it was deep in the jungle.

“I can’t explain why, but I can feel something around here. I know I can.”

Knuckles’ eyes were filled with determination as he looked around.

It wasn’t just his knack for treasure hunting. There was a clear pressure from his being the last echidna that could be seen on his face.

“Alright, that sounds pretty neat! I’ll lend a hand with your little treasure hunt! ‘Cause that’s what friends are for, right?”

“What are you yapping about? Don’t act like we’re good buddies. Get off my island!”

Knuckles then threw out his fist and started another outing of roughhousing between the two of them. However, Sonic tripped over something while evading Knuckles’ attacks.

“Ouch…!”

“Ha! You deserved that!”

Knuckles let off a huge smile. But, the second he did, something started shaking deep in the earth below.

From all of the shaking, a secret door opened up in the ground. From it rose a miniature altar. It was the same stone that the Mystic Ruins were made out of.

It seemed that whatever Sonic tripped over was a switch that opened it up.

A small stone box was on top of the miniature altar.

“You know you have to thank me now, right, Knuckles?”

“Yeah, thanks a bunch for falling over and making yourself look like an idiot.”

While barking his insult to Sonic, Knuckles opened up the box and found a pair of gloves inside, but they had heavy, sharp nails. These were his ancestors’ combat cloves.

“Oh, I see. Now you can really rev things up in your little battles, huh? A typical present for a fighting family like the Knuckles Clan, huh?”

“…”

Even though he found the treasure, Knuckles remained silent as he closed the box. He didn’t have a rebuttal to Sonic’s insults which surprised the Blue Blur. He smiled as he clenched his fists.

“I don’t mean to speak ill of my ancesotrs, but these gloves… these hands that I have now. These are more than enough. As long as I can protect what’s most important to me then that’s all I need. Besides, I always come up on top no matter who I’m fighting! I don’t need something fancy like these ancient gloves.”

Knuckes definitely had a temper and was rough around the edges, but when it came to his desire and duty to protect the Master Emerald, his own abilities were more than enough.

Noticing this, Sonic had a change of perspective. He didn’t realize Knuckles had this side to him, but after hearing him speak so honorably, Sonic couldn’t resist teasing him again.

“Right, right. Using devices like this really isn’t your style! It’s your pure power that keeps all of our enemies out of our way. Ain’t that right, Knucklehead?

“…Who are you calling Knucklehead?”

Knuckles started putting on the ancient glove and took steps closer to Sonic.

“Wait, didn’t you just say you didn’t need those!”

“Shut your mouth! Come back here!”

Once again, whether they were playing or fighting, nobody could tell. But their antics could be heard for a long while within the jungles of Angel Island.

[sepublic]

Homesick!

I just gotta say I love the pun of this episode’s title; I thought Homesick would allude to it being about Luz missing home, but it was actually a joke on Hooty being sick!

That said, we DID get what would’ve been our first look at Manny, as well as an early version of Camila lore! Turns out she was going to be a nurse, but in the end I think I like veterinarian better. Still, I remember discussing healing back during S1A as a potential track for Luz because of this, so to see that theme be apparent with both parents was cool!

Manny’s face being shrouded also seems to indicate that the dramatic reveal behind him -the illness- was always planned, at least since the pilots. Luz said he drove an ambulance, past tense, which seems like some dark irony given he probably needed one at one point. Remember how some of us theorized after Reaching Out that the Abomaton alarm reminded Luz of an ambulance siren related to her father? Man… On the plus side! We can guess Camila and Manny met through their professions, so we could try applying that to canon as well! Compassion is such a Noceda trait I love it.

Likewise, I appreciate how these two leaked storyboards have Luz and Eda covering for each other! One sticks their neck out because something means a lot for the other, but the other decides it’s not so important they’d sacrifice the one for it… With this episode, Eda doesn’t want Luz to look like a dunce but Luz is honest and can’t bear to see her mentor be mocked either, and is trying to take responsibility for what she feels is HER mistake too! It’s really sweet seeing Eda inadvertently teach Luz the Healing glyph.

Speaking of, it seems we would’ve gotten individual glyphs for all spells, as the fandom once assumed! I guess the show did glyph combos to explain why Luz doesn’t immediately find everything, as well as create a sort of fun system behind Luz having to mix and match things. And we even got to see what we always wanted; Luz making an ENORMOUS glyph around her enemy! Goes to show my speculation that since glyphs rely on the magic around them, they aren’t physically taxing; Something we see brought up with Eda’s own magic.

Caduceia reminded me of an early Hermonculus, being a teacher who didn’t really care much for the actual students and even seemed to enjoy mocking them! She looks like Raine, so much that I wonder if the design was repurposed for them because it was such a nice one! I dig the play on Caduceus, with Snakeslie as a palisman! Snakeslie looks so much like a worm on a string. Given Luz and Caduceia are both healers, it’s neat they have a snake in common, though Caduceia’s seems to allude to her being a snake (liar); Her palisman’s name is literally Snakeslie. Snakes lie. Glad to see Stringbean with the positive rep!

I also love the gag of King calling himself the King of whatever’s convenient, and it was really cute seeing him want to prove his own worth! Because two witches, it’d be easy to feel like he has nothing to offer, which is part of Sense and Insensivity in canon! There’s parallels between the A and B-plots, with Luz and King feeling ineffectual and their owl friend supporting them, only to be helped as well! Eda and Owlbert are linked and hell so are the demon hunters and Caduceia!

The House Demon lore was neat, even if it was stuff we already figured out with canon; House Demons being like hermit crabs, and also rare! Seeing healing magic be used to make someone sick and even control their mucus/phlegm was disgusting yet fascinating! And I was delighted to see the demon hunters again, they’re underrated side characters imo and we even got a crew nickname for another one of them!

I also like the bit of the moral here; That sometimes, it’s not that a student is bad or isn’t trying, sometimes the teacher is failing them. Maybe some people think this generation is raised too soft and coddled, but I think it’s an important reassurance for a lot of kids who struggle and blame themselves for it; I’ve taken teaching classes before, and we were taught to be vigilant with ourselves as potentially inadequate for students. It’s the onus of the teacher to adapt to a kid’s needs after all, and actually care!!!

What an unexpected delight! I never imagined the crew made storyboards for additional episodes and not just the pilot! This one has no voice alas, but it’s better than nothing and I feel storyboards have such a nice charm to themselves as well! I really thought the pilot would be my last episode review, but I keep getting pleasantly surprised and gifted by this show…!

[sadhours]

ABSENTEE - 2

previous chapter • masterlist • my requests are open!

word count: 6k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni, child abuse mentioned, marijuana, smut, mentions of male masturbation, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, mental illness hinted(ocd)

///.

Neil opens the door abruptly. It’s been five days. He’s starving. Hasn’t eaten a damn thing besides sour candies. Max used to bring him food but when Billy realized he didn’t have access to a bathroom, he decided he’d rather starve. The look of his father makes him sick to his stomach. Billy can’t look in his eyes.

“Go get a fucking job,” is all he says before he stalks away, slamming the front door as he leaves.

Billy stands and staggers into the kitchen. Susan is sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee as she looks over this months Cosmo. She doesn’t spare a glance at Billy as he unties the bag of Wonder bread and shoves two slices into his mouth, opening the fridge and grabbing the carton of milk. He washes down the bread with a couple gulps of milk, panting as he pulls it away. He surveys his step moms face, searching for a hint of guilt but if there is any, she hides it well. Billy looks over to the clock to see it’s just hit 6:30. He digs through the fridge for anything quick and easy to eat, finds himself a slice of leftover lasagna and eats it cold, with his hands, chewing as obnoxiously as he can in hopes to make Susan feel bad. He wants to scream in her face, ask if she enjoys this or if she knows that if he weren’t here, she’d be in his place. A goddamn prisoner in her own home. Solitary is the fucking pits and Billy fantasizes about Neil and Susan being doomed to it long enough they go absolutely insane.

“Sleep well?” he asks her, slamming the Tupperware in the sink hard enough it makes her jump.

“Fine,” she replies like her step son hasn’t been denied basic human rights for the last five days.

“Fucking radical,” he purrs, “You know, we spend like a third of our life sleeping or some shit.” Billy walks over to the table and rests his arms on the chair across from her, “Did you know that, Susan?”

“Huh?” she flips the page, “Oh, yeah, that’s neat, Billy.” She says it like she wasn’t listening to him, he’s sure she wasn’t.

“Sure is,” he slaps the table hard, making her jump again, “Nice to see ya, Susan, it’s been days.”

He wants to slap the unbothered look off her face, but Billy would never hit a woman. Won’t let himself become his dad.

“I need a shower, feels like it’s been forever,” he admits before stalking down the hall into the very same bathroom his dad had split his head in the week prior. It’ll be real fun trying to get a job with his face mangled like this. Of course Neil never thought about that. If Billy thought it’d get him anywhere, he’d tell his dad that.

He strips off his shirt and turns around, craning his neck to look at the wounds on his back. They’re minor and they’ve mostly healed in the past five days so the shower shouldn’t be too painful. His body aches from being cooped up for so long. He turns the faucet on as hot as it’ll go and returns to look at himself in the mirror. A tiny little mustache is forming, along with patchy hair under his bottom lip, chin and along his jawline. As he waits for the water to heat up, he grabs the shaving cream and lathers up with it. He starts shaving away at the scraggly hair but when he gets to the mustache something stops him. After wetting his thumb under the faucet, he swipes the Barbasol off his upper lip and inspects his face. Wonders if he leaves the hair what it will grow into, patchy like the rest or full like his dads. Billy’s not totally stoked on the prospect of being anything like Neil but he thinks the mustache would make him look older so he decides to leave it.

He spends an absurd amount of time in the shower. Debates on jacking off but he’s a little sick at the thought. There wasn’t much to do the past five days and he’d somewhat abused his dick with boredom, so much so he got tired of his skin mags. Maybe it was time to get some new ones. He’d been looking at the same women for a few months now and he wasn’t getting as worked up when he flipped through them. He thinks about talking you into taking some photos for him, he’d have the memories to back them up and he probably wouldn’t get bored of them like he does with the models. Then again, maybe he would.

Job. He needs to get a job. He can’t let himself slip up and repeat the routine of running to Reggie’s to get stoned. Billy can’t imagine himself working the fryer at a fast food joint or bagging groceries but the longer he waits, the more desperate he’ll be.

Once the water turns cold, he shuts it off and reaches for a towel to dry off his body. He stayed in there too long and his fingers and toes have gone all pruney. But now Susan won’t have hot water to take her shower and that gives him a bit of satisfaction so it’s all worth it. He returns to his room and turns his stereo on as loud as he can handle before he gets dressed. Jumping into his jeans, he mentally files through the shirts he could wear that’ll make him look more professional. He settles for a loose, white button up and then gets started on his hair, combing a bit of mouse through it while it’s still damp to define his curls. He lets his hair air dry, lighting up a cigarette. It’s the last one in the pack you’d gifted him, he rationed them very carefully, though he wasn’t sure how long he’d be trapped in his room. It’s pure luck Neil decided to let him out today but he’s been known to survive without nicotine for a while, even though it drives him insane. Billy’s tough, he thinks he could pretty much handle anything at this point. Sometimes, he feels invincible for weeks on end and then it’ll crash and he’ll feel like the most fragile human in the world.

Once his hair’s dry, he grabs his Walkman and shoves his Scorpions cassette inside. He puts the headphones over his ears and shoves his wallet and lighter in his back pocket, turning the volume up on the Walkman before stalking through the kitchen, passed Max and Susan and slams the front door behind him. He skips the first couple bus stops he sees, decides he’ll catch the one by the abnormally placed gas station in the suburb. He buys a pack of smokes, shoots the shit with the guy behind the counter and even asks if they’re hiring, which, they’re not but he didn’t really want to work here anyways.

He catches the bus that’ll take him to the surf shop. Familiar scenery passes by, this is a route he was taking pretty often but he hasn’t had enough money to buy anything from there as of late. His boards in terrible need of a new wax job but Neil’s got a long list of chores he’d make Billy do if he caught him having any free time. Which reminds him, he needs to take a look at the kitchen sink whenever he gets back. Neil’d been bugging him about it for at least two weeks and his patience won’t last much longer.

The bell dings as he opens the door and the owner, Walter gives him a cheerful wave.

“Billy! I’d hate to see the other guy,” he greets him as Billy makes his way to the counter.

He snorts, “Yeah, I didn’t stick around to see it myself.”

“Well, shit, you’re a pacifist out on the ocean but I know you’re a real force out there on the street,” Walter says with a easy smile, “Bet you did a real number on whoever the guy was.”

Billy shrugs, “Thanks, man. I feel a little silly about it, probably should’ve been more careful but—“

“Shit happens, kid. You can’t let people push you around, gotta fight when the occasion presents itself,” Walter tilts his head as he gives Billy a pointed look, maybe a sympathetic one. “What brings ya in? It’s probably about time to rewax your board, eh?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Billy bounces on his feet before saying, “Actually… I was wondering if you needed help around here. My old man says I need a job and well, he’s right.”

Billy feels like he’s asking for a handout which is odd and he shouldn’t feel that way. Asking for a job isn’t asking for help, Neil would be calling him a pussy right about now.

“Damn,” Walter sighs, “it’s the season and all but I really can’t afford it. I could put you on the team and then you’d get all the hook ups but I bet your old man wants you making money.”

The rejection shouldn’t hurt as bad as it does, he kind of anticipated this. Walter’s never had an employee the entire time Billy’s been coming here. His daughter helps out but that’s obviously free labor.

“Yeah, man, I gotta get like a real job. Grow up and all that. I’d fucking love to be on the team but with a job and all, I don’t know how much time I’d have to be surfing… which fucking blows.”

Walter nods, “Age old problem. Life gets in the way of things you really want, but you know the waves’ll always be there for you, no matter what.”

Billy bites his lip and he nods along with Walter’s words. This dudes a bit of a hippie but Billy thinks he’s wise, he always says things that stick in his head.

“I can help you out with something else though,” Walter points at him before he disappears behind the beaded curtain that leads to the back. He reemerges with a tied off ziploc bag with a couple of nugs of weed inside. Billy grins from ear to ear, extending his hand to grab the gift.

“Thanks, man,” he beams, “That’ll definitely be helpful.”

“Now get out of here,” Walter smiles back, “Good luck on the job hunt and hey, make sure you make time for the things you like.”

“I will,” Billy assures him, though he tastes like a lie on his tongue.

///.

Rejection after rejection, Billy lands himself a job as a goddamn bag boy at the Alpha Beta Susan shops at. He’s irritated but after ten no’s from jobs he thinks he wouldn’t mind, he’d take anything. He’s just glad they hired him because his next stop was the Burger King in the same shopping center.

He starts tomorrow, 9 AM sharp. Billy catches the bus back home, bored of the Scorpions album and he scolds himself for not thinking ahead enough to at least bring another fucking cassette. Whatever, it’s only a ten minute bus ride back. He figures he’ll get home, tell his dad the good news and then call you to see what’s the move tonight.

He rips the headphones off his head once he gets to his stop, standing before the bus comes to a complete stop and the inertia makes him wobble on his feet. He can see Max messing around on her skateboard in front of the house and Susan watching her from the steps. They don’t acknowledge him as he trudges past and up the stairs into the house. He prefers it that way, wishes his dad never even fucking met Susan.

Neil’s sitting on the couch like he usually is after work, already working on his nth beer. Billy can feel his calmness though, his dads usually nice after he’s been locked in his room. However, maybe nice isn’t the right word, there’s always an lingering hint of resentment towards Billy.

“Got a job,” he says flippantly as he walks into the kitchen.

“Good,” is all Neil says and that’s it. That’s the extent of the interaction. Billy palms the phone, pressing it to his ear as he dials your number, the third number he’s ever memorized. He tries to forget his aunts number, that’s where his mom had gone at first when she left but she didn’t stay there long and he hasn’t called it since he aunt told him so.

“Hello?” your voice answers and Billy peers out of the kitchen to see if his dads paying attention.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says as he looks over Neil’s intense expression, not peeling his eyes away from the TV.

“Oh, thank god. I was getting pretty close to coming over there to blow you through the window,” your tone is teasing and it’s a relief to Billy, the way you can make him feel alright even with his father mere feet away.

“Oh, shit, pretend I didn’t call,” he replies with a whisper, grinning from ear to ear.

“Shut up,” you reply, “You coming over here then? My parents aren’t home.”

They never are but Billy doesn’t say that. It’s a rather touchy subject for you.

“Yeah, give me half an hour and I’ll be there,” he says, “See you then.”

He hangs up, feeling guilty that you can’t banter back and forth for long but Billy’s sure you’re used to it. You’ve both made the mistake of talking dirty on the phone before realizing Neil was listening to the whole conversation from the line in his bedroom.

He goes to his room to change, fix up his hair and reapply deodorant and cologne. He grabs his backpack, dumping a few cassettes in before the baggie of weed, a pair of grey sweats and a cropped Zeppelin shirt. As he’s walking passed the living room he glances to his dad, their eyes meet and Neil sighs.

“Where are you going?”

“To see my girlfriend,” Billy supplies and studies Neil’s face, waiting for him to say no.

“Don’t be out too late,” he says, dejectedly, like he was debating on letting him go and some kind of guilt won.

“Yes, sir,” Billy nods before rushing out the door, blowing past his step sister as she’s walking up the porch steps.

///.

You answer the door in the skimpiest outfit Billy’s ever seen you in. A cropped, ribbed tank top that your nipples poke through and your underwear. White ones with a pink rose in the center of the hem.

“Fucking Christ,” he mumbles as you grab a hold of his shirt and yank him inside. You shut the door behind him and push him against it, standing on your top toes to press a tender kiss to his lips before dropping to your knees. Billy drops his backpack and watches you with stars in his eyes, your fingers making quick work of his belt. He’s only half hard when you get his cock out, but as you lick around the head it fills out easily. You hum happily before dragging your tongue up and down his shaft. Your eyes look hungry, like you’ve been fucking desperate to do this since you stood outside his window three days ago. It makes his cock twitch, against your broad tongue and he groans, chewing on his bottom lip as he watches with dreamy eyes.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” you admit, breathlessly as your wrap your fingers around him at the base.

“I’ve missed you too— ahh!” his response turns into a whiny moan as you squeeze him in your hand.

You give an appeased giggle with your tongue still pressed to the length of him, his reaction spurring your actions. You lick up the vein on his shaft and stop at the ridge of his tip, focusing on the part you know is his most sensitive, flicking your tongue against it.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans out, his head rolling back to meet the door.

You’ll never get sick of the sounds he makes, never get tired of his fat cock, never get bored of Billy. You’re fucking consumed by him, so unbelievably infatuated with him. You’d do anything he asked of you in a heartbeat and though you’re more than sure it isn’t reciprocated so deeply, you don’t care. You’ll give him everything you can regardless if he gives it back.

You wanna tease, turn him into a puddle before you give in so you push his jeans and briefs to his ankles and start licking at his balls, you can feel how tight they are. He lets out a pathetic little whimper and you moan at it, tentatively taking one of his balls in your mouth as you stroke his cock with your hand. You can feel his thighs tensing with every movement and it’s got your head reeling, the way he reacts aides in the overwhelming arousal flooding your core. You feel special that you’re the one who gets to touch him like this. He could have any fucking woman he wants and by some miracle, it’s you he wants.

Billy shoves his fingers in your hair, panting out your name as you mouth at his sack. His cock leaks, more than you’ve ever witnessed and you pull back to look at him as you press your thumb against his slit, smearing the precrum over his head.

Your eyes meet and he smirks with his teeth showing and fuck, it makes you melt.

“Can’t believe you didn’t wanna do this through my window,” he says, voice already wrecked.

Your cheeks flush, “I did! Just like, nervous or something. Wasn’t sure we’d be successful.”

He lets out a deep laugh at that, “Oh, we’d make it work, little lady, I’m sure about that.”

You purse your lips, eyes intent on his as you begin stroking his cock again. Billy grunts out, licking against his lower lip as he watches your hand work.

“Don’t think it’d be smart… I’d have to touch myself on the front lawn while I did it,” you admit as your left hand dips into your underwear so you can get some relief yourself.

Billy groans, “But you wanna be a good little slut for me, don’t you?”

A giggle erupts from your throat, “Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t you put that mouth to good use, then?” he challenges and he’s beguiling, any demand he spouts off you’ll fulfill.

Wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, you slide your tongue against his slit as you peer up at him, wide eyed.

“Atta girl,” he purrs, eyelids heavy as he watches you. “So well behaved.”

You swallow him down a couple inches, breathing through your nose because he’s huge and your jaw is already aching. You hadn’t seen another guys cock so up close and personal but when you’d first seen Billy’s length, you were stunned. Sure, you’d seen them in magazines at that point but Billy was gifted, thick and long and at first it was intimidating but after a handful of conversations with your girlfriends, you discovered just how lucky you were. Actually, the first time Cindy had seen Billy’s cock, she’d pulled you aside afterwards and asked if it hurt. Initially, you berated her for looking but then admitted that yeah, occasionally it hurt. The first time was downright excruciating and you bled, but Billy was as careful as he could be. It wasn’t his first time but close to it and he apologized a lot, tried his hardest to be delicate but when he expressed how incredible it felt inside you, you preened and begged him to do whatever the hell he wanted to you. Billy almost choked, he had grabbed your hips so tight you bled and after a slew of thrusts, you melted into the mattress and experienced the most intense orgasm you’d ever felt. Billy was a mess of shock and pride when he made you cum, telling you he didn’t expect it to take you so early. Then he asked you to swallow his cum and the desperation of the way he asked made hooked you instantaneously. The taste wasn’t like you’d been warned about and maybe that had something to do with how fucking in love with him you were. When you told him how good it taste, a few more spurts of cum came out and you licked it all up.

The memories of it all has you taking him as deep as you can, his tip poking the back of your throat in the most intoxicating way. And then you look back up at him, and the sight of it makes you eager.

You pull off his dick and admit to him, “I’m sorry, I can’t fucking take it, I need you.”

He smirks, chuckling as kicks off his shoes, jeans and boots before he picks you up off your feet and carries you over to the couch. He gets on his knees between your legs, grabbing onto your underwear and pulling them off your legs before spreading your thighs wide. And he’s so talented with his tongue, Billy’s made you cum by eating you out countless times but right now, you’re desperate to feel him inside you.

“Please,” you plead, “fuck me. I need it.”

Billy bites your thigh, smoothing his hand up the other one, “Are you begging?”

“Yes,” you pant, “Please, Billy! Pretty please, just fuck me.”

He smirks, mouth inching closer to your core and then he mutters with surprise, “Holy fuck. You’re dripping. Making a fucking mess.”

“Need you,” you whine, “missed you so much.”

Billy shakes his head, a smug smile on his face but he gives you what you want, grabbing a hold of your thighs to pull you to the edge of the couch. He pressed the head of his cock to your clit and shakes it, making you whine his name out. He pushes it through your folds until he meets your dripping and fluttering hole, buries the head inside with a quick but fluid motion and you heave a relieved moan. You need more, need to feel him stretch and fill you up.

“I missed you too, doll,” he purrs and smooths his hand over your stomach in circles.

“More,” you whimper, rolling your hips in attempts to get him deeper inside you. Billy makes a strangled noise, bordering on a laugh and a moan, like your words and motion shock him a little.

“So impatient,” he tsks but grabs your hips tighter as he sheathes his length inside your aching hole all the way, his balls pressing against your ass.

Another sound falls past his lips, a gasp this time and he clenches his teeth as his eyes squeeze shut. But you need to see those blues looking back at you.

“Look at me,” you plead, reaching up to grab his bicep.

He leans forward, opening his eyes slowly as he begins to roll his hips slowly. The drag of his cock against your fluttering walls brings a wave of pleasure all over your body and you bite your bottom lip. Billy pants out, lips turning up slightly as he pumps in and out of you all too tenderly. You’ve been so eager to feel him again that you find yourself wanting him to just pin you down and relentlessly drill into you until your a shaking, squealing mess beneath him. But you always let Billy control how these moments go, a little too shy to tell him what you want and how you want it.

He moves his hands from your hips to glide up your sides and back down your thighs, his eyes darting around your body like he’s not sure where to look. It makes you feel good, feel pretty and wanted, desired. Sometimes you worry Billy’s just with you because it’s easy and not because he wants you. It’s all the stupid magazines you read, telling you if a man wants you, he’ll do everything to be with you. But Billy tends to live in a world where he’s the only thing he thinks of, or at least that’s how it can feel to you. So you take the attention where you can get it, and he gives it the most when you’re having sex.

“Oh, Billy,” you whine, grabbing a hold of his hand and intertwining your fingers, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he grunts, curls falling across his forehead and bouncing with every thrust he gives. His nose scrunches up every other pump of his hips. You get lost in admiring him, all of those thoughts of self deprecation falling away. He smiles at you, bright teeth peeking out behind his lips before he leans down and captures your lips in his. You drape your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you melt into the feeling of his tongue against yours. He set the pace for this to be romantic, and you’ll follow his lead every time.

You can tell he’s close when he breaks the kiss, little moans tumbling out of his lips and you wrap your legs around his waist. With the leverage you have now, you rock your hips up to meet his quickening thrusts. The promise of your own high warms your stomach and you can feel it getting closer and closer with every move Billy makes. The sounds he makes urge it along quicker, you wished you could record them and replay them back over and over. You press your palm to his cheek and connect your foreheads, matching the vulnerability he’s pouring out.

“Ah!” he moans out, higher than his normal voice and the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Me first,” you plead, moving your hand down and rubbing quick circles against your clit to lure your orgasm out. Billy’s good, he holds off until you’re crying out and shaking against him as the waves of pleasure rip through you. Once he’s sure you’ve came, he pulls out of you and strokes his dick, rapid and short until he’s spilling his load onto his fist and your stomach.

“Ah,” he moans out, face scrunched up, “uh, fuck…”

He gives it a second before he’s standing up and it seems like he struggles for beat. You’re relieved and flattered to know that his legs also feel like jello afterwards. You sit up and smack his cute little butt as he turns to walk towards the bathroom. He turns his head to shoot you a glare and you beam up at him. When he returns, it’s with a warm, wet washcloth and he gets on his knees to clean you up. You’re still tender so when the rough material grazes your clit, your body shakes a bit and Billy shoots you a cocky grin. You roll your eyes before standing up and leading him into your bedroom after he grabs his clothes and backpack.

“When are your parents gonna be back?” he asks, changing into his cropped t-shirt and grey sweats. He looks so good you’re considering a second round already.

You smooth your hand over his muscular stomach and kiss his lips softly, “Long after you leave in the morning.”

“Good,” he smirks, reaching around to grab a handful of your ass and squeeze.

Your parents are still under the impression that Billy’s only your childhood friend and not your boyfriend. And you prefer to keep it that way. They don’t ask questions. He can hang around without you guys getting the dreaded safe sex talk. Because you know you two should be safer but Billy tells you condoms don’t feel great and you really dislike the rubbery smell from them. Besides, he always pulls out on time and in the few months you’ve been sleeping together, your period has come right on time every month. You trust him, he’s not like the guys your girlfriends have to told you about. He’s smarter, he doesn’t get dumb when his dicks hard. However, you do. You wonder and fantasize what it would feel like to have him cum inside you. You love the taste and the way it feels when it lands on your skin, you can only imagine it feels better inside.

You pull your comforter back and crawl in, looking up at Billy with stars in your eyes when he gets in after you. He kisses your cheek and temple as you pulls you close, sighing happily.

///.

Meat goes in a separate bag, if they ask for paper, Billy wraps the packs of meat up in a plastic bag and puts it inside. Chemicals too. Anything that’s not food, he has to bag separately. Only similar things can touch. Boxes of pasta and rice can go in the same bag. Eggs and bread can go in the same one, eggs on bottom. He has a system and not a single customer or cashier makes it an easy system, tossing items on the conveyor belt in which ever order they grab it in. Which makes for Billy sliding certain items to the side while he eyes what’s coming next, organizing it in his head before he reaches for them. It gains him quite a few looks and a couple of customers telling him to hurry, that they really don’t give a shit, they’re just gonna take it out of the bags when they get home. It also means he’s not the fastest bagger. A few of the regulars, lonely stay-at-home mothers, compliment him on his system, batting their eyelashes as they tell him, “Somebody taught you well.”

Except no one’s taught him this except himself. He remembers grocery shopping with his mom but can’t remember her being particularly about the way they were bagged. He just gets a panicked feeling whenever he feels like the items don’t go in the correct bags.

When he has to bag Susan’s groceries, she always gives him this look like he’s different and she has to be patient with him. It makes him feel embarrassed because she knows one of the reasons why Billy is like this. Neil was particular about things, instilled it in Billy to be organized but he thinks Neil wouldn’t give a shit how the groceries are bagged. It’s more along the lines of he hates clutter and Billy needs to keep his room clean, keep everything clean. Unfortunately, it’s turned into an obsession of Billy’s.

He remembers how his mother collected things. She found sentimental value in what Neil would call garbage. He remembers his dad boxing up all of the things she’d left behind and bringing Billy with to throw it all in the dump. He wasn’t allowed to go through it or keep anything. The only two items he had of his mothers was her necklace and a ring. He never took them off now. She gave them to him before she left, maybe before she even planned on leaving. It took years for the ring to fit, he thinks it was his grandfathers but he can’t remember. The necklace he knew was his mothers, she’d told him she got it when she was a little girl, after she was baptized and Billy hadn’t seen her without it on until she gave it to him. He hid it from his dad after she left and when he got a little older, he tried it on and hasn’t taken it off since. It’s kind of like she’s still with him that way.

“Billy?” he’s drawn out of his thoughts as his supervisor stands behind him.

“Yeah?” he turns, still holding onto the cellophane wrapped hamburger that started his thoughts spiraling.

“After this customer, why don’t you go ahead and collect carts?”

“But,” Billy turns to look at the line winding down the aisle, “It’s kind of busy in here.”

Mr. Vaughn smiles down at him condescendingly, “Sheryl can handle jumping between lines to bag.”

“Uh, okay,” Billy nods and turns to finish bagging the groceries he’s started on. Fine, he thinks, he could use a cigarette anyways. The workforce was bullshit. He hated it. Instead of being honest, his managers would just direct him to some dumb medial task. Billy just wishes they’d cut the bullshit and berate him for being too slow. His dad would tell him exactly what he was doing wrong, not try to skirt around his feelings.

Billy soaks in the sun as he walks outside, placing his aviators on his nose before reaching in his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lighting one up as he makes his way to the back of the parking lot. He likes getting the carts. His coworkers complain about it but Billy likes the alone time it provides, plus he gets a little stir crazy indoors. Nothing compares to the sunshine, reminds him he’s alive. The yellow fluorescent bulbs in the supermarket are dreadful, they wash everything in a horrible kind of sad light. And fucking Mr. Vaughn, poor old sap. Wasting his life managing a goddamn Alpha Beta. Probably has himself a boring, nagging old woman. Maybe a kid or two who will grow up not even knowing how damn pathetic their dear old dad is. His wife never knowing how her husband creeps on the teenage girls who work for him.

“Hey,” he hears as he’s trying to dislodge a cart somebody pinned between two trees. He turns to see a couple of his buddies from school. Billy hasn’t really had time to party like he used to. Can’t afford it, really. He’s got at least a month more of working before he can afford to even start looking at rides.

“Oh,” he nods, pinching the cigarette between his lips and flicking it to the asphalt, “What’s up, guys?”

“Nice uniform,” Rick preens sarcastically, “This why you haven’t been around much?”

Billy glances down to his white button up and bright red apron, name tag pinning the two garments together with a “My name is BILLY, how can I help you?” engraved on it. He snorts and bites back, “Trying to get a car, ya know how it is.”

Rick doesn’t. His dad bought him a AMC Spirit the day he turned sixteen. Rick crashed it into a pole about a week later and his old man just paid for the repairs like it was nothing.

“What are you guys doing here?” Billy asks, leaning his back against the cart he was retrieving.

The two boys shrug but Greg speaks up, “Just heard from a little birdie you worked here and thought we’d come pay you a visit.”

“Aw,” Billy pouts sarcastically, “I’m touched that you guys miss me so much.”

“How’s about we grab a couple of beers and head to the beach? There’s gonna be a bonfire tonight. Your girlfriend’ll be there,” Rick grins from ear to ear.

Billy tries not to focus too much on how Rick knows you’ll be there. You guys all share the same friends but since he’s been busy with work, you’ve been alone with the assholes he calls friends. He’s not too thrilled about it but reassures himself that you wouldn’t do anything stupid, thinks about how more often than not, you’re like a lost puppy following him around and that he thinks, you’re practically obsessed with him. There’s no way you’d fool around with any of these dirtbags, right?

“I’ve still got two hours of my shift, boys,” Billy says with a exaggerated frown. “Maybe after.”

“Aw, come on,” Greg pokes at Billy’s chest which upsets him more than it should, he almost grabs his finger and snaps it back but he’s still clocked in. “What’re they gonna do if you leave early?”

“Uh, fire me?” Billy says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, because it is. “Where’s the bonfire at? I’ll just meet you guys there.”

Neil might be pissed that he’s going out but he’s been staying home the past couple weeks, he deserves to relax a little. Plus, he’s got tomorrow off.

“Lame,” Rick scoffs but tells Billy where to meet them, “And bring a sixer! Maybe a bottle!”

Billy waves them off as they make their way back to Rick’s car.

The rest of his shift, he keeps checking his watch.

[colourful-void]

alright closing umineko for the night!! i had a great time with it so far!! i really like the writing style, and for the most part its actually a lot less dense than i was expecting. I thought it might be some house of leaves stuff but no this is pretty easy to read, at least so far! im rlly glad for that like it doesn't feel too simple, not too complicated, its good!

current character thoughts run down, though i've barely started so i dont know much yet: ginzo: he sucks he totally sucks and im convinced that he made some kidna deal w/ beatrice in order to take advantage of the earthquake and war and such. not entirely convinced hes not about to just murder the whole family bcs he seems like he would do that. krauss: also sucks. just a real dick, but in like. he's a standard asshole really. natsuhi: much in the same vien, but she's got that matriach of the family thing going on i hope will b explored more <3 jessica: she's neat i like her! looking forward to more on her. Eva: i was digging for her a while and then i saw how she treated shannon and it went out the window hideyoshi: ive yet to expirence a thought on this man George: he's very tropey in a good way and i enjoy he's friendly guy swag. looking forward to it inevitably falling to pieces rudolf: DICK!! kyrie: girl leave your husband. i can treat u better <3, im glad she has some decency but my mind aint set on her yet battler: HES SO CRINGEEEE <333333333333333333333333333333333333333333 sometimes he does genuinely offput me but mostly he's just stupid <3 rosa: be a bit nicer to ur daughter, but beyond that shes chill i think. no big thoughts here. i do like her dynamic in relation to the rest of the siblings so far maria: MARIA MY DARLING MY DEAREST SHES SO SWEET AND SILLY AND CLEARLY OMINOUS I CANT WAIT TO SEE WHAT DARK MAGICS OVERTAKE HER OR WHATEVER <333 maria for whatever the fuck she wants 2024 love her so much no crazy thoughts on the head butler or doctor but i think in a different world the butler and ginzo had crazy gay sex shannon: shes soooo sweetie <3 suspiciously so this game wants me to like her so bad and i do <3. i am aware of one key spoilery fact about shannon uncovered in some content warnings i recieved, but its kinda fun seeing the set up for that! everyone be nicer to my girl kanon: hes suspcious but overly so and i wonder what his deal is. i also think all the servants need to be treated better this fucking furnature stuff <3 its awful i love it narratively gohda: i think he would kill someone with very little hesitation. i wanna try that panna cotta. kumasawa: shes like a grandma to me <333 i like her!!

i havent met beatrice yet but im looking forward to it she looks super neat.

i also apperciate how slow burn this is, a few hours in and very little has happened yet it's nice. there's already a lot building but like. nothing big yet it's nice. i like it. it feels like it's moving at exactly the pace it wants to and i enjoy it a lot. the sound design is also rlly good. the music is really nice a couple times i got distracted and just listened to it in the bg. the sfx r nice too.

i do not regret my sprite choice i like these designs they're fun, but i do think maria looks a little off for her alleged age of 9, but it's easy to ignore after a min or two.ironically when i was loading the game and saw her on the steam page it def aligned better, but at the cost battler to my eyes is now yassified. he cant be a pretty boy to me he's too lame.

voice acting is great everyones putting fucking everyting into it and i enjoy that. fully commited to the enviroment and its great.

where i left off: everyone just finished having lunch! kumasawa covered for shannon not knowing the red sauce's ingredients. that's all for now! not sure when ill paly more, probably tomorrow, but its been good!! good game so far i like this setg up!! im also eagar to get more into the murder and violence and witch stuff but like, it does a good joib of setting up the characters so i dont feel impatient, and unlike a lot of games w/ murder n mystery that get right into it i kinda find it refreshing how slow this one is to start its like we all know itll get there so the tension of everyone being relatively calm is great.

anyway, umineko day 1: it was good =D

[ohshy]

Feelin kinda down so fuck it- how about some burnt bread hcs if you got any?

If not, how about disco kid?

~ fan-mans

hope u feel better soon bro ! also HELL YEAH BURNT BREAD !!!!!!!! one of my favorites :3

so where does it all begin? well.... (under the cut bc its Long)

aran didnt actually have to use any of dirty tricks to take joe down, so they didn't start off on that bad of a foot, or a bad foot at all. (fighting is par for the course for this sport, of course.)

that being said though, you still see n hear things ab eachother, and have assumptions as a result. Aran initally sees joe as a snobby, wimpy man, and joe aran as a scary, unpredictable brute.

eventually, however, aran starts looking at joe... a little differently. he pranks him a lot because yknow. its funny. but joe doesnt seem to mind it at all... in fact, he takes his pranks really well, and it makes aran see strong joe is in a way and how much of a sense of humor he has.

joe at the other hand, noticed that aran, outside the ring, was actually fairly tame, outside of his pranks of course. it helped a lot with mellowing his perception of him. combine this joe's many hobbies and aran's try-everything attitude, and youve got the start of a click !

news of their little budding relationship spreads around the minor- and world circuit, and kaiser begins to take notice ab how joe talks ab aran, how hed normally b horrified at the prospect of him being anywhere NEAR him.

so one day, in all his eternal german grace, he says...

''well if you love him so much, why don't you two kiss, hm?''

and joe hadnt gotten that thought out of his head since.

as for disco kid hcs, ive already told most of them so ill talk ab how the minor circuit reacted to joe wanting to confess to aran instead !!

disco, albeit kinda scared of aran, is ecstatic for joe, wishes him luck and wants to know EVERYTHING about how it went afterward

i imagine hippo would be pretty whatever about it. guy isnt too concerned ab peoples love lifes. wishes him luck like disco tho.

meanwhile kaiser? ''Eh, it is your funeral''

I imagine the world circuit wouldn't be as close with eachother seeing as how theyre busier n likely more hounded by journalists, but they do know in broad terms what goes on in the lives of eachother.

so macho catches wind of aran's crush, and he basically shittalks joe to arans face

''I know everyone's standards are too high for you, but joe's just a sad bar, even for you.''

Aran, not even reacting to the dig against him, starts ranting to macho about how joe is admirable as all hell for getting back up after 99 losses, and how that must mean he has a real love and respect for the sport. He even boldly exclaims that joe arguably works harder than macho, the victories who seems to come so easily to him.

macho eventually leaves, deciding aran's not worth his precious time.

aran then turns around, and OMG HE SEES JOE STANDING THERE !!!!!

anyway he heard all about what aran said (thats right, overhearing ooc conversations and miscommunication happening is OUT, overhearing conversations and gaining respect for someone is IN), and confesses right there and then. aran, hearing prolly the most romantic speech thats ever been directed to him in his entire life, is at a loss for words. He can't say anything other than ''of course, joey.''

and thats the start of their relationship :3

as for other misc hcs that dont fit anywhere else...

one time, when cleaning out aran's jacket pockets (joe's a bit of a neat freak), he found... a bunch of lint. But also !! he found a ton of crumpled up notes. They included phrases for the ring, comedic poems... but they also had affirmations for himself, about his family, but also about joe. joe, sans the lint, left the pockets as is. ever since then though, he's felt closer to him than ever.

joe will often try to pick up aran like a princess. considering hes still decently muscled, he can do it succesfully.

joe loves baking, especially bread, but aran will ALWAYS manage to set something on fire. think spencer from icarly.

they infodump to eachother ab their respective countries histories and folk tales, joe esp ab the former n aran ab the latter.

one time, joe and aran set out for a night walk. then, they (or rather aran) thought he heard a banshee screech. what they actually heard prolly was a car tire screeching in the distance. aran, however, was never the less scared SHITLESS and ran tf home, screaming highpitched. He had to be comforted by joe all night after they got home.

aran loves going to theme parks. he loves the rush. joe, however, hates the tall rides like the rollercoasters, n prefers the calmer rides like the teacups. They have a ''goes onto the rollercoaster alone'' x ''holds the persons stuff while theyre gone'' dynamic.

they rly like singing duets together, especially after a couple drinks. wine in joe's case and beer in arans case. theyve sang at macho's parties before as well, and needless to say they make for great entertainment.

aran often sends joe cursed memes n selfies that joe just Does Not understand

''aran, i will Not hold feet with you, zat's disgusting''

''come on joey..... do ye love me or not......''

[showmeyourxylophone]

When I was young I was sheltered from consequence. Sure, there were the momentary consequences of mistakes, a skinned knee, too many sweets make you ill, but by and large the big decisions were out of my hands.

That changed when I grew up. Suddenly the big decisions are on me, and so too the consequences.

It was at the end of my first big depression that I learned one of the most important lessons in my life. That it gets better. Depression ends, wounds heal, circumstances change.

That carried me for years. From injury to injury, depression to depression. It gets better. It taught me the fearlessness that I needed to learn, to make mistakes. Where are my limits? What are the tools I need to dig myself out from the holes I land myself in? It was vital to my growth as a person.

I've recently discovered that life often works like a classroom from my youth. You learn things like 'you can't take the square root of a negative number' and 'electrons orbit atoms in neat little rings'. You know the ones. Then years down the line you discover those were convenient little truths to get you through where you were to where you needed to be.

Last year life took me aside and told me that it gets better, but sometimes it doesn't. That's completely unfair. Devastating. What do you mean sometimes it doesn't?

I thought there was no way I could live with my condition forever. I want to go back to a world without imaginary numbers, and electron clouds can go piss off.

I've kicked and screamed for the better part of a year but I finally sat down and listened, and it's changed a lot about the way I see the future. It's made me feel like I've had to grow up a second time.

It was always going to be this way.

I could see it in the adults around me, even if I couldn't properly understand and internalize it before it happened to myself.

To live is an accumulation of wounds. One day I'll fall on my hip and it will ache when it rains for the rest of my life. One day I'll dislocate a shoulder and I'll never raise my arm all the way again. It was always going to be this way.

I've been walking on eggshells around my crumbling immune system, worried at every turn about trying anything new in case it causes any more long term damage. I've been focused on mitigation to the exclusion of all else in my life, and I think it's about time to look up and smell the roses.

What you won't hear me say is that I won't let this disability stop me. It will. I'm sure we've all read enough about why that's not a healthy outlook on disability, though I think there's a second part that's often left unsaid.

I refuse to let this take my life if it isn't even going to finish the damn job itself.

I grew up again. The safety rails are off. It doesn't always get better, but the lessons I learned when I was younger still apply, maybe moreso now than ever. I have to relearn my limits, push my boundaries, and rediscover what I'm capable of. I'm going to make mistakes, I'm going to get hurt, maybe take damage that never heals.

But it was always going to be this way.

I refuse to miss the limits of my life because I was too afraid to find out where they were.

[atowncalledher]

FUCK IT this is the autistic tgirl infodumping site I'm gonna talk about one of my favorite songs ever.

And even if you don't read the rest of the post go listen the this song, it's insanely good. Then listen to the rest of their songs. Summer's Here (And I Don't Want To Die!) is very seasonally appropriate.

(tw discussion of death, terminal illness)

First off, IWALOID? One of my favorite vocaloid producers. They wrote seven absolute BANGERS then fucked off entirely. Icon behavior. What I really love about them is the way that they write lyrics; the word choice feels so genuine while taking very mundane things into a poetic context. I don't think that most other songwriters would go for both "Watching Spongebob on my own, 'cause I'd rather be alone" and "You and me with no spatial dichotomy" and have them both sound so genuine. The writing is some times flowery, but in a way that people that I know actually talk (I definitely do it too, I think it's a bit of the 'being a kid who read books more than I talked to other kids' kinda thing). BTW another vocaloid artist that does this really well is Ippo.tsk (my other favorite vocaloid artist lmao).

But none of this is about Starbearers, which honestly shifted my whole perspective on how songs can be written (I was like sixteen so like, it was prime time for my mind to be blown but still) and how song structures and lyrics can intertwine thematically to enhance the emotional impact of a song.

I also want to preface this by saying that while I know a decent bit about music theory and poetry, every time I try to dig into the academic side of things my eyes glaze over (I swear I've fubking TRIED I just can't do it) so this is all going described in the ways that I've taught myself to understand things, and so some of the language might not be super clear or whatever.

OK so Starbearers is about the relationship between two people, one of whom dies of an unspecified terminal illness. The song has three choruses that split it into three different sections, each essentially re-contextualizing the speaker's relationship with the other person.

The first verse is the speaker recalling a period of time pre-illness, focused on their naivety and the carefree way in which these two people spent their time. It is very grounded in a physical space with phrases like "The cool breeze in late July; A sense of wonder lingered in the air" and "Your house's wind chimes break the summer air; So gently to remind us that we were there". This section (I think very intentionally) strays away from making any sort of metaphorical statements (for reasons that I'll get to later) or lending any strong emotions to the scene. It's supposed to feel serene and calm to set up the emotional gut punch of the later ones, and the following chorus follows the vibe while introducing some disparaging language from the part of the speaker, such as them calling themselves "the Time wasters of life, not so useful..." who "Just keep living like our lives are here to stay; No thoughts of getting torn away". FORESHADOWING!!!

The second verse, much like the first, keeps the listener grounded in a physical space with "Sinister chill of waiting rooms", talking about doctor visits and treatments and stuff. While there are some neat parallel phrases, like taking "A sense of wonder lingered in the air" and changing it to "A sense of worry lingered in the air" it just follows the arc of steadily building tension until the next chorus...

Where the speaker has an emotional breakdown. The whole section is about them venting their rage and sorrow about the whole situation, and in response the lyrics get more and more metaphorical;" a hopeless cause of life", "drink the air", and "your sickness... rips my fucking heart out of my chest". I think that there two reasons for this. As humans, I think that when emotions feel bigger and more impactful than we have words to describe we turn to metaphor, which both helps us process the emotions and also help us describe what it feels like better to other people. The second is that when there is ONE thing that could break down someone's fragile emotional state when mentioned, people will dance around it to not say it directly. These are definitely things in English, idk if it works similarly in other languages or not. But the most important part of this section of the song, for the purposes of this analysis, is that it continues the building tension. The speaker is going through the stages of grief, and the musical and lyrical tension is building up and up to match the emotional intensity until the whole thing has to boil over.

And this is when the high-intensity instrumental accompaniment drops out and we're left with just vocals and a single relatively chill guitar track. I'm just going to copy paste the whole thing because it's basically the thesis of the whole track:

"Take some time to just reflect upon your feelings...

Then leave your feelings behind you in the dust"

"Even when I'm gone, I will always be with you."

"No use in cryin' now."

This is the only point in the song where the other party, the terminally ill person, has the speaking part. And this is what they choose to say. You gotta move on.

This flows right on into the third chorus, the very first lines of which pull the metaphorical ground out from under us. The other two thirds of the song keep themselves pretty well grounded, but this one immediately sends us right into space. Literally.

"We are the

Starbearers of life

Cling to moments that we shine, often brief

Your supernova sings to me"

Right up into space. By bringing us out of a grounded space and into the realm of metaphor, we get the impression of the speaker approaching life from a whole new perspective, with a whole new reverence. The song continues by bringing us back into the grounded space of the first verse, with "Cloudless summer nights" and a "cooling breeze" referencing the line "The cool breeze in late July" from the first verse. And then the line "And those chimes outside your door... Are still ringing in my ears" referencing "Your house's wind chimes break the summer air". The wind chimes fulfill the same purpose in both places "to remind us that we were there". They remind the speaker that life is best spent happily, with the people that you love. That's symbolism, baby.

But the thing that really gets me is how much the first two choruses are building up to the third one, and how the theme of the piece is reinforced by the musical structure underneath. If we take the first line from each chorus:

"We [are] the time wasters of life"

"[We are] a hopeless cause of life"

"We are the Starbearers of life"

These three together form a really powerful tricolon crescendo when we put them together. These are presented as three different lenses through which the speaker is seeing themselves and the other person in the poem, and musically they are all the same part of the chorus melody. Because they are all three describing the same subject, they are inherently the same and of equal importance. Wasting time is of the same importance as grief, and of moving forwards. They are all one and the same.

We are the Starbearers of life - we are the ones that make life worth living. It is internal and connected to all other people, who each make each other's lives worth living.

We are a hopeless cause of life - there is no greater purpose, there is nothing external to give us hope.

We are the time wasters of life - pretty self explanatory, I think. Wasting time is just another lens through which to view spending time.

But the We in each of these phrases is the same people. Each is simply another way to view the same thing.

We are wasting time, we are hopeless, and we are the stars in each other's lives.

It is the time that we waste together that gives light to each other's lives.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One of my favorite things about this song is that it uses metaphor in such an intentional way. A lot of other songs that hit really hard emotionally for me layer on metaphors from the very first lines, like boygenius's Not Strong Enough or Pattern's Simple Folds (both of which can make me bawl my eyes out on a bad day). But Starbearers builds it slowly, pulling its punches right until the end, and I think that's part of why it hits so hard at the third chorus. It's an inspiring piece of songwriting and I strive to imitate just a fraction of its emotional impact in my own writing. It's one of my favorite pieces of music and I hope everyone else can appreciate it as much as I do.

[wri0thesley]

human touch - overhaul x chubby reader (4.5k)

he can’t bear to touch other people. the thought of bare skin meeting bare skin makes his flesh crawl, his throat tighten, frustration bubble in his veins - with one exception. you.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni. afab reader with no pronouns, but reader wears dresses/nightgowns. smut; sex toys, cumming inside, very light mention of ‘having a family’, piv sex. overhaul is surprisingly soft but also his interest in reader is definitely . . . unhealthy. explicitly chubby reader.

a/n: a gift fuelled by spite specifically for that anon who said ‘overhaul wouldn’t be into fat people’ have i got 4k of smut for you

People who Overhaul surrounds himself with have a purpose.

They’re only good for what they offer him; even members of the Shie Hassaikai, which he might tell himself he is dragging back up from the filth it’s been reduced to, are useful only insofar as they can provide him power and their support. He knows that Pops would hate that thought – but there is no consciousness in Pops, now, to gently call him ‘Kai’ and to try and pull him back from the precipice he’s already allowed himself to tumble down.

People are tools. They are weak-willed and flawed, and Overhaul has no interest in spending any more time with them than it takes to give a calm, collected order and leave. He has no interest in their wants, or desires, unless they align with his and he sees an opportunity in them.

Everybody knows this.

Which is why they’re so surprised by you.

You’re nothing particularly special. Merely a distant relation of Pops (some kind of relation of a brother, he thinks) whose father was killed in action for the Shie Hassaikai well before the charge of the organisation fell to Overhaul himself. Yakuza prioritise family, of course, so Pops had provided you a home and a life and kept you as far away from the more unsavoury goings-on for as long as he could. Overhaul had caught sight of you, sometimes, at Pops’ knee or smiling for him, and wondered about the curious feeling low in his stomach at the sight of pretty dresses digging into plump shoulders and soft cheeks – but he had kept himself away.

For his part, too – perhaps sensing spiking interest in his ward, perhaps afraid of what Overhaul might do – Pops had never bothered to introduce you beyond the cursory. You’re similar in age; you have no need to fall to his care the way Eri has. Overhaul had pushed any thoughts of you away from his mind, locking them deep inside of him, right up until Pops had fallen ill and he had taken the news to you himself.

Something about watching your face crease in grief – the way your fingers twisted in your lap, the way you had carefully and thoroughly washed the glass you had poured yourself water in and spilled some on a white cotton dress – had pressed a thought into him, and he had asked in that impersonal, clinical way he so often found himself speaking in;

“What will you do?”

It’s a loaded question, but you seem to understand. There’s a place here for you, as family (Overhaul does intend, when all is said and done, to fix what he has done to Pops) – but you are unbound enough that if you wanted, you could set yourself free and come back. Your smile is wobbly.

“I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you say, “with this mark on my record and no quirk--”

No quirk.

Overhaul stares at you over the thin black surgical mask. He had refused a glass of water himself – your room in the compound is pretty and neat and clean but he had felt a crawling up his throat at the thought of tap water, a glass someone else’s lips might have touched – but he suddenly thinks that perhaps, he wouldn’t mind if he drank from a glass you too had drank from.

He stands, apologising once more for your grief. As he goes to leave, he pauses. He looks at you once more. His eyes drink in the curve of your body, the plush of you, the thought of his gloved fingers sinking into the swell of your chest. For the first time, he wonders what somebody else’s skin might feel like were he to tug off the gloves and let his palm graze you bared.

He thinks you’d be soft.

“Will you have dinner with me?” He asks, before he’s even realised he’s done it. The thought of leaving the room and only seeing you in passing, of being two ships passing in the night when he’s suddenly fascinated by everything about you, is abhorrent. Your pretty face scrunches.

Of course. His . . . independent nature is well-known upon. People are not often asked to spend time with him for anything resembling leisure.

“Are you asking me because you feel sorry for me, Kai?” You ask. Overhaul finds that he does not so much mind the way your voice shapes the syllable of the name he intends to leave behind forever. Perhaps he will let it live only in your mouth.

“I’m asking you because I would like to,” he manages. The smile on your face, wobbly though it is, is striking to him. So pretty, the voice inside of him that has never before been so loud murmurs. He does not do this. He has no leisure time to be having dinner with you, to be quite honest – he’s all work, all of the time. Stress knotting his shoulders. But he thinks for you he will carve the time out.

He is blunt with the answer, though it feels more difficult to say than most things. You seem to appreciate it. Your head ducks shyly, submissively, and a thought of you doing that in front of him as bare fingers crawl up the bare expanse of your thigh beneath your dress suddenly seems to be all he can concentrate on.

“Alright,” you say. There’s a breathy quality to your voice. You surely know that denying a request made by Overhaul isn’t the smartest thing to do for anyone, but he cannot help the impression that you’re pleased to have been asked. Impulsively, he reaches out for you – his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone, the heat obvious even through the gloves. His bare wrist brushes your jawline (soft, soft, you’re so soft--) but there is no agitated, tell-tale prickling of a breakout.

You’re clean, he thinks. You’re touchable. You’re not corrupt. You’re unmoulded, quirkless, perfect. Fiercely, hungrily; you’re his.

He could touch bare fingertips to your lips, touch bare thighs to yours, brush over your throat with his own mouth, mask forgotten, and he could revel in the feel of your body pressing warm and plush against him in all places he has never been touched by another human being – and he could enjoy it.

“I’ll send someone for you,” he says. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, your eyes moving from his own unwavering golden gaze to the floor as if you’re too scared to look at him for too long. You’re still breathless as you say;

“I’ll take a shower, then.”

Overhaul’s heart gives a funny thump in his chest, in tandem with the thump between his thighs that he’s going to have to work out before he sees you. He’s only ever had to touch himself like that from frustration before. The thought of doing it and thinking of you is almost exhilarating.

Perfect, he dimly thinks. No wonder Pops had kept the two of you away from one another, when he could – surely Pops knew, then, that you were made for him.

At first, he is polite with his courting. Quiet. Understated. He’s not sure what he’s doing, if he’s perfectly honest, because he never thought he would want to touch a human being the way that he wants to touch you. Nobody says anything, but everybody knows; you’re Overhaul’s, you’re forbidden territory, and it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks.

And break it does. And after the first time--

After the first time, Overhaul cannot keep his hands off you.

Nobody else feels surprisingly soft palms, bare, as they paw at your hips and stomach and pull you closer to him. Nobody else sees the handsome face as the mask is disposed of, as his lips do not hesitate to push hungrily against your own. Even the feel of his tongue pressing into your mouth, of feeling the damp of your saliva, does not serve to make him fearful of the germs that may be lurking there.

You’re like solid, polished diamond. Unbreakable, shining, a beacon in his perfectly clean bedroom.

You’re permitted to keep your own little room, but you spend far more time tangled in Overhaul’s bedsheets (changed every morning, hypoallergenic, clean as everything else he has) than you do in your own neat floral ones. Overhaul does not keep many possessions – knick-knacks and clutter bother him – but the small touches of you in his clinical bedroom make his heart skip a beat.

Your soap beside his (yours smells like sandalwood; he had seen the one you were using before and immediately bought ten of them in a display box to keep in the cabinets of his bathroom). Your clothes, hanging neatly beside his in an immaculately kept wardrobe.

He fusses over you; makes sure you’re just as securely masked and cleaned and gloved and tidy before you have to go out into common areas of the base. He’s overbearing, in making sure that you don’t get sick (a pillbox of vitamins on his night stand contain everything you take, because he has asked you to). He gets subordinates to fetch you books, movies, things to pass the time when he has too much business to attend to to spend every waking moment by your side. One of his subordinates even accompanies you outside, as a safety precaution, though you seem to want to spend less and less time out of the base as time goes by (and he’s glad of it – the world doesn’t deserve you the way that he does).

And when he can spend time with you, he drinks you in and feasts on you and touches you as if he never wants to let go.

Overhaul knows what it is now to have some semblance of a sleep schedule, because if he does it means he gets to slip into cool sheets beside you.

Agitation is eating at his bones as he opens his own bedroom door; agitation that’s eased at the sight of you, in a dark green nightgown of soft fabric that clings perfectly to the curve of your hips and stomach and breast. You look up from the book you’re reading, a soft smile spreading across your face as you pad out of the bed and put the book back in its proper place (most people, he thinks, would leave it by the bed. Would come up to him and wrap their arms around him and demand a ‘welcome home’ kiss. But not you.)

“I’m going to get clean,” he says. Your own hair is a little damp; he can feel heat radiating off of you, imagine steam in little clouds. His cock gives an answering twitch at the thought of you in his shower, your skin bare, soap rubbed into the curves and creases of your body. He always showers after coming in from the base proper – and you always shower before bed and in the morning, so that you’re perfect and daisy-fresh for him.

(He loves you. He doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks he loves you as much as it’s possible for a man like him to love anything.)

“Do you want me to help?” You ask him, blinking your pretty eyes. He’s grown greedy for the feel of your fingers massaging shampoo into his scalp, tracing the lean muscle of his body under running water. He loves taking you in the shower – filling you until your full thighs are slick and white with his come and the water washes the filth away for him.

But he has used his quirk too much today, and his hands are itching.

“That’s not necessary,” he says. He aches to lean forward and cup your cheek in his palm, feel the familiar, clean and pure weight of you against his hand. But not yet. Not until he’s washed away every speck of outside from him, and can touch you with the reassurance that he’s just as unsullied and pristine as you are.

Your lips curve into a smile. There’s that tug of your lower lip against your teeth again, that breathy whisper as you murmur, shamelessly;

“Do you want me to get myself ready for you, then? Sir?”

Another throb, low and heavy between his thighs.

“Yes.” His breathing is steady. He is calm, despite how he can feel himself pressing against the fabric of his trousers. If he didn’t feel so disgusting with the grime of outside clinging to him, he would merely fuck you now until you were breathless and had pretty, crystalline tears drying on your face. You’re so good for him. So obedient. You really were made for him. “You know the rules. Don’t come until I say you can.” He tells you, as he walks into the bathroom, his spine prickling with pleasure.

That soft voice again, as you murmur;

“You know I wouldn’t dream of it.”

There’s a towel down on the bed, because neither you nor he are willing to sleep in the mess and sweat of your bodies. Even so, there’s already a damp patch on it where your legs are spread, your sex on display with a slick, black toy stretching you out. You’re trembling, a light sheen of sweat on your forehead, your lips bitten to swollen and your fingers curled into the fabric of the towel beneath you.

Overhaul approaches you slowly, appreciating the visual of you on his bed. He stares at the light fold of your stomach, the pudge of your upper arms, the trembling muscles in your sweet, full thighs. Your cheeks and face are round, lit with the glow of being almost unbearably aroused.

There’s the faintest, persistent buzzing coming from the toy inside of you. Overhaul had bought it specially, researching carefully what material was most cleanly for something that would be used internally, choosing something he could control remotely if need be but that would hurtle you over and over and over the edge again when he wanted it to.

You are the only one he can bring himself to touch, but sometimes his skin feels like it’s being clawed to pieces underneath and he can’t bring himself to put his hands even on you, so he merely watches you fall apart with your mouth spread wide in an ‘oh’ and your back arching as your cunt spasms and clenches around the thing buried deep in your plush walls.

“Turn it up,” he says. There’s a towel wrapped around his slim waist, too – but he folds it carefully and lays it over the edge of a cabinet. His cock – somewhat soothed by the shower – is already stirring at the lewd display before him. Only you could look so utterly shameless and still have him captivated.

“K-Kai—” Your voice is a bewitching whine. You must be far gone. You call him ‘Kai’ in private (you do not call him ‘Overhaul’) – but in bed, it’s almost always ‘Sir’, in that soft voice that he thinks could wheedle anything from him.

(Sometimes he wonders if you do have a quirk, and it’s merely a quirk that allows you to hold a heart he didn’t realise was quite so capable in your hands and make him love you. He finds he does not really mind.)

“Up.” Your fingers are slick as they slide over the button, missing it completely the first time. But you’re always so receptive to orders, so your eyebrows furrow for a moment as you try again and the buzzing of the toy gets louder. You throw your head back, a whimper escaping your throat, your generous hips thrusting up into nothing in search of more stimulation.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he sits on the edge of the bed himself, one elegant hand wrapping around his needy cock as the other hesitates for a moment at the joint of your calf and thigh. There’s always a fear in the back of his mind that this time, when he touches you, he will feel disgust crawling through him and he won’t even mind because the feel of your skin is so addictive.

It’s a relief when it doesn’t – when he’s able to skim fingertips up to the crease of your thigh, where the soft seam of slick inner leg and the inviting mound of your sex is. You blink at him through hazy eyes, focussed on nothing but the sharp golden gaze and how hungry he knows it must be for you.

“Please,” you beg. “S’not enough—”

His lips twitch.

“You want to turn it up again?” He asks, already knowing the answer. You give him an answering whine, your eyelashes fluttering to fan out against the chub of your cheeks.

“I want you,” you say, through the thickness in your throat. A slender finger brushes your clit and you eagerly thrust against it, almost humping his hand. He loves the three words dropping from your mouth.

He knows he isn’t displeasing to look at. He knows that sometimes his looks are enough to get second and third glances in those times when he does venture outside – but he has never wanted to be wanted the way that you make him crave it.

“So greedy,” he says. His own voice almost cracks, but he keeps it even just in time. “Isn’t it enough for you?”

His cock is stiff and aching where it rests against the smooth musculature of his stomach. But nobody will ever accuse him of not having self-control.

He can’t stop staring at how the soft lips of your cunt are spread apart by the toy. How your slick is leaking out around it, how swollen your clit is (just as plump, ripe for the picking as the rest of you). You shake your head, your breath coming out in gasps as he repeats the fleeting motion of the pad of his finger skimming the pleasure point.

“Please, Sir--”

The ‘Sir’ gets him. His cock feels like, if he does not bury it inside of you and sink into your inviting softness and relish in the way you feel against a body that cannot bear to touch anyone but you, it will simply wither away. He’s on top of you on the bed before you can react, agile and hungry.

Lips push against yours. Overhaul’s are soft – he takes care of every part of his appearance. His breath is peppermint (and so is yours), his tongue sweeping over yours greedily, losing himself in you for a moment. He’s pressed against you in every way, just for this moment; able to relish the way the chub and generous flesh of your body sinks beneath him and he is surrounded by the only human thing he ever wants to feel against his own humanity. His heart beats erratically in his chest; mirrored by your own, even through the squish of your breasts where he presses them down. He knows he drags against your nipples as he rears back onto his knees and you bite back a whine as he forces your legs just a little further apart.

“Hold them,” he tells you, and your hands sink into the skin. He loves the way he can see the indent of your fingertips in them. Clever fingers slide between your thighs, taking hold of the buzzing toy and expertly flicking it off at the same time as he slides it out of your hole. His fascinated eyes watch the way you clench around it, desperately trying to keep yourself filled, even as it’s put on a tissue already prepared on the night stand.

You really are greedy, aren’t you? Your cunt is greedy to be filled, your eyes greedy to be looked at and adored, your soul greedy for him – not that he can say anything about that, the amount of time you spend occupying his thoughts. He can’t say anything when his cock is aching to be buried inside of you.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, rubbing the flushed tip of said cock through your folds, wetting it with your slick though it’s already soaked with his own pre-come. He is not good at dirty talk; he’s polite and mannered when he speaks to people he needs on his side because he considers it a necessity to be able to twist people around to his way of thinking. But he respects you far too much to affect such a thing.

He knows he has a tendency to come off as clinical and cold – but you never say anything. You just stare at him like you would die for him if he asked you to, and he knows that same devotion is present in his own gaze – though for him, it’s a case of he would kill for you if you asked him to.

He doesn’t need you to ask him to do it to do such things. You know that. But your body opens for him and your smile welcomes for him and your entire being feels like home even so.

His cock catches on the entrance and you sigh, hips canting up into him as a silent plea for him to not take his time. Both of you have been needy for too long; he certainly agrees with that.

(The first time he had fucked you, he’d used a condom – but he’d needed, needed, needed to sink further into you and claim you. It had not been difficult at all for him to acquire birth control for you, so he could satisfy his desire to melt into and claim the only person he has ever wanted to).

The walls of your sex suckle at his cock, clinging to him like they were made just for that. You’ve never been with anyone else – every time Overhaul fucks you like this, he thinks about him making you that much closer to shaped to his own designs. He thinks about that first time he plundered you, the satisfaction of your virgin cunt acquiescing to him in between the needy whimpers and the groans and the huffed out ‘feels good’ and ‘oh, please’ that had felt like they’d sunk into his skin.

It has occurred to him that he could return you to that pure, virgin state over and over again, and feel the pleasure of taking you a thousand times over. But you are too untouched, unsullied by such murk for him to want to ruin you by using his quirk.

He doesn’t want to hurt you, either – but it’s far easier to justify the former to the latter to himself when he is supposed to be so single-minded in his goal.

He hilts in you. He can feel your heartbeats tangling against one another. Your eyes are glassy, hazy, glittering with needy tears that haven’t escaped because he hasn’t teased you too much. You’ve been dragged half-onto his lap, your soft thighs pillowing narrow hips.

He commits the sight of you to memory, though he knows you will let him have it in flesh over and over again. When he begins to move inside of you, he watches as if memorised the way your chest bounces and your stomach jiggles and your entire body moves even with the force of slow, measured thrusts.

Bare hands sink into the plush of your hips, relishing the human warmth of the only person he ever wants to feel. His own pelvis moves of its own accord, slipping into a rhythm that has you sighing with every stroke.

He would hate to hear anyone else breathe as heavily as he hears you breathe in these moments; be unable to visualise said breath as anything other than a cloud of germs and poison. But your breath seems like purified air; fresh spring breeze in an untouched valley.

You soothe his agitation. He is not going to last long.

Fingers come between your legs to pinch and roll your clit, toying with the bud to help you come first. People would, he’s sure, imagine him a selfish lover – and perhaps he would be, if it were not you laid over his lap with your orgasm trembling on your tongue.

You tip over the edge and he feels it; the way you pulse around his hard shaft, the gush of your arousal that soaks him, the way you whine high and bright and he feels a pride in making you come apart he only usually ever feels in his work. You’re babbling out a thanks to him, voice high and reedy, but he tunes it out in favour of chasing his own release.

The slick sounds of him fucking into your sex. The sight of your body, and how it moves and rolls and jiggles with every stroke – the feel of your flesh spilling between his fingers, the tight-but-soft way your thighs have tightened around his hips as if urging him to come inside of you--

He does not last long. He feels a string inside of him snap, tuned too finely, and he is spilling rope after rope of thick come inside of you until you are painted with him and claimed and his, his, his. His cock throbs weakly, a groan escaping his own lips (he’s never noisy, but with you he cannot help himself) as he lets his knees stop supporting his weight and he falls atop of you, sweaty skin sticky against sweaty skin.

Both of you breathe heavy as his softening cock slips out of your slick cunt, urged by the full squelch of his release. He always comes a lot. He supposes it has something to do with his lifestyle, careful diet, hygiene, or the fact he’s always so pent up because you are always there, tempting him--

He thinks, sometimes, about raising a family with you. He has never wanted children. But with you at his side . . . with you at his side, perhaps he will make another exception, the way that you seem to compel him to do.

Not yet. Once the Shie Hassaikai is back where it belongs. Once he can provide you everything you deserve.

Your fingers hesitantly come to stroke through strands of his hair, and Overhaul – and Kai never thought he could enjoy being touched so much.

“Should we shower again?” You breathe, against the shell of his ear where his face is buried into your neck. He shudders at the caress of your breath, but doesn’t move.

He knows he should be horrified at how full you are; how a mixture of your own gushing arousal and his come is leaking all over your thighs and oozing out of you, probably soaking into the towel in a way that even three boil washes won’t make him feel as though it is clean. He should need to peel his sweat-soaked body away from his and wash himself thoroughly down, perhaps even change the sheets for good measure, send you back to your own room for the night so that he isn’t tempted to once more get you all messy in the night.

“No,” he murmurs, kissing the join between shoulder and throat, delighting in the way your pulse jumps and the soft sigh that escapes your lips. “Let’s stay like this for a while.”

[doritofalls]

I am Interested in you Kiyo Sticks Around AU... it's a v neat idea and there's so much to dig into there. The complete destruction of the sense of self... the rest of the class having to deal with there being a very clear guilty-as-sin murderer among them. So much potential.

If I can ask though: what, in this AU, would trigger his (or at least the start of his) disillusionment with his sister? Because I think that would sit very very far in, for the process to even begin. And at the same time it's needed for him to do any meaningful character change.

(cont.)

On a (semi-related) note I believe Kiyo would use each and every potential argument he could find to defend his sister if anyone were to point out that her behaviour was. Bad. Not matter what weird leaps of logic or contradictions he ends up with. Korekiyo Shinguuji: Ultimate Mental Gymnast.

thank you!! i really appreciate such thoughtful and kind feedback! honestly, i got invested in the concept of the au because while i love kiyo and wish he had a chance at redemption obviously, i also think the way chapter 3 played out was a massive flop that missed out on a lot of interesting possibilities, especially due to the double murder thing. just WHY introduce the concept of getting a freebie murder if you're not going to elaborate on it whatsoever??? similiarly to the first blood perk in chapter 1, it just served no purpose and felt pointless to even be brought up. all it did is make the trial like, ten minutes longer? but with kiyo being behind both murders, it was really just. meh. quite anticlimactic.

i ended up rambling a lot so the rest is under the cut

i think as far as kiyo's character goes, he's written in a way that makes redemption... quite impossible, very much by design. his entire identity and sense of purpose is tied to the idea of his sister so, so strongly that you cannot separate it without giving him a significant case of ego death... and even then, i think it would take significantly longer for him to find his footing than the spawn of any dr game. not to mention that whatever coping mechanisms he would come up with, would realistically suck at least as much as his coping mechanisms to losing his sister in the first place.

as far as the au goes, i don't have it fully figured out - because again, kiyo's written like an existential nightmare -, but i figure there would only be an opening to even trying to reason with him through significant emotional attachment (in the au's case, to shuichi, but also because i'm a sucker) that chances are, would be bothering kiyo in some level already. he does not make attachments, and when he does, they are in the pursuit of his studies or his mission to look after his sister. he observes, he studies, he doesn't get involved. maybe the closest he gets to people is the superficial connection he makes with his future victims in pursuit of finding out if they are worthy to be killed. he calls the v3 cast his friends, when it is clear they either straight-up disliked him the whole time through or just begrudgingly accepted his presence (not that that isn't the case with the entirety of the cast, but that's a different story entirely).

what i'm saying is, making a genuine friend like shuichi through his FTE's, would bother him i think already, because it is just so alien to him. i think you can perceive that through the kind of relationship dynamic he upholds with shuichi - they are the same age, but he's only comfortable with his closeness in the context of academic roles.

in the rough outline that's in my head for the au so far, there could be an opening through the argument on the caged child ritual not working -> the legitimacy of kiyo's possession being questioned. i think there is certainly leeway there (maybe a class trial with his sister persona as the main character? could be fun), because kiyo is anything but unintelligent. he knows of grief responses and mental illness, and i don't think it would be impossible to get him to see reason - especially if one could find holes in his story.

of course, this point truly depends on how the writer wishes to see kiyo (in this case, how i wish to carry on my au), because the game is just so gimmicky and unbothered when it comes to portraying mental illness. i don't personally think kiyo would have DID - though he certainly feels like he could fit the criteria of some dissociative disorders, from a dissociative disorder haver - as much as dealing with a very deeply ingrained tulpa situation. however, i think the possibility of recognizing his sister persona as his own mind's creation instead of genuine spiritual possession could help him gain a little bit of cognitive distance. that is not to say that his sister persona would cease to exist imo, even if he no longer wanted it to - which could lead to another interesting change in dynamic and a possible reason for his distance from the persona that was solely created to be a vessel for his irl sister's wishes.

i think even if you build down from kiyo's not being possessed by his actual sister but coping with the worst possible grief response you still would have to take a Lot of time to get to kiyo's actual irl sister may have been bad to him. i think even if kiyo got to accepting the fact he was abused by his sister, he still wouldn't try to find her accountable, because of their unique circumstances, her illness and isolation. i think there is anger there, but pushed so deep under the surface that it would probably take years of therapy to unpack. i imagine this is the kind of emotion that fueled near 100 murders of girls his dead sisters' age. however, facing that is definitely not something that would happen in the time spawn of the killing game (implying kiyo would survive to the end), and i think he would still take the mere implication extremely bad. like you said, ultimate mental gymnast for sure.

[abeautifulblog]

Okay I love the Witcher show BUT…omg what is going on with the costuming. S2 downgraded somehow from S1, I can’t even forgive the contacts because Twilight had better contacts more than a decade ago. And the wigs?? They did Geralt dirty with that grey dish rag they put on his head. Compared to say the lace front wigs on the LOTR Elves, like Thranduil, also from YEARS AGO, all of the wigs are horrid. Ciri’s looks like her scalp is half falling off of her head skksks it’s way too big.

Yeah, the costuming took a nosedive in S2. 😬 I swear to god, nothing looks like it was made for this show, more like they were digging around in Netflix's costume closet and pulling shit out and going, shrug, "meh, good enough."

In S1 you see a clear progression in Geralt's armor: kind of shitty in Blaviken, REALLY SHITTY in Posada (after ten years of being a social pariah), and then considerably better later in the season after Jaskier's rehabbed his reputation and he can afford to kit himself out properly. One understated-but-seriously-neat detail-that-I-loved was that the cut of his armor doesn't change at all -- this man clearly knows what he likes, and so even when he upgrades, he replaces it with "this, but not falling apart.”

And then there's season 2. 😐

Likewise with Jaskier, his style is largely consistent throughout season 1 -- he favors high-waisted, slightly baggy pants, and cropped, closely-fitted jackets over lacy linen undershirts. His outfit du jour will be plainer or fancier depending on how flush he is, but they all look like they belong in the same era, chosen by a man with a consistent sense of style.

And then there's season 2. 😐

***

But even putting aside the objective quality (or lack thereof) of the wigs/contacts/clothes, what I find unforgivable is how little thought went into dressing the characters in a way that made sense for who they are as individuals, and what their current circumstances are. So many of their costume choices in S2 fail on both an aesthetic and a storytelling level.

Like Yen's garishly purple cloak -- which not only looks like some cheap renfaire shit (aesthetic fail) but is also WILDLY INAPPROPRIATE for someone trying to evade the authorities (storytelling fail). Like, okay, even if that's what she was wearing when she escaped, then ffs, show her stealing something less obtrusive off a clothesline, or bullying a beggar into trading with her! She is a blinding pop of purple in a sea of neutrals, and what are we supposed to make of that? Is she too stupid to realize how conspicuous she is? Or is literally everyone else in the world color-blind? Because the show sure-as-fuck ignored any ramifications of their undercover heroes running around with the equivalent of a target painted on them. This is a brain-breaking amount of suspension-of-disbelief they’re asking of us.

(Ditto to Ciri prancing around the forest with her gown and flowing hair -- this is not conducive to being on the run. Who is doing her braids? Her brows? The visuals are completely at odds with the exigencies of the plot.)

And I know a lot of people liked Yen’s off-the-shoulders dress in episode 3, but to me it looked like an ill-fitting prom dress and it was so bizarrely at odds with the tone of that episode. Yennefer has lost her magic, a loss that cuts to the absolute core of her self-identity -- she has more important shit to worry about than slouching around being ~sexy.~

Moreover, it was implied that the reason sorceresses always look so flawless is because they're cheating by using magic, and Yen doesn't have her magic anymore. It wouldn’t have been so jarring, re: tone, if I could believe that she’d hand-waved it into existence so that she could fake being okay, but she can’t. So either have her appearance reflect her magic-less state, or else show her desperately trying to make herself up by hand, to keep people from realizing that she’s powerless. Either one of those options could have been a character-making choice -- but ignoring how she came to look like that, under those circumstances, is lazy and immersion-breaking.

(Also that dress just did not fit her. She’s having to keep her elbows pinned to her sides just to hold it up, and that, in turn, constrained Anya’s acting and made everything Yennefer did in that episode feel extremely passive.)

***

The costumers also seriously missed a trick by not giving the elves a visually distinctive fashion tradition. Don’t get me wrong, I liked Francesca’s outfit, it’s very pretty, but she and Filavandrel are spearheading a resurgence of elven pride and culture, and I would expect their clothing choices to reflect that. Clothing is political; hair is political. I would expect them to be embracing an elven aesthetic (resurrecting an extinct one, if necessary) that is an intentional contrast to what the humans around them are wearing. 

They were kind of maybe doing that with the braids? Fans were headcanoning that Dara’s glow-up was the result of him finally having people to do his braids for him, something he hadn’t had since his parents were killed. And I love that idea, but I’m not sure it was a deliberate piece of world-building/characterization, or if they just chose that hairstyle for him because the actor is Black. (Because Fringilla also has braids, and those would appear to be completely unrelated to any elven penchant for braids. I should add here that I loved Fringilla’s white dress. She should just get, y’know. More dresses.)

***

The one costume choice I did like in S2 was Vilgefortz’s outfit. I couldn’t find any pictures of it (and we have the very cheapest netflix tier, so my screencaps ain’t worth shit 😓), but he wears a three-quarter length, mustard-colored silk coat over robes, in a style that is noticeably distinct from anyone else in the show. And I have no idea what Vilgefortz’s backstory is supposed to be, but visually, it was incredibly striking as someone who is both foreign and owning it.

He’s not trying to assimilate. He’s not decking himself out in the fine doublets and fancy menswear of the northern kingdoms. He’s not trying to make himself acceptable/respected by taking on their trappings of wealth and power -- he’s wearing his own signifiers, and expecting you to recognize their worth.

And that is a choice that potentially says so much -- about the relative cultural cachet between Vilgefortz’s homeland and the northern kingdoms, about his own patriotism, about his own confidence.

***

...That said, Vilgefortz and Fringilla and Francesca don’t change outfits all season, a season that (I think?) is supposed to take place over a span of months, or at least weeks.

So. That’s a fuckin’ oversight, and it’s part of what contributed to this season feeling so completely unmoored in terms of timeline.

***

And I could keep going, but those were the worst offenders.

And I’m not even taking joy in their fuckups the way so many content-mills do, because this genuinely makes me frustrated and angry and despairing. That people who give so few fucks can have a job in industry, when people who know more, and care more, are somehow just not positioned to break into it.

idk. This entire season was an exercise in laziness and contempt for the viewers, and I’m too drunk to censor that into something more fandom-friendly.

[shadow-and-purgatory]

Overall thoughts on episode 4 of rings of power: bad. Lazy writing, but that’s nothing new. It wasn’t even all that funny. Exceedingly bland in every regard. Nothing felt like it mattered, even though it clearly was supposed to. A bunch of things happened, but none of it felt earned.

Galadriel got thrown in a cell, but she got out almost immediately, so who cares. Theo used a morgul blade and then had to hide from orcs, but the scene lacked tension, and left me wondering how he knew how to use the blade to begin with. Isildur got himself and his buddies dismissed, and his friends are clearly upset with him about it, but we never see any consequences for it. Miriel is accompanying Galadriel back to middle earth to help fight Sauron, but her changing her mind feels like it came out of nowhere, and unearned. Durin is angry with his father, but it gets resolved in a single scene and there was no prior set up. There’s a new romantic subplot on the horizon, but I care about the characters involved so little that I can’t even be bothered to look their names up. Mithril is introduced, but the vein is immediately shut off. There’s a prophecy that numenor is going to fall, but I have no reason to be concerned about that, because basically all of the numenorians we’ve met suck, and I feel no attachment to them.

Ill give an example that’s sort of a microcosm of the whole episode. Theres a group of dwarves secretly mining for mithril when part of the tunnel collapses. Durin rushes into the collapsing tunnel, saying that there are four dwarves inside. Cut away. Later, we’re with elrond and disa, and they’re both worried. Durin comes back, saying that he pulled the last one out and they’re all alive. all of them surviving is clearly supposed to relieve the audience, but instead the beat rings hollow, because it doesn’t matter. we don’t know those dwarves. They haven’t been shown or named. And that isn’t even necessarily a terrible thing in and of itself. If this were a GOOD show, where things that happen mattered, this could have actually worked really well.

We don’t know these dwarves, but we do know Prince Durin, who DOES know them. If they had Durin rush in to save these dwarves, it would show us that he cares about them, and therefore that WE should care by extension. It would establish that Durin is a good leader who doesn’t abandon his fellows, that he cares about other dwarves, that he’s loyal. If they showed us Durin desperately digging through the rubble to reach them, it hammers in that Durin put these dwarves at risk, it’s his fault they’re in danger, and that now he’s trying to save them because he cares. Then, even though the audience still doesn’t know who these dwarves are, the outcome of this scene matters to us because we see that it matters to the characters. The relief when durin returns and informs us that they’re all alive would feel earned, and if they ARENT all alive, wed feel at least a little sad.

But that’s not what happens, and that’s like. The most infuriating part of all of this. I can SEE the potential in this scene, and none of it is realized. It wouldn’t have even been that hard to do! But we don’t see prince durin desperately trying to dig them up, he just… says that he got the last one out and they’re all alive. The show doesn’t show us that durin cares about these dwarves, so I don’t care either.

I don’t care very succinctly sums up how I felt about this whole episode. Nothing that happened in it made me feel anything. Honestly, it’s how I feel abt the show as a whole, but this episode was particularly guilty of it. There was a palantir and my only response was “neat. :|” And I KNOW that’s almost certainly wasn’t the intended reaction!! They probably wanted it to be a dramatic ✨reveal✨ moment! But it’s not, and I KNOW what a palantir is! I KNOW it’s a powerful, dangerous magic item, and it shouldn’t be taken lightly! I could tell I was supposed to be awed, but instead I was bored. This episode was boring. Every conflict felt completely meaningless, even though I could tell that things were SUPPOSED to be important. I know I’m supposed to care about these characters succeeding or failing, but I just… don’t.

TLDR: nothing in Rings of Power seems to mean anything to the characters, and therefore none of it means anything to me.

[strawwritesfic]

Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Enhanced!Reader: Where Gods Do Fear to Tread [Ch. 2]

Summary: You can teach an old dog new tricks, but it’s going to cost you.

Challenge: “9 Months” challenge by crackleviolet on Lunaescence Archive -- Bonus One -- Twins

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (sexual references; pregnancy; multiple pregnancy; Bucky attends therapy sessions; physical violence against a pregnant woman (accidentally, by a villain); child abduction; foul language; Enhanced!Reader; Avenger!Reader; Tony & Reader friendship; Sharon & Reader friendship; Sam & Steve Friendship; Bucky & Reader Friendship; Steve & Bucky friendship; Avengers Tower; Bucky spent time with Red Room)

Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Female!Reader; Steve/Sharon; Tony/Pepper

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Master List

Chapter 2: Finding Out

Of course, after that night Bucky didn’t go off on any long, foreign assignments. He stayed close to home and never left you for more than a few hours at a time. Such a development normally would have thrilled you. You liked working alongside him. The trouble was, this time you had an important task to carry out that you couldn’t do if there was even the slightest chance he might walk in on you taking care of it.

Five weeks had passed since his return from Russia and already time was running out. What started as only suspicion on your part turned into more than that after you spent much of the morning vomiting into the toilet. Only now that it was 9:30 did you feel well enough to sit out in the kitchen and look at the dry toast your husband had made you.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right alone?” he asked as he leaned over the counter to move a lock of hair stuck to your damp forehead.

“Yes, Bucky. I’m sure. Go on. Promise I’ll still be alive and kicking when you get back from your appointment,” you answered.

He didn’t move. “Eat some toast.”

“But—”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’ve got something in your stomach.”

When he crossed his arms over his chest like that, you knew he meant business. Your insides roiled at the thought of so much as touching your breakfast, but what choice did you have? Just so Bucky knew you weren’t at all pleased with his ultimatum, you locked eyes with him as you nibbled as little as possible from a single corner of a bread slice. Then you lifted your eyebrows as though to say better?

“I don’t know. Maybe I should take you to see a doctor,” he said doubtfully.

“For God’s sake, Bucky, go to therapy!” You already felt like those crumbs might come right back up. If he saw that, he’d never leave. “I probably just ate something bad out of that takeout we had for dinner last night. You’ve been waiting for this appointment for days. Go.”

Just to further ease his mind, you crammed half the remaining piece of toast into your mouth. You regretted doing so immediately. It seemed to do the trick, though, as he finally smiled before he came over to kiss your cheek.

“Okay. But if you feel worse at all, you have to call me.”

“Or I could tell JARVIS to tell someone who isn’t in the middle of a psychiatry session.”

“No, you’ll call me,” he said seriously. His eyes roved across your face. One last kiss, and he was headed out the door. “Lay down. Drink lots of fluids. Don’t forget to—”

Thankfully the door closed and cut off the rest of his incessant reminders. You knew his paranoia stemmed from all those years of trying to keep a very ill Steve alive, but for Heaven’s sake! There was nothing to worry about. At least, nothing in the realm of what Bucky was worried about.

Speaking of, you needed to move. His appointment would only last a couple of hours at most.

You hopped off your stool with every intention of getting started—only to be interrupted by another heady wave of nausea. Once you’d relieved yourself of breakfast (and rinsed all its remains down the kitchen sink), you finally had the chance to dig that pregnancy test out from where you’d hidden it earlier that week. Bucky was such a neat freak that it required a lot of burying to ensure he wouldn’t find it before you were ready. Not that you felt any more ready now than you had when you bought the blasted thing.

It was positive.

You sat on the toilet staring at the stick for what felt like ages. Your heart pounded wildly in your ears. The test was wrong. You couldn’t be pregnant. Could you?

You grabbed your second test and took it, too. It said the exact same thing. Anxiety crept coldly up your spine. So you’d been right: all that throwing up was not from food poisoning, but from morning sickness. Pregnant. You were pregnant.

Both tests were thrown unceremoniously into the garbage. Who cared if Bucky looked under the sink and found them now? He was going to find out sooner or later. What would happen then, you didn’t want to think about. He’d been doing so well for so long, and now his wife was going to ruin all of his progress.

You were out of the bathroom in a flash, out of your assigned floor and up the hundreds of stairs that led to someone else’s. Thank God your feet knew where they were going, because you were too frantic to care. The word pregnant beat an endless tattoo against your skull. A familiar door appearing before you as if from thin air was all that brought your rush to a sudden halt.

“Steve!” you shouted, banging on that door. “Steve, open up. I gotta talk to you. Come on, Steve!”

No one came to let you in. Was he on a mission? Usually he took Sam and Natasha and Bucky on any he deemed important. Bucky hadn’t mentioned going anywhere but a few blocks down the street. A solo run on Steve’s part wasn’t entirely out of the question, though. You’d been a little too preoccupied to pay attention during his briefings lately. But if he wasn’t home, what were you going to do?

While all these thoughts whirled through your mind, you kept on knocking. Solid metal hit your knuckle again and again—until suddenly, that metal disappeared and your bashed your hand right into something warm enough to be a person.

“Can we help you?” asked a female voice.

You blinked and found two people standing in the now-open doorway: Steve and his longtime girlfriend, Sharon Carter. The latter’s hair looked unusually mussed and the former was definitely wearing his shirt backward. Heat crept up the back of your neck. That Steve might just be busy with his own romantic affairs had not occurred to you.

“I’m sorry,” you said weakly. “I’ll be leaving now.”

Two paces hadn’t taken you back to the stairs before Steve stopped you with a question: “[Name]. What’s the matter?”

“You look really freaked out,” Sharon added.

“Forget it. I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys,” you said, still backing away. “I just, uh…took a test today with some surprising results. Nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine.”

They exchanged knowing looks. Then Steve stepped away from the door. “Maybe you should come inside.”

While he slipped off to fix his clothes at Sharon’s insistence, she made tea. Steve was more of a coffee guy, so you knew her choice was more about you and what you’d just sort of revealed to them. Were you really so obvious? Apparently.

“So,” Steve said once he returned and settled on the sofa next to Sharon, “why don’t you tell us a little more about this test.”

Your hand shook so hard that you had to put down your untouched tea. Might as well bite the bullet since they already knew. Their knowing didn’t make your confession any easier.

“I’m pregnant,” you said, before adding in a rush, “and I know Bucky doesn’t want kids. We talked about it, but…”

“Have you told him?” Sharon asked.

You shook your head. “I just found out. He’s going to be so upset.”

“Maybe he’ll be excited—”

Steve cut her off by giving her knee a gentle squeeze. His grim expression didn’t ease any of your nerves. “Did Bucky tell you about the records we found in Russia?”

“No. What were they?”

“If he hasn’t told you, it’s not my place to say.”

“Steve—” Sharon started.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he told you, and he sounded it. “You’re going to have to tell him the truth.”

You could see no other option yourself. Sneaking off and “taking care” of the problem yourself wasn’t your style, and if Bucky found out, he’d only be angrier at you for hiding something. A little bit rich, considering he was hiding something from you, but a baby was a little different than what was probably some further proof of the horrendous abuse he had suffered long before you even met.

“Maybe Sharon’s right. Maybe Buck will be excited,” Steve said.

“You’re a crummy liar, Steve.”

Dejected, you stood from the couch and headed back toward the door. Your full cup of tea stayed behind. Now that you had gotten over the adrenaline rush from your revelation, your stomach had returned to its previous state of nausea.

“[Name],” Steve called, and you turned to see him gazing at you with typical earnesty. “You should tell him. He deserves to know, and he’d never hurt you.”

“I know.”

Bucky hurting you was the farthest thing from your mind. Nor had you considered any chance of his hurting his unborn child. No, you hurting Bucky was all that you could think about.

You left Sharon and Steve with your heart sunk all the way to your toes. Whatever you’d hoped to gain from talking to him—hope, courage, enthusiasm, whatever—you had not received it. Now all that was left was to wait for your husband to come home, and that was no cheerier a prospect than it had been before.

[whimsicallyreading]

Dark Roast, No Sugar

“Last night I woke the hell up. I realized I need you here, as desperate as that sounds, yeah.” - Jon Bellion

Masterlist

Chapter Nine-

Aelin showed up to the police department in a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt. She didn't even bother putting on the new-ish sneakers she owned, opting for the ones with holes because they didn't squeeze her feet. It wasn't the first impression she wanted to give, but you deserve a little forgiveness when making a whole-ass human.

Leaning over the dash of the car, she presses a friendly kiss to the side of Chaol's face. "Thanks for the ride, boys."

His cheeks redden, and Dorian leans as much of his body as he can into the front of the car, "No sugar for me?"

Aelin laughs and kisses his cheek good-naturedly. "Feel less left out now?"

"Much better," the corners of his happy smile dim, his blue eyes dart to the doors of the precinct. "Are you sure you don't want me to call you a lawyer, Aelin?"

Chaol nods his agreement beside him, his hands clenching the steering wheel despite the car being in park. "Do you want me to go inside with you?"

Aelin feels a bubble of warmth blossoming in her chest. Their worried faces and eagerness to help her- it was almost enough to warm an assassin's heart. "Don't worry. They just need me to clarify a few things in my statement. Nothing serious. Paperwork issues."

Dorian and Chaol had shown up right as she was walking out of the front door of The Stag. When they realized she was leaving and offered her a ride... Aelin couldn't say no. Not with how her feet were aching.

It took some more reassuring, but they finally agreed to let her leave their caring grasps.

Fenrys met her at the door with a smile, "Hey, Baby Mama. Looking beautiful."

Aelin is surprised to find she's genuinely happy to see him. She can't help the toothy grin he brings out in her. "I'm well. How are you this morning, Fen?"

Fenrys lights up at the nickname. "I bought us some donuts. We have a hard day of work ahead of us, and I figured we would deserve a treat in advance."

Donuts sounded phenomenal and vastly improved her outlook of the day.

He steers her through the PD, and several heads turn to stare as she passes. Aelin didn't particularly care. Whatever they thought they knew about her, they probably didn't.

When they finally reach Rowan's office, they find him slumped over a laptop at a desk piled high with neatly stacked papers. The room is minimalistic. Only necessary office items were visible—no personal effects, knickknacks, or pictures of any kind adorning the space.

Rowan himself is also in his usual state of neatness, minus the dirt she could see staining the underside of his nails. He must have been gardening this morning.

Aelin doesn't bother with greetings. She grabs a chair opposite him and sits down. The last few days, she'd been feeling more drained and quick to tire. At first, she attributed it to the baby getting larger and demanding more of her body's resources, but now Aelin started to think that she caught a bug galavanting through the night.

Fenrys set a blueberry donut and a cup of hot tea in front of her. Bless him. Aelin mumbles her thanks before stuffing her mouth.

Rowan shuts his laptop with a snap and replaces it with a yellow notepad. "Alright, Aelin. I need a name. Who do you think is doing this?"

"When is Aedion getting released?" She says around a mouthful of glazed blueberry.

Fenrys slumps into an office chair at a tinier desk in the corner of the room. "This afternoon."

"If all goes well at this meeting," Rowan tacks on the thinly veiled warning. "I need a name."

Aelin leans back in her seat and takes a deep breath. There was a strange heaviness in giving his name. As if speaking it would materialize him into existence in front of her. Her goal when she moved to Ornyth was to forget about him and push her old master as far from her mind as she physically could, but she supposed it was naive to think he wouldn't come looking for her.

This wasn't just for her, Aelin reminds herself. Aedion would benefit from this conversation.

"His name is Arobynn Hammel. He's thirty-five, red hair, grey eyes, and an utter asshole." Aelin lays the name of her childhood tormentor out on the table. A bad taste sours her mouth.

Rowan tosses the notepad to Fenrys, who relays what she said to the paper. He looks at her over his desk with an unreadable expression. "What is your relation to Mr. Hammel?"

"Why?" Aelin chuckles as if the stress is trying to escape her with each half-hearted chuckle. "Do you want to know if he's my baby daddy?"

"Yes," Rowan and Fenrys say simultaneously.

Aelin's smile falls, and she scowls at both of them. They didn't know better, but she still felt insulted.

"He isn't, but I suppose he probably would have liked to be. Make sure to underline that," she points at Fenry's pad of paper. "Arobynn raised me. I don't think he was legally a foster parent, but he is who I was given to in the shuffle after the occupation."

Rowan dips his chin. Green eyes focus on her intensely, as if he's trying to absorb and commit her every word to memory. "How old were you when they put you in his care?"

"Eight," Aelin breathes out, a sharp tingling of grief comes with that admission. "I lived with him from the time I was eight until I turned nineteen."

"Why do you suspect him of producing and distributing Synth?" Rowan asks the nail-in-the-coffin question, and Aelin has to bite back old instincts to lie and conceal this information. It makes her feel vulnerable to expose Arobynn.

Vulnerability isn't an emotion she handles well. After all, when you bare your neck to someone, it becomes within their power to cut their throat.

"I've seen where he makes it, and I oversaw some of his high-risk contracts and dealings with the distribution," Fenrys chokes beside her, but he smothers it with a cough. Even Rowan looks a little taken back, eyes narrowing.

"At what age did you start assisting with his-" he struggles to find the words. "-His business practices."

Aelin blinks, "Eight."

This time, neither of them covers their reactions. They both freeze in their seats, an air of disbelief hanging over them. Aelin feels a chill and tugs at the hem of her shirt, wishing the sleeves were longer.

"What?" Rowan is the first to break the tension.

"I was displaced in the occupation," Aelin begins the watered-down version of her sob story. "I was carted into Adarlan and placed in the care of Arobynn Hammel. Within a couple of months, he was already using me as a mule to get orders across Rifthold. He trained me in various skills to carry out larger jobs, along with a few other children."

"There were others?" Rowan looks saddened by that tidbit.

Mentally Aelin wants to laugh.

Of course, he would be upset at the prospect of other good children suffering from such a fate.`Ones who had the potential he thought she lacked.

If only he knew what bastards they all grew up to be, and she by far was not the worst of them.

Fenrys' eyes were gleaming with more pity than Aelin was comfortable with because, unlike Rowan, she knew it was directed towards her. Gratefully he didn't dig too deeply. Instead, Fenrys picked up the next question. "Can you name the others?"

Aelin bites her lip, leg fidgeting under the table. "Tern Fletcher, Archer Flynn, Adam Mulligan, Lysandra Ennar-" she swallows past the lump in her throat. "Samuel Cortland and myself."

"Lysandra was involved?" Rowan leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He hasn't looked away, barely blinked, since the questioning began. Aelin feels naked as his eyes seemed to be raking in her every movement.

"Not-" she tries to think of how to phrase it in a way that respects her friend's privacy. "She wasn't involved in the same capacity I was."

"Are the others you know still working with Hammel?" Rowan asks, and Aelin gladly lets them move the conversation away from Lys. She wasn't comfortable digging into her friend's wounds when she wasn't around.

"I suspect Mulligan, Flynn, and Fletcher. They were extremely loyal, and as of the last time I saw them, very active in the business." Aelin fondly remembers the beat down she laid on Archer before their parting words. He sold them out, and she hopes for his sake that they never run into each other again.

Fenrys looks up, "What about Samuel?"

"What?" Aelin flinches, the question taking her back.

"Samuel Cortland," Rowan reiterates. "You named him as one of the employees in Hammel's custody but implied he's no longer active in the business. Where is he then?" He leans forward, and Aelin wishes she could shrink back. "Would he be willing to speak with us?"

"Children." Her voice comes out as gruffer than she intends. "We were kids. Not employees. It wasn't a mutual agreement. None of us could consent to what became of us."

Aelin is surprised by the emotion that makes itself known. She swallows back the tears that want to fall and stuffs her trembling hands under her thighs. The implication any of them had a choice in serving Arobynn was disturbing and utterly wrong.

The taste of skin between her teeth, blood crusting under her nails, and being surrounded in pitch-black darkness consume her. Aelin suddenly feels more ill than she had this morning.

"Of course, Aelin." Fenrys placates. "That's understood. We just need to know where Samuel is. He could be very useful to the investigation."

"Dead," Aelin throws the word out like a dying fish on the table. "He died."

It hurt to say that. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. Sam dying was worse than talking about Arobynn. A million times worse.

Aelin tries to swallow the lead rock in her throat. Arobynn didn't deserve to be known. His legacy was of blood, abuse, and control. It belonged in the sewer alongside his corpse.

Sam, on the other hand, deserved to be known. He abandoned by the system, forgotten by his family, and still chose kindness above all else. Sam's story deserved to be told, and it killed Aelin that it hurt her so much to share it.

"How did he die?" Fenrys prods delicately.

"What?" Aelin asks dumbly, heart accelerating in her chest.

"How did Samuel die? Any details you can give are beneficial. and you agreed to cooperate." Rowan reminds her sternly.

Mala save her, she couldn't go into detail about how she found him. She couldn't. Aelin feels blood rushing up to her head, and the room seems to sway.

"Sam. He liked to be called Sam-" Is all Aelin manages to choke out. "Excuse me."

Pushing herself from the desk, she shakily bolts for the office door. Their complaints are silenced as the glass shuts behind her. Outside, Aelin can feel the trembling beginning in her hands and spreading up her arms.

Sweat beads on her forehead in the oppressive heat of the building, but when she rubs her face, it feels damp and cold to the touch.

Aelin frantically strides down the hall, eyes darting around madly for a bathroom door. Nausea was creeping up her throat, and she really didn't want to throw up in someone's trashcan. She knew she was moving quickly, that someone might see her and become alarmed, but anxiety made everything feel like it was moving in slow motion.

A dainty hand grips her elbow and tugs in gently. "Follow me, dear. I can help you."

Aelin's head is swimming, and she allows the calming voice to steer her back in the other direction. When the person pushes open the bathroom door and Aelin sees the navy blue stalls, she rips her arm away and falls to her knees before the porcelain bowl.

Long, slender fingers pull her hair back from her face and rub her shoulders as Aelin loses her breakfast. "You are okay," the voice consoles—a hand massages up her spine and soothes the aches there.

Aelin's whole body is shuddering now. Her stomach rolls over itself, and the muscles of her diaphragm are quaking with exertion. She doubts she could get to her feet if she tried. A strand of drool hangs from her lips, and Aelin would be humiliated if her head wasn't still reeling.

Gouged eyes. Bent fingers. Blood on her lips.

A wad of paper towels appears and dabs at her cheeks, which Aelin hadn't even realized were wet with tears. She failed to notice that her body was shuddering under the intensity of the sobs coming from her. The woman continues to pat her cheeks and nose. Then to her mortification, it swipes at the spit hanging from her mouth.

Mala end me now, she mentally pleads.

Aelin looks up to find a woman with raven hair and onyx eyes looking at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, dear. I don't mean to overstep. I've been where you are before. Please don't be embarrassed."

Opening her mouth, Aelin makes to apologize, but another crackling sob breaks from her chest instead.

She's just tired. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling sick. Tired of being unable to even say his name without breaking down.

Arms wrap around Aelin's shoulders and tug her into an embrace. She allows her face to burrow into the woman's blazer as the grief racks through her body.

"Oh, sweety. It's going to be alright. I promise whatever is going on right now will work out." Fingers rake through Aelin's hair soothingly. It turns her to jello in the woman's arms. Her presence was just so motherly in a way that Aelin sorely misses.

She holds Aelin tight until she's calm enough to hold a plastic cup of water without dropping it. The woman helps her stand and wipes the mascara smudges off her cheeks with a damp towel. "There you go," she tosses the towel in the trash when she deems Aelin presentable. "Brand new, again."

"Thank you," Aelin breathes out at last. "I don't even know what to say."

"Say nothing," the woman waves her hand. "I've been pregnant before. Hormones. Nausea. It isn't an easy ride, dear. Besides, no one comes to a police station for a good reason." The woman pulls a stick of gum from a purse sitting on the sink and offers it to her. Aelin accepts it gratefully.

"Has anyone told you that stress isn't good for you?" Her kind eyes bore into Aelin worriedly. "You look very pale."

"I've been told. Many times." Aelin rubs her forehead, an ache already forming there. "I just don't have much of a choice."

"What's your name? I'm Maeve." She smiles and extends a hand for Aelin to shake.

Aelin takes the hand, happy that they aren't trembling so badly. "Aelin."

"Do you have any name ideas for the baby?" Maeve's eyes glance down towards the slight swell of her belly a little wistfully.

Names? Aelin periodically forgot that the human growing inside of her would pop into the world and require such a thing. It was a far-off event where she had plenty of time to accommodate for things in her head. In reality, she was halfway through her fourth month.

Time was ticking.

"No. I don't have any ideas yet." Aelin admits.

Maeve pats Aelin's shoulder kindly. "That's just fine. Ignore my curiosity. You have plenty of time if-" she emphasizes, "you take better care of yourself."

There is a knock on the door. "Aelin, are you alright?"

Rowan.

"Yes. I'll be back in a minute," Aelin says through the door.

She waits until his footsteps echo back down the hallway before she makes towards the exit. Eager to leave the bathroom and the memories of her awkward breakdown with it. "Thanks again. Really. I appreciate it."

Aelin truly meant it despite the utter humiliation she felt.

"Let me walk you back to Rowan's office?" Maeve asked. "It's easy to get turned around in this building."

They walked in a comfortable silence back to the office. Maeve's demeanor is so tranquil it surprises Aelin when the demure woman pushes the door open without knocking. "I have a delivery for you boys."

"Chief?" Rowan stands up, confused.

What? Aelin blinks and turns back to the woman, noting the black and whites and the metal badge on the breast of her blazer. The same blazer Aelin had just cried on.

Blood rushed to her face, and her brain curdles in her skull. Of course, it was the law of Orynth whose arms she just broke down in. Adarlan's Assassin reduced to a ball of hormones clinging to the chief detective of Terrasen like a baby clinging to its mother.

"Has she caused trouble?" Rowan's eyes glint with steel.

If you've done anything to degrade me to my boss, the deal is off.

"Not at all. We ran into each other in the bathroom and had a lovely chat," Maeve brushes an invisible piece of dust from Aelin's shoulder. "I will let the three of you get back to business. You are in excellent company."

Aelin's lip quirks. Just the opposite. She loves me. Congratulations, you are already reaping the benefits of my presence.

"Oh, and Fenrys?" Aelin looks at Fenrys, who is actively ignoring them. "The reports you promised are late. Have them to my desk by the end of the day, please."

"Will do, Chief." Fenrys' reply is dry and lacks his usual pep.

Aelin notes the worried glance Rowan throws him, but he swiftly covers it with an expressionless mask. "I will make sure he gets it done."

What was that? Aelin tries to pry an answer from Rowan, but he avoids her look.

When Maeve leaves, the tension eases from the men's shoulders.

"You are trouble," Rowan tosses at her without venom.

Aelin picks up the cup of tea she left at his desk, glad it's still warm. "Yes, but only the best kind."

"We haven't laid out a single plan for weaseling out Arobynn," Fenrys makes an irritated face at them. "If either of you could focus for ten minutes, we can do the rest of the questioning later, but we need to start throwing out ideas."

"Did Rowan piss in your tea in the last ten minutes I was gone?" Aelin shoots back, not appreciating his sudden attitude.

"Thirty," Rowan says. "You were gone for thirty minutes. That's why I came looking for you. Also, ruining beverages is your thing, not mine."

Damn, had she been gone that long? A glance at the clock confirms he was correct.

When she turns back to Rowan, there is almost something like worry in his eyes? That couldn't be right, Aelin rubs that aching side of her head again. She needed to stop reading so deeply into things.

"We can continue with questioning later," Rowan announces. "Fenrys is correct in saying we need to start making plans. You've given us enough to work with for now."

They sat back in their chairs, pulled out more notepads, red pens, and sticky notes. Together, Aelin helped them form a list of potential places Arobynn would be laying low. Hotels, rental homes, and vacant manors. He had a taste for luxury Aelin knew he wouldn't sacrifice for anonymity.

Test results were still running on the Synth. Technicians had let them know it showed highly abnormal properties compared to average street drugs, and they promised to send them an extensive report when they were through.

Rowan had hushed any potential news stories about The Stag shooting. He didn't want anyone who may know Celaena to catch wind and start snooping around. Aelin was his best lead, which afforded her a certain level of discretion he acknowledged.

They didn't know about the Bane patrolling her block at night, keeping their eyes on the streets for unusual activity.

The clock ticked, and the light beaming through the winders grew warmer as the afternoon trickled away. It was nearly five o'clock when Rowan declared then done for the day, and Aelin was utterly exhausted.

"Come on," Fenrys offered her a hand to help her stand. "I can drive you by the prison. Aedion should be getting checked out as we speak."

"Thank you," Aelin accepts the help. Her feet ached, and she felt entirely drained. It was good Fenrys was offering a ride, or she'd have to call Dorian to come and get her.

Together, the three of them made their way to the parking lot. Conversation between them was sparse but not unpleasant. They'd fallen into a rhythm at some point while working together. It helped break up some of the awkwardness between her and Rowan.

Aelin hustled a little bit when she spotted Fenry's luxury car. She wanted to claim the front seat before Rowan did. Her gut couldn't handle the stress of riding the back.

Her fingers barely grazed the polished handle when Fenrys started yelling.

Arms wrapped around her waist, and Aelin's face throbbed as it found itself slammed into the asphalt. A loud explosion rattled her ears, and chunks of debris went flying through the air. A thick foggy smoke started filling the air, and she immediately started choking on it.

A dense weight lifts off her back, and hands grab her shoulders, rolling her body to face the clouded sky instead of the ground. Rowan is in her personal space immediately. He's speaking to her, but no sound is penetrating the ringing in her ears.

His hands are running along her arms, the side of her face, checking for injury. Aelin tries to ask him if he's alright, but he doesn't seem able to hear her either.

Suddenly, Fenrys is there, and he's grabbing them both by the arms. They are moving away at a sprint. Fenrys is yelling, but the smoke is stinging her eyes, and even seeing is becoming hard.

There is another explosion, and Aelin can feel the tremors beneath the soles of her shoes as the three of them hit the ground once more.

People are pouring out of the precinct. Aelin spies Cheif Maeve at the front of them, ordering people out of the building. Red and blue lights reflect off the smoke, and she knows that ambulances must be on their way.

Rowan is lying beside her. She hadn't noticed the rips in the back of his suit jacket at first, but there were long gouges in the material, and smoke wafted off a couple of scorch marks. The fact he'd thrown himself over her body and shielded her from the explosion was only starting to register when something warm squeezed her hand.

Are you okay? Green eyes were scouring her body for wounds.

I'm fine, Aelin assures him. She's more concerned about the spots on the back of his suit growing wet as he bled.

"Someone blew up my car," Fenrys is gaping at the spot where his vintage ride used to be. All that remained was a roughed-up frame that was lit ablaze like a campfire.

"Gods," Aelin breathed out, the ringing in her ears dying down. "I almost died."

Rowan hadn't let go of her hand and made no move to do so as his eyes fixed on the burning car. "That was meant for us."

He didn't have to elaborate for Aelin to understand. Whoever had placed the bomb hadn't been targeting her, but Rowan and Fenrys. They arrived and left work together. The bomb wasn't there when they got to the precinct this morning, so someone must have placed it while they were inside.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" Fenrys runs a dirty hand through his hair.

Sirens wailed as paramedics filed into the parking lot. Other detectives and officers were starting to approach them. Firefighters approached the car with extinguishers and began to tame the burning fire.

Aelin didn't have an answer. Just the sinking feeling that the game they'd entered into had more players than she'd thought.

Here is part one of the mass updates! Thank you SO much for reading. I’ve gotten so much feedback and love on this fic it’s been so wonderful 💚

I do have an ✨IMPORTANT QUESTION✨

Would you all prefer I have tag lists specific to certain fics or an overall tag list for ships? So one tag list for all of my rowaelin fics, one for all my quinlar fics, or would you like me to keep it as I have been? Please let me know! ✨

Tag list- Let me know if you would like to be added or removed. :D ( names in bold won’t tag)

@thisismylibrary​

@highladywhitethrone​

@bee55​

@royalsqueeze​

@rowaelin-cressworth​

@booknerdproblems​

@sjmships​

@ladyfireheart-and-buzzard​

@wordsxstars​

@rowaelinismyotp​

@courtofjurdan​

@emmiesbook​

@killian-me-slowly​

@miserablemusings​

@aelinchocolatelover​

@booksbqueen​

@flamingveritas​

@tomtenadia​

@fromthelibraryofemilyj​

@loudphantomdragon​

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​

@superspiritfestival​

@swankii-art-teacher​

@charlizeed​

@nish247

@vasudharaghavan

@maybekindasortaace

@mariamuses

@frosted-crackers

@foughtconquered

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

[skzfairies]

always be here

gif by: @seongsangies

tag list: @shinyddeonghwa @ateezjuliet @atzaria

set in: january 2020

summary: yeosang comforts yuri when she feels alone and lost, and reminds her that he will always be there.

words: 2.6k

warnings: outing, mentions of being shunned, feeling alone, mentions of bad relationships with parents, homesickness, cars skidding, mentions of being zoned out, mentions of not being able to breath, crying, cursing, intrusive thoughts, self blame, insecurities.

a/n: this fic is really really sad. please be wary when you read this and do not read this if you are uncomfortable with ready posts that deal with very heavy subjects such as homophobia and mental illness.

“i finished those lyrics that we were working on yesterday if you want to look at them.” yeosang said, opening the door to yuri’s studio with his phone in one hand, and a coffee tucked in the other. “oh shit, yuri what happened?”

yeosang quickly stopped in his tracks as soon as he shut the door, all he saw was the back of yuri’s black hair and her hoodie that she was curled into. he heard her gasping for air harshly, the gasps of air being followed by a few sobs afterwards.

he quickly rushed over to yuri and placed the coffee on her desk, pulling a chair closer and combing the hair out of yuri’s face, her cheeks were heavily blotched and her nose was an angry red, and countless tears were hurriedly leaving her eyes. the last time he had seen her cry this hard was when he found her on the bathroom floor a year ago, but even then he thought it wasn’t as bad as this.

he could still hear yuri gasping for air, and he watched as she sat up, clutching onto the desk in front of her, and panically trying to ease her breathing. yeosang could sense that she was beginning to panic due to her gasps getting faster and faster, and he quickly placed a hand on her back, attempting to calm her down.

“don’t panic don’t panic, it’s okay. i got you, take a deep breath in.” yeosang whispered, slowly tracing a circle on her back, watching as she took a deep breath in, but quickly sobbed the air back out. yeosang panically looked around, trying to find anything that would help him in the slightest.

he saw a small heart shaped sticker on the back of her computer, and he quickly took yuri’s hand, placing it gently on top of his heart, although he was sure it would be beating fast, he hoped it would be slow enough to calm yuri down.

“try and match your breathing with my heart beat, okay? can you do that for me?” yeosang asked gently, watching as yuri nodded while she bit her lip, tears continuing to roll down her cheeks.

he could hear her breaths getting slower and slower, and although it still sounded like it was hard for her to breath, she did look much calmer knowing that she could still breath.

he sat there silently for a few more minutes, waiting for yuri’s breaths to return to a normal state, and once they did, she hurriedly took her hand off of yeosang’s chest, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with him.

——

it was silent for a few moments, yuri staring at her monitor, an unfinished project was currently displayed, it being littered with other possible sounds that could be placed in it, all in different columns and different places, and when yeosang stared at it, he wondered how yuri could make sense of it. the different lengths and colors made his head hurt, and he gave up trying to figure out what each of them meant. to him, it looked very disorganized, which meant she most likely just started this new project, since all of her other ones were all organized and neat.

he looked back down to yuri, who was wiping off her cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie, digging through her book bag for something, yeosang figured it was probably makeup, so she could pretend that she wasn’t crying moments before.

he awkwardly cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t too sure what he was going to say, but anything to get rid of this awkward atmosphere.

“are you okay?” yeosang whispered, later mentally face palming himself for asking such a dumb question. of course she wasn’t okay.

“yeah i’m fine! i just got frustrated over this song.” yuri said, putting on a fake smile and pulling out a tube of concealer,’opening the camera on her phone and placing it against the cup of coffee. “thanks for the coffee, by the way. i’ll need it.” yuri chuckled, but yeosang could tell it was forced, and he could tell she was lying. yuri was never the one to cry due to a little frustration, she normally would only cry if it was pent up, and she was finishing songs with ease, the past few months.

he watched as yuri covered up her red face, it wasn’t until she put her makeup away that yeosang spoke again.

“i know you’re lying.” yeosang said, voice much louder than his previous whisper, but it wasn’t a yell, it was firm and clear, and yuri jumped slightly when he spoke, tensing when he finished his sentence. “you don’t have to tell me what is happening, but the least you can do is to not lie.” yeosang continued, looking over to yuri with sharp eyes, and she frowned slightly, looking down at her hands.

“i’m sorry.” yuri mumbled, slowly looking back up to meet yeosang’s eyes, who softly sighed and looked at the side slightly, before returning his gaze back to yuri, grabbing her hand softly. “i’m not mad, mimi.” he whispered, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “i just want you to be honest.”

“i know, i shouldn’t have lied. i just- it’s complicated. and i don’t want you to see me differently.” yuri whispered, looking away from the boy in front of her, staring down at the rings on her finger instead. she didn’t want to add onto anyone’s worries, that was the very last thing she wanted to do.

“i would never see you in another light, yuri. never.” yeosang whispered, sighing when she didn’t look at him again. “does this have to do with your parents?” yeosang questioned, he knew that she didn’t have the best relationship with her parents and yuri barely talked about their relationship, so yeosang felt like that could be a possible reason for her tears. but he was still surprised when he saw yuri slowly nod.

he licked his lips slightly, before running a hand through his hair, biting the bottom of his lip. he wasn’t sure what to do, he wasn’t sure if there was anything he could really do.

“do you want to talk about?” yeosang questioned, scooting closer to yuri slightly, softly brushing her hair behind her ear. he never heard her talk about her parents, or even to them, and from the little information on how they treated her he had, he knew that something really bad must have had happened.

yuri slowly rested her head on top of yeosang’s shoulder, sighing in content when he had patted her head gently, wrapping her arms around his arms.

“not really. but i guess i shouldn’t bottle it up.” yuri sighed, playing with the ring on her finger around yeosang’s arm, coming to a stop and sitting up, resting her head against her knees. “my mom outed me to my grandma. and-“ yuri spoke, taking in a big breath of air, before continuing, “my grandma told the majority of my family.”

yuri sobbed again, throwing her face in her hands, shaking her head back and forth.

“i just want to go home.” yuri cried, but yeosang wasn’t sure if he was talking about her home here, or back in California. “what hurts more is that i don’t even hate my mom for what she did. a small part of me is saying i deserved it.” yuri said, barely above a whisper, her voice cracking. “and i know that i shouldn’t think that, but i just need so much reassurance that nothing is my fault that it’s frustrating. it’s like i can’t take my own word, i depend on others opinions, which, when you are the only woman in a boy group, and gay with a homophobic family, you can barely even get a positive message. which it’s not your problem, and you don’t have to-” yuri rambled, abruptly stopping when yeosang had stood up, holding out his hand for her to take.

“what are you doing?”

“we are getting out of here.” yeosang said, pulling her up slowly. “and so i can show you how special and deserving of love you are.” yeosang finished, intertwining their fingers together, and he began making his way out of her studio, and into the company.

yuri quickly grabbed her mask that was in her pocket, and pulled it over her face, she really didn’t fancy questions to come to her on why she looked like she had been crying for the past hour. because she had been crying for the past hour, and she really didn’t want to talk about it.

yuri replayed yeosang’s words over and over in her head, and while she was touched that he said that, she hated that she couldn’t see it for herself. she hated that someone had to show her her worth, she hated that she was taking up his time.

she could feel the tears pool in her eyes again, cursing herself internally and pulling the hood over her head, grimacing when yeosang had pulled her out of the building entirely.

“are we even allowed to leave?” yuri asked, stopping and looking back at the door, and back at yeosang, who looked like he couldn’t give two shits if they got yelled at or not.

“probably not. but you’re more important.” yeosang said, continuing to walk, yuri speed walking to catch up, quickly matching the pace of yeosang.

“yeosang you really don’t have to do this.” yuri protested, looking over at yeosang, she expected a glare, but he had given her soft smile.

“i know i don’t have to. but i want to.” yeosang said.

yuri smiled at yeosang’s words, her intrusive thoughts were a quiet buzz now, but she still felt bad slightly.

yuri looked at the sight in front of her once they had stopped, smiling fondly when she had realized where they were.

she wasn’t sure why she didn’t realize where they were until now, because she knew these paths by heart. they were at a bridge that people were allowed to walk on that overlooked a river underneath it. her and the boys would always come down here after practice to goof around or just to talk, it had been one of yuri’s favorite memories that she had with ateez.

“i haven’t been here in forever.” yuri whispered, resting her arms against the railing, watching as the wind made the water below them sway.

all the predebut memories had came flooding back to her, and she felt a wave of euphoria despite her current situation trickle down her veins. she felt like she was on cloud nine, but she also felt like she was sinking, down into the depths of the water beneath her.

“i dont know what to do.” yuri croaked, fresh hot tears running down her cheeks once more, the feeling of her throat closing up returning. she heard yeosang walk up closer to her, and she moved to wrap her arms around the boys waist. she could feel the boy tense yet quickly relax, moving his arms slowly to wrap her in a hug back.

she could feel the walls that she had built up for so long come crashing down all at once, her violent sobs muffled slightly by yeosang’s sweatshirt, the fabric absorbing the tears that were pouring out of her eyes.

“for once i don’t know what to do.” yuri cried, tightening her grip onto yeosang, hiding her face in the boys chest more. she had no idea on what to do, or what was going to happen, and the uncertainty of it all had scared yuri more than anything.

because for once in her life, she couldn’t think of possible outcomes, she couldn’t hold on to hope or be pessimistic, she had to accept the current reality that she had now.

and she hated that.

“it’s okay to not know what to do sometimes. no matter how hard you think out things or how much planning you do, life won’t listen. and that thought is scary. but you aren’t alone in feeling like this. i promise. you will never be alone.” yeosang whispered, playing with the edges of the crying girl’s hair, sighing when her sobs continued. he would do anything to get her to smile again, the sounds of her cries broke his heart to no end.

he knew that yuri did have hardships deep down, and he knew that there was a lot of hurt that she was hiding, but no matter how much he prepares himself, his heart always aches when he truly knows what goes on.

“i just want my mom.” yuri hiccupped, the sobs subsiding, but her breath was more irregular than ever. yuri slowly let go of yeosang and made her way to the bench behind them, sinking on to it once the back of her legs met the cool metal.

she never felt so alone. yeosang’s promise of her never being alone was a faint whisper in the back of her mind. she knew that he was right.

but she couldn’t shake the feeling.

she gazed at the sky in front of her, the sky dark and littered with sparkling stars, the night was no way young, it was perhaps maybe eleven clock at night by now.

yuri didn’t hear the boy sit next to her, she didn’t even feel him resting a gentle hand on her sholder, not even the calling of her name made its way to her ears. it wasn’t until a car had made a loud skid, that yuri had registered that someone had been calling her name.

she slowly turned her head to face yeosang, her eyes not particularly zoned into his concerned face. the only thing she could think about was how far away from home she truly was, and the only thing she felt was that she was stranded, abandoned.

“yuri...talk to me.” yeosang whispered, grabbing onto the girls hand and frowning slightly when the girl had looked away. he quickly perked up when he could hear the faint voice next to him.

“i miss home so much. i miss my family so much. most people who get homesick have comfort in the thought of going home. i don’t have that. i used to dread going home, and i still do sometimes. but i still want to go home, like my brain is telling me to cut them off, but my heart still wants to go back to them. but now- i have no choice.” yuri whispered, her lips quivering again, she quickly looked away from the river and the boy, hoping to mask her tears. “i just feel so alone.”

she could feel gentle yet strong hands pull her closer, their knees touching and their arms making contact, and soon she was brought into a hug again. a warm, reassuring hug. a hug that yuri never wanted to leave.

it made her feel like she wasn’t alone.

“you aren’t alone. i promise you. i know you struggle with leaning on us, but i promise you that we will always be here to listen. no matter how busy we get, we will always be here.” yeosang whispered, looking down at yuri, smiling gently when she had looked up at him.

“even if you have to tell me that it’s okay one thousand times?” yuri questioned, her voice small and quiet, making yeosang hug the girl tighter.

“i’ll reassure you as many times as you need.” yeosang confirmed, smiling when he saw the faint smile on her face.

she had people, she had ateez. she had friends. she wasn’t sure how she forgotten, but all the memories of everyone she had met in this country came rushing in her brain.

“thank you for always being here.” the girl whispered, placing a soft kiss onto yeosang’s cheek, returning her gaze to the night sky.

“i will always be here for you.” yeosang whispered, clutching the girls shoulder tighter yet gently. yuri slightly smiled, resting her head against yeosang’s shoulder, staring at the moon in the sky.

she knew, she wasn’t alone.

but now, she finally felt like she wasn’t alone.

— BONUS

yuri could hear the faint ringing of her phone from her back pocket, and she quickly opened her eyes and removed her head from yeosang’s shoulder, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

hongjoong was calling.

yuri looked at the time on the top of the screen, relaxing when the clock read 11:30, so they hadn’t been gone that long.

she hesitantly answered the phone, praying the to the gods that she wasn’t about to get yelled at.

“where the hell are you?” hongjoong asked, although his voice sounded more concerned than angry, and yuri visibly relaxed, giving yeosang a thumbs up.

“yeosang and i went for a walk, we aren’t far. do we need to come back?” yuri said, biting her lip as she waited for a response.

“you didn’t care to tell anyone that you left?” hongjoong scoffed, and now yuri could sense the scolding she was about to get, and hurriedly stood up, yeosang following her lead back to the company.

“i’m sorry oppa. it was an emergency!” yuri said, smiling when she heard hongjoong sigh slightly.

“are you alright?” he questioned.

“i am now.” yuri said, smiling softly at yeosang.

“i’m glad you are okay. meet me in the practice room when you get back.” hongjoong said, and yuri gave her farewells, putting her phone in her pocket.

“i say we order chicken after practice. because i kind of ate your left overs last night.” yuri giggled, covering her mouth when yeosang’s mouth had dropped.

“how dare you!” yeosang yelled, and yuri quickly ran off, laughing when yeosang had yet to catch up with her.

this was her home.